Epilogue #2
This is where things get tricky, because following orders is what I’m good at, what I was trained to do.
I shift on my feet uncomfortably as I debate my options.
My body itches to move, to do exactly as he commanded, but I know that if I make things too easy on him, he’s going to get bored with me.
I have to force my brain to focus, to push back just enough to keep him interested.
I look back over my shoulder at the guy behind me like I’m still fretting over losing the opportunity to spend time with him, even though I could fucking care less, before glancing up at the camera as if I can actually see Roman glaring back at me from the other side.
His quiet breathing in my ear is the only indication that he’s even still on the line.
“You said dinner,” I whisper as I turn back around, grasping at anything I can. “Lunch isn’t dinner.”
He grumbles under his breath as I hear him shift around at his desk through the phone.
I can imagine him there, exactly the way I’ve seen him hundreds of times.
Leaned back in his chair with his feet propped on the corner of the desk.
He’s holding the phone to his ear with his left hand, and he’s endlessly spinning a fancy pen around over and over again in his right hand.
His dark hair has probably been finger-combed away from his face, showcasing his cognac-colored eyes.
His attention is all I can even think about anymore.
Anytime I stop to talk to someone, my only thought is how I can turn the conversation into something that will have him dialing my number again.
Again, again, and again. This obsession is a sickness, the plague, and the fact that I’m practically drooling over him when I can’t even see him is beyond ridiculous. I despise myself for it.
“We’ll have lunch and if you stay until dinner, then we can figure something out.”
My eyes snap up to the camera, narrowing in suspicion.
My heart thunders against my ribs in excitement.
Is he serious right now? If he’s willing to cave, to offer me more than I technically deserve, that means my claws might be deeper than I thought.
So deep that he might actually want this. Want me.
A knowing smirk grows on my lips as I glance back over my shoulder at the guy behind me. He’s leaned against the wall, looking in the other direction. Poor fella thought he was gonna have some fun tonight. Too bad for him.
“You swear it?”
“Be here or not. The choice is yours,” he growls before the call disconnects.
I wince at his abrupt departure, eyeing the camera above me.
It’s pitiful how well I can read him, how much I can tell from a single phone call.
Or in his case, a dozen phone calls a week.
I know he isn’t really angry with me for asking that, he’s angry because he thinks that I’m considering not coming.
Not choosing him. It’s pure irritation because he’s used to getting any and everything he wants. No one denies Roman. Except me.
I just thought I knew what I was doing when it came to Roman.
Some witty banter, a couple light flirty conversations, a few sultry glances in his direction, and eventually he’d get over my attention when I didn’t put out for him.
Just like every other guy I’ve talked to.
Why keep his eyes on me when he could get any man in this place on their knees within seconds?
If I’m not giving him the attention he deserves, attention that he could get elsewhere, why would he stick around?
Why does he stick around?
The thing is… it doesn’t fucking matter.
I’ve long since realized that I’ve gotten in over my head with Roman, and I don’t really know how to stop this trainwreck from happening anymore.
I’m full steam ahead into something I know that I’ll never fully be able to obtain, and the agony that’s going to come with that…
I can already taste it on my tongue. It’s so fucking bittersweet.
The success of having the one man I’ve ever really wanted and then losing it all because of things I have no control over.
The anxiety and self-loathing, they’re just the beginning of a very long list of reasons why I’ll never be good enough for Roman Easton.
Or anyone for that matter. That’s why I don’t do love, or relationships, or anything even remotely related to either of those.
How could I possibly believe in love after all the shit I’ve been through?
So… no. There isn’t a single person in this prison that would deny Roman except for me.
It has nothing to do with not wanting him or craving something more than he’s willing to give.
The truth is, if I finally caved, gave myself over to him, it would be wholly.
I can feel it in the very marrow of my bones, the kind of hold he would have on me.
If he already has every part of my body locked down, I can only imagine what it would be like if he actually touched me.
If his fingertips trailed across every inch of my body, claiming them for himself, and then tossed me aside.
I don’t know if I could survive the kind of aftermath it would leave in its wake.
You know what they say… the whole ‘you never really know what you’ve got until it’s gone’ thing. This is one scenario where I’m not sure if I want to find out if the grass is greener on his side of the fence because I know that he has the power to utterly destroy me.
I already don’t have much farther left to fall before I’ve hit rock bottom, and Roman is the one thing left on this entire planet that’s standing between me and that fate.
He’s detrimental to my health because he’s the only person that I’d willingly give the power to push me off that cliff.
He could watch, eyes full of amusement as I splattered into a shower of blood and internal organs at the bottom of a ravine, and still…
I wouldn’t think twice. Even being blissfully aware that he’d do it, send me to my death without remorse, there’s almost nothing I would deny him.
He could pin me with those eyes that melt me to the core, and I would kneel at his feet like the good little boy I am as I uttered my final word with enthusiasm.
Please?