Playing The Risk - Book One in The WSU Series

- Chapter Sixty-Five -

Warning - Mature Content ahead.

I love Roma freaking Carter.

The instant our lips meet, fireworks explode in my body. Kissing Roma never fails to amaze me.

Him.

Being consumed by him is everything I've ever needed. I was never searching for love— love found me in the form of Roma. And I could never be more grateful for it. For him. Roma pulls back abruptly, panting. His eyes trailed down from my eyes to my lips and back to my eyes. I stare back at him, I will never get bored of looking at his face— he is truly beautiful. His hand slides to the back of my neck and with that, he pulls me toward him and crashes his lips into mine.

The kiss sets my whole body aflame. Every time.

His tongue sweeps across my mouth and my lips part as an invitation, his tongue caressing my own. I let out a moan as his hands trail down my neck slowly, tracing the length of my spine, sending delightful shivers down it. Roma slides his arms around my shoulders and pushes me back lightly until the backs of my legs hit the bottom of his bed causing me to fall back. He captures my lips again, this time deepening the kiss. I've never felt anything like it. His hands roam down my sides, gripping my waist tightly, which makes my back arch upwards meeting his hips.

His legs are wedged between mine, his hips against him and I can feel him. Hardening against me.

I love it more every time— knowing I have this effect on him.

Heat pools between my legs, an aching sensation as I rock my hips against his, seeking more.

"Keep doing that, Ele," his voice is full of lust as his gaze rolls all over my figure. I gaze up to notice his eyes are full of need.

He presses his hardening erection between my legs, and I almost combust from the feeling. Only then does he grind his hips against mine, matching my movements from before— teasing me, making me want more. When he doesn't give me what I need I touch him. My hands roam over his back, before sneaking my way around to his v line which as a result causes a low moan on his lips.

It's like heaven to my ears.

I need him.

My hands wander to the hem of his shirt— pulling it over his head. Tracing his tattoo on his lower neck, "why 51?" He grips my wrist lightly, "51 is my number— my legacy." I push him, "but why 51?" He shrugs, "when my dad played in high school his number was 15– he wanted me to take his number when I played but it wasn't mine." I stare up at him in admiration, the way he talks about football makes my heart beat faster how he's so passionate about it. "Instead of taking 15 I took 51, it was my number. My legacy." His words repeated from before.