15. Guilty As Sin
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
guilty as sin
IMOGEN
Dinner felt like an exercise in torture– so much so that trapping myself in the kitchen icing cupcakes seemed like the perfect escape.
The eye contact, the footsies, the way he smelled… maybe handing him that invitation was a mistake, but it’s too late to rescind the invitation.
Right now, I have to focus on the present, and not how hot he looked holding a fork. There’s something wrong with me. How does someone look hot holding a fork? It’s not possible. I must be going insane.
I’m trying to concentrate on making icing for the cupcakes. For some people it would be easy, two simple steps: pull out the ingredients from the pantry and make the icing. With my brain, though, I have to break everything down into bite sized pieces, actionable little bullet points, before I can actually tackle the task at hand.
So making icing isn’t just making icing. It’s making sure I have the ingredients, the right measuring cups… everything needs to get done in the right order or I get all screwed up. But then, the fact that missing any one of the steps can fuck up the entire process makes the smallest task feel like climbing Everest.
How I got into research is a mystery to me.
For now, I focus on getting everything I need from the pantry. No distractions, even though my biggest one is sitting right outside in those incredibly tight jeans. I pull out a bowl and set it on the counter, but just as I’ve dropped a stick of butter in, I hear the kitchen door creak. When I glance over my shoulder, I spot Roman holding an empty glass.
He clears his throat.
“Need some ice.”
I’m a puddle at the sound of his voice; I have to turn my attention back to the buttercream or something disastrous is going to happen.
“Sorry to intrude,” he mutters, heading to the freezer.
“You’re not intruding.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him pouring himself a drink. Those muscular forearms flex as he wraps his fingers around the glass. My heart is pounding, but I keep my head down. The less eye contact I make, the better.
“Listen, Imogen, I… didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable at dinner.”
I chuckle and shake my head as the butter starts to smooth out. I increase the speed on the mixer, hoping it’ll get loud enough to drown out all the stupid ideas blossoming in my brain.
“You didn’t. It’s just an awkward situation.”
Roman rubs his beard, struggling for the right words.
“I’m sure we can figure this out, right? We’re both professionals.”
My face is flushed now, sweat trickling down my back, and suddenly the only thing I can think about is the feeling of his lips on mine. My body is practically screaming at me, craving what we had back at the hotel room. I don’t want to be thinking about him like this, it’s going to screw everything up, but I haven’t been able to get that night out of my head.
“We’re cool,” I reply, my voice trembling slightly.
I’ve got to get out of here. I need a few seconds to breathe.
When did it become a hundred degrees in this kitchen?
“Can you watch this for a second? I need to get the sugar.”
I dust my hands off and head for the pantry, not even waiting for a response as I step inside and let the door swing shut behind me. I reach up and turn on the light, the bulb flickering with a pathetically dim glow. With one hand on a rickety shelf and the other on my chest, I take a minute to ground myself and breathe.
In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for four.
I picture my anxiety being squeezed into a tiny ball and push that ball down toward the floor with each breath. When my heart has calmed and the buzzing in my head has passed, I get up on my tiptoes and grab at the big bag of powdered sugar. I try to tug it down gently, but it doesn’t move.
“Shit.”
It must be stuck to the shelf. A small growl escapes my lips, and I pull harder.
“Come on, you motherfucker.”
I glance around for a stool, but there’s nothing. Out of sheer frustration, I grab it by the corner, tearing it down from the shelf as hard as I can. The bag explodes, because of course it does, covering me in powdered sugar.
“Son of a bitch!” I yelp, stumbling backward.
The door flies open and a big beam of light from the kitchen fills the tiny room. There’s white powder all over the floor, on my dress, my thighs…
I turn to find Roman staring at me in the doorway.
He licks his lips and takes a step toward me, a microscopic grin on his face.
“It’s not funny,” I whisper, my face burning with humiliation.
“I wasn’t laughing.”
God, his voice . It’s like warm honey.
“Looks like there’s enough for the buttercream, but you got some in your hair.”
“I bet I look like I just blew Frosty the Snowman.”
He reaches up and pushes a strand of sugar-covered hair from my face.
“It’s not a bad look,” he whispers.
He takes a step forward and the door behind him starts to close.
“You’re a bad liar, Dr. Burke.”
He closes the gap between us, backing me up against the shelf as he cages me in with his arm. I smell whiskey, spice, and the faintest hint of leather.
“You’ve been staring at me all night.” He rumbles, trailing his fingers up my bare arm. “Or was I imagining that?”
Roman’s touch makes me feel like I’m standing on the surface of the sun, but I’m trying my hardest not to let him see how it’s affecting me.
“Are you drunk?” I laugh.
“No,” he breathes. “Not drunk, at least not enough that I’ll forget.”
“Forget what?”
He leans in close, staring at me like he wants to eat me alive.
“How much I want you.”
He reaches up and turns the light off, taking a moment to ensure the door is fully shut. He’s had enough booze to make him brazen, and I know damn well that someone could catch us any minute. But maybe that’s what makes it fun; playing this game until something explodes.
“You’re breaking your own rules, Dr. Burke.”
A devilish smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he dips his head, his tongue gently flicking against my neck.
“I forgot how good you taste.”
I shiver, eyelids fluttering as he nips at me, pausing to gently suck on the skin. Just light enough not to leave a bruise. What the fuck is this guy’s deal? Is he trying to break me? If so, I’m waving a white flag. I’ve been waving one since he walked in here.
“Must be the sugar.”
It’s hard not to let my voice shake.
“The sugar’s got nothing to do with it.”
Before I can respond, his mouth eclipses mine in a slow and sensual kiss. I whimper as he takes control, grabbing my hair and tugging my head back just enough to cause the perfect amount of pain. I’ve missed his mouth, even dreamed about it, and I’ve gotten off to thoughts of him eating me out more times than I can count.
I glide my hand over the front of his jeans, feeling an obvious bulge. Roman lets out a groan, pushing me harder into the shelf. The wood digs into my back, but it only adds to the desire that’s coursing through me at breakneck speed.
If someone opens that door, this is all over.
He breaks the kiss, lowering himself to his knees. Calloused hands run up and down my bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he pushes my dress up higher.
“What happened to professional?” I laugh.
“We’ll start tomorrow.”
I swallow another whimper, covering my mouth as Roman nips and nibbles his way up to my bare pussy.
“You didn’t wear panties.” His warm breath fans against my exposed cunt, sending shivers down my spine. “Can I taste you?”
His voice is raspy and a little unsure.
“We could get caught.”
Roman dips one finger in the sugar on my skin before he gently glides it along the hood of my swollen clit.
“Then, I guess you’ll have to be quiet and let me eat my dessert.” He slides a hand around me, giving my ass a rough squeeze. “ Darlin ’.”
I gasp as he dives between my thighs, and all the pressure that’s been building the whole night finally snaps. Outside, I can hear someone howling along with a song I think I recognize, but am too distracted to put a name to.
“Fuck me ,” he groans.
“Oh, I’d love to, cowboy.”
I roll my hips, desperate for more friction, and he stares up at me with blazing, hungry eyes. I’m shaking, scanning his face for any sign that he wants to stop, that this has all been one big mistake, but I don’t see one. My mouth drops open as he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks down on it, the tip of his tongue lashing against my swollen bud like a velvet whip. I’m gripping the shelf so hard my fingers feel like they’re going to break; it’s taking everything in me not to scream.
He releases me with a pop, licking up more sugar from my thighs while he begins to fuck me with his fingers.
“I wanna make you come,” he rasps.
“We blurred those boundaries pretty fast, didn’t we?”
Roman says nothing, but he doesn’t slow his thrusts either. It feels like he’s walking a very fine line. I push the straps of my dress down, exposing my breasts and teasing my nipples.
“You still want me?” I whisper.
“More than anything.”
“Then take me, cowboy.”
His sinful little moan tumbles out on a rush of breath and he buries his face between my thighs again, the speed of his tongue as desperate and impatient as the two of us.
“Oh, god, keep doing that.”
I grasp his hair and rock my hips against his face, keeping my voice crushed down into a whisper. I don’t want him to lose his job, and I don’t want to get caught, but this feels so good. When he adds a third finger, I almost come undone, greedy for everything he could give me.
“Good boy.”
When I hear his belt buckle start to jingle I smile, remembering how good his cock felt in my hand, my mouth, my cunt. My pussy squeezes his fingers tight and I throw one leg over his shoulder.
“You wanna fuck me, don’t you?”
All I get is a muffled grunt in reply. He’s getting desperate, picking up the pace as he devours me. The only thing keeping me upright is the death grip I’ve kept on the shelf. Roman swirls his tongue around my clit playfully, lashing it quickly, and then backing off with gentle massages while he strokes my G-spot. There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t want him to turn me around, grab me by the hair, and fuck me like an animal.
“Oh, fuck. Right there, baby. Right fucking there .” I swallow a moan. “Make me come.”
My clit throbs and my back bows, and when he finally hits that perfect spot, I unravel. I have to stuff my knuckles into my mouth, biting down hard as pleasure crashes into me like a wave. When I open my eyes, he’s already tugging my dress back down and getting to his feet. I grab his wrist and shove his fingers in my mouth to lick them clean.
“You have no idea how badly I want you right now,” he whispers, chest heaving.
I release them with a soft pop, reaching down to play with my pussy.
“I said take me, cowboy.”
He shakes his head, stuffing his cock back into his pants.
“I can’t.”
The regret in his voice makes me ache.
“What, all of a sudden you’re mister chivalry?”
He sighs, brushing his fingers against my cheek. Even in the dark, I can feel his eyes dig into mine, an anchor that I can’t seem to let go of. I don’t know if eating me out suddenly made him sober, but it certainly made him reflective.
It feels like he’s going to end things here, and that pisses me off. Because I’m the one who’s always walked away, and having someone uno-reverse this shit on me feels like a slap in the face.
I thought I could do this, I really thought we could make this work, but now there’s a part of me that thinks this whole thing was the universe playing a cruel joke. Now he gets to treat me like some toy that he can abandon any time he wants, reduced to the secret he finger fucks in closets.
“I should go,” he breathes. “I crossed one too many lines with you, darlin’.”
Even if it was expected, rejection is like a knife plunged deep into my gut. I know he’s right, and I know it’s for the best. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I swallow it, along with my pride, and take a deep breath.
“Sure. That was fun.”
But this part’s not.
“I don’t regret that date,” he sighs. “I just wish things were different.”
I’m not sure if him trying to soften the blow is better or worse.
“Me too.”
“I think it’s best if I talk to Frankie about swapping you with another TA.”
I want to laugh in his face. He wants to talk about this now ? After he just ate my pussy like it was a goddamn cupcake? I swallow the anger building inside of me and nod.
“Whatever you think is best.”
“I’ll be in touch, okay?”
And then he’s out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving me alone. All alone with this fucking mess we made.