Chapter 10
View From Your Knees
Isla
Miraculously, a whole ten days passed since I ended up in Roman’s apartment.
After the awkward online shopping experience where he insisted on picking my lingerie, things settled in, and it was all normal.
I guess we kind of became friends? And I felt so much better.
It was almost time to take out the stitches, and I was literally itching to do it.
I could finally bend my legs and sit down.
“Okay, ready?” His tattooed fingers clasped my hand, and the look in his big blue eyes gave me confidence that I could plant my butt on the chair once more.
I nodded, and slowly, my knees bent as Roman lowered me, the pain dialing up every second.
A little whimper left my lips, and Roman bent down to me, his eyes closed.
“Don’t make that noise, Isla, I beg you. ”
“Okay!” I squeaked out, breaking out in a chuckle right as my butt finally made contact with the chair. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he watched me gleefully enjoy the old forgotten sensation of sitting in a chair.
Spending time with him was so easy; he made me laugh—truly, genuinely laugh. He had a great sense of humor.
Roman was at work during the day, and since I had all the time in the world, I reinstated my driver’s license, passport, and bank cards all while looking for a job and applying to various positions.
The documents part was way trickier than I thought, but I managed to apply to everything in just over a week.
Oh, and I was only able to do that because Roman gifted me a brand-new phone.
This guy was obviously not concerned with money in the slightest.
I enjoyed spending time in his apartment, and it kind of felt like a vacation.
My life was on a complete pause. I had no place to live, no job, and barely an identity in the eyes of the law.
I was in limbo, untethered, just existing, living with an unknown man who I could tell liked having me around.
I was a good guest. I didn't snoop, obviously, and I cooked, which Roman seemed to really enjoy. Cooking brought me some sort of peace and a feeling of control. But also, I couldn't eat the prepared meals he had—gross.
Tomorrow, I had a job interview set up, and I was picking out what to wear when Roman suddenly showed up at home unusually early. The first thing he did was knock on my door. He stepped in with that boyish smile that I grew to really love.
"Hello—oh. Where are you going, dressed so fancy?" He joked, eyeing the clothes on my bed.
"I have a job interview tomorrow!” I gushed, thrilled that someone wanted to interview me. “So, I'm just picking out what to wear."
"A job interview?” he repeated slowly, looking a little lost. “Why do you need a job?"
I was completely taken aback by that question. What? Why did I need a job? Who didn’t need a job?!
"Um...because that's how adults live? What do you mean? I can't live here and mooch off of you forever,” I stated the obvious, picking up a blouse from the bed.
"What kind of job?"
"Um. A medical receptionist. I didn't finish school, so...that's all I can do for now." Shit, it was best to just forget about that last part, not start telling everyone.
Roman crossed his arms and turned toward me, all his attention on what I was doing. "What did you study, and how come you didn't finish school?"
Oh fuck. I really didn't want to talk about it.
"Medicine. It didn't work out." I tried to shut down the conversation and refocused on the clothes on the bed, grabbing a hanger.
"You were in med school? And you dropped out of that? Because it didn't work out?" he asked me in clear disbelief of my reasoning.
I met his intense stare, having zero energy to explain the reason behind it all.
Roman’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he was waiting…
waiting for me to tell him what happened.
But no. No. That was in the past. That's why I moved states—so I could forget about it and start fresh, even if the start was beyond rocky.
"Mm-hmm. It didn't work out. Anyway, do you think I should wear white?
But that's a bit of a problem since you didn't actually buy me any bras that wouldn't show under white.
Or a black blouse? Keep in mind, it will be hot as fuck tomorrow.
" I tried to rant on as much as possible, focusing the clothes in front of me.
Roman just stood there like a tree, observing the blouse in my hands. What? What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he so sad about my interview? I thought he'd be happy to hear I'm trying to get on my feet so quickly.
"What's wrong?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.
"Nothing. I think you should wear black. It accentuates your eyes, and also, no one will stare at your chest since I'm such a bad shopper."
Without saying another word, he turned on his heels and quickly walked out of the room. I stared after him, surprised at his sudden transformation. He walked into my room full of energy and walked out looking angry.
A little lost at his change of attitude, I forced myself to move past the interaction.
The truth was that I didn’t know Roman. Yes, we’d spent so much time together by now.
Yes, he was kind and generous and so sweet.
And yes, at this point, I was honest with myself: I was way more attracted to him than I should have been.
But it was best to just distance myself, get a job, and move out as quickly as possible and move on. I needed to get my life back on track. Eventually, I’d go back to school, and that would be it; the door to my tragic past would forever be closed.
After his silent departure, Roman mostly stayed in his room the rest of the afternoon, and like usual, I made my way to the kitchen to make dinner around six in the evening. I liked cooking. I liked cooking for him.
I stirred the pasta sauce, deep in thought about the interview tomorrow, when I heard a slight shuffle behind me, startling all my senses.
I whipped around to see Roman sitting at the kitchen island, watching me.
The wooden spoon jumped out of my hands and landed at my feet with a loud clatter, splashing pasta sauce all over the floor and white cabinets.
"Roman! Can you please announce your presence!"
“Sorry.”
He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest! I grabbed a paper towel and got down on my knees to wipe the sauce before it dried up, but in my peripheral vision, his legs suddenly appeared beside me, and slowly, he came to stand right in front of me.
Still on my hands and knees, I lifted up my head to see his dominant gaze incinerating me. Oh, fuck no. The view from here was too good. I could not think of that. I could not engage in these thoughts.
As if burned by his stare, I squeezed my eyes shut and dropped my head, focusing on the sauce on the floor.
Just focus on the tomato sauce.
But Roman didn’t move an inch, so in a panic, I blurted out, "Are you going to help me or watch me like a creep?"
"Watch you." The response came immediately; he didn’t even have to think about it. My face blazed. In fact, every inch of me was on fire from his relentless stare while I was on my hands and knees in front of him. But I focused on the sauce, the sauce, the sauce—almost done!
But when the last of the pasta sauce made it onto the paper towel, I realized I wouldn’t be able to stand up like usual; the scars on the back of my thighs were still too recent. I rose up onto my knees, and my face landed right at his crotch.
Wonderful. I hadn't actually engaged in oral sex in literal years, but I loved doing it, and oh my God, was this turning me the fuck on.
"You need help?"
Of course I needed help! A second of silence ticked by us, but I raised my eyes to his, the view fucking phenomenal.
Don’t think of it, don’t think of it; think of anything else!
I nodded, hoping to somehow vanish into thin air.
Hesitantly, I reached out my hand and slid it into his. Without missing a beat, he firmly grabbed it and gently pulled me to standing right in front of him—so close, his eyes were eating me alive.
This was too much. I felt it everywhere—the heat of his body transferring to me, to all of me. God, he smelled so delicious, his body was so big and strong, and fuck, his eyes! I completely drowned in them every time I caught a glimpse.
Roman didn’t back away. I was trapped in front of him, looking anywhere but up into his eyes. And I could barely breathe. Tiny shallow breaths left my lungs as the filthy thoughts amplified in my mind.
He took a tiny step closer, and I shuddered, realizing he was an inch away from pressing his body to mine. Slowly, as if it was his God-given right, he looked all over me, taking even breaths in and out.
"Did you like the view from down there?" His deep voice pronounced the words, and understanding slowly seeped into me. Was he being fucking serious? Did he actually just ask that?
Lost for words, I stood planted to the floor, my eyes on his, my mouth slightly open from the surprise of his question. But then he fucking repeated it!
“Did you like…the view from your knees?” His voice dropped lower, and he spoke slowly, making sure I heard every word. He took another step closer, his hips making slight contact with mine.
Holy shit. My brain was melting out of me at this interaction. I leaned back into the countertop, and quickly looked away, desperately trying to catch my breath from whatever was happening between us. Was it that obvious that I fucking wanted him?
"I don't know what you're talking about." I finally managed to lie.
"Yes, you do. Did you like standing on your knees...and looking up at me?"
My jaw physically dropped at his words, and I finally glanced up into his eyes. He looked straight-up dangerous, like he was about to kill his prey or something. But then Roman asked a question that ripped my little heart right out of me.
"When was the last time you had sex?"
I stared up at him, shocked to my very core that he would ask that. Why the hell was he asking that?! "W-what?" I managed to stutter.
"When was the last time you had sex, Isla?" he questioned again as if he was asking me what time it was. What the fuck was he doing?
"Why…why are you asking me that?" I looked away—his eyes felt like acid on my skin.
"Why did you move here?" His tone was dead serious, and he tilted his head to the side, trying to catch my gaze.
My mind was mush. Why was he asking all these questions? Did…did he somehow know my past?!
"Roman...what are you doing?" I had no idea what to say, what to think, where to look, or how to breathe.
"You dropped out of med school not because it didn't work out, but because you had to, didn't you?"
Another wild statement made my blood run cold. I just stared right at his fucking perfect face and eyes, not knowing what to make of anything. How on earth did he know that? He didn't even know my last name!
Something sizzled on the stove at that moment—the tomato sauce. Using the opportunity, I lightly pushed him off and removed the burned pot from the stove flame. But I remained there, right in front of the stove, not daring to turn around and face him.
"Why are you so suddenly interested in my past sexual history? Didn't you say I was not your type?" I gathered the courage to ask. Facing away was much safer than seeing those demon blue eyes again.
"You're not," he responded bitterly behind me. "You're really fucking not.” Was he fucking angry at that? "Am I your type?" he suddenly added, and my eyes almost fell out of my sockets from that question.
I took a deep breath in, steadying the little tremble inside me. I had no idea what to tell him. No, obviously not, but Jesus Christ, he was all I fucking thought about. I only allowed myself to fantasize about him right before falling asleep; that way, I could justify it—maybe it was a dream.
My legs were made of jello, but I managed to turn around and face him once more. He was waiting for an answer, his eyes narrowed on me.
"You mean is a guy who’s all tatted up with what looks like gang or prison tattoos, has a fuck ton of money that he obviously didn't earn in construction, and lives a life I know nothing about…my type? No." I spoke coldly more for my own sake, to help myself wake up.
Roman straightened out and took one step forward, pressing me against the counter once more. It got darker, hotter, and suffocating when he came so close. He blocked all light and oxygen.
"Aren't you curious? What a guy who's not your type...would feel like?” he murmured, tilting his head, as if enjoying how I held my breath in front of him, melting from this conversation.
I tried to chuckle, but it came out as a nervous laugh instead. I told him exactly what was on my mind. "You know, I was na?ve enough to think that you wouldn't take advantage of me while I lived here." A bitter smile graced my lips at the realization of how wrong I was.
But Roman had an answer ready. "Oh, Isla.
You really are so na?ve. So pure, so…innocent.
If I wanted to take advantage of you, I would have done it a very long time ago.
This conversation is about you, not me." He paused and watched that information overtake me but then added, "Looks like you fucked up the pasta sauce.
Let's go out for dinner. It's hot outside so… get changed."
With that, he retreated into his room and left me in the kitchen, confused and lightheaded.
What. The. Fuck. Was. That?