Roman sipped his drink, his grip on the glass tightening to the point of whiteness. His eyes blazed with a hunger that was impossible to ignore.
“Dean?” I heard him mutter under his breath, discomfort threading through his tone.
Roman’s knuckles were white as he clenched his drink, never breaking eye contact with me.
I dropped to all fours, crawling toward him with a sultry grace, my heart racing as I grasped his collar, pulling him closer.
Standing before him, I purred, “The show is just beginning.”
Dean leaned forward instinctively, his curiosity piqued.
I grinned, my gaze unwavering. “Roman.”
A smirk danced on Roman’s lips as he discarded his drink, rising with a slow, calculated grace that reminded me of a lion toying with its prey.
I seized him by the collar, pulling him toward me, the world around us fading into obscurity.
He settled into the chair, legs spread wide, a king on his throne.
I placed one heel-clad foot on his chest, whispering, “Behave.”
His grin widened, eyes dark and smoldering. Then, with deliberate intent, he leaned in and pressed his lips against my skin, sending a shockwave of electricity through me.
I straddled him, feeling the undeniable hardness of him pressing against my core. My breath hitched, and his hands instinctively gripped my thighs, as if claiming ownership.
I began to move.
Slowly.
Grinding.
Circling.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenched tight. My hands braced against his shoulders as I worked my hips in maddening strokes, each movement designed to tease.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he rasped, his voice low and thick with desire.
I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear. “Just putting on a show.”
He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening as he pulled me closer.
I straightened, dragging my breasts across his face with a slow, deliberate motion. He growled, an actual growl that sent shivers down my spine.
His hands roamed to my backside, a slow, tantalizing rub that ignited a fire within me. And then-smack. I jolted upright, the heat radiating through me as I gasped, arching my back instinctively.
His voice dropped to a husky whisper, almost reverent. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
I leaned back, descending into a perfect split between his spread legs, my hands resting on his thighs. His breath caught, a moment suspended in time.
In that instant, nothing else existed.
Then I rose, hooking my leg over the back of the chair, but he was quick, catching my leg with a firm grip.
He placed it over his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to my inner thigh, his eyes never leaving mine.
He lifted me effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing, and settled me onto his thighs, straddling him completely.
In that moment, the entire room faded away, leaving just the two of us.
“That’s enough,” I whispered, my breath ghosting over his lips.
He remained still, the air thick with unspoken tension.
“Right,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and desire. “Just a performance.”
Yet his hands lingered on my thighs, and mine remained tangled in his hair, a silent promise hanging between us.
I found myself still perched atop Roman, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. My chest rose and fell in rapid succession, each breath more labored than the last. My thighs quivered around his hips, a mix of exhilaration and something deeper stirring within me. My heart? It was a relentless jackhammer, pounding against my ribcage.
The room enveloped us in an almost eerie stillness.
Silence reigned supreme.
Except for the lingering thump of bass reverberating through the air from the track that had just faded into memory.
And the sound of my own heavy breathing mingling with the faint creak of the leather seat beneath Roman as I shifted my weight, pressing down just a fraction harder against him.
Just for the show, I reminded myself, a mantra I clung to.
Roman’s gaze was fixated on my mouth, his pupils dilated, lips slightly parted as if he were caught in a trance. His jaw was clenched tight, a silent battle waging within him, as if he were struggling to resist the temptation of crossing a line.
I pressed my palm firmly against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my hand. “We should stop,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “They’re watching.”
With a sudden movement, Roman’s hand slid from my lower back to my backside, gripping me possessively, fingers spreading across the fabric of my outfit.
“Let them,” he replied, his voice low and sultry, a dark promise lacing his words. “You started this.”
A shiver of excitement coursed through me, my legs trembling not from fatigue, but from the undeniable coil of desire tightening within me. I leaned closer, my palms still pressed against his chest, and whispered into his ear, my breath warm against his skin, “We’re just putting on a show… right?”
Roman’s jaw tightened, his hands inching up my thighs in a slow, deliberate manner, as if he were savoring every moment. “Right,” he echoed, his voice rough and gravelly, his lips brushing against my ear. “Just giving them something to watch.”
“Good,” I replied, grinding down against him once more, feeling the heat radiate between us. My breath hitched in my throat as I did, the sensation overwhelming.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.