Sweet Rome (Sweet Home)

by Tillie Cole

  At the sight of her letting go, my balls tightened and, quickly lifting Mol, I rolled my hips to the side, groaning as streams of cum spread onto the grass beside me. She slowly moved her hand, but I didn’t withdraw my finger from within her, wasn’t ready to. I didn’t want this addicting feeling to end.

  The reality of what just happened between us sank in. Mol leaned forward and I kissed and nipped at her damp skin. My finger gently stroked against her clit, her breath hitching when it all became too much, too sensitive.

  Leaning back from the safety of my embrace, she smiled shyly. Damn, she was beautiful.

  “Hey, Mol,” I whispered, my hand raking through a loose piece of hair in front of her face.

  “Hey, you,” she murmured back, but she was giving nothing away. In fact, she was being too shy. I instantly began to panic that I’d been too rough, too aggressive for her.

  Fuck, was she hurt?

  “You okay?” I asked tersely, every muscle fiber tensed for her response.

  Her caramel eyes focused on the ground and shame surged through me—I knew the way I was—no holds barred—was pretty fucked up, probably too much for someone like Molly to understand.

  But then she spoke, almost knocking me to the floor in shock. “More than okay.”

  “Look at me,” I snapped out immediately. And fuck, she did… Right away.

  Searching her eyes, I asked, “You liked that? You liked how I spoke to you, how I ordered you?”

  She met my intense stare but didn’t say a damn word. Shifting in nerves, I demanded again, “Mol, you did like it… didn’t you?”

  Fuck. The thought of losing her crushed me, my voice catching with emotion.

  Stroking a finger down my face, her expression filled with affection, she whispered, “I did, Romeo. I-I didn’t know that I’d like it… like that… but… I think we both know I did.”

  Muscles stretched, lips spread, and I knew I was fucking smiling—hell, not smiling, beaming. Needing another chance to touch her, I gripped her hands, waggling my brows, and ran them down my ribs. A questioning smile tugged at her lips.

  “Are they all there?” I asked, loving feeling this free—light enough to joke, watching her lips purse in confusion, not following my meaning.

  “What?”

  “My ribs. Is there one missing?”

  Careening forward and holding my waist, she muttered in amusement, “Okay, I think you’ve lost it. You think you’re missing a rib?”

  “Just thought God took one of mine when he made you.” I knew that sounded lame, but fuck, I sucked at romance, and a girl like my Mol, well, she should have the best said to her, the most romantic words written about her. I didn’t have that in me, couldn’t give her what she deserved… but I was fortunate enough that she wanted me regardless, and finally, all them damn years at Sunday School were coming in useful. Hell, the way I was feeling right now, I’d stand dead center in Bryant-Denny and spout fucking poetry if it made her smile.

  “Romeo, at times you’re really sweet, you know that?”

  Sweet? Fine, I’d take that. “Only for you.”

  Molly took my hand in hers and, pressing lazy kisses on my palm, got lost in her thoughts. Her eyes glazed with worry and she licked along her bottom lip.

  Something was definitely up.

  “What you thinking?”

  “When you say you like to order, just how far does that need to dominate go?” she blurted, her face flushing red with either nerves or embarrassment. I wasn’t sure.

  I couldn’t help it, but I burst out laughing. Fuck! She thought I wanted to tie her to a damn bed and whip the shit out of her? Mmm… I could see how it would be enticing, but it wasn’t exactly my thing.

  Facing Molly once again, her bastard teasing thumbnail back in her mouth, I assured her, “I’m not a sadist, so you can take that look off your pretty face. I just like to be in control… I don’t know… It’s how I am. There are some pretty shitty things in my life that I can’t have power over so I need it with the things I’m good at. I just need the assurance that I’m in charge. I’m a good QB because I like to lead, run the show. It’s the same with sex.”

  Tipping my chin, I urged her to respond.

  Swallowing hard, she whispered, “I liked how you took control. I’m so used to having to be independent and self-sufficient, always making the decisions, and I hate it. That felt… freeing to give myself over to you, to hand over the reins.”

  Wrapping her in my arms, I jolted her right into my chest, my possessive desperation for her stronger than ever before. “You’re mine now, Mol. You know that, right? I’ve never had anyone respond to me like you do—every move, kiss, and stroke—full and complete surrender of yourself.” I worked a finger again, still inside her. I needed to see her come again. But this time she’d be coming as mine, full disclosure… I owned her now and she, in turn, me.

  “Yes, I’m yours,” she panted, slamming her hips down, then rolling back and forth. I worked her good, and I almost came myself as she exploded with a loud scream, thighs tightening almost painfully against my hand with her orgasm, then slumping against my chest, completely spent.

  After a few minutes of silence, her breathing evened out and I smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep in my arms. Staring at the blue creek, something happened. With Molly wrapped in my protective embrace, accepting me on every level, my issues, my need for control, my priorities shifted. Everything changed for me in that second, and my girl was now right at the top.

  15

  We watched the sunset together.

  That’s right, me, Rome fucking Prince, woke a girl up who was dozing in my arms to watch a damn sunset… and it was friggin’ incredible. I’d never known such peace before. I’d never known such happiness. I’d always known a rough life with my folks, but until Shakespeare came into my life, I’d never really stopped to think about just how fucked up it all was.

  How fucked up I was.

  My girl was tight in my arms, and I wanted to know more about her, about her family, wanted to know her more than anyone before. Shit. As far as I could tell, she’d had it bad in her twenty years. Where I had folks I wished would disappear, Molly would give anything to have hers back. She’d never told me how her daddy died, so not really thinking it through, I asked, and fuck, but I didn’t expect the answer she gave.

  “… I remember it like it was yesterday. I came home from school and my grandma was upset and sat in the front room. She told me that my daddy had been taken to heaven.” She laughed, but it wasn’t in amusement. I could feel her tense and knew it came from a place of real pain. “At the time I thought I was being punished for being a bad child. It soon became clear that he hadn’t died of an illness or because God was punishing me, but he got up as usual, saw me, his little girl, out of the door for school, got into the bath, and slit his wrists with a razorblade.”

  Fuck. Me. I never expected that. What the hell do you say to a person whose father had killed himself in such a way?

  “Shit, baby. I didn’t think… I’m so sorry.”

  She went on to tell me how she struggled daily with his choice, why he did it. She told me about how she coped when her grandma died, and damn if I didn’t have to fight a lump in my throat at the thought of my girl alone, nursing her grandma on her own, then the only person she loved dying in her arms. I couldn’t help but picture the minutes that followed her grandma’s death—how she would’ve been feeling, the quiet, the slam of realization that she was on her own in the world.

  Molly had been fourteen when she lost her last remaining relative—four-fucking-teen. I knew I was gripping onto her too tightly, but looking up at me with those golden browns, she just smiled and laid a kiss on my mouth. She was so damn strong.

  As she talked of her stint in foster care, I momentarily felt pissed at her father. Yeah, it’s wrong to think ill of the dead, but for three years she’d been forced to endure loneliness in a stranger’s home and had to throw herself into th
e only thing she loved—studying—to survive. But, hell, I didn’t know him, didn’t know his deal, so I felt I shouldn’t judge. It was scary, though, how much her life in those years was like a reflection on mine—always alone, throwing ourselves into our passions as a distraction, and using it like a lifeline to get the hell out of the mess, even if it was temporarily.

  “When I was seventeen, I passed my exams early, got into university a year young, and was offered an advanced place at Oxford.” I snapped out of my own thoughts and listened intently once again. “I got my degree and came here. I’ll move somewhere else for my doctorate.”

  That stilled me… friggin’ scared the shit out of me too. She never stayed in one place too long.

  “So you run?”

  Breaking the calm we’d been sitting in, Molly grasped my arms, trying to pry my grip from around her waist. There wasn’t a fucking chance I was letting go.

  “Don’t struggle. Answer the question,” I bit out more forcefully.

  “You have no idea what my life has been like! You don’t get to judge!” she screamed.

  “I’m not judging you. But you run from your problems, don’t you?”

  “So what? I don’t have a real home, no family. Why not?”

  “That may have been true before, but now you have people who care for you, truly care for you. I won’t let you run away from me.”

  I needed her to believe in those words, believe in me. Now I had her, there was no way in hell I was letting go, and her running from me when times get rough was unacceptable.

  I wasn’t naïve. I knew being with Molly was going to cause a bucket load of problems with my folks. Well, that’s if they ever found out, which I would avoid at all costs.

  Still attempting to pull away, I put my mouth to her ear. “I won’t let you leave me.” All the fight drained from her small body. It was the first time I’d ever seen her heavy emotional guard crack.

  Molly broke. The floodgates opened and she cried and cried, unable to stop for several minutes. I rocked her until her sobs died. It could’ve been minutes, hours, days, and when the only sounds were a few stuttered sighs or an odd sniffle, I asked, “Why did you run from Oxford to here?”

  Her head pressed back into my chest, and I laid kiss after kiss on her forehead.

  “Oliver wanted more from me. He stayed on to do his PhD and wanted to take things further. I didn’t—he knew nothing about me. I never told him.

  “After we slept together, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I thought being intimate with him would help me get closer, that it would bring my walls crashing down. But all I felt was strangling disappointment. I thought I was unable to ever be close to another person again. In the end, I freaked. I ran. Simple. He woke up and I was gone. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

  Knowing that some British punk bastard had my girl naked, pinned beneath him, him coming within her, made anger pulse in my veins. I couldn’t speak. It was like I was possessed, and for a moment, the severity of that possession scared me. The girl was friggin’ bewitching me.

  By the fidgeting of Molly’s body, I knew she wanted me to say something, but I couldn’t, couldn’t cope with the thought of her with someone else. Eventually she settled down, accepting my inability to speak, and with a reassuring sigh, she confessed, “That was until you. I’m close to you. I let you in. Maybe I’m not as damaged as I thought.”

  Jesus. Those words did something to me deep inside, like a bolt of electricity billowed through my body. She was close to me; she let me in. I was an undeserving motherfucker, completely worthless—I’d been told so all my life—but that only made what she said that much more special. To her, I was worthy.

  Feeling on top of the world, I said gently, “You’re not the only one who feels like splitting when times get rough, baby, but from now on, I won’t let you run anywhere if I’m not right there running beside you.”

  But then she asked about me, my family, and a jolt of panic ripped through me. How could I tell her my deal? It was beyond fucked up, and I just couldn’t do it.

  “We should go,” I ordered abruptly when I felt her grow cold and shiver with the evening breeze.

  Stiffening, she protested. “I don’t want to leave yet. I want to know about you.”

  But I didn’t want her to know, didn’t want her tarnished by that shit. Molly was now the one part of my life, besides football, my folks had no control over, and I’d be damned if I infected her with that poison.

  I was done with any talk of my past, my folks. So pulling her up off the grass, I dodged her questions and led her in silence to the truck.

  As I drove, my mind worked in overtime. I tried to find a reason why Molly would want to be with me, memories of my parents telling me how no one would ever love me circling my brain. She didn’t give a shit about my money, had no fucking clue about football, and even when she’d seen me play, still didn’t seem to care for all the hype. She didn’t give two shits about her social standing, didn’t care for popularity; she had her own mind, her own goals, none of which would be furthered by me. It only led me to one conclusion, but I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it.

  “You okay? You seem miles away,” Molly asked, taking my hand, looking up at me with that beautiful, open face.

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure? You don’t look it.” Turning my head to meet her worried gaze, I couldn’t speak the words. Why do you want me? I’m not good enough for you. You should get out now before it’s too late.

  “Rome, what is it?” she asked, this time with more insistence.

  I cleared my throat and murmured, ashamedly, “I never knew before tonight what it felt like to be wanted… just me for me.” I saw the sadness creep onto her face, but I needed to know something for my sanity, so I asked, “What do you want me for, Mol? I’m trying to work it out.”

  “I just want you,” she said, inching closer and pressing into my side, kissing my bare shoulder.

  “That’s what I don’t get. Why would you want me for just me? No one ever has before. I’m pissed twenty-four-seven. I’m possessive and not good with attachments—where’s the attraction?”

  “Then I’m the first, because I want you without anything in return. Why does any human want anyone? My body recognizes you as something that’s good for me. My mind recognizes you as someone who’s right for me, and my soul recognizes you as someone who is meant for me.”

  Sincerity filled every word she said.

  I relaxed, embracing the fact that, for the first time in my entire life, I was wanted… just for me. Relishing the satisfaction that was settling in my blood, I whispered, “We’re in fucking deep, aren’t we, Shakespeare?”

  “I think that’s an understatement,” Molly said with that huge, stunning smile of hers. When I glanced down at her happy face, I didn’t think about pulling over and fucking her into next week. I didn’t think of what she would taste like writhing on my tongue. I just wanted her beside me, like this, wanting me. So, tilting my head, I ordered, “Come here,” and she did, no questions asked, getting me like no one before.

  After dropping Mol off at her door, I drove to my frat house, parked, and headed through the front entrance. I passed the TV room, and several of the guys, including Austin, Reece and Jimmy-Don, looked up as I walked in. It already felt weird, not being with Mol and being back with guys… It felt kind of wrong, every cell in my body urging me to go to her again.

  Moving to the kitchen, needing a distraction, I opened the fridge and grabbed myself a beer. When I shut the door, Austin was leaning against the island, watching me.

  “Eighty-three,” I greeted, using his nickname, his jersey number.

  “Where the hell have you been? You skipped out of weights tonight. Had to have Reece spot me and that kid is weak!” He seemed kind of pissed.

  Leaning against the counter, I shrugged. “Just out.”

  His eyebrows drew in. “You’ve been with that British chick, Molly, haven’t you?” />
  I tensed. Austin caught it and smirked. “Heard you caused quite the scene in the cafeteria, tearing into Shelly, then dragging out the girl and driving off with her in your truck. The guys didn’t know what the hell to make of it all. You, acting all crazy over that chick.”

  I busied myself with tearing the label off the beer bottle, not saying a damn thing in response.

  “Rome!” Austin said and I looked up to see him, arms spread, waiting for a response. Dammit. Molly didn’t want me saying shit to anyone about us as a couple, hell, but I wasn’t going to break that promise, so taking my bottle, I backed out of the room without a word.

  I climbed the stairs to my room, locked my door, and sat on the end of my unmade bed, sipping on my beer and thinking of my girl. My cock hardened as I remembered her grinding down on my hand, her mouth dropped open as I marked her as mine.

  Reaching down, I slipped my hand into my jeans and began to stroke my dick up and down, running my thumb along the tip just like she did. But it just didn’t feel the same, so I pumped it harder, doing it rough, just how I usually liked.

  Nothing. Nothing felt like what Mol made me feel tonight, and I was desperate to have it again.

  Removing my hand from my jeans and groaning in frustration, I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes. I wondered what she was doing right now? Was she thinking of me too? Of tonight? Was she horny as fuck, trying to feel that pleasure again?

  The thought had me jumping to my feet.

  Fuck it. I wasn’t sitting here all night, obsessing about touching her, when she was just across the street. Intense or not, I was sleeping beside her from now on.

  Swiping my keys and wallet off the table, I ran down the stairs, almost taking out Austin in the hallway as I passed.

  He eyed me in surprise, then folded his arms, smirking. “Let me guess. You’re going out?”

  Huffing a laugh, I punched his shoulder. “You know it.” He threw his head back, laughing too, and carried on up the stairs.