Was He Worth the Wait?

Was He Worth the Wait?
Rachael

The jukebox hummed low in the corner, same as it always did. Except tonight felt different.
Roman sat across from me in the booth, jacket thrown in the seat, sleeves rolled up, showing off his forearms he probably had no idea were so attractive.
His eyes had that glint....half daring, half patient.
“You did this behind my back,” I said, taking a drink from my glass.
“‘This’?” His grin curved. “You mean talking Marty into giving us tomorrow off?”
“Yes.” I jabbed a finger at him. “You don’t go to my boss...”
“Correction.” He leaned in, close enough I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “I am your boss. I heard you haven’t had a day off in, what, a month? Maybe more? And you’re wound so tight you’re gonna snap.”
I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks felt hot. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I didn’t.” He tipped his glass toward me, casual. “I just gave Marty a nudge. He likes me, by the way. Said you could use the break.”

I muttered and tossed back half my drink. The fire burned down my throat, but it loosened the knot in my chest, too. “Fine.”
“One day,” he echoed, clinking his glass against mine. “So, what’s the plan, Sinclair? You gonna sleep through it? Or…” His smirk sharpened.
The thought of not waking up to the precinct in the morning made me reckless. I work evenings before the murders for a reason, minus all the damn extra shifts.
I drained the rest of my glass. “Party.”
Roman’s laugh was low, rough. “Should’ve known.”
An hour later, I was buzzing, shots lined up like soldiers, my blood warm and restless. Roman kept pace, though slower, steady. Always steady. It infuriated me.
“You’re doing it again,” I slurred, a little.
“Doing what?”
“That…” I circled my finger in the air. “Watching me. Like you’re in control of everything.”
He smirked, tilting his head. “Maybe I am.”

I wanted to kiss that smirk right off his mouth.
Roman must see something in my lingering gaze, the fire I am trying to get under control. “I said I wanted our first time sober.” His smile faltered, just a fraction. “I meant it.”
I scoffed. The audacity to assume I’m going to give in.....what am I talking about. We both know drunk me is a bold hussy chasing every high I can find in a dead-end bar, and so far, Roman has been the only one capable of actually performing.........correctly.
At least what I remember of it.

“Well.” I leaned over the table, “Then you’ll be waiting forever,” I whispered.
Roman pulled back, eyes locked on mine, something dangerous flickering in them. For a second, I thought he’d cave, then he chuckled, shaking his head.
“You want me to drink to keep up with you. So I will cave?” His grin was sharp now, wolfish. “You realize if I matched you shot for shot, I wouldn’t be able to get it up, right?”

The laugh tore out of me before I could stop it, loud and unguarded. Heads turned from the bar. I slapped a hand over my mouth, still giggling. “You’re such an ass.”
“True,” he said easily, leaning back. “But you’re smiling. So I win.”
“Shut up.”
But I couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop the heat rolling through me.
The rest of the night blurred, and somehow I had moved seats.
More drinks, more laughter, his arm slung casually across the back of the booth, the brush of his fingers against my shoulder.
The world spun just enough to make me reckless.
Roman caught my elbow when I wobbled. “Careful, Sinclair.”
I pressed into him, testing. “What if I don’t want careful?”
He froze for half a beat, staring down at me with eyes gone dark. Then he exhaled, low and rough.
“Then I’m a fool,” he muttered, and for the first time all night, he tipped back the last of his drink and tossed the glass aside.
I grinned, drunk and wild. “So what now, Agent Hanshaw?”
His jaw flexed, and his hand tightened around mine. “Now I stop pretending I can keep my hands off you.”

The walk back to my place was a blur. His shoulder under my hand, his arm firm around me, his heat seeping into my skin. Every step buzzed with the promise of what was coming, of what neither of us could take back.
And for the first time in too long, I didn’t care.

By the time we tumbled through my front door, the last of the night air clinging to us, my heart was beating faster than my legs could keep up. Roman closed the door with his boot, and suddenly the quiet of the house pressed in on me.
I should’ve stopped. Should’ve pulled back, gone to bed. Tomorrow, I’d have to deal with the fallout, pretend it hadn’t happened, or hope it didn’t ruin whatever this partnership was turning into. Hope it didn’t get weird.
But tonight, with the whiskey warm in my blood and his hand still gripping mine like he’d never let go? I didn’t care.

Roman kissed me before I could think, his mouth hot, hungry, and I gasped against him. His beard causing friction I didn’t mind at all.
The taste of whiskey and heat poured into me, and I let him push me back against the wall.
His hands were everywhere. Rough on my hips, sliding up my shirt, pressing against my skin like he’d been starving for this. I clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled against my mouth, and the sound vibrated down my spine.
“Good,” I gasped, fumbling at his belt.
He caught my wrists, slammed them gently above my head. His eyes burned into mine, dark and wicked. “You want it bad enough to tease me at the bar, Sinclair? You better be ready to take it.”
My breath hitched, heat flooding me. “Then shut up and...”
His hand slid down, fingers slipping down my jeans, finding me wet and aching. I cried out, my head tipping back against the wall.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough silk. “Already soaked for me. You like playing games, don’t you? But when I touch you, you fall apart.”
“Roman....”
He pressed two fingers inside me, hard, his thumb circling just right. My knees buckled, but he held me pinned, his breath hot at my ear.
“You’re mine tonight,” he said, low and certain. “Say it.”
I moaned, hips bucking. “Yours.”
His mouth crashed back onto mine, swallowing the word, owning it.

Clothes disappeared in a blur. He lifted me easily, carrying me to the couch like I weighed nothing.
When he laid me down, his gaze raked over me, slow and hungry. “I’ve been dreaming of this. You have no idea what you do to me.”
I tugged at him, pulling him down until his body pressed against mine. “Show me.”
He slid inside me in one hard thrust, and the breath tore from my lungs.
“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to mine. “So damn tight.”
I clung to him, nails digging into his back, gasps tearing from me with every deep, relentless stroke.
“Roman...”
“You like it?” His voice was rough, taunting. “You like me filling you up?”
“Yes... yes...”
His grin was feral, lips brushing my ear. “Good. Because I’m not stopping until you scream my name so loud your neighbors know who owns you.”
A shudder ripped through me. I bit his shoulder, muffling the cry that rose in my throat.
“Don’t hide from me,” he growled, driving harder, deeper. “I want every sound. I want to hear how much you need me.”

I broke, a sobbing moan tearing free as pleasure coiled tight, bursting like wildfire through me. My body clenched around him, and his curse was guttural, raw.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “That’s it, baby, come for me. Milk my cock like you were made for it.”
The orgasm ripped me apart, white-hot and blinding. I clutched him, lost in it, shaking as he thrust me through the waves, crying out his name without shame.

Roman’s rhythm faltered, his body tensing, and then he buried himself deep with a strangled groan. Heat spilled into me, and he collapsed against my chest, breath ragged.
For a moment, the world went still. Just his weight on me, his heart pounding against mine, the smell of sweat and whiskey and sex in the air.
Tomorrow would come. Tomorrow, I’d have to decide whether to pretend this never happened, or pray it hadn’t ruined the fragile thing we’d been building.
But tonight, with his body wrapped around mine and his voice still echoing in my head, I didn’t care.
Not one damn bit.
The silence stretched until my phone buzzed against the coffee table. I groaned, reaching for it, too drunk and blissed out to care who it was.
One new message. Unknown number.
Was he worth the wait?