Roman was my anchor. My best friend.
What did this mean for our friendship? The most precious bond we shared?
Now, what were we? Where did this leave us? What was next?
Roman continued to look at me, confusion etched on his face as if he couldn’t comprehend why I was so still. I marveled at his calmness, at how he didn’t seem to see the gravity of the situation as I did.
He was gazing at me as if this had all been part of some grand design, as if it had been meant to happen.
And I was lost, utterly bewildered by what lay ahead.
The silence felt deafening.
It was an oppressive quiet that stretched between us, two people who had crossed an irretrievable line.
Roman’s shirt hung half-open, clinging to his chest, glistening with sweat. His jeans were still unzipped, resting low on his thighs. My heart raced, my thigh smeared with a mixture of us-his release mingling with mine.
The fog on the windows thickened, creating a hazy barrier that felt like a cloud of regret-or perhaps confusion.
He reached for the glove compartment, his movements casual, as if he had done this countless times before. Without a word, he pulled out a packet of baby wipes and tossed them onto the center console.
I blinked at the offer, momentarily taken aback.
“Seriously?” I asked, incredulous.
“I didn’t expect this to happen,” he shrugged, his tone lightening. “But I sweat a lot. I like to be prepared for anything. Don’t judge me.”
I bit my lip, my eyes darting away from his gaze.
“Sweats a lot? Roman, you just rearranged my organs in the back of your Aston.” My voice emerged lighter than I anticipated, a fleeting attempt at humor.
He grinned, but the smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared.
The levity didn’t stick; the gravity of our situation loomed large.
I took a wipe and began to clean myself, my hands shaking as I avoided looking at him. My thighs still trembled, and my throat tingled where his fingers had wrapped around it, as if he had claimed me. My core pulsed with the remnants of our encounter.
Roman turned slightly, efficiently wiping himself down, then tucked himself away, running his hands through his hair to fix his appearance.
And then, silence wrapped around us once more.
The sound of wet wipes crinkling filled the air, clothes were adjusted, but the damage was done. We were pretending that the car wasn’t still thick with the remnants of our passion, the steam mixing with the echo of my moans.
I caught sight of my handprint against the window, a stark reminder of earlier when he had been deep within me. I quickly looked away, feeling heat rush to my cheeks.
Roman cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So…”
Oh God. Here it comes.
The awkward “we shouldn’t have done that.” The “we were drunk.” The “let’s never speak of this again.”
I braced myself for the impending conversation.
But all he said was, “You hungry, love?”
I blinked, stunned.
“What?”
He shot me a look, a mixture of concern and amusement. “You want waffles? A burger? Or something? You get weird when you don’t eat after… intense cardio. You get dizzy, Sav.”
I stared at him, my mouth agape. “Did you just call that intense cardio?”
“I burned at least 700 calories. That was a workout. I deserve waffles.”
A laugh bubbled up inside me, but it was quickly swallowed by the weight of everything. I wanted to cry, to scream, to hurl myself out of the car and into the chaos of oncoming traffic.
Instead, I nodded, my voice dry. “Yeah. Waffles sound good.”
He shifted the car into drive, and we fell into another silence.
Not a single word was exchanged between us, yet I felt his gaze flicker toward me at the next red light, his hand twitching on the gear shift, as if he wanted to reach for me but held himself back.
My legs still ached, a reminder of our reckless abandon.
But my heart? It ached worse.
Because no matter how many waffles we consumed after this, I knew deep down-
We had just altered everything.
The journey back home was enveloped in an oppressive silence.
Not the comforting kind that promises tranquility, but rather a heavy, suffocating silence that coiled around my throat, tightening with every passing moment.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, the rain had dwindled to a mere drizzle, yet the tempest within me raged on, relentless and chaotic.
Roman’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a fierce intensity, his knuckles turning a stark white as if he were clinging to a fragile lifeline that threatened to splinter at any moment.
My fingers absently toyed with the frayed edges of my dress, still crumpled and disheveled from our earlier encounter. The remnants of our shared experience clung to me like a second skin, a constant reminder of the choices we had made.
Since our earlier discussion about food-an innocuous topic that now felt painfully trivial-there had been an unspoken chasm between us, filled with words that hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I found myself grappling with how to face him after everything that had transpired. My body held memories, sensations that coursed through me, while my mind oscillated between the intoxicating pleasure we shared and the gnawing guilt that threatened to consume me.
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.