Chapter Text
They spilled out of the place in a slow cluster, the way people did after food and too much truth. The night air hit them like a reset button.
Under the glow of the restaurants sign, Jeffrey rolled his shoulders and pointed at Peter like he was assigning homework.
“Alright.” Jeffrey said, already walking backward towards Peter's car. “You. Drive me home.”
Peter scoffed, keys in hand. “Why would I do that?”
Jeffrey shot him a look. “Because I asked nicely.”
Justin laughed under his breath, still buoyant, still somehow unscarred by the weirdest dinner of his life.
He turned to Lenore with easy sincerity.
“I can drop you off.” Justin offered. “It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Lenore blinked, surprised by how normal that sounded. Like tonight hadn’t been full of landmines.
Before she could answer, Roman spoke, smooth and immediate.
“She’s riding with me.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It landed anyway.
Justin, oblivious in the most innocent way, just nodded like Roman had called dibs on the last slice. “Sure. I bet his car is bigger too.”
Jeffrey’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline. Peter’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh and failing quietly.
“Well... goodnight everyone.” Jeffrey announced, waving at everyone.
Then to Lenore, softer. “Text me when you get home.”
Peter echoed it, casual. “Night.”
Justin gave Lenore a quick, bright smile. “Goodnight, Lenore.”
And they split in motion.
And then it was just Lenore and Roman under the sign, the last two characters left onstage after the audience had filed out.
Lenore exhaled once and looked at him like he was a problem she’d already solved.
“I’m not going with you.”
Roman didn’t blink. Didn’t argue. He just moved in with his hands buried in his coat pockets, unhurried, like he’d decided the space between them was optional.
Not touching. Not crowding. Just close enough to make it clear he’d heard her…and wasn’t accepting it.
Lenore didn’t back up. She held her ground. But her pulse did that stupid, traitorous thing it always did when he got near.
Roman leaned in, not enough to touch, just enough to make the air warm at her ear. Close enough that the threat felt intimate.
His voice dropped, quiet and lethal, threaded with patience finally thinning.
“Let's go.” he said, quiet and flat. No heat. No charm. Just a limit being set.
Lenore’s jaw tightened.
She hated that her pulse jumped like it recognized authority before her pride could argue. Hated the part of her that wanted to spit in his face and follow him anyway.
Her gaze betrayed her for half a second, landing on his mouth like it was a habit.
Lenore’s throat worked once.
She stared at him, silent, furious.
Roman waited, perfectly still, like he already knew which way she’d break.
Lenore swallowed the last of her pride like a bitter shot.
“Take me home.” she said, sharp. “But you're not invited in my house.”
Roman’s remained neutral, but internally satisfied in the smallest, ugliest way. “I didn’t plan on it.”
Lenore brushed past him toward the car at the end of the street, shoulders squared, anger tucked under her skin like a blade.
Roman followed half a step behind, calm as ever, like the night hadn’t just tilted in his favor again.
Roman drove like the night belonged to him.
No music. No small talk. Just the quiet, obedient mechanics of the car and the slow sweep of the sky's night over his hands on the wheel, steady and pale on the leather.
Lenore sat in the passenger seat with her anger folded up neat, like a letter she hadn’t decided to mail. Her face stayed calm. Her silence didn’t.
Roman didn’t look at her much. He didn’t need to. He drove like he could feel her presence the way you felt pressure in the air before a storm, the shift that made your skin pay attention.
And he wasn't giving it any.
Lenore’s gaze eventually drifted to the window, taking in the view of the upcoming scenary.
The trees first, tall and close, their branches knitting overhead in places like they were trying to hide the road. Then the fencing, black iron that caught the headlights for a second and let them slide away.
Then the drive itself, long enough that it stopped feeling like a driveway and started feeling like a trip.
And then the house.
It rose out of the dark with that modern, controlled arrogance, all clean lines and glass, the front wall translucent enough to make the place feel like it was watching back. A house built for someone who didn’t like surprises.
Lenore sat up a fraction, attention sharpening without permission.
“Where are we?” Her voice cut clean through the car.
Roman didn’t answer. He only turned in, unhurried, as if her question had been something minor caught in the air vents.
The tires whispered over gravel, the sound soft and intimate in the darkness, and the porch lights came on with a calm inevitability that made her stomach tighten.
He parked and killed the engine.
The silence that followed felt deeper, heavier. Like the world had leaned closer.
Only then did Roman glance over at her, expression smooth, eyes unreadable.
“My house.”
Lenore’s lips parted. Not amused. Just flat out stunned. “Roman. I said take me home.”
His gaze dropped for a moment, quick and involuntary, catching on her mouth like he was registering a detail he wanted to keep. Something private flickered across his face. Gone before it could become a smile.
“I heard you.” he said, voice still calm, still serious. “And I’ll take you later.”
Lenore stared at him, waiting for him to admit this was a joke, or a punishment, or one of his stupid little power plays dressed up as logic
Roman didn’t give her the relief this time.
He opened his door and stepped out into the night like it was simply the next step in a plan. He shut it with that quiet finality he did so well and started toward the front door without looking back.
For a second, Lenore didn’t move at all.
She watched him cross the porch, watched the glass throw his silhouette back at her like a reflection with sharp edges. Watched the way the house seemed to accept him without question.
Then she exhaled through her nose, clipped and disbelieving, and pushed the passenger door open.
The cold night air hit her face. The gravel crunched under her boots as she stepped out, and she paused just long enough to take one more look up at the place. At the clean geometry. At the quiet threat of it.
Dumbfounded, she followed him up the walk.
Roman held the door open without ceremony.
Lenore stepped inside and the house changed its tone immediately.
Outside, it was all grand silhouette and cold distance. Inside, it had taste. Intent.
The entryway rose higher than it needed to, gothic bones disguised under money, the kind of architecture that didn’t just exist… it loomed. Grey marble climbed the walls in heavy panels, veined like old smoke, catching the low light and turning it into something almost religious.
Roman shut the door once she crossed the threshold. A soft, final click that landed in her ribs.
Lenore looked down like the floor might judge her. Her boots suddenly felt loud. Dirty. Too alive for a place that looked like it preferred stillness.
She bent and tugged them off fast, almost angry about it, as if removing them could keep her from staining anything.
One, then the other. Setting it neatly to the side of the house door.
Roman didn’t comment.
He was already moving deeper into the house, shrugging his coat off as he walked, heading for the staircase like he’d done this a thousand nights in a row.
The stairs curved upward in a dark sweep, ironwork along the railing, the kind of ornate metal that looked like it had opinions. A chandelier hung overhead, not sparkly. Serious. Crystal cut like icicles, light softened until it felt like candlelight without the candles.
“Make yourself at home.” he said over his shoulder, tone too casual to be honest.
Then he went up.
No pause to see if she followed. No glance back. Just his footsteps retreating, unhurried, like her reaction was already accounted for.
Lenore stood there a beat, bootless and stranded in the foyer, staring at the space he’d left behind.
She wasn’t in the mood to be anyone’s guest.
She wasn’t in the mood to be kept.
But standing still made her feel like prey, and she refused to give him that, even when he wasn’t looking.
So she moved.
She followed the corridor line toward the heart of the house, the marble giving way to darker textures.
Arched doorways, shadowed alcoves, a few framed pieces that weren’t 'decor' so much as curated warnings. The lighting was low and deliberate, pools of gold that made the corners feel deeper than they were.
And then the kitchen opened up, not modern glass sterile, but with taste.
Her body just stood in the kitchen for a beat too long, staring at the marble island like it might offer legal counsel. She set her purse on the counter, perfectly out of place in a room that looked curated down to the oxygen.
And suddenly, her bladder made the decision for her.
She shifted her weight, glanced toward the staircase Roman had disappeared up like he’d dismissed her with gravity, and chose the option that didn’t involve yelling his name through his mansion.
Lenore slipped out of the kitchen and into the main hall, moving quietly, half out of politeness and half because the house felt like it would remember footprints.
She followed the hallway the way you followed a hunch, eyes scanning for a door that looked guest friendly. Something that didn’t scream private or don’t touch.
She found one tucked off a side corridor. A simple door. No plaque. No welcome. Just quiet confidence.
Inside, the bathroom looked like it had never known chaos. Grey marble again, cold and immaculate. Black fixtures. A mirror framed in dark metal.
Lenore didn't want to linger too long and she used the bathroom fast.
Then slowed down at the sink without meaning to, caught by the details. The faint clean scent. The way even the soap looked like it cost more than her weekly groceries.
She washed her hands, dried them, and stared at herself for half a second too long.
Her face looked normal. Too normal. Like she hadn’t been dragged into a day that kept changing shape.
She shut off the light and stepped back into the hallway.
Her eyes went left first, instinctively, taking in the architecture again, the curves and shadows, the way the house seemed to watch her back.
Then she looked right.
Roman was there.
Just two feet away.
Lenore jumped hard enough her shoulder brushed the doorframe. Her pulse spiked, hot and immediate.
“Fuck!” she snapped, breath sharp.
He was leaned into the wall like he’d been waiting a while, arms crossed over his chest, posture closed and controlled. No grin. No smug. Just… still. Black tshirt, grey joggers, comfy black socks. Already changed. Already home.
His quiet didn’t feel relaxed though.
It felt loaded.
Lenore dragged in a breath and made herself look at him properly, up and down, because if she was going to be startled, she might as well be insulting.
“You got comfortable.” she said, voice sharp with forced composure. “That’s bold for someone who said he’d take me home.”
Roman didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on her like he was measuring something and finding it… inconvenient.
Lenore’s annoyance tightened, the familiar need to fill silence before it swallowed her. "You're too much..."
“And you’ve been power hungry since the evening started.” he said, low. Even. Not loud enough to be a fight. Not soft enough to be anything else.
Lenore blinked, incredulous. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt your perfect day?"
Roman’s gaze slid to her, slow, almost bored, like he’d heard that line before and knew how it ended.
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t push.
He just let the silence open its mouth again and watched her stand there inside it.
Lenore’s pulse kicked anyway, furious at her mind for reacting to the absence of noise.
And with that, she snapped first.
Not with a scene, but with movement.
She turned and headed for the kitchen like she’d remembered she had legs, pride, and an app for disappearing. Calm spine. Calm face. Brain already stacking the steps in order.
Purse, phone, Uber, and gone.
Roman followed, unhurried. Not chasing. Not rushing. Just keeping pace like he already knew how the story ended.
At the island, Lenore slid her purse closer and pulled her phone out. She leaned her lower back into the counter, posture casual on purpose, screen glowing in her palm. One swipe away.
And Roman’s hand came in, unhurried and took it like it belonged to him.
Lenore’s eyes cut up. “What the fuck, Roman.”
He set the phone down across the island, out of reach, like it was a toy she’d proven untrustworthy with.
Then he braced both hands on the counter, one on either side of her, letting the space around her tighten.
A quiet, controlled enclosure that made her breath catch anyway.
Lenore lifted her chin. He was all height and heat above her, the kind of tall that turned arguments into neck strain.
She refused to fold. Refused to retreat. Even if her body wanted to.
“Don’t start your shit.” she warned, voice steady out of spite.
Roman dipped lower.
And her words hit his mouth and died there.
“Make me..” he murmured.
And it landed like a match.
Lenore’s fingers dug into the counter edge, knuckles pale. Her pulse betrayed her. His gaze dropped to her mouth like it was an accusation.
Then he covered it.
No softness. No patience.
His mouth came down with intent onto hers, a claim that swallowed whatever she’d planned to say.
Heat and immediate.
Pressure and deliberate.
He didn’t ask. He tested and took when her body had already given permission.
A sound slipped out of her that she would absolutely deny later.
But then Lenore’s hands left the counter.
She grabbed his shirt at the chest, fist twisting fabric, yanking him closer like she could drag him down to her level through sheer stubbornness. Her teeth bit his lower lip and sucked it as if it were a needy apology.
Roman’s breath hitched against her mouth like he’d been starving and she’d finally stopped pretending she wasn’t food.
His hands left her sides and landed to her waist, fingers closing hard enough to make her feel owned for half a second. Not painful. Not gentle either.
A grip that said stay.
Lenore broke just enough to speak, breath rough and angry and not convincing. “You can't just --”
Roman lowered his head again, mouth brushing along the line of her jaw, not quite a kiss, not quite a threat.
She felt it more than she heard it, the drag of warmth, the way her skin jumped like it was answering without consulting her.
“I can.” he said softly.
Because it wasn’t about her temper, or about her swearing. It was about the way she’d tried to punish him all night and still hadn’t stopped reaching for him.
Lenore’s eyes fluttered up to his gaze, sharp and bright. She stared up at him, still gripping his shirt like a leash.
For a moment, Roman almost did the gentle thing.
Almost pulled her in and said it plain, that he hadn’t meant to make her think the assistant was some message aimed at her. That he hadn’t even clocked who she was. That the timing was accident, not theater.
But then he remembered.
The way Lenore had turned his own tricks into weapons. The way she’d smiled and cut, sweet and surgical, and made him feel it in front of others. The way she’d dragged his control out into the light and dared it to bleed.
And he hated how much it turned him on.
So he swallowed the apology before it could become real. Let the softness die behind his teeth. Letting the urge to comfort her rot into something harder.
Because if he gave her tenderness now, she’d learn she could pull it from him whenever she wanted.
And Roman didn’t stay alive by handing people that kind of power.
And with that, he pulled away. Not far, but close enough to have her presence within his reach.
His eyes dragged over her, slow and merciless, taking inventory like he owned the air between them.
And she was the only thing in it worth counting.
Heat climbed under Lenore’s skin, visible in the way her breathing turned uneven, in the rise and fall of her chest like her body was answering a question she hadn’t agreed to out loud.
Roman watched it happen with a private kind of satisfaction.
He liked her like this, caught between fury and want, trying to hold her ground while her body kept betraying her in small, honest ways.
His gaze dipped to her feet, then snapped back to her face like he’d just made a decision.
“Take it off.”
Three words. Not loud, not negotiable.
Lenore’s breath caught at the command. She kept her expression flat, stubborn, like she hadn’t heard a thing, while her body obeyed with embarrassing need.
Her hands found the waistband of her leggings. She eased them down slowly, the fabric dragging over her thighs, the cold air biting just enough to make her shiver. Her black underwear sat snug, familiar, unapologetic.
Roman watched like he was counting the tells. Scanning every inch off exposed skin.
He spoke lowly, eyes still drinking her in. "Funny, how I'm about to ruin you in a kitchen... again."
Lenore eyes widened a fraction. Only out of the awareness that he's right. But she stayed quiet. Her eyes locked on him, even though his eyes were all over her frame.
And with that, she lifted her sweater next, peeling it up and over, letting it fall next to her leggings with a soft, defeated sound. All she was left in was her light pink bra, along with her black cotton underwear.
The small, stubborn splash of color against everything else she’d been wearing was still a sight that Roman awed over.
His gaze continued to follow up to the curve of her thighs, soft and real. The way her body held warmth even when she was angry.
The way her chest rose and fell, like she was trying to calm down and failing. The soft spill of her plush skin at the edges, the plush curve of her stomach, the honest weight of her hips.
“Don’t move.” he said, low enough to still feel pressed against her throat.
Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
His footsteps went soft down the hall, and Lenore stood there with her arms folded over her stomach. The cold pulling goosebumps across her skin while her pulse kept doing its own loud, idiotic thing.
Roman returned a moment later, dragging a black wooden chair behind him. Somehow it didn’t scrape or complain against the floor, just glided like the house knew better than to make noise for him.
He wasn’t rushing. But there was something in him that moved like urgency anyway, a restraint worn too tight. Almost hurried.
Almost ravenous.
He left the chair off to the side for a heartbeat and turned back to Lenore like he’d made a decision and didn’t need to announce it.
One hand caught her at the waist, the other braced her hip, and he lifted her onto the island in a single, controlled motion.
The marble bit cold against the backs of her thighs.
"Oh, shit, ahh!" Lenore breathed out, sharp and involuntary, and her hands flew to her sides, palms finding purchase with the cold marble while her body tried to catch up.
Her legs stayed closed on instinct, knees drawn together, legs hanging over the island.
Roman watched the reaction like he’d expected it. Like he’d wanted it.
He then turned to grab the the chair and set it directly in front of her, close enough to invade.
And he sat.
His knees angled apart, wide enough to make the space feel smaller, like he’d built another quiet enclosure without touching her yet.
He was lower now, head leveled with her waist, close enough that she could feel his presence like pressure in the air. His hands rested easy, his posture almost relaxed, and somehow it made it worse.
His head tipped back.
Eyes lifting.
And when he met her gaze, it wasn’t smug.
It was intent. And it was dripping with lustful want.
"Spread them for me."
Lenore’s lips parted, her heart performing backflips at the sound of his needy words.
And she complied, spreading her legs for him.
The cool air now hitting her inner thighs and making her shiver. Her body secretly relishing the way how the thin black cloth digged into her sex, the fabric creating a delicious friction that makes her clench.
Roman's hands slid up her thighs slowly, his fingers kneading the soft plushy flesh as they travel upward.
And then, his thumb brushes over her clothed slit. The deliberate pressure making her gasp.
"Fuck." she breathes out, her body trembling slightly.
His gaze stayed at her core, admiring the reactions he was pulling.
“How you can piss me off all day and I still… end up wanting you anyway.” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "Mind, body and soul."
His thumb continued its slow, deliberate passes, now focusing over her clit. The friction of the fabric adding more to the sensation. He can already feel the heat radiating from her core, the way her body is already responding to his touch.
“Why would you assume I’d want to stop this with you?” he asked softly, lashes low, attention fixed on her face. As if he was waiting for a reply.
"Fuck..." she gasped out, her voice breathy and desperate. "I don't... I don't know.."
Her words trailed off as her core begins to coil tighter, the preasure building to that delicious high she knew very well of.
And as if those words tasted wrong, he brought a quick slap down to her aching core. Causing Lenore to yelp, as the sharp sting vibrated through her swollen clit.
The pain was immediate and intense, but it's quickly followed by a delicious warmth that spreads through her center.
“Shit!” she hissed, breath uneven. “Ro --”
Roman lifted his gaze, slow, and took her in like he was studying a reaction under a microscope, fascinated by every flicker she couldn’t hide. There was something cruelly appreciative in it, the way he seemed to savor the edge of her surprise.
“You didn’t answer me. I asked you a question.” he said, calm as ever, his tone almost gentle, as if his hand hadn’t just rattled the room.
Lenore’s heartbeat stumbled. She swallowed hard, buying herself a fraction of a second before she dragged in a shaky breath, like her body was trying to reboot while the rest of her stayed on fire.
“I…” Her voice snagged, trying to find itself again, raw at the edges.
"Oh.." Lenore gasped, as Roman pulls her underwear to the side. The fabric dragging over her slick folds and leaving a clear, thick trail of her arousal. The sensation is both embarrassing and incredibly arousing, making her body tremble now.
And then another slap.
This time it lands directly on her exposed, sensitive clit. No fabric to protect her from the sharp sting, and it makes her cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.
"Fuck!" she cried out, her chest rising and falling faster and faster.
“Don’t hide behind that.” Roman’s voice stayed quiet, almost polite, which somehow made it worse. “I need your words.”
His eyes held hers, steady and merciless. “Answer me.”
Her body trembled from the aftershocks of the fresh slap, clit throbing from the stronger sting. Her walls naturally fluttering in response to the sensation.
"I…” Her voice snagged, then found itself again, raw at the edges. “I... thought you’d done it again. I thought you ... threw it away.”
She swallowed, eyes flashing down at him, offended and wrecked all at once. “Can you really fucking blame me!?”
He watched her like he could see straight through the sentence, down to the raw, messy truth underneath.
Then, abruptly, he gives a third slap, this one harder than the last two. The sting intense, making her cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.
“Fuck! Roman!” Lenore yelped, voice catching on his name like it didn’t know where to land. “I answered you!”
“Stop swearing or I'll keep going.” he said. “You’ve been doing it all day.”
And with that, Roman rose from the chair in one smooth motion and stepped into the space between her spread thighs, placing his hands around them to pull her closer.
Lenore’s breath snagged hard, like her body forgot how to be quiet.
He lets the drenched cloth stay pulled to the side, exposing her now red swollen, slick folds to his gaze. His eyes roam over her slick heat, mentally appreciating the way how compliant she was to his small harshness.
"Take it off.” he said, eyes now landing to her bra.
She didn’t need to answer. She just reached back, fingers finding the clasp by instinct, and let the last piece give way.
The fabric falling away from her chest, her heavy breasts spilling free and settling against her. The cool air hits her sensitive nipples, causing her to shiver.
Then he begins to pull out his throbbing length from under his sweats, the sight of him making her body clench with anticipation.
He spreads her legs wider, giving him better access to her swollen core. The position making her feel exposed and vulnerable. She can feel the cool air on her now wet folds. Her body already seeking more of his touch.
He guides himself between her slick folds, the hot leaky tip already pressing against her clit. The sensation causing him to involuntary fuck her through her swollen folds.
Roman’s breath hitched, then a moan followed, barely there, as if he’d tried to swallow it and failed. The feeling in his stomach turned sharp, inevitable, and his composure started to come undone in small, telling ways.
Lenore's breath catches as Roman's hands begin to palm both her breasts. His fingers kneading the soft flesh.
He watched her breasts sway deliciously with his motion, causing his mouth to slightly water. And he couldn't help but dip low to catch a peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking the sensitive nubs.
The dual sensations making her head spin.
"Ahh!" she cried out, her moans loud and desperate.
His length continues to slide between her slick pink petals, the friction making her mouth part with sounds he relished hearing.
Each glide through her wetness sending sparks that she couldn't get enough.
Lenore's hand leaves the counter, her fingers now wrapping around his thick shaft. She guides his tip to her entrance, already leaking with anticipation.
"Please... Roman." she begged, her voice barely audible, eyes half lidded. Her soft plea pulling his attention to her face.
Fuck..." he breathes out, his voice hoarse. "You're so fucking beautiful when you let go like this."
He breathes out a shaky exhale, not giving Lenore enough time to adjust before he burys himself slowly, dragging out her sounds until he is buried to the hilt.
Lenore cries out, her head rolling back, lips parting in her gasps. The sudden depth of his penetration making her buck into him, and her inner walls clenching around him.
Her hands find his shoulders, grabbing on tightly as she tries to steady herself. Fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, her knuckles turning white as she holds on.
A moment passes.
Both of them relish the fill and stretch. Chests rising and falling with shaky breaths.
All of Roman’s focus temporarily lands on the feeling of her plush walls. Her body desperately trying to swallow him more in.
"Look at you." he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. "Already falling apart."
"And what about yo-- ah!" Lenore's breath catches as Roman pulls out, only to slam back in, hitting her cervix with a sharp, deep thrust.
His head dipped in to her level, lips dragging lightly at the corner of her mouth.
“Shut the fuck up.” he murmured, almost playful, the mockery tucked neatly inside the calm.
Lenore’s eyes stayed on his, his face still close enough that breath felt like contact. Heat climbed fast, and traitorous.
She understood the echo threaded through his tone. The same words she’d tossed at him earlier, returned now with interest, like he’d kept the receipt and was finally cashing it in.
And she said nothing.
Roman's hands grip her hips, his fingers digging into her plush flesh as he prepares to move. He pulls back slowly... and thrusts back in. Over and over. Each movement deliberate and measured.
Each obscene wet sound filling the air, making his cock throb with the motion.
Roman's eyes land at Lenore's flushed, pleasure drunk face. Captivated by the sight of her losing herself to his doing.
And he can't help himself. His needy lips land on her parted mouth, swallowing her moans. His tongue sliding into her mouth, claiming her thoroughly as his cock claims her wet and needy heat.
The heat of her on his tongue, the broken breaths she couldn’t hide, undid his restraint.
His throat gave up a rough, wanting sound, causing Lenore to wrap her legs entirely around his waist.
"Shit... I --” he exhaled, hoarse, the word breaking at the edges like it almost turned into a whimper.
His thrusts pick up slightly, becoming more urgent, more desperate. Each stroke is still deep, hitting her cervix with a sharp, satisfying impact. Not frantic, just precise.
"I’m about to come...” he finally got out, each word scraped raw, and she caught every rough exhale like it belonged to her.
He pulls back one last time, then slams forward, burying himself to the hilt as his climax crashes over him.
His breath stuttered against her lips, a strangled groan leaving as Lenore's core catches the hot spurts of his release.
Her inner walls involuntarily clench around his length, milking him more as he empties himself into her.
He stayed pressed in, movements shrinking, shaking like the moment had finally caught up to him.
Both bodies stayed glued together for a moment, their foreheads resting against each other.
His cum already dripping down her slit, the evidence of his release mixing with her own.
They take a moment to catch their breaths, their chests heaving as their heart rates slowly return to normal.
Roman's eyes meet hers, dark and intense, filled with a mixture of satisfaction.
Then his expression twitched.
A sound slipped out of him, low and breathy, halfway between a laugh and a stunned exhale. His shoulders hitched once, like the reaction got past his guard before he could stop it.
“That’s never happened before.” he murmured, grin spreading slow and bright, almost disbelieving.
Their foreheads separated, but he didn’t really pull back. He stayed close, voice still rough at the edges, like he wanted her to hear it while the heat was still on his tongue.
Lenore’s smile tugged at her mouth, soft and a little stunned, but her eyes stayed puzzled.
“What… has never happened before?”
Roman’s breath hitched again, another quiet laugh slipping out like he couldn’t catch it in time.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to have control. And somehow you…” His gaze dropped, then lifted back to her, frank in the most honest way. “I got there first.”
He let out a small, helpless exhale, still smiling like it offended him. “It’s humiliating. Also… ridiculous.”
A pause, honesty landing clean.
“Your pussy felt too good.”
Lenore blinked, then her smile sharpened, warmer now, like she’d just been handed a secret she could keep forever.
“Relax,” she said, voice low and steady. “Sex isn’t a contest.”
Her fingers slid up, light against him, not soothing, more like claiming. “If anything, I’m more than content.”
Roman’s laugh slowly died on his lips.
And his expression shifted.
He leaned in again and took her mouth like an answer, hands coming up to frame her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks with a tenderness that didn’t match the force of his need.
And then he pulled his face away gently.
“Content.” he repeated softly, like he was testing how it tasted in his mouth.
Then he kissed her once more, slower this time, like he planned to keep her there until she forgot what leaving felt like.