Roman's POV
Her hands were on my chest.
And mine were everywhere.
Her skin was fire beneath my palms, her thighs wrapped tight around my waist as I pressed her into the mattress. The room smelled like her—sweet, sinful, and mine.
She moved against me, desperate and aching, her moans muffled by my neck as her nails dug into my back.
"Roman..."
My name from her mouth was a curse and a prayer.
I gripped her hips tighter, grounding her, f*****g her slow and deep like I wanted to memorize every gasp, every shudder.
We hadn’t left my room since last night. After the date, after that red dress that made my brain short-circuit, we couldn’t stop touching. Her lipstick smeared across my neck. Her perfume still on my hoodie.
We didn’t care about time.
Nothing existed but us.
She cried out
