52. Lavinia
FIFTY-TWO
LAVINIA
I slip into the apartment around one in the morning. It’s quiet and peaceful, the only sound is the hum of the fridge. Roman is probably asleep by now, so my talk with him will have to wait until tomorrow morning.
I slip off my sandals and turn to walk to the bedroom, only to jump half a foot into the air when I see a pair of eyes watching me.
“Sabrina! You scared me,” I whisper.
Sabrina licks her mouth, and I swear she grins evilly. I keep an eye on her as I walk by her. I wouldn’t put it past her to trip me on purpose.
I tiptoe into the bedroom, expecting Roman to be asleep. Instead, I find him reading in the corner chair, the floor lamp the only light in the room other than the lights of the city outside. He looks up when I walk in, his eyes raking over my body.
I drop my heels and go to him, straddling his legs and lowering my mouth to kiss him. I’ve wanted to kiss him since I spoke to him on the phone.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” I say, pulling back a little.
Roman settles his hand on my thighs, sliding lower down in the seat until I can feel him pressing against my center.
“I couldn’t sleep without you,” he says.
His words don’t help my situation. If anything, I’m wetter than I was when I walked into the room. I rock my hips back and forth and I feel him harden against me.
“Were the boys nice to you?” I ask.
“They probably thought you’d be mean to them if they’re not nice to me.”
I set a steady rhythm, rocking back and forth over him. “They were nice because they like you.”
Roman gives a noncommittal shrug, slowly kissing up my neck and across my chest.
“Did you have a fun night?”
“So much fun. The dancers were so beautiful and sexy. No one could take their eyes off them,” I say.
“They can’t be more beautiful than you,” Roman says, his breath fanning across my chest. My nipples pebble and since I couldn’t wear a bra with this dress, it’s really obvious to tell. “I can never take my eyes off you.”
“Roman,” I whimper, leaning forward to kiss him. He cups a hand around my breast, rolling his thumb over the nipple. I rock against him harder, and the length of his cock drags right over my clit.
“Did you bring me a horny pussy, baby?”
I nod. “Only for you.”
Pushing two fingers inside my thong, he feels my wetness for himself and lets out a low groan. “Always so needy for me.”
I reach down, lowering his waistband. His cock slaps against his stomach and I take him in my hand, moaning at how hard he is for me.
“Push your panties aside, baby. Take me inside,” he commands. I do as he says, pushing my panties aside and lowering myself down onto him. I close my eyes, moaning at the feel of having him inside me.
“Fuck, your pussy is made for me,” Roman groans. “Nothing compares to the tight, wet heat of your cunt wrapping around my cock.”
Roman grips my hips, maneuvering my body up and down his cock, using me to fuck himself. He never takes his eyes off me.
“When I saw those dancers,” I say, licking my lips, “I wondered what it would be like if I was up there, and you were watching me. Only you. No one else. The heat of your eyes on my almost naked body as I showed you enough to tease you, but never enough to satisfy.”
“You’d have me trapped, Blossom,” Roman groans. “You’re already the sun my world revolves around. I’m fascinated by your every move.”
Sweat drips down my body as our movements speed up. I want to close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions I see in Roman’s gaze, but I’m helpless. Reaching up, Roman wraps one hand around my throat and brings me forward until our lips meet. Our eyes never close.
“Remember when we thought this was temporary?” I remind him.
He told me once that I was his and there’s no going back. I don’t know why I didn’t believe him.
“This was never temporary, Lavinia. Not once. You’ve always been mine and I’ve always been yours.”
I shudder, reaching under my dress to massage my clit.
“That’s it, Blossom. Come on your husband’s cock and claim me as yours. You know you’re the only one for me.”
I come with a cry, falling forward, my forehead resting on Roman’s shoulder. He comes right along with me, groaning as he fills me up. He wraps both arms around me, holding me close as I nuzzle into his neck.
“If this is what happens when you go out with your friends, I’m going to demand you do it more often,” he says.
I laugh quietly.
At breakfast the next morning, I tell Roman about another supernatural conspiracy theory I saw on the Internet. “You should let me take you to meet the witch.”
I take a sip of my banana bread latte—that's right, my husband makes banana bread latte—and watch Roman cook his eggs. He brushes his hair off his forehead and looks at me.
There's something so soft and innocent about him in the mornings that I absolutely love. I adore the fact that I'm the only one who gets to see him this way after he’s been filthy with me the night before.
“I don't know how you sleep at night with all that shit in your head.”
“In your arms,” I reply, like it should be obvious. Roman’s cheeks turn red and this time I'm sure that he's blushing. It's so adorable.
“Are you blushing?” It's cute, but I have to tease him. This isn’t something I can let pass by.
“I'm standing over a hot stove,” he defends.
I nod in pretend understanding. “I'm sure that must be it. Roman Maddox would never blush.”
“You're enjoying this way too much,” he says sardonically.
I wriggle my shoulders in a little dance, taking another sip of my coffee. It's a quiet morning; we woke up to snow outside. If I listen hard, I can almost hear the world trying to knock at our door.
I'm choosing not to listen. For the first time in a long time, I feel completely at peace and that's a scary feeling to have. But like I said, I don't have anything to be afraid of as long as I have Roman with me.
This was never temporary, Lavinia.
Now I'm the one who's blushing. We’re two flawed people, trying to navigate a relationship.
Because that's what this is now. We're in a relationship.
“Do you think we're doing things backwards?” I ask.
Roman plates the eggs and turns off the stove. He sets one plate in front of me with a slice of bread and a glass of green protein shake.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we flirted, then we got married, and now we're dating?”
Roman looks at me from under his lashes. “We're not dating, Lavinia. We’re married. You’re my wife. I'm surprised you actually thought I was ever going to let you go.” He grabs the back of my chair and pulls me closer towards him until our thighs are pressed together under the table.
“Can I ask you something?”
It’s been in the back of my mind since I saw it. There’s always something or other that stops me from asking about it, and when I get the opportunity, I’m hesitant. What if he has voodoo dolls of me or something? Maybe I do need to cleanse my timeline of the supernatural.
“You can ask me anything.” He takes a minute to wipe down the counter before he sits down to eat breakfast.
I eat a bite of eggs followed by the protein shake. It's all delicious as I was expecting. I keep my eyes on the plate as I ask him the question. “Last month, I was in your apartment and you were at practice. I decided to explore and I came across the room where you keep your boxes.”
Roman stiffens next to me. I peek up at him through my lashes and find him staring at me flatly. He knows that I saw the box, I can see it clearly on his face.
“Why do you have a box with my name on it? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I really hope you will because the curiosity is too much.”
He exhales a deep breath, reaching up to push a hand through his hair. “It's a box. It doesn't have to mean anything.”
His words cause a strange ache in my chest. I know I offered him an out, I didn't expect him to take it. Not after last night. It occurs to me that it must be really bad, whatever’s in that box. Because Roman’s been open with me about other things.
“Why do you even have those boxes?” I ask.
“It's all of my stuff, everything I own other than my clothes,” he explains.
“Why do you have it in boxes? Why not put it out?”
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to tell me his deepest, darkest secrets if he doesn't want to. In a lot of ways our relationship is still new, and newer to him still because this is his first relationship.
“You're going to think this is crazy,” he says suddenly. “It might be a little crazy.”
“Is it your secret Polly Pocket collection?” I ask.
Looking at me through narrowed eyes, he seems to come to a decision. Setting his fork down, he turns to me. “Do you really want to know what's in the box?”
Reaching up, I cup his face. “Only if you want me to.”
He gives me a solemn nod. We finish our breakfast and clean up our plates. Taking my hand, he leads me to the room with the boxes. Once inside, he drops my hand and opens the box. It's very unceremonious and unlike I expected, there are no spirits attacking us.
I peek into the box and find wrapped packages.
“That's it? That's what you were hiding?” I'm so confused right now.
Roman looks nervous as he picks up a package and hands it to me.
It's a medium sized box, carefully wrapped.
He opens a side drawer and pulls out a pair of scissors.
I cut through the wrapping to find a beautiful cup and saucer.
It's Venetian, if I'm guessing correctly, red glass with gold lines through it.
“I bought it for you when I was in Venice,” Roman explains. “All of these packages are things I bought for you when I was traveling. Things I thought you’d like. Things I thought would look good on you.”
I look at the box and there have to be at least twenty or twenty-five packages in it.