7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Roman

O h God. Oh God. Oh God. We have to stop. The hot slide of Beck’s mouth on mine, his body moving over me, his cock thrusting against mine, and the sounds he’s making are almost too much. My body is buzzing, the sensation unlike anything I’ve felt before. He thrusts down against me hard, his cock catching on the head of mine through our jeans. I moan and Beck whimpers, thrusting against me again. My body tenses and starts to tremble, my toes flex, and my entire body flushes with heat. “God, Roman,” he moans.

My cock starts to pulse as I tense further and try valiantly to get it to calm the fuck down. His tongue slides over mine. That small movement spells disaster. My cock lurches, cum shooting from the tip and flooding my boxers. I tear my mouth from his. “Oh fuck,” I whimper. “Oh God, I’m coming,” I whisper, embarrassment mixing with the pleasure that’s coursing through my body. Beck’s body jolts on top of mine, and he buries his face in my throat, his mouth pressed to my skin. The vibrations of his moans ricochet through me and amplifies the sensations in my body until I’m a shivering mess.

Holy shit, I came in my pants like a fucking loser.

Heat floods my face and shame burns in my stomach. Beck is breathing harshly against my neck, and I’m trying to resist the urge to shove him off me and run out of here like my ass is on fire when he raises up and looks down at me. His blue eyes are relaxed and a little glassy and… happy? “I need new pants,” he says with a chuckle and more heat floods my face. Oh God, did I get cum on him? Before I can ask, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I try to kiss him back, but my mind is reeling, and I’m still not above running away, if needed.

I pull back reluctantly, and look up at him. “You’re not mad?”

He cocks his head at me, his nose scrunched in confusion. “Why would I be mad? I just got off with Roman fucking Miller. I’m on top of the world.”

My brain screeches to a halt. Wait… did he…? “Wait, you came too?”

“Um, yes? How could I not? I mean, you do know what you look like, right? Like you realize you’re stupid hot, and you were moaning, and we were making out, and like dry humping each other. The only thing I’m surprised about is that I didn’t lose it sooner.”

I gape at him, not sure what to say to… all that . He watches my face for a few seconds and then laughs, a carefree, happy sound that has me instantly relaxing again. “Okay, so we definitely need to clean up.” He punctuates his statement with a quick peck to my lips. “We’re about the same size, I’d say, so let me get you something to wear and show you where the bathroom is.”

I nod, still a little dazed, the cum cooling in my boxers sticky and quickly becoming uncomfortable. I stare after him as he walks to his dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans from one drawer and boxers from another before handing them both to me. “C’mon. I’ll show you to the bathroom.” I stand and follow him out of the room.

I step into the bathroom he led me to. Closing the door softly behind me, I take in the room with wide eyes. It’s immaculate, far from what I’m used to. The shower is huge, pristine tile spanning from the floor all the way to the ceiling, the flooring bright and clean. There’s a shelf with rolled up towels on it and towels hanging on a rack monogrammed with a fancy H. Everything is in working order. No mold, no holes in the walls, no dripping faucets or stained sink. Dad’s words about Beck being too good for me once again try to fill my head, but I shove them down. He doesn’t get to be here, messing with my happiness and taking away the joy I got from being with Beck today. The only person who gets to decide if Beck is too good for me is Beck.

I take my pants off and quickly clean myself up before changing into the clothes Beck handed me. When I step back into the hallway, clutching my soiled clothes in one hand, I find Beck standing outside the door. The second his eyes connect with mine, they light up, and he smiles brightly at me. He brushes past me to walk into the bathroom, and the brief moment of contact makes goosebumps erupt across my skin.

I head back to his room, not comfortable standing in the hallway alone. Sitting down on the bed, I toss my clothes to the floor and make a mental note to pick them up later, before grabbing his sketchbook. I honestly can’t believe he drew me, that the image he created with his own two hands is how he views me. I flip back to the eye that I saw first, and after looking at it more closely; I realize it’s not simply an eye, but a combination of both of our eyes. The way he melted the varying shades of blue in his with the brown of mine is insane, and clearly took a lot of time and talent. I touch my finger to it, kind of shocked to see so many yellows and golds mixed in with my muddy brown.

“Sorry if me drawing you makes you uncomfortable,” Beck says, making me drop the sketchbook in surprise. He chuckles as he walks toward me. “I actually did that one last night.”

“Is that really how you see me?” I ask, unable to stop the words from falling out of my mouth. I’ve never much cared about the color of my eyes; I accepted that they were a boring muddy brown and that was that. But the way he’s drawn them, with all the different shades, makes them look gorgeous. Maybe it’s the art and not the muse, as he says, that I find so remarkable.

“Yes,” he says softly, voice full of sincerity. “Your eyes are gorgeous, Roman. Like honey. Someone might look at them and think they’re plain ol’ brown, but they’re not. There are shades of yellow and gold, little specks of green in certain lighting, and they’re so warm and kind. Eyes are the window to the soul, and yours show how good you are inside.”

I swallow hard, not sure how to process the compliment or the way it makes something inside me buzz. The bed dips as he sits beside me, picking up the sketchbook I dropped. He gently grabs my chin, tilts my face toward his, and holds the picture up beside my face, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two.

“Yeah, I did a pretty good job capturing them, if I do say so myself,” he says with a satisfied smile.

“Well,” I say, taking the pad from him and holding it up beside his face, comparing his eye to the vibrant drawing. “You definitely nailed yours too.” I drop the sketchbook into my lap, unable to stop looking at the image. It’s extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s like he captured a piece of our souls on paper.

“Can I take a photo of it?” I ask, finally looking up at him. His expression is a little shy, but he nods, so I grab my phone and snap a quick photo. This would make an amazing tattoo. I’d love to have the beautiful, intricate design inked onto my skin; a permanent reminder of this moment. For now, though, I’ll keep that thought to myself.

Beck and I went on a date last night. We saw a movie and then went on a walk, talking for hours about everything and nothing. I can’t wait to talk to Mia about it. My dad continues to be an asshole, and I need someone who will be excited for me. Poor Mia has been getting the play-by-play for the last two weeks.

The second I walk into the bakery, Mia’s eyes lock on mine. “That good, huh?” She chuckles, face lighting up with a knowing grin.

I can’t help the blinding smile that spreads across my face. “Yes, that good.”

Her smile grows, and as soon as I step up beside her, she pulls me into her arms. It’s a little awkward because she’s so much smaller than me, her head barely reaching my chest, but it feels so good. “I’m so happy for you, Ro,” she says affectionately. “You deserve all the good things.”

Tears sting my eyes at her words, and a wet laugh escapes my lips. “Thanks, Mia,” I choke out, squeezing her tighter.

When I finally release her, she reaches up and pats my cheek in a gentle, affectionate way, her hazel eyes happy. “So, how are things going with you two?”

“Things are great, honestly. I love being around him. The last few weeks have been so amazing. He’s so nice to me, Mia, always sweet and kind.”

She nods, her smile warm. “He’s a sweet boy. Exactly like you.”

I’m not sure she’s right about that, but I know better than to argue. “I really like him, Mia,” I whisper, feeling a little vulnerable from the confession.

“He really likes you too,” she whispers back, sounding certain. God, I hope she’s right.

My thoughts are interrupted when the door dings, and Beck himself walks in, his eyes automatically locking on mine. Everything else fades away as we stare at each other. Mia cackles beside me, breaking the spell. She whispers, “Obsessed,” under her breath before turning on her heel and heading toward the back.

“Good morning,” Beck says, a twinkle in his eye.

I give him a smile from across the counter. “Good morning. What can I get for you today?”

“Surprise me. But also, coffee, please.”

I nod, turning to look at the case to see what we have out today. The peach scones are really good, and I don’t remember him ever getting one before, so I take one from the case and bag it up for him, then start making his coffee.

He leans over the counter. “What did you pick for me today?”

“A peach scone. They’re good. Easily one of my favorites.”

“Sounds good,” he says, but his nose crinkles up a bit, like it doesn’t actually sound good at all.

“Do you not like peach? I can get you something else,” I offer, worried I’ve made the wrong choice. He gives me a funny look, so I clarify. “You made a weird face. If you don’t like peach, I can get you something else.”

His cheeks darken with color. “No, it’s… the peach is fine. It’s not that.” He looks away, and I can see tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before. Anxiety blooms in my stomach as worries start to run rampant in my mind. Does he not want to see me anymore? Did he not have as much fun last night as I did? Shit.

“I, um,” he starts, turning his eyes back to mine as he brings a hand up to rub his neck, looking sheepish and shy. “I don’t like sweet food,” he finishes in a rush, the words tumbling out so fast that it takes me a second to process what he’s said.

I stare at him for a few seconds, confused. “But you… you come in here all the time. What do you mean, you don’t like sweet foods?”

He drops his eyes again with a chuckle. “I came in here with Riley one day and saw you, and I… I kept coming back after that. I never actually eat the food I order. I always take it to Riley.”

“I’m confused,” I admit. “You don’t actually come here to… so wait, do you come here to…” My voice trails off, and his eyes shoot back to mine.

“To see you, yes,” he finishes for me.

I blink at him a couple of times, trying to wrap my head around it. “But you ate the funnel cake at the fair,” I blurt out, trying to find some flaw in what he’s saying.

“I choked down a couple of bites, yes. But I couldn’t exactly tell you I don’t eat sweets, and I only come here to see you. That would have been creepy.”

I don’t know what to say, so I stare at him, a combination of shock and awe running through my veins. The whole time… it was all an excuse to see me? He takes my silence as something bad, and I can see panic start to creep into his expression. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I wanted to be around you. I wanted to see you. It took me a long time to get my courage up to ask you out. I promised myself I’d tell you the truth. Are you… shit, are you mad at me? For lying?”

I shake my head slowly, a laugh bubbling in my chest. “No, I’m not mad. That honestly might be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. That you’ve been coming to the bakery so you can have an excuse to see me.”

His shoulders sag in relief, and he smiles. “Thank God. I was worried you’d be mad that I lied to you.”

I shake my head again. It wouldn’t be fair to be mad at him for lying about not liking sweet foods when the secrets I’m keeping are much worse. “No, not mad. So, does this mean you won’t be coming in to see me anymore?” The thought makes me a little sad. I hope that’s not the case. I mean, sure, we can hang out basically whenever, but I’ve really enjoyed his visits to the bakery these past few months.

His jaw drops, looking a little affronted. “No, of course not. I love visiting you. And I do drink the coffee.”

“Okay, good,” I say with a smile. My cheeks hurt from how much I’ve been smiling lately.

“Good,” he echoes. “I will take the scone, though. Peach is Riley’s favorite,” he adds with a wink, but then his face falls. “Is your wrist still doing okay?”

The question stops me dead. It has been feeling better, steadily improving all week, but I hate that he even noticed. I don’t think he bought my excuse that I fell, even though it wasn’t entirely a lie. He hasn’t asked me about it all week until now, but I have caught him staring at it. “Yes,” I choke out after a couple of moments of silence. He searches my eyes for a second and then nods, his smile coming back to his face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.