Roman’s POV
Dinner was supposed to be normal.
Just another Sunday night. Just a family of four. Just small talk and roast chicken.
But nothing was f*****g normal.
Not when she was sitting across the table wearing that skirt the pleated one that rode up her thighs whenever she crossed her legs. Not when her lips were pink and swollen from the kiss I stole earlier behind the stairs. Not when I could still taste her on my tongue.
She was chewing. Laughing softly at something my dad said. And all I could think about was how wet she’d been for me in the hallway just hours ago how she nearly moaned my name with her mother in the next damn room.
I stabbed at my food like it personally offended me.
Ariana’s eyes flicked up to meet mine.
She knew.
She f*****g knew what she was doing to me.
