Chapter Eleven – Roman
I got up at the sound of rain on the rooftop and a rapid ambush of wings fluttering against the glass window.
Fucking birds .
Groaning, I slanted against the headboard and watched her.
She slept peacefully on her side, in a fetal position, with her knees bunched up and the white sheets drawn up to her chin. Her small pouty lips, partly open, drew uneven breaths, and her brows twitched against her forehead at intervals.
A sight to behold; that’s what she was.
Almost an illusion, straight from the pages of a mid-century erotic book, where the maidens had fair skin, pink, perky nipples, and sweet pussies that a scoundrel of a man could fuck all day long.
That scoundrel of a man was me, and just thinking about my maiden, who tasted even better than any of those mid-century prudes, got me growing hard again.
I could go again with her, all night long. Once, twice… ten fucking times, and I’d want to go again.
Pity I’d worn her out. She’d crumbled after her fourth orgasm, snuggled up to my side, and was out like a light.
Last night had been better than the figments of my imagination that had given me sleepless nights. Her body, the curves and perfect lines, and the way she’d stifled her moans and dug her nails into my back until I thought she’d draw new tattoos, permanent ones….
My lips curved to the side.
Wouldn’t I have loved that?
I remembered everything, from her smell, the mixture of vanilla fragrance and sweat, to the vivid images of her dripping, soaking wet pussy quaking, pulsating with each touch, to the perfect form of her ass in my hands.
Fuck.
The heated groans from her lips. Her sighs, soft whimpers in my ears, and how so fucking beautiful she was when she clenched and let go.
My cock swelled underneath the sheets, and I stroked it, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside her warmth again.
Slipping my fingers through my hair, I tore my eyes from her. Even looking away physically hurt. She was irresistible, so tempting that it made my blood simmer.
How was it even possible?
It’d been less than a week, and thinking about the termination of her contract had already set me on edge.
What was it going to be?
I envisioned a life with her outside my walls, away from my watch, being happy with someone else. Going on walks, making him brownies, kissing him senseless, like he was the oxygen she fucking needed to survive. And worse, wrecking his bed.
Beset with a torrent of rage, I gritted my teeth.
A shrill ring started at the corner of the room, slow at first, then rose in a steady crescendo before the nightstand buzzed as the alarm on her phone blared.
Her lashes fluttered. She stirred, puckered her lips, and stretched her arms above her head. It was the funniest, most childlike thing I’d seen in a while.
I found it adorable.
I found her adorable.
She reached out to the nightstand, beat her hands down in search of the shrieking phone, and finally turned off the vibrations. Waking up seconds later, she blinked like she didn’t know where she was.
A blink after, and her eyes met mine.
Crimson traced her cheeks, and she pulled the comforter up to the tip of her nose, grasping it tighter. Many emotions crossed her face at once: embarrassment, timidness, anxiety. But there was not a sliver of regret.
She looked away, mumbling as she got to her feet, “It’s time to wake Polly up,” with her back turned to me. “If I don’t…she’s going to be—”
I yanked the fluffy fabric to myself, hauling her down to the mattress. It bounced under her weight, and the comforter slipped from her grasp, leaving more than enough for my eyes to feast on.
She’d left as many prints on me as I had on her. Her collarbone spotted faint pink glows, and so did her nape. And her shoulder. And a spot just above her right breast. I wanted to squeeze the soft mound again, take it in my mouth, and suck hard until my name left her lips.
When I returned my sight to her face, it was amusing to see her shaking with annoyance. She lunged for the comforter, and I held it away from her reach.
She stamped her foot like Polly would have. “Roman….”
“Yes, Maria?” Mirth seeped into my tone, and she was visibly taken aback, not expecting the sudden switch, the hint of playfulness.
Maria licked her lips and stuttered, “I have to leave.”
I lifted a brow. “I don’t remember asking you to.”
“But—”
“You won’t leave this room until I say so, Maria,” I ordered, “Stay put.”
She did, and I swung a leg over to keep her in place in case she wanted to try something funny. The crimson on her cheeks morphed to a deep shade of scarlet, and I tipped a finger under her chin, raising her head up to eye level.
I knew a hint of mischief gleamed in my eyes. “What, don’t tell me the great Maria Simmons is shy now?”
She scoffed and plucked her chin from my finger, holding her head up high in the air with the same arrogance she had the day I blackmailed her.
“I don’t know what thoughts about me swim around in that head of yours, respectfully, sir , but it’s not every day I end up in bed with my boss.”
I suppressed a grin.
I really had underestimated this one.
She was as feisty as she was shy and as audacious as she was submissive.
And no, she couldn’t even begin to grasp the thoughts I had about her swimming in my mind. The naughty, dirty things I wanted to do to her.
“Roman, Maria,” I reminded her rather softly. Her gaze fell to my mouth, and she hiccupped. “Never ‘sir’.”
She answered quietly, “Okay.”
Then, her head snapped up, and the feistiness had returned. Her lips fell to a straight line like a tight stitch, and her short fingers curled into the duvet. “But the point is, this….” She motioned between us and shook her head. “What happened last night…it can’t happen again.”
Scooting closer, I squeezed her thigh and enjoyed watching the subtle shivers roll down her skin. Stopping above her knee, I asked her, “You didn’t like it?”
Her gaze flickered between my thumb, rubbing circles on her kneecap, and my face, and her blush deepened to a richer red. Her words tripped, one over the other. “It’s not…it’s not that I didn’t like it. I just—”
“Did you like it or not, Maria?”
She let out a frustrated groan. “I liked it, Mr. Varkov. Very much. But the subject matter here is Polina’s perception, okay? I care about how she sees me, and I don’t want her seeing me on this bed, with you. You, on the other hand, are such a great dad to her. Polly adores you.”
“She adores you, too.”
“I know that,” she stated firmly, trying to make me see reason with her. “But if she sees us this way…. How will we explain that to the six-year-old? That admiration might turn to hate.”
I knew Maria cared a lot about my daughter, and it touched me. Was almost heartwarming. But if she thought I was never going to fuck her again because of what Polly would think, then I was going to have to enlighten her. I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
I deadpanned, “She won’t.”
“But you don’t know that.”
“Maybe not.” I shrugged and snaked my hand up her thigh, letting it linger close to the mound between her legs before withdrawing it. “But I have the upper hand, Ms. Simmons. I know your body: what you like, how you want it, how to give it. I know how to make your lips quiver, how to make your legs quake. You are not about to resist me, and you know it.”
By the time I concluded, our lips were no more than a hairsbreadth apart.
She breathed fast, inhaling and exhaling like she’d run a marathon. I saw the fight, her struggle to prove me wrong and walk out that door. There was a shift in her eyes right before she asked the most absurd question.
“I’ve been meaning to ask—”
“Why do you always get to the point where you suddenly need my permission to speak?”
She made a gesture with her shoulders and rubbed her elbow. “I guess it’s because you never fail to remind me that you’re in charge.”
Hearing that from her lips sent a rush of blood straight to my cock. I adjusted on the mattress, moving backward to evade brushing her thighs with the crown of my head.
“What’s the question?” I asked instead.
She picked at her fingernails, musing on whether or not to ask. However, her curiosity got the better of her. “How old are you?”
My brows furrowed, and I wondered aloud, “ That’s the question?”
“Is it unusual to get asked your age?”
I might have responded with something snarky, but she appeared genuinely curious, like a child seeking knowledge. Her innocence was yet another side of her I was slowly starting to enjoy.
“Thirty-nine.”
“Oh,” she said after a meaningful pause.
She was twenty-one. I’d done the math. Technically, a young woman like Maria Simmons should not have any business with a man like myself. She should have been out there, living her life and falling in love with a twenty-something-year-old dickwad, who didn’t have the next fifteen years of his life planned out.
Like I would ever let that happen.
I inquired, “Does it change anything?”
She released a sigh that resonated with her deepest thoughts.
We both knew it didn’t change anything. We both knew, in that short time, that we liked our bodies too much to consider having it any other way. But she strove to strike the balance, contended to draw the line between right and wrong.
I didn’t bother stopping her. She could sustain her attempts but would have a hard time proposing something other than a craving for her body. Her mind wandered—I saw it in the way she zoned in and out of the conversation. It wasn’t my style, but I offered some reassurance.
“Age is but a number, is it not?”
“Only when the sex is good,” she responded off-handedly and smiled. It was cheeky and bright enough to light up the room.
The sight was so bedazzling that I almost wore a smile of my own.
That was until an abrupt knock came on the door, startling Maria.
“Daddy?” It was Polly. And she sounded a little on the verge of tears. “Daddy, I can’t find Maria anywhere.”
She sniffled, and that did it for Maria’s confidence.
“Shit!”
The cheeky smile faded off her face, and she burrowed deep into the comforter, hiding her beautiful body from the sight of all creation.
Here was a woman who simply offered everything—simplicity, passion, assertiveness—and yet was not ashamed to bring out her inner child, even if the source of her current embarrassment was a child.
It was amusing to behold and almost fun to watch.
I kicked my leg off the bed, and her eyes went wide as I strode over toward the door. She might have as well screamed, “No! Don’t open the door,” with how large her eyes were bulging, and I might have as well laughed because I didn’t give a fuck and I didn’t take orders from anyone.
But this time, it bothered me. I did give a fuck.
I wanted to pull that door open, but an insane urge to keep her protected consumed me. It ran deep, beyond how my blood hummed when she was near or how my cock twitched at the sight of her perfect tits.
This was nothing physical.
I frowned, ignored her frantic gestures, and said, “I know I asked you to drop Polly off at school using your car. As I already told you, it was a strategy to keep sniffing noses and prying eyes unsuspecting. But from today, I’ll have one of my men take you both and bring you back.”
If my sudden switch surprised her, she didn’t so much as blink.
“Okay.”
I gripped the steel knob and pressed down. “And you don’t have to be scared of that idiot, Finn, again. He won’t touch one strand of hair on your head.”
Without waiting for a response, I opened the door, only wide enough for the view behind it to be covered by my frame.
“Daddy,” Polly ambushed me with a whine. Her eyes were teary, and her lips formed a shaking pout. “I can’t find Maria anywhere.”
I threw one last glance at Maria, lying comfy on my bed with parted lips, and was pleased to find her frozen in an awestruck daze.
I shut the door, all the while thinking that no other woman looked so good, seated half-naked on that bed. Like they belonged right there and nowhere else.
Beaming, I crouched to my daughter’s level, picked her up, and lightly squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Maria’s fine, baby. What do you say about having scrambled eggs for breakfast?”
Her small arms went around my shoulder, and she buried her face in my neck. “I appreciate all you do for me, Daddy.”
Kissing her forehead, I said, “I’ll give it to you: That’s the nicest way to say you’d rather have one of Maria’s pancakes,” and we laughed.