9.

Ava

Roman sits next to me on my couch as we talk about everything except why we’re really here.

“Why did you move to Mercy Hospital?” I ask.

Roman smiles. “It’s always been the place where I refer my patients, and they’ve been begging me to be on staff for a few years now. I still have my private practice; I just see them at my new office in the hospital. I round in the peds ward, and I’m on call for emergency. Probably similar to you.”

I nod. “Although not often am I seeing someone who isn’t in need of surgery or post op.”

He drains the last of his glass of water. And I watch him, the heat of his body so close it seeps into mine, even though we’re not touching…not yet.

Suddenly, his lips are on mine, and his hands roam with a familiarity that sends shivers down my spine. He knows every contour, every secret soft spot that makes me gasp. My heart thuds, a wild rhythm matching the urgency of our kiss.

“Your sweater…” I manage between heated kisses, tugging at the fabric. He helps, pulling it over his head, and I trace the hard planes of his chest, each muscle a testament to his discipline. “God, you are…incredible,” I breathe. “You know, there should be a Men of Mercy fundraising calendar. You’d be Mr. January…through December.”

He chuckles, a low, sexy sound that vibrates against my lips. “I think you’re very funny, Dr. Winters. And very beautiful.”

Before I can respond, he scoops me up, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me up the stairs to my bedroom.

“Condom?” he asks, setting me gently on the bed, hunger lurking in his eyes.

“Actually, I’m on the pill,” I admit, cheeks flushing. “And it’s been a while for me.”

“Me too,” he says, “and I’ve been tested recently.”

“Then there’s no need,” I tell him. “I trust you.”

With a nod and a smile that holds promises of pleasure, he peels off my jeans. His eyes darken as they move over my exposed skin, the curve of my breasts, nipples hardened by desire and the chill of the room. Then he’s descending, his tongue tracing a path along my legs. I tremble at his touch, my heart racing as his lips reach their destination, and he teases me with gentle kisses.

His breath is warm and rich, and I arch into his touch, feeling the waves of lust crash over me as his tongue wraps around my clit and his fingers, deep inside me, rub at that particular spot. He knows exactly how to arouse me, how to bring me to the edge of ecstasy and keep me there, teetering.

“Please,” I beg.

Roman chuckles as his tongue leaves a heated trail over my inner thigh. “Patience,” he counters.

I want him to take me, to claim me as his own, but he’s a master at delaying gratification, knowing that buildup makes the release that much sweeter.

His fingers pivot in and out of my core, and I shudder, my body trembling with need. My fingers tangle in his hair as I pull his face closer, desperate for more intimacy. He chuckles, his breath a ragged whisper against my skin.

I moan, my hips bucking against his touch, crying out his name as he slowly, torturously circles my entrance.

His lips brush against me, sending shivers down my spine. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. “Your choice.”

I gasp. The hard way? That’s the way I want it. I want him to take me roughly, passionately, to work out our anger over the distance he created when he left me.

My blood pounds in my ears as I nod. “The hard way.”

With a wicked grin, he pushes me back onto the bed, his body a warm and steady weight on top of me. His kiss is fierce, demanding, our tongues entwining in a passionate dance. One hand roams my body, his fingers tracing the curve of my hips and the swell of my breasts before settling on my waist, holding me in place as he starts to move inside me.

After just a moment, our bodies slap hard and loud, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one sending pleasure coursing through me like wildfire. I arch my back, meeting each thrust, our movements more frenzied with each passing second. The room is filled with the sound of our bodies connecting, the scent of lust and passion heavy in the air.

He reaches for my breast and pinches the nipple. It sends a sharp jolt of pain mixed with pleasure through me, and I arch my back even more, my fingers digging into his shoulders. I can hear his low growl in response, his hips moving faster.

Our skin is sweaty and hot, our bodies slick with desire. I can feel him swelling inside me, the anticipation growing with each passing second. I know this is it, the moment we’ve both been waiting for.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he stretches me wide, filling me completely. I cry out his name again, my body trembling with the force of the release that washes over me like a tidal wave.

He collapses on top of me, our hearts pounding, our breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Roman,” I sigh. “You always knew exactly how to make me come undone.”

“Always will,” he replies, his voice rough. Some things, like the perfect blend of chemistry and history we share, never change.

“Again?” he pants, a promise wrapped in a single word.

“Definitely,” I agree, the afterglow making me bold and hopeful.

We don’t speak for long moments, basking in the shared warmth of our bodies and the quiet understanding that this night has shifted something fundamental between us.

As my eyelids grow heavy, Roman’s arms enfold me, drawing me close to his chest. I nestle closer, my heart finding a rhythm against his. “Stay,” I murmur, the word slipping out unbidden, a reflection of longing.

“Always,” he whispers. And as sleep claims me, I believe him. There’s something in the way he holds me—like I’m precious, like he’s afraid to let go—that tells me he means it.

In the quiet darkness, I drift off, feeling more whole than I have in years. Roman’s here, in my bed, in my space, and could he also be weaving himself back into my heart?