#office fic

[kingkat12]

date night (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, missionary, prone bone, spooning sex, oral sex (female receiving), clit rubbing, teasing, mocking, dom/sub dynamics, Roman as a kind of soft dom, creampie, orgasm denial, thumb-in-mouth, FLUFF!!, flirting, backstory drop lol, and um... angst. sorry. so sorry.

summary: you finally manage to get your boss out on a date, fulfilling your biggest dream-- but does it stay a dream throughout the evening? as a wise man once said, fuck around and find out.

word count: 17,378 (EEK I'M SO PROUD) (AND SORRY LOL)

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a/n: FINALLY!!! oh my god. fucking finally. after 118k words, it's finally happening. and you best believe I inserted my classical music trauma in here, along w some personal easter eggs, and AHHH I AM SO PROUD OF THIS MONSTER, I worked day and night and had so many fucking versions of the ending, so... MWAH, ENJOY!<333

Sooo... phase four was probably the least planned part of my revenge-scheme. An actual date hadn't been on my schedule at all. 

Some part of me hadn't thought I'd have the balls to actually go through with any of the things I had done earlier today, including sucking my boss off under his desk while he was in a meeting, and yet here I was; standing in front of my mirror, very much alive, very much unsued, and very much trying to decide whether I should go for a sultry-but-classy look, or romantic, or just... slut.

My phone was propped up on a chair next to my mirror, tilted just enough so Letha could get a full-body view over FaceTime. She was cross-legged on her bed in a tangle of lavender bedsheets, eating instant noodles straight from the cup, her long blonde hair pushed back with a silk headband like some modern-day Diana who happened to subscribe to Vogue. "Okay, no offence, girl," she said around a mouthful of noodles. "But that dress is not it."

With a gasp, I turned to Letha. "What do you mean? It's sweet!"

"Yeah, but where are your boobs? You can't wear a neckline that high, you're not auditioning for a convent! Push 'em up, girl!"

This was the second nun comment of the day-- I could only groan, shimmying out of the dark-green dress. I let the dress pool around my ankles and kicked it into the pile on the floor, which was starting to look like the aftermath of a very expensive hurricane made of silks, satins, and rogue sequins. "I liked that one," I muttered, stepping over a heel to grab another hanger from the back of my closet. "It had a feeling."

"Yeah... the feeling of a third-grade choir recital," Letha huffed, slurping her noodles. The way she was kicking her legs right now made her look like she was in the middle of watching her favourite episode of trashy reality TV, and she was getting more invested than she should; "You're not going to confess at church! You're going on a date with my crazy cousin, whom I've known since birth, so trust me. I'll know the perfect outfit when I see it."

I rolled my eyes, slipping the next dress off its hanger. It was a soft champagne silk, backless, and entirely unlined. I held it up with both hands and watched Letha's expression change through the phone. Her chewing slowed, and her eyes lit up; this episode of Say Yes to the Dress, date-night edition, seemed to get even better, in her opinion. "There she is!" Letha squealed. "That's the girl I knew in college!"

"... Lee, dear, it's see-through,"

"Exactly!"

"He'd literally see my nipples through this,"

"I repeat... exactly,"

Oh, there was no way in hell.

As I shook my head and started putting the dress away, I heard Letha groaning like I had shut off her TV. 

"That dress was a public indecency lawsuit waiting to happen," I muttered, carefully tucking the hanger back in like I hadn't just contemplated going full femme fatale with no bra. "I don't want to look like a slut! This is the one opportunity for him to see me as something other than..." I couldn't say submissive-- not in front of Letha. "Other than a fuck-buddy, or whatever."

Letha sighed, nodding as she slurped her noodles. "Okay, I get your point," she murmured, letting out a content sigh. "But we still have, like, half an hour until he picks you up. Take your time. No need to panic just yet."

I sighed and scanned the racks of dresses crammed inside my closet, my fingers skipping over the different fabrics; too shiny, too juvenile, too wedding guest-- until I reached the far end, and something black caught my eye. It was tucked between a blazer I had worn twice and a crushed leather robe I had forgotten I owned.

I pulled it out slowly.

It had that low square neckline that sat sweetly just above cleavage level (no one would mistake me for a nun, that's for sure), and a fitted waist that flared slightly at the hips, like it wasn't trying to seduce you-- it just did.

Letha leaned forward through the phone, squinting. "Ooh, wait! Wait. Show me the back!"

I turned it around and held it up. The back dipped into a low scoop that almost touched where my waist began, a tiny satin bow at the base of the spine.

Letha gasped like she had seen God. "Yep! Girl, that's the one!"

"It's kinda... romantic," I said, holding it against me. I could already imagine the way the fabric would fall, soft and slinky, but structured, with just enough movement to catch in the air if I turned too fast. "This doesn't scream corporate slut."

"Exactly! Try it on, bitch!"

Huffing, I stepped into it, careful with the delicate fabric as I tugged it up my waist and over my chest. The straps settled against my shoulders, and when I turned to face the mirror, something in me stilled.

Oh. 

Now, I remembered why I bought this dress in the first place. I stood there, barefoot in my bedroom, staring at my reflection like I didn't quite recognize the woman I saw in the mirror-- but I liked her.

I turned toward the phone again; Letha was quiet for once, her Godfrey-green eyes soft with approval. For all her theatrical eye-rolls and fashion bitchery, she sure knew how to recognize a moment when it showed up unannounced.

"Yeah... this is it," I breathed, smoothing my hands down my sides.

"Fuck yeah," she replied. "He's gonna like you in this, I'm sure of it."

I smiled, but it didn't quite reach all the way-- the high of finally finding the dress settled too fast. The swoop of excitement in my stomach was already beginning to rot a little at the edges, and I sat down on the edge of the bed, still in the dress, still looking like I had stepped out of a perfume ad, and dropped my chin into my hand. "But... what if it doesn't matter?" I mumbled. "What if I do everything right, like the dress, the makeup, the hair-- what if I try my absolute best, and he still only sees me as... the secretary who crawls under his desk?"

Letha blinked, the smug grin slipping off her face just enough to make room for something real. She sat up straighter, pushing her noodles aside.

"I feel so stupid," I continued, a cloud of gloom appearing above me. "Roman isn't going out with me because he wants to... I basically invited myself out against his will. Now I'm just some idiot playing dress-up, or something taken straight out of a failed version of Pretty Woman."

Letha squinted at me through the screen. She looked as if I had just spoken a foreign language, and she was trying to process it. "Okay, first of all? Bitch, no. You didn't invite yourself out," she said, pointing a chopstick at me like it was a weapon. "You cracked open the door he was too emotionally constipated to even knock on, and he walked through it. I know my cousin, if he didn't want to go out with you, he wouldn't have. He'd have scoffed, or given you the same look he always gives me when I ask him if he wants to spend the day shopping with me."

I tried to say something, but she ironed right over me like I was a wrinkle in her shirt-- classic Letha. "You think Roman Godfrey does things he doesn't want to do? Please," she huffed. "And second, he wouldn't have dared to ask you out himself, no matter how much he liked you. This sort of shit is borderline terrifying for that donkey. Remember when he started gagging when you said you thought about him, or something?"

I looked down at my hands, still smoothing over the fabric like I could rub the anxiety out of my skin. "Oh, don't remind me..."

Letha smiled, but it wasn't her smug, teasing smile-- it was soft, yet also a little sad. "Yeah, maybe you made the first move. So what? You had to. Because if you waited for him to do it, you'd be married to someone else with three kids before he ever got the balls to properly look you in the eye,"

I looked down at my hands in my lap, still curved over the folds of the black dress, as if holding it close would anchor me to something. My throat tightened; "I just..." I hesitated. "I keep thinking that if I look pretty enough, or say the right thing, or wear the right amount of perfume, that he'll finally see me as something more than just his... horny secretary, or whatever."

Letha was quiet for a second. "He already sees you as something more,"

I looked up.

"Trust me. He just doesn't know what to do with it," she said. "That fucking baboon..."

That earned the faintest laugh out of me, and Letha caught it, pouncing like a cat. "There she is," she grinned. "There's my hot mess in couture!"

I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt a little lighter-- wiping under my eyes, I tried not to smudge my liner; "Oh, Letha, how I love you,"

"I know you do," she purred, reaching for her noodles again. "Now, go drench yourself in perfume, put on those strappy murder heels, and go ruin my stupid cousin."

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time-- I didn't feel like a girl playing pretend anymore. "Okay..." I breathed. "Okay."

Now, I just had to put on the garter set again.

Time to strap in. 

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I should've known Roman would be the type to show up exactly on time-- honestly, after working for him for a few months, I knew full well he had a peculiar obsession with punctuality. Time, to him, was a currency he never wasted.

Still, when I heard the knock at exactly 20:30, I felt my knees turn to jelly. Tonight, the punctuality felt different-- and with my heart thrumming in my chest, pumping blood to the tingling tips of my fingers, I opened the door.

Oh, Lord, have mercy.

Roman was leaning against my doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other resting casually against the wood, like he had been there forever, like he belonged there-- the low porch light kissed the sharp line of his jaw and faintly grazed the tops of his cheekbones, catching in his hair where it curled slightly at his temple. The rest of him was cast in shadow, but his eyes (God, his eyes) glinted down at me, that green-gold colour impossible to pin down, impossible to ignore.

He was wearing a black shirt, which was simple in theory, yet devastating in practice. The collar was open, the top two buttons undone, and the sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing skin and lean muscle, veins subtly visible where his hands relaxed at his sides.

This was Roman trying to be casual, and failing beautifully-- he looked like someone who had been styled for an expensive cologne ad and gotten annoyed by how well it worked.

I stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, suddenly unsure what to do with the rest of my body. My heart was hammering as Roman's gaze dropped, lingered, then flicked back up like a match catching flame.

His mouth curved, just barely-- a slow, secret smile. "Are you trying to kill me?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but it didn't happen. Words? Forgotten. Vocabulary? Gone. "I-- No?" I managed, hating how breathless and stupid I sounded. Why couldn't I have said something else?

Roman chuckled, smirk curling. "I'm saying you look gorgeous," He leaned in just slightly, just enough for me to feel it-- his height, his heat, the weight of him standing there so still and composed, with his scent filling my every atom. "You gonna let me in?" he asked, voice low.

My lips parted. "You're-- We're not staying,"

His smile widened by a fraction. "No, I know," he murmured. "Just teasing 'ya."

Roman straightened, pushing off the doorframe with easy grace, and tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging down the length of me like gravity. A flicker of heat passed behind his expression, but he didn't let it stay-- he blinked it away, mouth twitching like he wasn't quite ready to let me see how affected he actually was. "Shall we?" he asked, motioning to his car with a nod of his head.

I expected the car from yesterday, but no. Parked under the amber glow of the streetlamp like something summoned, there it was-- a vintage red Jaguar. A deep, glossy cherry-colour, long and low, and growling faintly. 

Oh, I should've known he owned expensive old cars; he definitely seemed like the type of billionaire to do so.

Roman's eyes trailed mine. "Seemed like a nice night to drive myself," he explained, not even trying to suppress his glee as he stepped aside. His hand gently brushed my lower back to guide me down the stairs, and I followed him like I was under some kind of spell, heart beating too fast, air feeling too thin.

Was this a dream? It sure could be. 

"You seem like you're in a good mood," I said, hoping he didn't notice the slight shake in my voice. "I was sort of expecting you to be pissed all night."

Roman glanced over at me as he opened the passenger door. The corner of his mouth lifted-- wry, a little crooked. "I was," he said. "Until I saw you."

And I would've responded, had my heart not detonated in my chest the second I spotted what had been laid out in front of me in the car. There it was-- a massive bouquet of roses, sprawled across the passenger seat like they had been dropped there mid-opera. Deep red, almost black in the shadows, dozens of them; no filler, no bow, just pure, dramatic intent.

My breath caught somewhere in my throat as my brain tried to make sense of it. Roman had left that for me. For me. But the scale of it, the sheer deliberate un-Godfrey-like grandeur, made something uneasy twist in my stomach.

Because... he had said he would get me back. "I'm going to ruin you," were the exact words. Oh God. Was this that?

My pulse spiked. "Wait-- this isn't-- Roman, are these like... are these revenge roses?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I mean-- are you messing with me? Because I know you said you were gonna get me back and this is all so beautiful, it's very beautiful, but also kind of-- terrifying, actually, and I just need to know if this is part of some psychological chess game you're playing with me because honestly that would make a lot of sense for you and I really need to know if I'm supposed to accept them or if I'm about to be arrested for emotional trespassing or--"

"Jesus Christ," Roman muttered, half laughing. 

He stepped closer, one hand still on the open door, the other reaching for the bouquet. He swept it up from the passenger seat and held it out to me; the roses looked almost ridiculous in his grip-- too romantic, too sincere for a man who usually spanked me raw. 

"Take the flowers," he said, voice low.

I stared up at him, wide-eyed. "But?--"

"They're not revenge roses, whatever the fuck that is," he said, sharper now, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. "They're just... roses. Don't people do this shit? If not, then my cousin set me up. She said girls like roses, or whatever."

... Letha?

Oh, Letha was going to get the biggest smooch the next time I saw her. That girl was an absolute angel. I felt myself melt to my spot, my smile cracking brightly across my face as I stared up at Roman, eyes round with affection and awe. "They're lovely," I breathed. "Thank you."

Roman inhaled slowly, like he was trying not to lose face or patience-- then he leaned down, green eyes catching the porch light again, and said, just above a whisper; "If I wanted to punish you, you'd know. And trust me, you'll know when I do,"

All I could manage was a faint noise of acknowledgment, holding onto my smile for dear life. Couldn't let it slip, not now. Still, Roman (damn him) just smiled, lazy and infuriatingly pleased with himself. "Get in the car," he said, still close. "We have a reservation to get to."

Okay, okay.

I sat down, and the door closed behind me with a heavy, expensive thunk, sealing me into the Jaguar's plush leather interior and the thick, dizzying scent of roses. The flowers were a full-body experience-- perfume and drama and colour, pressed against my lap like they knew they were too much and dared me to say so. I smiled down at them, brushing the pad of my index against one of the rose petals, praising myself in my head to the high heavens for somehow stumbling through life on the exact path that had led me here, right now.

Roman slipped into the driver's seat a moment later, his scent curling into the cabin-- spice and something woody, almost cold? It reminded me of the scent he wore during my job interview; did he know that this was a psychological trick? Was he aware that wearing the scent you wore the first time you met someone could evoke stronger feelings? I doubted it. It couldn't have been intentional. Could it? Not unless Letha mentioned that to him in passing, too, that sneaky minx. 

Roman didn't speak right away, and adjusted the mirror with one ringed finger and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. "And you're not as murderous as you were this morning,"

My gaze darted up to meet his in the mirror. "Pardon?"

"You said you thought I'd be pissed," he said with a shrug. "And I thought you'd be out for blood again."

I blinked at him. "I wasn't out for blood,"

"You were a little out for blood," he said, grinning as he reached for the gear shift lever. "I still remember the look in your eyes when you got under my desk. Never seen you like that, that's all. Cutest blowjob ever."

I nearly choked on air. My spine snapped straight against the seat, heat crawling up the back of my neck so fast I was genuinely surprised steam wasn't coming out of my ears. Cute? Was it only that, cute? Not... hot, or whatever? "Roman," 

"What?" he said, all innocence, easing the car away from the curb like he hadn't just casually drop-kicked my dignity into oncoming traffic.

I stared at the dashboard, cheeks blazing, hands folding around the roses like I was at church. "Don't say it like that,"

He flicked on the turn signal, smug as hell. "Would you rather I lie?"

"No-- God, no, I just-- cutest?"

Roman glanced over at me, brows lifting. "It was, though,"

I huffed and stared stubbornly out the window; "You make it sound like I brought you an apple and a love note written in crayon,"

"You kind of did," he said, grinning. "You were all flustered, mean, and mad at me, and then suddenly very... helpful. It was cute."

"Stop saying it was cute! It wasn't cute!"

Roman laughed, an unexpected warm sound-- he was still smiling when I glanced at him, but it wasn't smug this time. "Okay," he murmured, tapping the steering wheel with one ringed finger. "Fine. You want complete honesty?"

I didn't answer-- mostly because I wasn't sure. Did I want honesty from Roman Godfrey? That felt like asking a loaded question with a trapdoor underneath it. 

However, he didn't wait for me to respond; "It was hot," he said, quieter now. "Obviously."

The words landed with more weight than I expected. They settled between us, warm and heavy, and I found myself staring at him-- at the curve of his mouth, at the clean line of his jaw, at the way his throat moved when he swallowed. I swallowed too; "Then... why'd you call it cute?"

Roman shrugged, eyes fixed on the road. "Because I didn't expect it. It got to me," He paused, his fingers flexed once on the wheel, then stilled--

"You get to me," he mumbled. "More than I like."

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe. My heart did something strange in my chest-- it skipped a beat and then made up for it all at once. The air inside the car felt warmer, denser, like the windows were fogging up even though I wasn't moving.

Roman didn't look at me, but I could feel the tension in him too, the way his shoulders pulled just a bit tighter, like he knew he had said too much and wasn't sure what to do with it.

Then, he broke the silence I had loved to swim in for the few seconds he had let me.

"Anyway," he said, slipping back into his teasing voice like armour. "I stand by it. Cutest blowjob ever. Five stars. Would receive again."

"Roman," I huffed, scandalized, as I clutched the roses tighter like they might shield me from the sheer audacity of this man.

"What?" Delight bloomed on his face again. "I'm being nice, am I not? I'm really trying, here."

I opened my mouth to snap something back, some cutting, a witty little retort, but nothing came out-- because the truth was, Roman was being nice. In his own weird, maddening, emotionally catastrophic way. And despite how much I wanted to pretend I had the upper hand, I didn't. Not even close. He had it (he'd always had it), and it was getting harder and harder to pretend I didn't notice the way he looked at me like I was something that lived under his skin. He was trying. He was really trying.

So instead, I shifted slightly in my seat, stared ahead for a beat, then mumbled;

"You get to me, too,"

The words hung in the air for a moment, soft and terrifying. I didn't dare look at him-- my hands were suddenly too still over the roses, my fingers twitching like they wanted to pull the words back before he could really hear them.

But he had.

I felt it more than I saw it-- that  stillness that passed through him like a ripple in deep water. Roman's large hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his veins pulling over his knuckles. However, I knew him well enough by now to recognize that the silence wasn't disinterest. It was the opposite. It was tension. It was held breath. It was something he didn't allow himself to feel or revel in. 

Because for him? Emotion was pain. Always was, always would be.

And then, just as I was about to say something silly to lighten the mood, Roman exhaled. Slow and controlled, his voice came back, low and careful; "Let's just hope no one from corporate or HR sees us. That'd be a lot of explaining that I'm not in the mood for,"

Had I spoiled his mood? I had no idea, but I wanted to beat myself up for it till I bled. "I doubt it," I mumbled, staring straight ahead on the road. "If anything, we'll say you're thinking about giving me a raise, and... I had no other available time to discuss it."

Thankfully, after a beat, Roman briefly tilted his head toward me, one brow arched as he huffed a laugh. "Was that your very subtle way of asking for a raise?"

I blinked. "What?"

He gestured loosely with one hand, his smirk sliding back into place like it had just been waiting for an excuse. "Your whole scheme? You getting back at me for stealing your underwear?" He paused, eyes gleaming. "God, you're good. I've figured you out now."

I let out a disbelieving giggle; "It was never about getting a raise, no," Did he really not know it was about him going down on me? And here I thought he had pieced it all together earlier today.

"You sure?" Roman teased. "Because if it was... consider it approved."

Well, that was a nice change of events? Wouldn't say no to that. Could probably go shopping with Letha more often if I had some extra money in my pockets. Win-win! I turned to him, beaming. "Great! I'll have your assistant draft the paperwork,"

His grin deepened; "You are my assistant,"

"Exactly. That's why you should be worried,"

Roman laughed, low and genuine, and the sound washed over me like warm water. Just like that, the tension unraveled. It didn't completely fade, no-- it just tucked neatly beneath the surface again, traded for the rhythm we knew, and the flirtation we could hide inside.

... For now.

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I had dreamed about this restaurant-- quite literally.

It had been in one of those Vogue catalogues that Letha had thrown all around her room back in college, and I had added it to my mental locker; I was definitely hoping to visit this place someday. However, when I had searched up the prices of the food, and searched up who usually attended this place, I very clearly remember sinking deeper into my bed and willing myself gone. Some things were just supposed to be out of reach, right? Or, well, I held onto the hope that I could get Letha really drunk on cosmopolitans one day, and that she'd then take me here and pay for everything-- that would've been my ticket.

But now? 

Now, Roman Godfrey had his hand on the small of my back as the hostess led us to our seats. What even was life? He didn't even need a surname check, they didn't even ask his name-- no, his fingers had been dipping into the low back of my dress, drawing a teasing circle into my skin as he walked up to the hostess like he wasn't doing anything of that nature at all, and she had simply nodded. She knew who he was. Of course he didn't need to announce who he was. Fucking hell. 

I was also quite sure we had just passed by the mayor of Pennsylvania, who was swirling his drink as he spoke to his very, very stylish deputy mayor-- weren't they accused of having an affair just a few weeks ago? I wasn't sure. I remember skimming past that part of the magazine, and going directly to page six to gawk at pictures of Roman instead. Still, what got to me was that no one batted an eye at any of the people at this restaurant-- of course they didn't. Not at the mayor, and not at Roman, because neither of them was out of place here, in the midst of the elite.

I was the anomaly.

But I certainly didn't look like one. 

The hostess led us to a tucked-away table at the edge of the dining room, semi-enclosed by frosted glass and real vines suspended like art. It was private, dimly lit, and humming with warmth. When Roman pulled out my chair for me, I felt my cheeks burn as I gave him a breathy thank you, trying not to show how wide my eyes had gone. Seriously, who was this guy? Where was my boss who had made me hump his shoe?!

God, the menu was heavy. The napkin was embroidered. The glasses were so thin I was afraid to touch mine-- Vogue knew what they were talking about, back in the day.

"Still thinking about the raise?" Roman asked once we were alone, eyes glittering from across the table.

I smirked, slipping into our familiar rhythm like I wasn't floored by this place-- there was no way I'd let him know that I was. "I'm mostly thinking about what I'm going to wear after you give it to me,"

He leaned back, clearly pleased. "Good. Think lace,"

I shot him a look.

"Lace, and easy to get out of," Roman added, grinning. "The stuff you wore today was hot, but impossible."

"Is that right?" Oh, someone's been thinking about that. I shrugged, chin high, like I wasn't about to floor him; "Sadly for you, I'm still wearing it."

Roman let out a quiet, dramatic hiss before slowly, deliberately, sinking a little into his seat, visibly happy about it. One hand rested casually on the table, his fingers brushing the base of his wine glass, not bothering to dim his broad grin. "Cruel," he murmured. "Cruel thing to say to a man trying to behave himself."

My pulse jumped, and I could only smile softly at the menu, dismissing him (mostly for my own good). I'd melt if I didn't, I was sure of it.

Roman tilted his head, studying me like I had become something entirely new in the last few seconds. "You know that you're making this hard for me, don't you?" he went on, lazily dragging his thumb along the rim of his glass. "You sit there looking like that, talking like that, and expect me to what? Order steak and talk about traffic?"

"I expect you to try," I said, sweet as pie, before putting down the menu and folding my hands on the table like I hadn't just wrecked him on purpose.

Roman huffed a short laugh, shaking his head once. "See, this is the problem. You used to get flustered when I so much as looked at you,"

"I did not!"

"You did. You've even confessed to it. And now?" He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table, eyes heavy-lidded and burning. "Now you're saying shit like that and sitting here like you're not doing it on purpose."

I arched a brow, matching his tone, bite for bite. "Maybe I am doing it on purpose,"

Roman's grin sharpened--"Then I guess I'll take that raise off the table,"

"Or under the table," I countered. "I distinctly remember you like that."

He blinked, just once, and then let out a low, half-scoff of disbelief. "Jesus Christ,"

Thankfully, the waiter chose that exact moment to appear, asking if we were ready to order.

Roman didn't look at the menu. Didn't need to. He waved a hand, said something in French (of course he spoke French, that little aristocrat), and then nodded to me with a devil-may-care smirk like you're in good hands, trust me.

And just like that, the waiter vanished, and we were alone again.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was thick, almost luxurious, like the candlelit restaurant had settled in around us, happy to let the tension simmer and stretch. Roman sipped his wine, eyes hooded-- I felt like a goddess every time he looked at me like that. So, with a light blush, I traced a finger along the rim of my glass, pretending to be absorbed in the movement, even though my entire body was still buzzing.

Then, finally, I said; "So..."

Roman's brow raised, amused. "So?"

I shrugged. "I realize I don't actually know anything about you. This is the perfect opportunity," The perfect opportunity I had so perfectly stumbled upon while crafting my revenge. 

"You know plenty," Roman said, shrugging back at me with a teasing mimic. 

"Sure," I murmured. "I know you're rich, emotionally unregulated, and deeply committed to corrupting your employees."

Roman smiled-- slow and lazy. "All true,"

"But I mean... outside of that. What do you do when you're not emotionally destabilizing me in the workplace?"

He leaned back a little, watching me like he wasn't entirely sure if this was a trap. "You're asking what I do for fun?"

"Yes," I said. "Or at the very least, what you pretend to enjoy in public."

Roman was quiet for a beat, his expression unreadable; "I didn't take you for the type to make dinner feel like an interview,"

"I'm not. I just..." I hesitated, then shrugged again. Was this my go-to nervous tick? "I'm curious, that's all. All I've seen of you is, well-- this. The office. The flirting. The mean days. And, of course, the power plays."

Roman was still for a moment, watching me over the rim of his glass. Then, he set it down gently and said, almost too easily-- "I read,"

"You read?" I repeated. Of course he did. 

Roman nodded; "Yes. Books. Pages. Sentences,"

"Funny,"

"I thought so,"

I squinted at him. "Are we talking Wall Street Journal or French poetry levels of reading?"

Roman's grin returned, slower this time. "I'll let you imagine whatever version of me you want,"

"No, don't do that," I leaned a bit closer over the table, crossing my legs (no fishy business, I promise), and dropped my voice a little. "Be real with me, if only just for one night."

Roman stared back at me, a bit confused perhaps, and the stem of his wine glass caught between his fingers as he watched me from across the table. Candlelight flickered softly against the deep angles of his face, his eyes unreadable but alert, like he was weighing something in silence. I knew it was probably a little much to ask him to open up, but I so desperately wanted to know him, just a little bit, and--

"You're gonna laugh," he mumbled.

My brows raised; "I wouldn't,"

"You would,"

"You don't know that. I might find it cool,"

Roman sighed, giving up, giving in. He didn't look at me when he spoke. "I know how to code. I read about that, new softwares, and so on,"

There was a beat of silence as the words hung in the air-- dry, understated, almost absurd in the candlelit glow of one of the city's most expensive restaurants.

I stared. "You... code?" What was so embarrassing about that?

Roman finally looked up, and the expression on his face was equal parts sheepish and annoyed. "Yes," he muttered. "Code. Python, Swift, JavaScript. Y'know... nerd shit."

I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. It was ridiculous to me that he seemed so horrified by it. "You code," I repeated, grinning now. "For fun? For work?" Hot, hot, hot. 

He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose; "No, not for fun. I don't sit around hacking into the Pentagon for sport. It's... I don't know, calming sometimes? It's mainly logical, and it makes my brain buzz. Everything's either broken or it works, there's no in-between. There's something satisfying about that,"

My grin softened, and so did my eyes. I steepled my fingers and put my head on top of them, feeling my heart thud with warmth. "Roman Godfrey," I purred. "You're actually kind of cool."

Roman narrowed his eyes at me, but he didn't look away; if anything, something about the way I said his name made him hold my gaze longer than usual. His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a warning; "Don't get carried away," he mumbled.

But I didn't have to-- he was already softening. I could see it in the way his pupils dilated that he was relieved, and maybe even flattered. 

Roman leaned back a little, the flickering light catching in his cheekbones and the gold edge of his irises. His fingers traced a coy circle against the base of his wine glass, and he let out a quieter sigh-- less annoyed now, more... reluctant affection. "I used to build little apps back in boarding school. Dumb shit, mostly. But my greatest work was when I made one that could replicate teacher log-ins,"

My jaw dropped. "Roman!" Little cheater!

"Relax," he said, lips curving into something slow and wicked. "It ended up being a good thing, believe it or not. My friends and I used to joke that our history teacher was a pedo, and when I got his passwords... I also got hold of his Google searches. Incriminating stuff, let me tell you."

A cold chill crept across the back of my neck-- that took a turn. "What did you... do with that?"

Roman shrugged like this was the most casual story ever; "I printed the searches, and mailed them anonymously to the headmaster. No note. Just a USB and a folder, and the teacher disappeared from campus a week later. Administration didn't even ask questions. Quiet investigation, quiet settlement. All of it got swept under the rug, but he never came back... So, yeah, I felt like Batman for a good few weeks after that. Good times,"

My chest tightened, not out of fear, but out of some breathless, involuntary awe. Not just because Roman had done that, but because I could tell by the way he told it that no one had ever thanked him-- no one had even known. I stared at him, and for a long moment I forgot where we were; the restaurant, the flickering candle, the impossibly thin wine glasses, all of it.

"You're..." I exhaled, pulse fluttering. "You're not who I thought you were."

Roman gave a one-shouldered shrug, like it didn't matter, like he hadn't just revealed one of the most private, morally complicated things about himself. "No one ever is,"

"Yeah," I breathed. "You're Batman."

Roman blinked at me once, and then let out a low, startled laugh that pulled straight from his chest. It was that rare kind of sound I had only ever heard from him a handful of times; unguarded, full-bodied, and warm. He tipped his head back slightly as it escaped him, as if even he was surprised by it. "Christ," he muttered, smirking as he brought his hand to his mouth. "You're going to dine out on that forever, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am," I said, grinning now, my voice soft with delight. "Roman Godfrey, brooding CEO by day, Gotham vigilante by night."

"You're ruining the brand," he warned, still smiling.

I leaned my chin into my hand and blinked at him, faux-innocent. "I like learning about the real you,"

"Oh, I take it back, now,"

"Nope. Too late. I already like him,"

That made Roman still again-- but this time, the tension was different. Subtler. It was in the flick of his eyes as they searched mine, the slight parting of his lips, the way his fingers stilled against the wine glass like he had forgotten it was there. The candlelight caught the edges of his face, carved them softer now.

Mercifully, just on time, the waiter returned. The plates were set down with delicate precision; our steaks, sides in tiny, glimmering copper bowls, steam curling into the space between us. Roman thanked him with a nod and a quiet ça ira, and then we were alone again.

The air was warmer now from the plates, the pause, and the quiet simmer of my words still hanging in the air-- I wasn't taking them back. No, he'd have to sit with them, and let them sink in. I liked him, and he had better get over that soon enough. With a shaky sigh, I picked up my fork and knife, eager to redirect all this... weight sitting in my chest. I didn't want to break whatever thread had been strung between us, but I didn't quite know how to sit in it either. I sliced into my steak, slow, pretending my fingers weren't trembling just a little.

But then, just as I was about to take the first bite, knife halfway through the cut--

"You have a minor in music, right?"

I looked up, startled. He remembered? 

Roman was watching me with a different kind of intensity now-- not flirty, not teasing, but perhaps a bit... curious? "It's in your CV," he said. "We discussed it during your interview. It was for extra credits, right?"

"Yeah," I breathed, feeling my eyes soften. "I play the piano. Or, played is probably the better term. Haven't touched it since I graduated."

Roman didn't say anything at first-- he just watched me with that unreadable look, silently slicing into his steak. His posture was deceptively casual, elbow on the edge of the table, shoulders relaxed, but something in the set of his jaw gave him away; there was a flicker behind his eyes, like a thought that almost surfaced, then didn't. Was it interest?

"Shame," he finally said, voice low. "Why?"

I was surprisingly on guard, more so than he had been when it was his turn. "Um," I mumbled, my shoulder doing that nervous tick thing again. "I never particularly liked it. I was forced to take lessons because everyone in my family plays, and I was also forced to practice on the weekend my whole life, so... it didn't form a particularly healthy bond. I've loathed it my whole life."

Roman wasn't eating the steak. Why wasn't he eating? Why wasn't I? Why were we staring at each other like children lost in a forest, unable to look away?

"But you did it in college?" he asked, not blinking.

"Yeah," I breathed, not blinking either. "For the credits."

"Right... What made it bearable, then?"

Oh, what a question. "It felt cool when I finally finished learning a piece," I mumbled, a bit quieter than intended. Why was I so timid, all of a sudden? "And I like this composer, Rachmaninov. His pieces were too hard for me to play, but it was fun to explore sometimes."

And suddenly, it felt like everything that had frozen started moving again-- because suddenly, Roman let out a loud scoff, half a laugh, as he finally took the first bite of his steak. He chewed, nodding to himself as though processing how to say what he wanted to without being rude. Then, when he was done-- "Rach is a menace,"

My brows drew together, and I let out an incredulous laugh. "Rach?" I echoed; only people that knew music called him that. 

"Oh, yeah," Roman said, casual as ever, before nodding to my food. "Eat."

Confused, I finished cutting my steak, taking a rather disoriented bite of the best steak I had ever had. I would have melted and complimented it, thanked him for ordering it, but I couldn't shake the inkling I suddenly got. "What, you don't like Rach?"

At that, Roman chuckled. "You need hands the size of Russia to get through the second page of anything he writes, that's all," he said, matter-of-factly. "It's beautiful music, you will never catch me denying that, but that man made it impossible to play if you don't have massive hands. Menace, I tell you."

My eyes were probably wider than the plate before me. "You play, too?"

It was as though he hadn't heard me for a few seconds-- Roman proceeded eating, humming in delight. "My family is Slavic," he said when he finished chewing. "If you don't play the piano, you're a bastard child with no right to eat. Of course I do."

It was comical, the way he delivered it-- so deadpan, so dry, as though the words hadn't just cracked the entire night open. "You play!" I beamed, my steak momentarily forgotten on my fork. "You play the piano and you've been sitting there this whole time letting me monologue about it like I'm the only tortured soul at this table?"

Roman tilted his head slightly and took another bite, chewing slowly, deliberately. "I was enjoying myself,"

"You're the menace," I breathed, stunned. "Not Rach!"

"Says the woman who just tried to gaslight me into thinking she never got flustered around me," he shot back, then nodded toward my plate again. "Eat. You're embarrassing me."

We stared at each other, utterly ridiculous and beaming. The flickering candlelight made his cheekbones look even sharper, his grin even more boyish in his gorgeous black shirt. I couldn't believe I was sitting here across from Roman Godfrey, of all people, trading war stories about Romantic-era composers like it was casual.

I tilted my head, beaming. "Do you still play?"

Roman hesitated for the first time-- not guarded, not evasive, just... hesitant. "Sometimes," he mumbled. "My mother sometimes pressures me to play when I come over. She always falls asleep when I do, though, so I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

I snorted, probably a little too loudly for this fancy restaurant-- that earned me an echo of a snort back from Roman, and it rolled out into a short, shared laugh.

"What do you play?" I managed, feeling my cheeks rosy.

"Debussy. Always Debussy,"

"Oh, of course you do," I whispered, and I couldn't stop the warmth that bloomed in my chest. "That makes sense."

Roman didn't respond at first-- he just looked at me. Really looked. Then, slowly, he put down his cutlery and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You talk like you've done this your whole life,"

"Well," I said, smiling into my wine glass. "It seems you have, too."

"Touché," he murmured, but he was still watching me, eyes darker now, more thoughtful, like... maybe, for a moment, he saw something in me that he didn't quite know what to do with-- then, he turned it into something he knew very, very well. "You know what they say about piano players?"

I knew what was coming. I could see it in the way his green eyes gleamed with mischief. I sighed, unable to suppress my grin; "Hands?"

Roman's lips curled like he had been waiting for the bait. "Mm," he hummed, eyes never leaving mine. "Fast hands. All that repetitive motion..." He dragged the sentence out slowly, almost lazily, as if the words themselves were meant to touch me. "A lot of discipline. Lots of control, they say."

I swallowed around nothing. "Sounds exhausting," I said, trying to keep my voice steady-- still, it came out lower than I meant it to. God, how I wanted his hands on me again. They were surprisingly addictive. 

Roman smiled wider, sinking a little further back into his chair like he could feel the air between us change, like he wanted to watch me squirm with a better view. "Depends who you're playing for," he murmured. "But if you tire quickly, you're in luck. I'm always happy to take the lead, and... finish the piece, per se."

There it was, hanging between us, heavy and undeniable.

"We shouldn't be talking like this in public," I teased, barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" Roman murmured, voice dropping. "You're the one who wore that dress."

I let out a small, breathy laugh. I hadn't even remembered what I was wearing until that moment, until his eyes dragged lower like he was picturing how it clung to me when I stood, and how it would feel bunched up. Wrinkled. Peeled off, perhaps.

Roman's fingers ghosted along the rim of his glass again, and he added, quieter now-- "You're doing that thing again,"

"What thing?"

His thumb pressed against the glass, slow. "Making me wonder what you'd do if I stopped behaving,"

I blinked slowly, heat pulsing just under my skin. Oh my God.

Roman leaned forward again, just enough to tip his shadow into mine. His voice was soft, and deadly calm; "I'll find out later,"

My heart thudded so hard I felt it in my throat.

"Eat your steak," he said next, eyes glittering with victory. "You're going to need the energy." ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Phase five, the last phase, was about to be in motion.

But... God, I hadn't been this nervous since I handed in my bachelor's thesis. What was wrong with me? Why did I feel like a virgin all over again?

The night was dark and honey-thick, warm in the way only a summer night could be after the world had already fallen asleep-- the darkness reminded me of how long we had stayed at the restaurant. We wouldn't have stayed there so long had we not had a good time, though, right? My brain was going into overdrive, and I suddenly had a hard time swallowing. Fucking hell. The city had quieted down to a soft hum, and Roman's Jaguar purred low at the curb outside my building, headlights off, heat still curling from the engine like breath.

I hadn't moved to get out yet. Neither had he.

Roman was half turned toward me, one hand lazily ghosting along the steering wheel, and the other draped along the back of my seat, his ring grazing my shoulder without touching it. His collar was still open, and his hair had fallen slightly out of place since dinner. It made him look looser, younger, and impossibly hotter. How was that even possible? There was a low sort of satisfaction in the set of his mouth, like he hadn't planned to enjoy himself tonight but somehow ended up doing just that.

The streetlamps spilled gold across the windshield. I didn't want to leave, not yet.

"I know I made a fuss earlier today, but you don't have to do anything," I blurted out, softening my voice-- not because I meant to, but because I felt unbearably guilty. Suddenly, my whole plan felt ridiculous; so what if he took my underwear? Why should I corner him into going down on me just cause he pissed me off? Not only did I feel childish, but also... embarrassed. This wasn't how proper adults behaved, right? 

Roman didn't answer right away-- he let out a short, quiet scoff of a laugh. "Do what?" he murmured.

"Prove a point," I mumbled. "That you go down on women, or whatever. Forget all of that. It all feels really stupid, all of a sudden."

The silence that followed was not quiet-- it was charged. I briefly glanced at the roses in the back seat before my fingers curled in my lap, gripping the hem of my dress to keep from saying something even worse.

Roman shifted, just slightly, and the arm behind me slid lower, grazing the edge of my seat. I felt the weight of his stare before I met it-- his green eyes cut to mine like a slow exhale. "You don't want me to anymore?" he asked, voice low and steady. "I thought we had a good time."

I looked at him, startled, but not because of the words. It was the tone. He sounded... genuinely puzzled. Not offended, like I had expected. There was something grounded and adult about Roman right now that threw me off my impression of everything going on. 

"We did. I just... " I dropped my gaze, focusing on my hands and how small they looked in my lap. "I feel like I turned it into a game. It feels a bit wrong, now that you've sort of... become a person to me."

At that, after a breath, Roman leaned back slightly against the leather, the fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest as he shifted. "I get it," he said, glancing away, his fingers grazing the edge of the steering wheel again. "I do. The games make it easier. If it's a game, then it doesn't have to matter. Doesn't have to get close." His voice dropped a little lower. "But it does get close. I think that's secretly been the point all along."

My pulse stuttered-- "Oh?"

Roman turned back to me then, the shadows of the night dancing softly across the sharp line of his jaw, and for a moment, he looked younger again-- like he didn't have the burden of being my boss, or a CEO, just in this minute. "Look," he murmured. "You don't have to apologize for playing along or for creating your own games. That's why this works. That's why it's still working, whatever this is between you and I."

He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching like he could barely keep himself from smiling. "I've never met someone who... truly understood how to play my games before. I've felt like a freak imposing myself on willing girls all my life because of it, too. But you play along, and you get it," Roman's pupils had somehow dilated, and I could almost see the way his pulse beat up along the side of his throat-- "Or... am I wrong here?"

My breath caught.

God, I could feel it, the way he was looking at me-- he wasn't asking for sex, or permission, or even forgiveness, but recognition. For confirmation that he hadn't imagined it, that the electricity between us hadn't been a product of his own private delusion, and that we were both just as sick and twisted as the other. 

I was fucking burning now, and there was no way to help dim the fire, not even as I spoke; "You're not wrong," I breathed. "I haven't felt so... free to be me before. With you, I make sense."

... That did it.

Roman let out a breath like he had been holding it for hours. The tension in his jaw eased, and his hand, the one still draped along the back of my seat, finally dropped, brushing softly against the bare skin of my arm.

I watched his lips part, ready to speak, but before he could impose his attachment issues on me and pull away, I spoke before he could, just to catch him to it; "I know it scares you," I blurted out, anxiety rushing through my veins. "I know. And also I know I should keep quiet, but if you could just give this a chance, I could?--"

"Invite me up,"

The words stopped me cold. My breath caught, literally stopped mid-inhale, and I scanned Roman over and over in search of a teasing smile, smirk, anything.

But... I could only find sincerity. Maybe a hint of want. The night had fallen so dark I could barely see him, yet the green in his eyes found mine with unwavering certainty. What he was certain of, I wasn't sure-- but it was convincing as ever. 

I swallowed. "You sure?"

"Yes," he said.

"I promise you won't have to--"

"I've been waiting to kiss you all night, and I need to get you alone to do it the way I want to. Invite me up,"

"Okay," I squeaked, unable to suppress the smile that crept up my face. 

I didn't need night-vision to know Roman was smirking down at me through this darkness. "Good girl," he murmured, before retreating his hand to kill the engine. 

When I got out of the car, the air met me like a wall, humid and summer-sweet. The street was still empty, quieter than ever before, with the moon tucked somewhere high above us. 

Roman rounded the front of the car without a word and met me on the sidewalk-- he didn't touch me. Not yet. But the way his eyes moved over me made my pulse stutter, and made my knees feel weak, like his hands were already on me in every place I wanted them most. The night wrapped around us, thick and honeyed, holding its breath the same way I was.

He stopped just close enough that I could feel his heat, the faintest brush of his sleeve against my bare arm as the breeze shifted. His jaw was set, sharp in the glow of the streetlamp, but his mouth... God, his mouth looked so fucking soft.

"This way," I whispered, because anything louder felt like it would shatter the moment. My voice sounded strange to my ears, thin and tight, laced with all the wanting I couldn't hide; I started walking toward the building entrance, fumbling for my keys with hands that wouldn't quite stay steady. Stupid, stupid girl.

Roman followed, silent but not absent-- I could feel him behind me, every step a shadow pressed close to my spine. It was unbearable, knowing he was there and choosing not to touch me yet, like he was dragging out the anticipation on purpose, savouring it, savouring me.

When I reached the door, I paused to unlock it, but my fingers slipped once, twice. Oh, you fucking idiot. My pulse was thrumming too, drowning out everything else. 

I felt Roman step closer, just behind my shoulder now, his presence a slow, deliberate pressure. "Relax," he murmured, his breath grazing the curve of my neck, low enough that no one but me could hear. "You're shaking."

"I'm not," I managed, even though the key definitely trembled in my hand. "I'm fine."

Roman's mouth curled, the ghost of a smile I didn't dare look at directly. "Yeah, that's right... Lie to me, sweetheart, go on," 

His voice was dark velvet, sinful in how much it seemed to like my denial-- and before I could even form a reply, before I could process what he had just called me, Roman's lips were on my neck.

They were soft at first, just the faintest brush, a whisper of contact that sent lightning down my spine; but then his mouth opened against my skin, warm and deliberate, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch, sharp and needy, and fucking hell, how my knees wobbled.

"Roman--" I gasped, not even sure what I was asking for, or what I was warning him about.

He hummed low in his throat, like he had been waiting for that sound all night. Then, in one seamless, impossibly smooth motion, his hand came around mine-- his long fingers plucked the trembling key from my grip like it belonged to him, like I belonged to him. A flick of his wrist, a turn of metal, and the door clicked open before my brain caught up.

And then he had me.

Roman's hand found my hip, firm and possessive, guiding me forward with effortless strength. The next thing I knew, I was inside, the cool air of my air conditioner coming toward me like a saviour of a breeze. The door swung shut with a heavy thunk behind us, and before I could even think about flicking on the light, of excusing the small size of my apartment, Roman pressed me back against the door, hard enough to make it rattle softly in the frame.

Roman's body closed in on mine like water filling a glass, deliberate, all-encompassing, leaving no escape as he was pulled me under, drowning me sweetly in his gravity.

His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face up, and then his mouth was on mine.

It was a passionate, molten press of lips that stole every thought from my head, all heat and inevitability, like he had known exactly how this kiss would feel long before it happened-- this was the kind of kiss you'd give when you've been thinking about someone for hours, for weeks, for longer than you'd ever admit.

I sighed into him, helpless, my hands lifting to his chest, clutching at his shirt just to stay upright. And then, God help me, his tongue brushed mine-- just a tease, a slow, deliberate glide that pulled a sound from me I didn't even recognize, quiet and desperate against his mouth. Roman tasted like wine and salt and something darker, something entirely his; he deepened the kiss then, angling my chin with his fingers, his lips moving with devastating precision, coaxing me open, drawing me closer, until every nerve in my body was crying out for more.

Roman breathed against my mouth between kisses, low and rough, like it cost him something to not have me up against the door right in this moment. "Fuck..." he murmured, lips brushing mine with the word. "Been thinking about this all night..."

My head spun, every nerve lit up and tuned to him, my body melting like it had been waiting for this exact moment, this exact kiss, all my life. "Roman," I whispered, voice shaky and small against his mouth. I kissed him again, because breathing felt impossible if I didn't, and when I pulled back just barely enough to speak, my confession slipped out before I could stop it; "Me too. Think about you-- like this, all the time."

A beat of silence passed between us, heavy and thick, and then, in that low, cocky tone that always managed to undo me, Roman murmured, "I know,"

My pulse stuttered, heat flooding my chest, my stomach, my thighs, because somehow, hearing him say it so certainly, so damn sure of himself and me and us, made something inside me ache in the sweetest, most dangerous way.

Roman kissed me again, slower this time, as if to underline his point, his hand sliding from my jaw down to my neck, my shoulder, skimming over my arm until his fingers laced with mine. He didn't let me think, didn't give me a second to overanalyze the moment-- just pulled me forward, away from the door, his lips brushing mine as he spoke, voice rough with want; "Bedroom?"

I nodded, quick and breathless, my heart hammering like it might break free of my ribs. "Down the hall," I whispered, holding back a girly, delirious giggle. "Last door on the left."

Roman's mouth curved, just barely-- a dark, satisfied shadow of a smile. "Take the lead,"

"That's a first with you," I mumbled, unable to hold back the joke. 

Roman's laugh was low as he followed close behind, clutching my hand. "Don't get used to it," he murmured. "I'm only letting you lead because I like watching you walk ahead of me. Your ass is fantastic in that dress."

Heat pooled low in my stomach at that, and I swore my knees almost buckled. My fingers tightened around his, where they were still laced with mine, pulling him with me like he was the only thing keeping me upright. "Pervert," I purred, glancing at him over my shoulder with that playful look I knew he loved. "And here I thought you were being a gentleman."

Roman's grin sharpened, wicked as ever, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the hallway. "Oh, no, I never claimed to be a gentleman," he drawled. "I want to be a little nice to you tonight, that's all."

The words landed low in my heart, molten and heavy-- fucking hell, I wasn't going to survive this night without permanent heart damage, was I?

I pushed the door to my bedroom open, and before I could even breathe, Roman's hand slid from mine to my hip, his mouth dipping to my ear. "Your room's cute," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of it, the heat of his breath making me shiver.

With the way my cheeks burned, I was sure my face was about to melt off. "At least it's not a red dungeon, like I fear yours is,"

Roman made a low, pleased sound in his throat, pushing the door shut behind us with his foot. "Good guess," he muttered, before turning me toward him, his hand cupping the back of my neck.

He didn't waste another second-- the moment my body turned to his orbit, his mouth was back on mine; urgent, like the kiss earlier had only been a preview and now he couldn't hold back.

Our mouths collided with a need so sharp it felt like real, true hunger-- think cannibalism. I had no idea what came over me when I moaned against him, and Roman seized the moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding in to meet mine like he knew exactly what I needed, like he'd been dreaming of this as long as I had.

It was messy, wet, overwhelming-- desperate.

After all this time of not touching each other, of being starved, of depriving ourselves of one another, it had culminated in whatever this moment was. Roman's hands moved with purpose, one at the base of my neck, the other already sliding down the curve of my spine to grip my ass, pulling me into him like he wanted to feel every inch of me. I clung to him, tugging him closer like I'd fall apart if there were even an inch left between us.

Roman groaned against my mouth, low and raw. "Fuck, you're--" His voice broke off like he didn't have the language for it. "This--"

He kissed me again, bruising now, shoving me back a step. Then another. He was walking me backward, and I didn't even care where we were going, bed, floor, wall, whatever-- so long as I could keep kissing him like this.

When the back of my knees hit the bed, I gasped ever-so-slightly, and Roman finally broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down my neck with a hunger that left no room for teasing with open-mouthed, hot kisses at my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. "You don't even know," he murmured, dragging his mouth back up to mine. "How bad I've wanted this. Wanted you. In that dress, which is stupidly short on purpose, like what the fuck, you're--"

"Wrong," I panted, tilting my head back for him as his mouth found that spot just beneath my ear. "Not-- on purpose."

Roman's laugh was breathless, shaky, like he couldn't believe I was real. "Liar," he growled. His hand properly groped my ass now, just firmly enough to make my breath hitch.

"Roman--" I gasped, already off balance. 

"Down," he said. "Now."

I thought that had been an order, something for me to obey once again, but that was way before I realized it was a warning. 

Because suddenly, we were both a bit off balance, too taken with each other to properly think-- however, somehow, Roman used the momentum to wrap around me, throwing me down to the mattress with one rushed, gentle push. 

I landed on the mattress with a shocked squeal, and he followed, his body moving over mine like a tide he could barely hold back. Roman loomed above me as I giggled from the shock, and he straddling me without fully settling his weight, his hands bracing on either side of my head, and I swore the room shifted around him, like the heat between us warped the air-- my giggles died down with the next beat of my heart, feeling it swell with want. 

Roman leaned down-- closer, lips ghosting mine, but not kissing me just yet. "Say it," he whispered. "Say you wanted me to snap."

I blinked up at him, dizzy and impossibly turned on. "I--"

"Say it,"

"You know I did," I whispered, barely more than a breath.

And then his lips met mine-- no warning this time, no slow burn; just hunger, full and unrestrained, all tongue and breath and need. Roman's large hand slid down, pushing my dress higher, fingers bunching the fabric at my waist before moving to the clasp of my garters-- that was when he groaned. Frustrated, exasperated, and delightfully wrecked, he broke the kiss, panting slightly against my cheek. "Jesus Christ," Roman muttered, like he was scolding me and himself in one breath. "I forgot about these. Do you know how long this is going to take?"

Fuck. My garters. 

I let out a breathless laugh, my eyes fluttering open to catch the wild look in his-- Roman looked like he was barely holding it together. "I thought it would be harder for you to steal anything like this," I managed, voice tight with laughter and lust. "What did you think was holding the stockings up?"

"I didn't think," he bit out, dragging his palm down my thigh like he might rip the whole thing off. "I didn't plan on losing my fucking mind tonight, thank you very much."

"You're doing great, sir," I whispered, grinning, too drunk on the sight of him undone to realize my slip-up.

The word hung there, thick and electric in the space between us, and I realized what I'd said a second too late. It hit me that he was still my boss, still the guy on the cover of Forbes-- fuck, had I hidden that magazine well enough? Where was it?

But... Roman smiled. Slowly. Darkly. Like the word alone had just tipped him over the edge of something he didn't even realize he'd been standing on. 

He shifted, hovering lower, before he bent down to kiss right above the garter belt around my waist. Soft and reverent, right below my ribs, lips brushing my bare skin-- his hands found the garter clasp and worked it easier than expected, the earlier frustration melting into something quieter, more focused, like the sound of a man undoing a present he'd been waiting too long to open. He kissed his way down with each snap and release-- my waist, my hipbone, the inside of my thigh, burning a path down my body with his mouth, his breath, his want.

"This," Roman murmured, between kisses. "This is the problem."

I was breathless now, fingers tangling in his hair without thought. "What is?"

"You," he said, teeth grazing the skin just above my stocking. "Thinking that this contraption will keep me from stealing this pair of panties, too."

I would've groaned, had I not been too horny to think. "Don't you dare," I whispered. "What the fuck did-- did you even do with the last pair?"

Roman's mouth curved against my thigh. "Don't think about it,"

"I will,"

"Don't,"

"I'm assuming the worst,"

"... Do," 

With the most wicked smirk known to man, Roman peeled off my underwear, his dark eyes darting up to meet mine with glee. He held it up, almost like a trophy; "That wasn't too hard?" he purred. "Gonna add this to my collection of souvenirs, now. You get the Birkin, and I get the panties."

I let out a shaky, breathless laugh. "Roman, I swear to God!--"

"What? You're going to threaten me while you're lying here half-naked? That's not how it works, sweetheart,"

My pulse was hammering, my fingers curling tighter in his hair. "Then how does it work, sir?" 

The word made him groan, low and amused, and he dropped the panties onto the floor with a deliberate flick of his wrist, his smirk deepening as he met my gaze. "It works--" he said slowly, dragging his hands up my thighs, spreading me wider under him. "--like this. I get to make my point, and you remember it the next time you think you can play with me and not pay the price."

"What point?" I asked, voice breaking halfway through the words, my breath catching when his mouth lowered, lips brushing my hipbone. I was sure my cheeks were unrecognizably red.

Roman let out a low hum, as though he was thinking, while guiding my legs over his broad shoulder; "That I eat pussy,"

... Oh my God.

His green eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense, his gaze challenging me to look away-- I couldn't, not when his mouth hovered so devastatingly close to the most sensitive part of me. My heart was pounding wildly, blood rushing to my head, the anticipation making my muscles quiver with each shallow breath. "You really don't have to--" I started, trying to regain some dignity, even as my voice broke embarrassingly high.

"Stop talking," Roman said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my inner thigh. "Unless you're begging, of course."

I gasped as his teeth grazed my skin, a teasing, possessive bite that sent sparks racing up my spine. My fingers tightened desperately in his thick, brown hair, a gentle tug earning me another dark chuckle as his mouth traced higher, achingly slow, making my hips twitch impatiently beneath him.

"Oh, God-- Roman," I whimpered.

His grip on my thighs tightened, spreading me even wider, making me feel utterly vulnerable and exposed to him. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he cooed, breath hot against my skin. "Poor girl. I'll be nice, now."

Then, without further warning, he laid his tongue flat against my sex and dragged firmly along my slick folds, from bottom to top, and I arched off the bed with a choked moan. My breath stuttered, eyelids fluttering shut as his mouth settled around me, hot and insistent, his tongue working deliberate, slow circles around my clit, making me writhe helplessly beneath him.

"Fuck," I choked out, grasping blindly at his hair, tugging instinctively. 

Roman pressed a teasing kiss to my clit before lifting his head for just a second, voice mocking and wicked; "I've barely done anything yet, y'know?"

Oh, that tease. I forced my eyes open, gazing down at him. The sight nearly broke me apart-- his lips glistened, and the arrogant smirk on his face was pure torture. I let out a breathless, shaky laugh, forcing back my pride. "Maybe. Though one demonstration isn't exactly-- oh, fuck--"

My teasing got cut off into a desperate moan as I felt Roman's smooth skin against my inner thighs again, and he leaned back down to repeat the motion-- tongue flat, dragging even slower up along my aching sex, making my breath stutter into a series of soft moans. Once his tongue reached my clit, he swirled around it in slow, teasing circles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against me.

And just as I thought I got used to the soft rhythm, to the sweet, gentle motions in which he ate me out, Roman sealed his mouth around me fully, sucking firmly at my swollen clit. My hips bucked instinctively, but his strong hands pushed me down, holding me exactly where he wanted me as he buried his face deeper, humming softly against me as he sucked me with the most devastating, pleasurable rhythm.

"Oh God--" I gasped, fingers tangling desperately in his hair, pulling him closer. The pleasure was almost too intense, the pressure of his mouth overwhelming, each sucking pull of his lips sending electricity racing through my body. My legs tightened around him involuntarily, muscles trembling, as my cries turned breathless and frantic. Was this seriously happening? I felt myself starting to whine, trying to kick him away for no reason at all-- thankfully, Roman was way bigger than me, way stronger than me,  and he held me down while he batted my clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking it swollen. I was long gone when I noticed that he moaned, sloppy, wet noises filling my head as I tried not to completely lose it.

And just as I felt myself tipping toward the edge, Roman pulled back abruptly, leaving me gasping, dizzy, and confused by the sudden denial. "What-- Why did you stop?" I breathed, voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading.

Roman looked up at me with a wicked, triumphant grin, licking his lips deliberately slowly as he sat up. Christ, how I shivered at that. "Because we're not done yet," he purred, his voice dark with promise. "Are you on the pill?"

Um? I nodded, barely able to think straight. "Yeah, but why?--"

"Good," His hands swiftly moved to his belt, undoing it in a fluid motion, eyes never leaving mine. "Then we're finishing this my way."

No question-- it was complete and utter control. Roman knew what I wanted. He knew what was best for me. Roman knew me. Honestly, I was too blissed out, too happy, and I nodded again, my hands reaching out for him. Come to me. Come hold me. 

It didn't take long before he complied, his wet lips kissing mine with no care for where they had been previously-- not that I cared, either. Roman's large hands moved to my dress, which had been bunched up around my waist, and we had to break the kiss to get it over my head. "You taste nice," he purred, grinning down at me as he impatiently tossed it aside. "It's a shame you're my secretary... 'cause that was some damn fine pussy."

My breath hitched, and I was on the brink of simply just smacking him and his foul mouth. "Roman!" I hissed, watching as he laughed before leaning down to kiss me, probably to shut down the incoming trail of cuss-words threatening to spill from my lips. "Seriously, I-- Roman!--"

"What?"

"You're-- ugh, wearing too much," 

For once, he didn't protest. 

I sat up halfway as Roman refused to break the kiss-- I worked my fingers over the buttons of his shirt, and he somehow got out of his pants. His clothes hit the floor moments later, joining mine in a heap, and when he pushed me down to the mattress again, no longer hovering, but putting his weight on me, it truly hit me-- the man who had refused to let me touch him, the man who had built all the walls in the universe around himself, was suddenly naked with me.

There was nothing between us now, not a layer of clothing, no walls of protection; Roman couldn't keep away any longer. He has used his last strengths, run the last mile, and now he wasn't hiding any longer-- neither was I. 

My heart soared as it beat against Roman's, and for the first time, I could feel his beating back at mine. My body was practically on fire as my fingers ran along the muscular range of his back, feeling his skin, reminding myself that he was actually here and that this wasn't a figment of my imagination.

In this moment, it was only him and me. 

Roman Godfrey, his hard cock poking at my stomach, and me. 

"Please tell me you're not a virgin," he murmured roughly against my lips, his hands caressing and claiming every inch of skin he touched, squeezing my tits like he couldn't get enough of me. "I really, really want to fuck you properly."

I couldn't stop the small giggle that was drowned in the following kiss. "I'm not," 

Roman let out a relieved sigh as he guided my legs to crease at his thighs, then looping his arms under me, resting his head in the crook of my neck-- his aching cock was prodding my entrance, wetting the head on my soaked sex with repeated strokes up along my sex. I watched him hold back a hitch of his breath, covering it with an airy laugh; "Good girl... Not a nun after all, then,"

"Roman, you little!-- Oh, a-ah, I--"

My words died out as his thick, hard cock pushed into me, stroking me open with a reverent care I hadn't expected after being told I was about to be fucked. I wrapped my arms around him as well, letting out a stuttering breath at the sensation-- I heard Roman hissing under his breath, cursing, before pushing deeper, like he couldn't get over the feeling of being enveloped by me.

His cock was seated as far as it could be inside of me, and I shuddered, embarrassingly enough-- I hadn't felt anything pulse up against my hilt before, and it was... I couldn't put my finger on it. It made my brain buzz. However, it was all made worth it when I heard Roman let out a... moan? Quiet and braced, like he had to sigh it out. "Tight," was all he said, pressing a kiss to my neck to shut himself up. 

"Sorry," I breathed, like the biggest idiot on the planet-- what was I sorry for?

Roman chuckled softly, mockingly tender, his lips brushing lightly against my ear. "Oh, don't be,"

Before I could respond, Roman slowly withdrew his cock from inside of me, deliberately teasing me with the emptiness left behind. I whimpered, unable to stop my hips from rising to chase him, and he let out a silky, wicked laugh; "Aw, poor little thing," he cooed in faux sympathy, his voice dripping with gentle mockery. "You want my cock that badly, sweetheart?" As if to make his point, he wrapped one hand around his shaft, tapping the tip against my clit to make me moan and flinch-- fucker. 

"Roman," I whined, trying to sound annoyed, though we both knew I was utterly helpless beneath him. "Just-- fuck me."

He laughed softly, accepting that for now, before easing himself back inside with slow, deep strokes, each thrust dragging against every sensitive spot inside me. My nerves were on fire, my breath was hitching-- how was I this worked up already? "Careful," Roman purred. "Someone might think you're desperate. Me, especially."

"Shut up," I whimpered, clinging to him tighter-- I think some part of me thought it would keep him from pulling out again. Every movement felt unbearably good, slick and silky, his cock pulsing and throbbing within me despite his calm composure.

"No, no," Roman teased sweetly, pulling out again, his voice honeyed and cruelly playful. "That won't do. Ask nicely."

I whined, frustrated, empty-- that bastard. "Roman... please,"

"Please, what?" He leaned in, brushing his lips feather-light against mine, his voice devastatingly gentle, mocking my desperation. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I--" I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. "Fuck me," I finally breathed out, surrendering to his teasing, heat flooding my cheeks even further.

"Good girl," he cooed, grinning as he pushed his cock into me once more, deliberately grinding his hips to amplify the friction, listening to me sigh. Roman's pace picked up slightly, still careful, still smooth, his cock sliding wetly, perfectly inside me. "See how much better it feels when you behave?"

My body responded instantly, tightening and trembling around him, pleasure coiling tighter, sweeter, overwhelming me. I shook my head, trying to hold onto my pride; "I hate you,"

Roman chuckled, warm and condescending, before pressing gentle kisses along my jawline, each tender touch contrasting his filthy words. "Mhm, sure you do... You're so good at lying to yourself, aren't you?"

I didn't respond, glaring up at him. Excuse you?

Roman's eyes flashed with something dangerously similar to intrigue-- it didn't take long before I realized I had annoyed him with my refusal to answer. He gripped my jaw, firm, forcing me to meet his gaze as he listened to my bitten-back moans. His voice became mockingly sweet, dripping pure, filthy intent; "Oh, don't tell me I hit a nerve, sweetheart? Did I hurt your pretty little feelings?"

"Roman," I muttered, glaring up at him in defiance despite the shiver running down my spine. 

His expression hardened into a wicked smile, eyes gleaming mischievously. "Wrong answer,"

In one swift movement, Roman pulled out of me, before he flipped me onto my stomach, pressing me firmly against the mattress as I whimpered and whined. I felt the weight of him on my back before I could properly process what was even happening, and I could only moan as he sank his cock into me from behind, sinking deeper than before, making me gasp at the intrusion. My breath hitched as he leaned close, caging me in with his height, and I shivered against him as his thumb slipped between my lips, muffling any protest.

"Now," he whispered in my ear, his breath warm, voice silky, dripping with cruel amusement; "You're going to lie right there and take it, okay? No more talking back. You don't want to piss me off now, believe me."

Roman's thumb stroked gently over my tongue, his voice thick with mock sympathy. "Poor baby... you thought you had control, didn't you? That's adorable," He sank even deeper into me from behind, his cock smoothly stroking into me, each thrust perfectly angled to steal the breath from my lungs. "You're gonna lie still and take my cock like the good secretary you are, yeah? Yes, you are... Poor baby, poor girl... You hear how wet you are?"

I could only whimper against his thumb, clenching around his cock as he thrust into me, harder now, to really let me hear it too-- with every stroke, I could hear the filthy noise, the sound of me being properly fucked. Something about it made that familiar coiling burn in my stomach intensify, and I tried to push my hips into the sheets beneath me, tried to get the small friction against my clit that'd make me cum, but at that, I heard Roman sigh. With his free hand, he slithered it between the bed and my body, gripping my pussy like no one ever had-- he spread out his hand, placing two fingers on each side of my folds, his thumb digging into my lower abdomen, to stop me from grinding anywhere, before using it to lift me just slightly off the bed and rocking me back to meet his thrusts.

My moans were muffled, helpless beneath Roman's denial, and I felt my eyes well with tears at. I should've know he'd do this.

"No, sweetheart," he cooed softly, voice sickeningly sweet and mocking. "Behave. Are you really that horny, huh? Need to get off immediately? Nuh-uh. I've spoiled you enough."

I whimpered, shaking beneath him, clenching around his cock, but Roman only laughed softly, cruelly tender.

"Patience," he whispered against my ear, sending shivers across my skin. "Gonna fuck you just a bit more, okay? You're so tight and wet around my cock, I need a little more time to enjoy you... You make such pretty noises when you're on the edge, too. Wonder what noises you're gonna make when I tell you I might not let you cum at all."

What? No, no, no! I whimpered louder, trembling beneath Roman, desperately clenching around his cock-- my brain buzzed as I realized I was helplessly melting at the idea that I was here for his pleasure, that I was the only one making him feel this good; when I heard him groan, giving my shoulder a faint kiss as he buried his head in my neck, I felt my cheeks burn. I loved making him feel good. No one else could ever do this for him, no one else could unravel him like I could, and knowing that thrilled me even as frustration and desire blurred my thoughts.

Roman seemed to sense my surrender, gently pulling his thumb from my mouth with a content sigh, only to grasp my chin and tug me back-- I made no form of resistance as he smoothly manoeuvred us until we lay spooned together, his body pressed intimately along my back, his cock never leaving my depths. 

I recognized that Roman wasn't mocking or teasing me anymore, and with a blooming blush painting my cheeks, I turned my head just slightly, hoping to meet his green eyes. I didn't expect the teasing bite to my ear that followed when Roman realized I wanted contact, and I could only whimper in shock as he pulled me closer, laughing softly against my cheek. As his cock continued pushing into me, in and out, in and out, his lips slowly brushed mine, softer than expected, more intimately than expected, and I instinctively I kissed him, needy and desperate, claiming whatever tenderness I could steal.

Roman groaned softly against my mouth, and his hand slid down between my thighs to rub slow, torturous circles around my clit. "See? Good girls get rewarded," he teased between kisses, his voice dripping with wicked sweetness. "And you're being such a good girl for me right now, aren't you?"

I nodded frantically, moaning into his mouth, utterly helpless as pleasure began to spiral beyond my control, trembling under his slow, careful strokes and the insistent circles he drew over my clit. Roman pressed his forehead against mine, breathing raggedly as he kept his movements deliberate and firm, knowing exactly how to push me to the edge and keep me there.

And I had no idea what he did, how he did it, but with a tiny shift, my back came arching off him. 

"Roman--" I gasped, my voice breaking into a moan when his angle shifted, hitting a spot inside me that made my whole body jolt. "Oh God--"

"That's it, isn't it? Right there?" His hair hung over his forehead, his lips kiss-bruised, his grin dizzy and unsteady; "Feels good here?"

I whimpered, nodding again. "Yes," I choked out, barely breathing. "Right there, Roman, please--"

"That's it baby, take it," His thrusts were precise, deliberate, his forehead resting against mine as he fucked into that spot over and over. "That's my girl," he rasped, lips brushing mine between words. Roman pushed into that perfect spot again and again, the tip of his cock nudging it with every thrust as his fingers worked my clit, rubbing over and over and over--

"Roman-- oh my God-- I'm close, I'm so close--"

His forehead brushed mine, his breath hot on my lips as our gazes locked-- God, those eyes. Those green, green eyes. I whimpered, my smile curling against his, helpless and delirious as I dared to pull an arm around him too, fingers weaving into his hair to weave him closer. 

Roman smiled against my mouth-- this was perfect. "Cum for me," he whispered, a filthy sweetness in his voice as his cock filled me over and over. "Show me how good I make you feel."

And with two more thrusts, my world shattered. My cries caught in my throat, and my whole body seized around his cock as the pleasure ripped through me, white-hot and overwhelming. I clung to Roman like he was the only solid thing left, pulling at his hair without meaning to, sobbing out his name as wave after wave dragged me under.

Roman swore, low and guttural, his forehead pressing to mine like he couldn't stand the thought of even a breath of space between us. He kissed me through every shudder and aftershock, groaning softly as my climax triggered his own, spilling deep inside me, marking me as his completely.

The breath punched out of me at the sudden weight of it-- hot, thick, filling every part of me in a way that made my toes curl and my head spin. Roman's body shuddered against mine, his hips pressed flush as if he could keep himself there forever, his groans spilling against my mouth, low and broken, like he'd finally lost a battle he had been fighting all night.

And God, I felt it-- felt him throbbing inside me as he emptied himself, his release painting me full until it was too much to hold, every pulse sending a fresh wave of dizzying heat curling low in my belly. My breath hitched, a high, helpless sound escaping me as I clenched around him, like my body didn't want to let him go, like it wanted to keep every drop where it belonged.

But slowly, inevitably, when Roman finally stilled and softened, I felt it start to slip, hot and slick between my thighs, a reminder of just how wrecked he had left me. I whimpered softly at the sensation, at the overwhelming evidence of him spilling out of me, coating my skin, the mess of us undeniable.

Roman rolled over on his back, landing next to me with a soft groan, similarly to a rough sigh-- his body felt warm, yet lax with exhaustion. 

He didn't stay like that for long; after a few shaky breaths, he turned toward me, dragging a heavy arm over my waist, and to my surprise, pulling me in. The sheets tangled around our hips as he shifted closer, until we were nose to nose, his forehead brushing mine, his hair a little damp and messy, his lips still kiss-swollen. 

I had no idea what came over me when I shifted, pressing my lips to the tip of Roman's nose, giving it a quaint, shy kiss. Forbes nose. Oh my God. Stunned by my actions, I retreated, swallowing meekly. 

To my surprise, Roman didn't protest. He slowly opened his eyes and searched my face in the dim light, his green eyes glassy but focused entirely on me. It wasn't the sharp, teasing look I had grown used to-- it was quieter, stripped bare, like he was trying to read me.

"You okay?" he finally murmured. His thumb brushed over my hip lazily, almost absent-mindedly, but there was tension in his gaze, something cautious that made my chest ache.

I wasn't about to tell him that'd been the best sex of my life. The denial, the dirty-talk, the way he moved me around like I weighed nothing? Holy absolute mother of fuck. Nothing would ever top this. "Yeah," I whispered, small as ever as I curled closer, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against mine. "More than okay."

Roman exhaled slowly, like he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. He dipped his head just enough to press his mouth to my temple, not a kiss, but more like a grounding touch before he rested his forehead there. "Good," he murmured, barely audible. "That's... good."

For a few precious seconds, I let myself believe this was our new reality-- that we'd stay here, wrapped up in this stolen quiet, and that it wouldn't have to end. Roman's arm was heavy around me, his breath ghosting warm against my temple, and I felt safe in a way I hadn't... maybe ever? My heart swelled, foolish and fragile, and I curled even closer, memorizing the shape of him in the dark.

Maybe he'll stay. Maybe we'll change.

Roman's green eyes fluttered shut. Had I had more confidence, I'd trail my fingertips over his lashes, just a gentle touch, just a reverent kiss of a touch. They were long, dark, and surprisingly elegant. Was he even aware of how gorgeous he was? Hopefully not.

Something told me he was thinking about something, deciding what to say, because he wasn't saying anything at all. And then, with a heavy sigh, like he had ran out of time to enjoy our moment, he spoke--

"Who'd have known..." Roman mumbled. "I wouldn't have imagined we'd end up here, like this, when I first saw you at your graduation."

... Huh?

For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. We didn't meet at my graduation, what was he talking about? My breath stalled in my lungs, and I blinked into the dark, pulling back just enough to see his face; "... What?"

Roman's eyes stayed closed, lashes brushing his cheeks as though he hadn't just lodged a bomb into the middle of my ribcage, and like he didn't want to see the result of his words on my face. "Your graduation," he said. "Letha's ceremony. You were there, next to her. You kept chewing on the end of your tassel to make her laugh, 'cause she was crying like I've never seen her cry. It was ridiculous, sweet... You looked so happy, I wanted to break you in half."

My stomach flipped rather violently, like the floor had dropped out from under me. "You.. you?--" My voice cracked, my mind racing through the day in a haze. He'd known that I knew Letha all along?! I remembered our graduation, remembered barely paying attention to the speeches, remembered feeling so small in a sea of strangers. Roman had been one of those strangers? Well, that made sense, considering he was a part of Letha's family, but... he had seen me doing that? 

"You had that stupid boyfriend at the time, too. The one majoring in computer science," Roman continued. "Your personal information is scattered all over your Facebook, by the way. You're gonna need to put up some walls there. Too easy to hack. Took me five seconds and a sigh."

I went still, every nerve in my body prickling with something I couldn't name. This was... "You hacked me?" My voice came out thin, strangled; what could I say to that? The room suddenly felt too small, and the air felt too thick to breathe in. Is this what he was using his coding skills for?

Roman hummed, dragging his thumb in a slow line along my hipbone like he was trying to somehow soothe me and himself indirectly. "There's also this picture of you in Letha's room... You're showing your nails and pulling a face. French tips. Lilac," 

My chest tightened with a thousand emotions at once. Oh my God.

"I told Letha there was a position opening up at my office. Told her to mention it to her friends, specifically those she could recommend, someone close to her, and the rest..." His lips brushed the corner of my jaw, a whisper of a touch that made my stomach knot. "I just didn't expect you to turn it all around, like the pain, and then ruin me, too."

For a long, dizzy second, I couldn't speak. My thoughts fractured into jagged shards that made no sense, every memory from the last few months cracking under the weight of what he had just confessed. My job. My proximity to him. This whole damn thing-- it hadn't been chance. It hadn't been fate.

It had been him.

He had seen me and wanted to squeeze the life out of me. Sadist. Sadistic asshole. 

I tried swallowing over and over, my mind wandering to the feeling of his cum still seeping out of me, leaking down to my thigh. I should've been scared, I should've ran, but instead... 

I felt like the world's most special girl. 

"That's really romantic," I breathed. "You've... gone to this extent to be with me. Me." 

At that, Roman finally opened his eyes, a puzzled look about him. "That's what you got out of this?" he breathed, searching me for traces of fear and lies. 

"Well, I know what you're doing," I shifted closer, cupping his face before pressing a kiss to his lips. "You're telling me this to scare me off. You can't," Another kiss. "You won't." Another. 

Roman sighed into the kisses, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. "Just want you to know--" he murmured against my lips; "--need you to understand that it's not romantic. I'm screwed in the head."

Why were we having this conversation right now? I kissed him again, soft, lingering, trying to quiet the tremor in my chest. "Roman..." My voice was barely there. "You're not screwed. And even if you were, I wouldn't care."

His jaw flexed, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale against my lips, like he didn't know what to do with that. "You should,"

"I don't,"

"You should,"

"Don't give a fuck. Stay the night, get a cute five-star blowjob again, whatever,"

Roman let out a low, frustrated sound, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my neck-- not rough, but firm, holding me close. "I can't," he breathed. "I'm getting hard again at the thought of that. I should go. I'm trying to tell you what I am, and you're not listening, so I-- I can't."

What? My chest tightened with hurt, heat curling low in my stomach despite the sting of his words. "I hear you just fine," I whispered, my breath mingling with his. "And I know what you are, because I'm just like you. We're one and the same. Don't go." Don't leave me, don't go, please don't go. Let's be sick together. Stop pushing me away.

Never had I ever begged a man for anything, naked at that, but here I was-- pouring myself out to him as he poured out of me. This was fucking humiliating, and not in the way I liked.

I tilted my head up, catching Roman's mouth in another desperate kiss to stop the hurt from blooming in my chest. "I don't care that you hacked me," A kiss. "I don't care," Another. "I'm here, I want you, and nothing will change that," Another, to his right cheek. "Why is that so scary to you, if you've wanted me all along?" Left cheek. "Stay, Roman," Between his brows, reverent and pleading. "Please stay. I'll even make you coffee in the morning, just how you like it. Not too much milk, one cube of brown sugar, and stirred three times."

Roman lashes fluttered, a slight rosy hue appearing in his cheeks from all the kisses, but his expression remained unreadable in the dim light. His grip on my face softened, faltered, and his thumbs brushed once over my skin before he let go completely-- the warmth left with him. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "But if we're one and the same... that's not good. That's not romantic. I'm not a good person, I get off on hurting people, can't you see? If we're the same, then you're just as fucked up as I am, and you could hurt me in ways I'd never recover from, and-- I can't do this. I'm sorry."

"What?" Fucked up? My throat tightened, clogged with all the things he had just thrown at me, assumed about me, and accused me of being. "What just happened? I'd never-- Roman, please, this is me?"

He didn't answer-- he was already halfway gone. Roman pulled his shirt over his head, clasped his belt, and shook his head like he could shake off what we had just done. "I'm trying to spare you," he bit out, brittle and frustrated. "I told you I can't do this, and you're not listening."

After... all of that?

Scorned, I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, my anger finally breaking through the devastation clawing at my ribs. It hit his shoulder with a soft thud, hardly satisfying, but it was all I had. "Spare me?" I spat, chest heaving. "You think saying that shit after you've fucked me is noble? That's not sparing me, Roman, that's fucking gutting me! Was this all you wanted, to get laid and leave?!"

Roman froze for a second, his hands hovering over the buttons of his shirt. His jaw flexed once, twice, but he didn't turn to face me. "No," he mumbled.

My throat burned as my words kept spilling out, ragged and furious, fuelled by the hurt sitting like a stone in my chest; "Okay, so-- so you've spent the whole night getting to know me, telling me you wanted me, making me believe you actually saw me-- and now you stand there and call me fucked up? How dare you!" 

Roman's shoulders tightened, the fabric of his shirt stretching under the strain, but he didn't turn-- he didn't give me anything to hold onto except his back and the sound of his shallow breath.

"How long have you known me now, Roman? Months! Fucking months of us being involved, of us doing all kinds of filthy things, and you didn't have a problem with us being alike until now!" I cried. "You know me better than anyone ever has, and now you turn around and tell me I'm fucked up? I'm fucked up?! You're killing me!"

My vision blurred, hot tears spilling over before I could stop them. I swiped at my face, furious that he had made me cry, furious that he was standing there acting like this was some kind of mercy instead of what it really was-- cowardice in the face of connection, love, and security, which he had enjoyed just some minutes ago.

"Look at me!" My voice cracked on the words, torn somewhere between a plea and a command. "Roman, look at me!" 

Finally, Roman's green, green eyes landed on me clutching the sheets to my chest, trembling with tears I couldn't stop, and for a flicker of a moment, his face wasn't unreadable at all-- it was wrecked. Whatever armour he had thrown up between us was splintering, a mess of guilt and fear and something else I couldn't name.

"I would never hurt you!" I cried, the words falling out like glass, cutting my throat on the way up. "Not ever! You're the one hurting me right now! And you're standing there telling me I'd destroy you? After tonight?" My breath hitched, ragged, choking on its own grief; "How could you even think that about me?!"

Roman's lips parted like he wanted to answer, the ones that had kissed me so tenderly just minutes ago, but nothing came. He just stared, eyes too bright in the dim light, chest rising and falling too fast. For a second, I thought maybe he'd come back, that he'd drop everything he had just said and crawl into my arms where he belonged...

But then he dragged a hand over his mouth, trembling like he hated himself for doing this, and whispered; "Because if you're anything like me... you could," 

Roman's eyes flicked over my face he knew he wasn't being fair, like he wanted me more than anything-- but terror won. With a sharp shake of his head, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him, leaving me in the dim light with nothing but the echo of what he thought I was.

After all of that... the date, the sex, after giving him everything I could offer...

It still wasn't enough to make him stay.

Fucked up. 

While I saw potential for connection, Roman only saw a reflection of his darkness.

The soft click of my apartment door closing sounded louder than any fight we'd ever had-- and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the empty space where he had been mere moments ago stretch wider and wider until it swallowed me whole.

I sat up with a low hiss, not caring that Roman's cum was still seeping out of me, and the ache in my thighs burned, reaching my eyes and filling them with tears once more.

Roman had found me, orchestrated the sadistic downfall of my psyche, ruined me for anybody but him, gotten me accustomed to my sick and twisted desires, and now... he was pulling away from me for liking it? I had never met anyone as cruel and as lost. I felt filthy. Used. Discarded. Rejected. How did he dare to make me feel like the monster, like I was crazy for accepting him, for loving all of him, only because he couldn't stand himself? And for what fucking reason?!

Pulling my thighs up to my chest, I hugged my legs as I sobbed, hoping to keep some of the remnants of Roman inside of me for as long as I could. In that sense, he'd stay. Some part of him would.

And as I pushed my legs tighter, hugging myself, clenching to make sure nothing would escape me like he had just done...

I realized this might be an exact demonstration of the sickness in me that he had been referring to all along.

(a/n: AAGHHH I CRUSHED MY OWN HEART W THIS:(( but I promise with all I have that you guys have nothing to worry about!! dw!!! kingkat will deliver, and kingkat will fix!!! call me Bob the fucking builder, cause I placed this brick w PURPOSE💜 anyway omg this was way too long, so thank u to the absolute WARRIORS that got through this!!! thank u so much for all the love and support!!<333)

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@grimoireskin @babyslilbee @jacks4lifer @turnmeintoaflower

@fish-eyes-png @muchwita @555-hya-kai @ohperiodtpoohhh

@lunaskye999 @tvdxstan @sn0wybowie-blog @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry

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@jacks4lifer @sickopsychosicko @iamslytherin0 @luverofmine

@ilovekazz @romangodfreyisbae @luverofmine @thecatempire

[domm1etae]

Hello!! If requests are still open can I ask for a Seonghwa/reader office fic? Ever since I've found that one office asmr video he did I can't stop thinking about it 😭

Overtime Attraction

seonghwa x reader

oneshot | mdni

2.5k

Y/N’s strict, no-nonsense boss Seonghwa calls them in for a late-night “work session” that quickly turns into way more than just project revisions

nsfw tags under

readers gender not specif. , top seonghwa, boss/employee, workplace tension, power dynamics, praise kink, slow burn, buildup, desk sex, possessive seonghwa, tension release, passionate make-out, teasing, thigh touching, mutual pining, eye contact, unguarded moments, lap straddling, finger teasing, deep kissing, after-hours intimacy, needy touches

Y/N hurried down the marble hallway, heels clicking in sync with the beat of the clock ticking on the wall. It was 8:59, and every second mattered when it came to Park Seonghwa. As their boss, he was notorious for his unwavering punctuality and no-nonsense attitude. Nothing frustrated him more than tardiness, and Y/N had been on the receiving end of his reprimands enough times to know they didn’t want to push his patience any further.

Sliding into their desk just as the clock struck nine, Y/N let out a small sigh of relief. But the relief was short-lived. Seonghwa’s office door opened, and he stepped out with his usual commanding presence. He scanned the room, his sharp gaze briefly landing on Y/N, and for a moment, they could feel their pulse race.

“Team meeting in the conference room. Now,” he announced, his tone clipped and direct. No unnecessary pleasantries. Just business as always.

Y/N grabbed their notebook, gathering themselves before following him. As they settled into their usual seat, they couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves. This project was crucial, and Seonghwa had been working them all hard to ensure everything went perfectly. His expectations were high, and they didn’t want to be the one who let the team down.

Seonghwa took his seat at the head of the table, flipping through his notes with focused precision. He went over every aspect of the project, analyzing each detail and making it clear exactly what he wanted. His calm, authoritative tone filled the room, and Y/N found themselves hyper-aware of every word, jotting down notes to ensure they wouldn’t miss a thing. But despite their efforts, Seonghwa’s expression remained as unreadable as ever.

At the end of the meeting, as everyone else began packing up to leave, Seonghwa’s gaze fell on Y/N. He raised an eyebrow, his face as composed as always.

“Y/N, stay behind a moment.”

Y/N felt their stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and dread. Had they made a mistake? They waited as the room emptied, glancing up at Seonghwa as he watched everyone file out. Once the door closed, he leaned back, his fingers steepled in thought.

“There’s a section in your report from last night that has some errors,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Some critical data was left out. I’ll need to go over it with you later to make sure it’s fixed before tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a pang of embarrassment. They’d spent hours on that report, meticulously checking each line, but evidently, it hadn’t been enough to meet his standards. “Of course, sir. I’m really sorry about the oversight—I thought I’d gotten everything.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I know you worked hard, and I appreciate the effort. But my standards are high for a reason.” He glanced at his watch. “I have meetings the rest of the day, so we’ll handle this tonight after hours. Make sure you’re available.”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the idea of being alone in the office with Seonghwa, especially given the tension that had been building between them over the past few weeks. There was something about him—his intense focus, his precision—that made it hard not to be captivated by him. And though they’d never admit it, the idea of a private meeting with him was thrilling.

“Understood,” they replied, maintaining their composure despite the rush of anticipation.

Throughout the day, Y/N worked tirelessly to finish other tasks while nervously glancing at the clock. The office gradually emptied, and by 7 PM, they and Seonghwa were the only ones left. As the last few coworkers waved goodbye, Seonghwa finally emerged from his office, his expression as composed as ever.

“Y/N,” he called, gesturing for them to follow him. They stood up, clutching their notes and laptop, and walked into his office, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement settle over them as he closed the door behind them.

He sat down across from them, pulling up the document on his computer. “Let’s start from the top,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he scanned through the lines. They worked through the report, his voice low and steady as he pointed out each section that needed correction.

But as the minutes ticked by, the air between them grew more charged. Every time his hand brushed over the mouse, or his shoulder accidentally brushed theirs, Y/N felt their heart skip a beat. His closeness was almost dizzying, and the usual stoic, unbreakable mask he wore seemed to falter slightly as they moved through the corrections together.

At one point, as they both reached for the same section on the screen, their hands met, lingering longer than necessary. Y/N looked up, catching the flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of warmth, of something that wasn’t entirely professional. His fingers lingered on theirs, and he didn’t pull away.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, finally releasing their hand. But his gaze remained intense, locked on them with an unreadable expression. “Y/N,” he began, his voice lower than before, carrying a hint of vulnerability. “I… don’t usually let things like this happen.”

Y/N’s heart pounded. “Me neither,” they whispered, barely able to find their voice. There was something raw in his expression, something they hadn’t seen before. And in that moment, the weight of his controlled, disciplined exterior finally broke.

He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from their face. “You’ve been working so hard,” he murmured, his fingers grazing their cheek with surprising tenderness. “But I think there’s been something between us for a while now.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and before they could respond, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing softly against theirs. The kiss was gentle at first, almost cautious, as if testing the waters. But as they melted into his touch, his grip on their waist tightened, pulling them closer. His strict, measured demeanor fell away, replaced by a passion that left them breathless.

Seonghwa lifted them onto his desk, his hands exploring with a newfound freedom that left them shivering. He whispered praise, his words quiet and reverent, as if he were savoring each moment. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit,” he murmured against their skin, his voice thick with desire.

Y/N wrapped their arms around his neck, pulling him closer, their own restraint slipping away. The air was charged, heavy with everything unspoken between them.

Seonghwa’s lips brushed against Y/N’s, deepening the kiss as his hands found their waist, pulling them flush against him. Y/N’s legs shifted, one knee rising as they positioned themselves on his lap, their skirt hiking up as they straddled him. A low sound rumbled from his chest, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as his fingers traced circles on their thighs.

“Y/N…” Seonghwa’s breath ghosted over their lips, his voice thick with a want he had carefully kept buried until now. “You… have no idea…”

Y/N’s fingers traced up to his tie, tugging it slightly, silently urging him closer. He let out a soft groan, pressing his hips forward so they could feel the evidence of his own need. His hands traveled up their sides, grazing over the fabric of their blouse, his touch just shy of indulgent.

“More,” Y/N whispered, the word escaping them in a needy breath. They felt their pulse quicken as his hands finally traveled to cup their face, his thumb brushing softly over their bottom lip before trailing down, brushing over the sensitive spot at the base of their neck.

A sly smile played on Seonghwa’s lips as he watched their reactions, reveling in every hitch of their breath and the faint flush on their cheeks. “Oh, you want more?” His voice held a note of control, deep and rich, as if he was savoring each moment of their unraveling.

“Yes…” they murmured, and he raised an eyebrow, his hands sliding back down to grip their waist firmly. They gasped softly as he lifted them onto his desk, his expression darkening as he took in the sight of them, legs spread just enough to reveal the hint of lace at the edge of their skirt.

He leaned in, capturing their lips again, a little rougher this time, his gloved hand reaching to cradle their cheek while his other hand trailed to their thigh, inching upward with a slow deliberateness. Each kiss became more intense, more consuming, until they felt dizzy with need. His thumb traced small circles on the bare skin just below the hem of their skirt, his lips moving to trail down their neck, nibbling softly as he went.

Y/N’s hands clutched the back of his blazer, pulling him close as he teased them, letting out a quiet whimper as his hand finally ventured to the edge of their underwear. “Seonghwa, please…”

He smiled against their skin, his breath warm as he whispered, “Shh, we’re not alone yet. Do you really want someone to hear?” But despite his caution, his thumb pressed into them through the fabric, earning a muffled gasp from Y/N as they bit their lip to keep quiet.

"Good. Just like that,” he murmured, his voice heavy with approval, as he toyed with them, keeping the touch just light enough to drive them wild with need. “Be good for me, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Unable to contain their need any longer, they pressed their hips up to meet his touch, their body aching for more as he continued to tease, his fingers tracing soft circles around their most sensitive spot, still separated by just a thin layer of fabric. His control, his restraint, was maddening, and he relished every second of watching them unravel under his touch.

With his other hand still steady on their cheek, he finally whispered against their lips, “Hold on to me, Y/N.”

Seonghwa’s voice was steady and sure, like he was holding the reins even as the world tilted beneath them both. Y/N’s pulse quickened, their hands clutching his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm line of his back. His words echoed in their mind—Hold on to me. They did as he commanded, wrapping their legs around his waist, drawing him closer still, as he continued his slow, torturous exploration.

His fingers traced the waistband of their underwear, skimming over their skin just enough to leave a tingling path. He maintained eye contact, a look of both mischief and fierce intent in his gaze, as if savoring the power he held in their shared secret, here, alone in his office after hours. Y/N was panting softly, struggling to keep quiet even as their restraint unraveled under his measured, relentless touch.

Seonghwa’s lips met the edge of their jawline, and he brushed his nose along their cheek, lingering by their ear. His whisper was barely audible, but it sent a shiver down their spine. “You’re so beautiful like this, Y/N,” he murmured. “So responsive… so ready for me.”

Y/N’s head tilted back, giving him access to the curve of their neck, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His lips trailed down, placing open-mouthed kisses along their throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave a whisper of pressure before he soothed each spot with his tongue. His hand slid up their thigh, and this time, he didn’t stop at the edge of their underwear. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding their center, slick and warm with anticipation.

A shaky breath escaped Y/N as his fingers began to move, slow and sure, teasing and tracing over every sensitive spot he discovered. Y/N’s hands found his tie again, tugging at it reflexively as their head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as they lost themselves in the sensation. His touch was skilled, and the friction drove them to the brink, each movement adding fuel to the smoldering fire between them.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low, a trace of roughness seeping into his usually controlled tone. Y/N’s gaze met his, and the intensity in his eyes made them feel as if they were laid bare, every inch of desire on display for him alone. He didn’t look away, his fingers moving with greater purpose now, watching every small gasp and whimper, reveling in the effect he had on them.

When he finally withdrew his hand, Y/N bit back a whine of protest, only to feel him shift them back on the desk, guiding them to lie back. The cold surface beneath was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body as he loomed over them, lips curved in a self-assured smirk.

“Be patient, Y/N,” he whispered as he leaned down, his hands tracing the curves of their body before he carefully unbuttoned their blouse, his touch gentle yet decisive. “We don’t want to rush this… not after all that time spent building up to it.”

With each article of clothing he removed, his gaze became more intense, drinking in the sight of them with an appreciative, possessive gleam. When they were finally bared before him, he let his hands roam, mapping every inch of them, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

His lips claimed theirs again, and this time, there was no restraint. His kiss was demanding, consuming, his hands gripping their hips as he settled between their legs. They could feel the hard press of him against their core, both of them beyond any semblance of control. His fingers laced with theirs as he aligned himself, pressing forward with an exquisite slowness that made them gasp. His forehead rested against theirs as he whispered, “You’re mine tonight, Y/N. Every part of you.”

With every thrust, his control slipped just a bit further, and he abandoned the careful restraint he had kept around his desire for so long. They clung to each other, their shared need overcoming any lingering hesitations, their breaths mingling in the heated silence of the empty office.

Each movement was a promise fulfilled, a long-held tension finally released, as he guided them to the brink, his voice a steady, grounding presence in their ear, murmuring words of praise and desire that left them trembling beneath him. And as they reached their peak together, Seonghwa’s name fell from Y/N’s lips in a breathless whisper, echoing into the quiet, marking the end of one kind of distance—and the beginning of something far more consuming.

They stayed close, breaths slowing as they held each other, still entangled on his desk. Seonghwa’s fingers gently traced along their arm, as if reluctant to let them go, even now. He smiled, soft and real, his usually sharp expression softened in a rare, unguarded moment.

“Tomorrow…” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you might just have to stay late again.”

[mischiefandmortals]

❝ The Avengers Office — Episode 1 ❞

(Mockumentary-style Avengers chaos in my Tower Universe)

I’ve had this idea sitting in my brain for a while, but it finally solidified on a long road trip: What if a documentary crew tried to film a “normal day” inside my version of Avengers Tower?

Spoiler: nothing about this team is normal.

A quick thing if you’re new here — I have two story universes: the Tower Universe (modern Avengers/Tony-era, Loki included), and the Asgard Universe (more mythic, different continuity). This series takes place in the Tower timeline with my usual cast: the original six Avengers, Loki (legally obligated to behave), and Gwen Barkridge (OC botanist, quiet wildcard).

The vibe is full Office/Parks & Rec energy — interview segments, awkward eye contact with the camera, and absolutely unearned confidence from at least three team members. It’s not meant to be deep lore or plot-heavy, just a fun character-driven break between my larger stories.

Featuring:

– Tony trying to control a narrative that immediately escapes him

– Steve trying his best

– Natasha saying nothing but communicating everything

– Clint being absolutely useless in the background

– Bruce regretting all of his life choices

– Thor being Thor

– Loki choosing violence via sarcasm

– Gwen trying to hold this workplace together with stubborn optimism

More episodes coming as I write/edit them — this is just for fun, no angst agenda, just Tower chaos.

Thanks for reading, and I hope this one makes your day a little funnier. 💚

https://archiveofourown.org/works/75300586/chapters/196827301

[0liviathe0live]

✨ Introducing... The Department of Horrific Retribution (Otherwise Known as “HR”) ✨

“Now, what was this about your lunch?”

“Someone’s nicked it,” Harry said. “And I figured, well, you’re practically the government. You must have contacts. Leverage. Sandwich-related intelligence.”

“Harry, I occupy a position of semi-importance within the Ministry. Unfortunately, I don’t trifle in the condiment-based grievances of civil servants.”

“Fair. I can see this is above your pay grade,” Harry said with a sigh, standing. “No need to trouble yourself. I’ll have a word with my father, he’s with the Aurors, after all.”

He turned toward the door, only for Tom to stand and catch his wrist.

Harry smothered a grin as Tom tugged him back into his seat.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really want me to open a formal investigation on a missing sandwich?”

Harry Potter and his oddball colleagues bumble their way through a crusade to unmask the Lunch Bandit. What begins as missing meals quickly spirals into unlikely alliances, inappropriate romances, ministry politics, and secrets that go far beyond a sandwich.

Read Chapter 1 now: AO3 link

[bartbarthelme]

Sunday Six 5/15/22

A little over an hour later, their team wins with a buzzer beater. Armie ushers everyone out, turning down Nick’s offer to help him clean up. The moment his front door is locked, he checks his phone and, fuck, he is living for the flip his stomach does when he sees a new text notification, even if this is all feels like it might kill him. 

Chalamet: i mean it’s probably not a good idea to be texting my boss about how cute i think it is that he’s in his thirties and can’t use a stapler without jamming it half the time Chalamet: and that i secretly call him Mr. Hammer because i like the way it makes him stumble over his words Chalamet: probably not a good idea right?

He gives himself a moment to breathe, to reread, to smile. 

Armie: Probably not on the first week, but I’ll let it slide since technically we’re not on company time right now.

[novmbeer]

Imagine Miranda got back from a meeting and caught Andy in her office like this—reading the Harry Potter manuscript. What would Miranda's reaction be? Hmmmm. Can someone write a story please. ☺️

[kingkat12]

saturday (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: piv sex, free-use, handjob, clit rubbing, fluff, dry-humping, boob sucking, sweet morning sex basically, clit rubbing, teasing (ofc)

summary: waking up next to Roman Godfrey feels like a blessing-- in every way, it totally is

word count: 8,676

← previous chapter |

a/n: this scene is mildly inspired by this one episode of SKAM where Even and Isak lie in bed all day and just kiss and hold each other, enjoy!!!<333

Some people are so poor that all they have is money-- finally, Roman Godfrey was the richest man on the planet.

He wasn't alone.

And he never had to be again.

When I woke up next to him during that same night, I found that Roman was lying on top of my chest, his full body weight crushing and soothing me at the same time. His hair was mussed and warm against the base of my throat, his cheek pressed to the rise of my collarbone like he had been drawn there in his sleep. He was heavy, impossibly heavy, and yet my arms folded around him of their own accord, caging him to me as if I could keep him there forever; I loved the weight of him more than anything.

Because our sleeping bodies refused to let go of one another, we drifted in and out of sleep due to the unbearable heat we had created. It was crazy hot under the duvet; it felt like an active fire, yet none of us moved. This felt too good, too rewarding, and I concluded that I'd happily be burned if I could have just five more minutes with Roman like this.

Every time I drifted off again, I awoke in some new tangle. 

The next time I woke up, my face was buried against Roman's jaw, his palm cupping the back of my head, my legs hooked between his. It was almost as though the moment one of us loosened our grip, our bodies corrected it in sleep, seeking each other out like magnets until we were pressed together again.

It was never-ending.

The next time, it was Roman's turn to briefly wake up. I felt his sleepy, soft mouth on mine, waking me with him for just a moment-- it was a lazy, half-asleep press of lips against mine, warm and thoughtful, as though he couldn't believe I was there and needed the reminder. 

"Roman," I whispered.

He gave a sleepy grunt.

"You up?"

Another grunt, and a shake of his head.

I drifted back to sleep with the kiss still blooming through my skin, beaming as my arms looped around him, eyes still closed.

Then, later, it was me who awoke-- it was never-ending, seriously, yet entirely worth it. I stirred to find the duvet kicked halfway off, Roman's long limbs sprawled over mine, his arm flung possessively over my waist. I tucked the covers back up over us, careful not to wake him, but before I settled, I leaned in and kissed the slope of the dreamy Forbes nose-- soft and secret, just for me. He didn't stir, but I felt his chest expand a little deeper, like his dream had turned sweeter.

A little later, I woke up again from the unbearable heat of being pressed up to the furnace of a man next to me. I slipped from the sheets to use the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face before waddling back in on bare feet, my body humming with the kind of fragile exhaustion that came from both champagne and joy. When I returned to the bedroom, Roman had rolled onto his stomach, the duvet slung low across his hips, his broad, muscular back exposed to the early morning light-- holy fuck.

The more I stared, the more I told myself I needed to stop. How was it possible that he was my boyfriend? This... God-like man? I couldn't believe it. Finally. The closer I got to the bed, the clearer the sight of Roman's beauty was, but that was when I noticed them again, clear as day-- three pale ridges of small, round scars against the smooth breadth of his skin. My throat tightened at the memory of why he had them and who had given them to him. Carefully, I climbed back into bed, leaned over him, and pressed the faintest kiss to the mark nearest his shoulder blade; may he never be hurt again.

Roman let out a low, pleasured grunt in his sleep--  it was a sound that went straight through me, raw and unguarded. My lips lingered there a moment longer, kissing the next scar, before I lay back down beside him, heart thundering from the thrill of not being caught, watching his face relax again as he sank deeper into sleep. 

I realized, with a bone-deep certainty, that we were both going to keep waking up like this, seeking, kissing, touching, until morning blurred into afternoon, and I had nothing against it. It was a Saturday after all, was it not?

Except... when I finally blinked awake again, the final time, with the city light cutting pale through the glass, Roman wasn't there.

My hand hit cool sheets when it scurried around the bed to find the warmth of his soft skin.

I blinked through the sleep in my eyes, rolled onto my side, and searched with my palm like I had simply missed him in the tangle of duvet, but no-- nothing. The hollow beside me was wide, empty, and cold.

My throat closed.

He wasn't here.

For a half-second, I told myself he had just gone to the bathroom, or to grab a glass of water, or something so mundane it would be laughable when he came back-- but the thought didn't stick. Because this was Roman. Roman, who ran. Roman, who pushed me away. Roman, who disappeared when things got too heavy. Had he woken up and regretted it all over again?

The panic hit me like a punch.

No, no, no-- he couldn't have. Not after last night. Not after all the begging, not after the letter; this was his penthouse, where would he go? But my heart didn't care about reason. My chest squeezed so tightly I could barely breathe as the thought barrelled through me; he left. He's gone. He left again after everything.

I sat up so fast the duvet tangled at my waist, shoving the hair out of my face with shaking hands. How could I have been so stupid? My eyes darted around the room, desperate, over to the empty glass on the nightstand, then at my dress, which was crumpled on the floor like the aftermath of a dream, and the shirt Roman had discarded last night-- bingo.

I grabbed it and tugged it over my naked body, buttoning it with trembling fingers. It swallowed me whole, smelled like him, and that only made it worse, made the ache in my chest sharper, more humiliating.

"Roman?" My voice cracked, too small in the vast penthouse. 

No answer.

Fuck.

Sleepy and hazy and worried, I scurried barefoot across the cold floors, my pulse hammering in my ears as I darted down the endless hall. Every doorway I passed without finding him carved deeper into my ribs-- the bathroom was empty, the living room too, and the sheer size of the penthouse was making me feel smaller than ever. This place was a fucking maze.

My heart hammered so loudly I thought I might faint when I finally reached the kitchen-- then, to my relief, I saw him.

Roman was leaning against the counter, mouth-wateringly shirtless, like something taken straight out of a daydream. The grey sweats I had worn last night slung low at his hips, showing off the v-line going across them and down his lower abdomen. The pale sunlight spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the planes of his broad shoulders-- just to top it off with a sweet cherry, his copper-brown hair was beyond tousled from sleep, a big contrast to the perfectly styled hairstyle he wore to the office, and his skin was kissed gold by the light coming in from the windows.

Roman's beauty was so obscene it almost knocked the panic clean out of me. Gosh.

Phone in one hand, he pressed it to his ear, not having noticed me yet. "No, I won't burn it down-- come on, I know how to handle my own kitchen! Or, sort of," he muttered. "I'll manage. I'm just saying, you don't have to come in this morning, we'll handle breakfast ourselves. Thank you, Martin, I-- yes, I know how to turn off the stove. Thanks."

My throat tightened-- Roman was here. He hadn't left.

His phone clicked against the counter as he hung up and put it down, and only then did his green eyes lift and meet the sight of me-- swallowed by his shirt, sleeves too long, eyes glassy, chest heaving.

For a beat, Roman just stared, and I swore something boyish flickered across his face, like he hadn't expected to see me here at all. His mouth parted, the faintest curve tugging at it. "Well, well," he drawled, voice still rough with sleep but softened by surprise. "Look at you." His gaze swept me slowly, hungrily, as if the oversized shirt and my bare legs were the most sinful thing he had ever seen. "Morning, pretty lady."

The words, warm and easy, hit me so hard I almost crumpled right there on the cold marble. My throat closed, and my fingers curled tighter into the hem of his shirt until the fabric bunched in my fists. I rubbed my teary eyes with the heel of my clothed palm, a broken sound slipping from my throat before I could stop it; "You weren't there," I whispered, my voice cracking into a small whimper. "I feel like I didn't sleep at all... My head's pounding. Then I woke up and thought you'd, like... left."

Roman's face changed in an instant. The playful curve of his mouth vanished, his green eyes widening as though I had just hit him square in the chest with some really odd news.

"You thought?-- Oh no,"

In two strides, Roman was in front of me, his hands cupping my jaw so gently it undid me all over again. His thumbs brushed at the damp corners of my lashes like he could wipe away the exhaustion staining me, and he leaned down, close enough that his forehead nearly touched mine, his voice hushed and reverent; "I was just in the kitchen," he murmured, as though he couldn't believe he had to say it, biting back a chuckle. "I'm not going anywhere. Thought I made that clear last night?"

I let out another broken sound, my fists curling tighter into Roman's shirt as I melted against him. The pounding in my head made everything hazy, but I could feel him--  all golden heat and solid muscle, his alluring scent clinging to the collar of the shirt I wore.

With ease, Roman's arms slid around me, one under my thighs, the other braced across my back, and then my feet were off the ground. I squeaked as he lifted me with little to no effort, holding me against his chest as though I weighed nothing, scooping me up into his arms. "There we go," Roman cooed, his mouth at my hairline, his breath warm in my tangled strands. "Back to bed with you. You need sleep, not marble floors."

I buried my face in the crook of his neck as I wrapped my legs around him, too emotionally wrung out to argue, letting small, pathetic hums slip from me as he carried me down the hall. I could feel Roman's heartbeat thudding steadily beneath my ear, grounding me, steadying me; "You're a morning person?" I murmured against his shoulder, hoping to melt into his skin and become one with him.

Roman let out a humoured huff, carrying me past the room with the Steinway piano. "No. I'm Batman,"

I snorted, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. I hadn't been carried like this since I was a child-- it was a damn nice thing. Why weren't adults carried more often? Why didn't we carry each other? Society would be happier, I was sure of it. I felt like a tiny teddy in Roman's arms, loved and cherished. "You're a morning person," I teased, lazily poking my finger into his bare shoulder. "You psycho."

Roman's laugh rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against my cheek where it pressed into him. "And you're delirious," he murmured, but his grip only tightened, his arms locking me closer like he enjoyed the weight of me too much to ever set me down. "I like you like this. Get delirious more often."

When he reached the bedroom, he nudged the door wider with his foot and strode straight to the bed. The duvet was still tangled and warm, sheets twisted from the night before. Roman lowered me carefully into them like I was something breakable, his big hands gentling every movement until I was back in the hollow we had left behind in the mattress.

However, the second he started to straighten up, I whimpered, grabbing at his wrist with both hands. "No," I said. "Stay. It's a Saturday, and I'm naked under this thing."

Roman stopped mid-movement.

His gaze cut down over me, slow and heavy, and I swore I felt the heat of it against my skin even through the air. His lips curved, sharp and sinful, as though I had just offered him the greatest provocation in the world.

"You know me too well," he drawled. "Use it against me again, and there will be much worse consequences."

"Like what, exactly?--" I started, but it dissolved into a squeal when, in the next second, he lunged.

The mattress dipped hard as Roman's weight came down, and I was lost beneath his tall stature, laughter spilling out of me as he tugged the duvet aside with one flick of his hand. "Off," he mumbled under his breath, caging me in as he unbuttoned my shirt, kissing me with insistence, making sure I wasn't able to mutter a word.

The last button slipped loose, and Roman peeled the shirt wide with a triumphant noise in his throat, his mouth pressing softly against mine before I could protest or keep giggling. Still, despite the passion and heat of the moment, I couldn't stop laughing against his lips, helpless at the sheer audacity of him.

"Roman!--" I gasped between kisses, squirming under his weight. "You have-- zero restraint!"

He grinned into my mouth, that bastard, and nipped at my bottom lip before pulling back. "Obviously," he purred with a tilt of his head. "You've met me, right?"

I shoved at his chest, breathless with laughter. "You animal,"

"Mm," Roman hummed in mock agreement, his green eyes glittering down at me. Then, with a sudden smirk, he shifted his weight just enough to taunt me; "Go on, then. Push me off."

I blinked at him; "What?"

"You heard me," His grin widened, sharp and cocky. "Topple me. Escape."

Oh gosh. Was I really about to attempt this on a man standing tall at 6'4? I was sure he could carry a large bull if he set his mind on it, and now I was supposed to... what, break my arms trying to push him off when I only wanted him closer? It was so ridiculous, I could only keep laughing. "You're asking for it now. Obviously, I'm going to win," I warned.

Roman grinned, broad and wide and amused. "You're so cute," he cooed, evil as ever. "Just like your blowjobs."

That was it. Enough with this fool. Finish him. With a huff, I braced both hands against Roman's broad chest and shoved with all my might.

And, to my surprise, of course... he didn't budge. Not even an inch.

Roman laughed-- a low, delighted sound that rumbled against my palms. "That was adorable," 

I groaned, laughing despite myself as I tried again, wriggling under him, kicking at the sheets, pushing at his shoulders with both arms. "It was not!" 

"Try harder," he teased, pinning me even more effectively by simply lowering himself a fraction, his weight and warmth pressing me into the mattress. "Come on, little secretary, where's that fight I know you've got?"

I squealed, laughter spilling out of me as I twisted beneath him, somehow managing to tangle us further in the duvet. Roman just grinned, watching me flail, his hair falling into his green eyes. Finally, when I gave one last dramatic shove and collapsed back onto the pillow, panting and pouting, he leaned down to kiss me again.

"See?" he cooed against my lips. "Hopeless. You'll never get rid of me."

Although I was faux offended and hurt, I shyly wrapped my arms around him to pull him closer. "Good," I murmured, pressing a small kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Roman's answering grin was wicked and tender all at once as he then nudged my nose with his before he kissed me again, long and slow, sealing the playful truce as he lay back down on top of me. His weight settled over mine, heavy and anchoring, and the laughter drained into a softer hum between us, our mouths lingering in that space where our giggles blurred into sighs.

The kisses slowed, deepened. His lips brushed, parted, returned, each one suspended like it might be the last-- only it never was. I tilted my chin, tasting him again and again, my tongue tracing the line of his lower lip before sliding up to tease his upper one; at that, every time, without fail, Roman let out a soft breath against my mouth, his whole body shuddering faintly, as if I had stolen the air right out of his lungs.

We kissed like that forever, in loving fragments-- mouths parting only to breathe each other in before coming back together, soft and urgent and sweetly greedy. My hands roamed without thought, curling into his hair, dragging down his back, clutching at his shoulders just to feel the warm solidity of him. Roman's fingers slid over my waist and ribs, not searching, just holding, like he could drink me in by mere touch.

The city could have disappeared outside those windows, and I wouldn't have noticed. The world was just this-- Roman's mouth on mine, the low sound he made when I gently nipped at his bottom lip with my teeth, and the way his chest pressed to mine in a steady rhythm like he was trying to sync our heartbeats.

The heat between us built until the cotton barrier of his sweats felt unbearable; too much fabric between us, too much distance when I wanted us skin to skin. My hands slipped lower, tugging at the waistband, fumbling sleepily before Roman caught the hint.

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at me, lips swollen, eyes dark. "Impatient?" he murmured, teasing, though his breathing was just as ragged as mine.

"No, you perv," I whispered, tugging at the drawstring again, smirking. "Just want you naked with me."

That was all it took-- with a small laugh, Roman pushed up just enough to get them down in one smooth motion, the fabric sliding away until there was nothing left between us. When he settled back over me, all hard heat and bare skin, I felt my heart skip a beat in the most cartoonish manner known to man; the press of him fully against me made my whole body sing. I could feel that he was half-hard, but I didn't care. If anything, I took it as a compliment; who wouldn't?

Roman groaned low at the contact, burying his face against my throat. "Finally," he muttered against my skin, his lips dragging along the line of my jaw. "I love this feeling."

Now, there was nothing between us-- no fabric, no space, no restraint. Just us, tangled and naked in the sheets, warmth and weight and lips meeting again and again, each kiss softer but deeper, suspended in a hazy, timeless rhythm. 

I smiled into his kisses, dizzy and warm, my heart thrumming with the certainty that I never wanted to be anywhere else but here, bare and tangled beneath him.

Roman shifted, his hips pressing down into mine in a slow, thoughtless rhythm that sent sparks through me without tipping us over into anything more. Just contact, raw and intimate, as though our bodies couldn't stop reminding each other that we were here together, after all our time apart. His soft mouth dragged lower, over my jaw, down the curve of my throat, open and hot until I all but gasped, fingers threading into his messy hair.

By the time Roman found my chest, I was half gone, my back arching at the faint pull of his lips. He sucked softly at the peak of me, not demanding, not even particularly careful-- just lazy, like I was his to toy and play with (which, frankly, I was). I let out a pleasured whimper, clutching his shoulders tighter, and he groaned against my skin, the sound vibrating straight through me.

"I'm so fucking happy you didn't take that money," he muttered against my skin, voice rough with something dangerously close to awe. "Two million dollars, and you still chose me."

I laughed, breathless, tipping my head back as Roman's hand trailed to my other breast, rolling my nipple with his thumb to harden it further, just for shits and giggles. "You're worth more than that, you idiot," I murmured. "Forbes can go fuck themselves, although they took that gorgeous picture of you."

Roman pulled back just far enough to glance up, his green eyes glinting wickedly from beneath his messy hair. "Oh?" he drawled, tongue flicking over the damp peak he'd just left wet and hardened. "What picture?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I refused to look away. "I haven't told you this before, but the first week I started working for you, you were on the front cover of Forbes, and I might've... bought the magazine just to stare at you,"

Roman's grin spread, slow and dangerous, like I had just confessed to the juiciest sin. "Oh really?" he purred, voice thick with triumph. "Were you just staring, or...?" He kept eye contact as his tongue traced a circle around my nipple, teasing me into opening up.

I let out a half-giggle, half-moan, clutching at his hair. "Maybe-- Maybe not just staring,"

Another kiss followed, open and wet, right over my peak before he sucked again, slow and greedy. "Aha," he murmured, too blissed out to properly detach from my chest. "Go on."

I squirmed beneath him, biting back a gasp as his tongue flicked over me again. "Roman--"

"Mm?" he hummed, lips closing around me, sucking firm enough to make my back arch; my whole body tingled.

I laughed, breathless, hiding my face against the pillow. "You're gonna make me say it?"

Roman lifted his head just enough to flash me a wicked grin, his mouth glistening, his green eyes molten. "Sure am,"

My cheeks burned so hot I thought they might combust. "Fine," I breathed, clutching at his shoulders like I needed the anchor. "To put it plainly, the magazine might... be a bit sticky."

Roman's laugh was low and scandalized, vibrating against my chest as he ducked back down to mouth at me again, groaning like the thought alone had undone him. "Fuck, that's hot," he said, the words muffled by the following wet seal of his lips. 

I squealed, torn between dying of embarrassment and melting into the way he wouldn't stop toying with me. "Roman, shut up!--"

"Nope. Not when you've just handed me the hottest thing I've ever heard," he rasped, lifting his head enough to pin me with a look that was pure wicked triumph. "Sticky Forbes issues, huh? You're filthier than I thought." His tongue flicked once more over my hardened peak, deliberately slow, before he grinned. "And here I thought I had seen it all."

I whimpered, hiding my face again, which only made him laugh harder. His mouth started trailing kisses toward my collarbone, nipping lightly. "What else?" he purred, his voice softer now, coaxing but still laced with that perverse amusement I knew too well. "Come on, now."

I shook my head furiously, half laughing, half mortified. "That's it. That's all you're getting,"

Roman hummed against my skin, unconvinced. "Yeah... no," he murmured, teeth scraping my collarbone. "That blush says otherwise. I know you wanna tell me."

"No!" I squeaked, curling into the pillow like I could bury myself.

"Out with it, before I spank it out of you,"

Groaning, I covered my face with both hands, my words muffled through my palms. "You're gonna make fun of me,"

"Obviously," Roman teased, tugging my wrists down so he could see me. His green eyes gleamed, bright with hunger and amusement. "That's half the fun. Now, tell me."

My throat closed, but the words tumbled out anyway, hot and humiliating; "Your nose looks particularly good in the picture. You have a good Forbes nose,"

For a second, Roman just blinked at me-- then his grin spread slow and wicked, like Christmas had come early. "Forbes nose?" he echoed, savouring it, his voice rich with delight; to him, this was as exciting as Santa coming down the darn chimney.

I squealed again, smacking his shoulder. "Don't say it like that!"

Roman laughed so hard his shoulders shook, burying his face back into my chest as if he couldn't stand how much he loved this revelation. "You're crazier than I thought," His words vibrated against my skin, broken up with more laughter. "You were touching yourself to my cover photo and thinking about... my nose?"

I groaned into the pillow, kicking at his hip helplessly. "No, not like that, it's-- you don't understand! It's a really good nose! Stop it!"

Roman lifted his head again, eyes molten with mischief and hunger. "Best compliment I've ever gotten," he said, leaning down to kiss me deep and wet. When he pulled back, his lips curved against mine. "Might have to send you a list of magazines I've been on the cover of, just to make sure you're never out of jerk-off material. Is my nose perhaps your equivalent of a Playboy model?"

"Roman!" I yelped, half laughing, half moaning as his mouth found my breast again.

"Mhm," he hummed against me, smug as always, lips closing around my peak. "Mine."

God, what was this obsession with Roman and my chest? I didn't care. It felt damn good. 

My fingers threaded into his messy hair almost on instinct, tugging gently, half to scold, half to keep him there. "You're impossible," I whispered, but my voice betrayed me, trembling at the way his tongue dragged greedily over me.

Roman groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating straight through my chest. "And you love it," he muttered, softly guiding his lips around my nipple.

"I--" My protest dissolved into a whimper, my back arching to meet him, unable to hide how much I did love it. My thighs shifted, tangling against his, bare skin to bare skin, and the soft friction of his hardening cock sliding slowly against my hip made my whole body jolt with want.

His green eyes flicked up briefly, sharp and glinting, before he let out another groan, burying himself against me again. I kissed the crown of his head, desperate and tender, with my lips pressing into his hair over and over. The taste of him, the heat radiating off his body-- it all felt so stupidly precious, I wanted to cry.

"Roman..." My voice cracked, more plea than word, my fingers tugging tighter in his hair as he nipped me softly and soothed it with his tongue.

"Mhm," he hummed again, smug and satisfied, grinding down against me with a slow roll of his hips, his growing length catching perfectly against my lower abdomen, hot and aching. "Can't get enough of you. Not last night, not now."

I whimpered softly at the drag of him against me-- my hips shifted instinctively, tilting to meet his lazy thrusts, not with any frantic urgency, but slow, like we both knew we weren't going anywhere, like we could take forever.

Roman's breath caught against my chest, his laugh low and ragged. "That's it," he whispered, rolling into me again, his length grinding perfectly along my hipbone. "God, feel that?"

I nodded, unable to stop the shaky sound that broke out of me. My thighs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer, wanting to give him more of the friction he chased-- this was so hot. Imagine if he came just by grinding on me? Use me. I'm yours. 

Roman groaned, the sound thick and guttural, and pressed his mouth open and wet over my sternum, sucking another mark into me as if he could brand me with proof of how badly he wanted me.

We moved like that, slow and steady, the sheets tangling further with every lazy grind of his cock against me. My hands threaded through his messy hair, tugging, guiding him up until our mouths pressed together again, kissing him deep. "It's official. I've gone crazy," Roman muttered against my lips, his voice rough and reverent all at once. "I could-- fuck-- I could come just like this, rubbing on you like some teenager."

I laughed, breathless, my forehead pressed to his, lips brushing his as I whispered; "Then do it,"

Roman groaned at that, the sound breaking rough in his throat, and then suddenly, the cozy mood of his was gone. "Fuck no," he mumbled, sounding... embarrassed? With a sharp shift of his weight, he rolled off me, collapsing onto his back beside me with a thud, his arm flung over his face like he couldn't bear to be seen.

"Uh..." I blinked at him, still buzzing, still burning from the loss of his body. "Roman? What just happened?"

"Nothing," he muttered into the crook of his arm, his voice muffled and ragged. "I almost fucking--" Roman cut himself off, dragging in a shaky breath; his chest rose and fell fast, his cock still hard against his stomach, twitching with the next beat of his heart. "Don't know what's gotten into me," he muttered, his arm still flung over his face, green eyes hidden from view. "I feel like I'm fifteen again, dry-humping like I don't know how to fuck. Sorry."

I turned onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him. Roman's chest was flushed, rising and falling hard, his cock lying stiff and angry against his stomach. The sight made my heart jump with excitement-- God, he was hot like this.

"Don't apologize. You make it sound like a bad thing when it's not," I purred, my hand sliding down until my fingers brushed over the pink tip. Roman twitched, but didn't stop me-- I wrapped my hand around his cock, loose and lazy, just a gentle curl that made him shudder. "I like you like this, all horny. Makes you feel a little more like a person, and not just my boss."

Roman let out a soft breath, his arm shifting off his face so he could look between me and the small hand around his cock. "Don't be ridiculous," he muttered.

"Am I?" I slowly pumped his cock as I somehow managed to shrug. "Because personally, I used to love dry-humping. You're kind of re-enacting all the teenage stuff I've been missing in adult sex."

That earned me a small laugh, with Roman's head tipping back against the pillow. "Fuck, don't say that," he groaned, though his hips jerked faintly into my fist like he couldn't help himself. "Don't give me ideas."

I grinned, kissing the hollow of his throat, still stroking him with a slow rhythm. "What, so you agree that dry-humping should make a comeback?"

Roman turned his head toward me, his grin wicked even as his cheeks flushed. "I don't know what that'd make of us if I said yes to that question. Degenerates who apparently peaked at fifteen?"

I snorted, now softly tracing the tip of Roman's cock with my index, feeling him twitch beneath my hand. "I don't think we peaked at fifteen. I wasn't even sexually active until much later," I said, lazily swiping my thumb across the slit. "But you certainly didn't peak that early. You've been driving me nuts at the ripe age of... what are you, sixty-seven?"

Roman's head snapped toward me, green eyes wide in outrage. "Sixty-seven?!"

I burst out laughing, deliberately wrapping my hand around his cock and speeding up my strokes just a smidge. "What? Did I overshoot?"

"By about fifty fucking years," he snapped, though his voice struggled with his laughter and the new tempo around his length. He grabbed at my wrist half-heartedly, not enough to stop me, just enough to make a point. "You little brat. I'm twenty-four."

I smirked, kissing the sharp line of his cheekbone. "Twenty-four going on sixty-seven,"

Roman groaned, dramatically throwing his head back into the pillow, one hand dragging down his face. "Unbelievable... I finally let you get your hands on me and this is what I get? Geriatric jokes?"

I giggled, giving him a firmer squeeze just to hear the ragged breath he sucked in. "Hey, I like older men! Consider it a compliment,"

That earned me a glare. "I'm four years older than you. Four years is not 'older men.' Four years is--" He cut himself off with a groan as my thumb swept lazily over his tip once more; "--fuck, it's nothing."

"Yeah, yeah," I purred, giving his cheek a soft kiss. "Keep telling yourself that."

Before I could laugh again, Roman moved. His hand closed around my wrist, not half-hearted this time, and he tugged it firmly off him, pinning it against the mattress beside my head. In the same motion, he rolled on top of me, his weight settling heavy and deliberate, caging me in as I squeaked in delight.

"Let me get this straight," he said, leaning down until his nose brushed mine, his voice a dangerous purr. "You just called me sixty-seven years old while you were jerking me off?"

I bit my lip, trying not to grin. "Maybe,"

Roman's mouth curved, sharp and smug. "Brat,"

And then, he kissed me-- hard. He groaned into my mouth, like reclaiming control was turning him on and inside out.

I whimpered, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, arching into him as I tried to speak. "Roman--"

"Mm?" he hummed mock-innocently against my lips, his smirk ghosting across my mouth as he reached down to realign his hard cock. "What was that? Speak up."

"You're so full of yourself, I--" My protest broke into a gasp as his tip parted my folds, tapping once at my clit before sliding his length along my wet sex, hips rolling slow and deliberate against me.

Fuck.

"Damn right I am," Roman murmured, kissing me again, like he had no intention of letting me tease him further. "Now shut up about my age before I give you something to really whimper about."

I whimpered as he dragged himself slowly along me, every inch of him hot and slick with my arousal, the deliberate friction making my whole body jolt. "Roman--"

"Mm?" he drawled, green eyes glittering down at me, smug and devastating. "You were saying something?"

I let out a broken laugh, squirming under him as he slid back up, the thick ridge of his cock catching perfectly against my clit-- I had missed this feeling for a few years, now. "Oh my God-- shut up," I breathed.

Roman smirked, leaning down to kiss the corner of my mouth, maddeningly gentle. "Not a chance. I'm going to remind you of this every birthday,"

I giggled, breathless, my hips tipping up against his. "You're being mean,"

"And you're dripping all over me," he shot back, voice low and smug, rolling his hips again just to prove it. The movement tore another whimper out of me, and his grin curved wickedly. "See? Not so mouthy now."

"Roman, you little--" I squirmed under him, my thighs tightening around his hips as I chased the pleasure. "You're a meanie!"

That only made his grin sharpen, green eyes glittering as his cock slid against me again. "Oh, really?" he murmured, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "Poor thing." Roman pressed another languid grind along my clit; "You really think I'm going to let you get away with calling me sixty-seven?"

I squealed, torn between laughter and moaning as he kissed the corner of my mouth. Something started building in my lower abdomen, something way too familiar, yet early-- why was I feeling close right now? "Roman, I'm-- I don't wanna cum like this," I tried. "I'm feeling weirdly-- close."

"Oh, is that so?" His voice was honey-smooth, feigning innocence as his cock slid through my slick folds again, catching just right. "Too bad. Want you to."

"Roman!" I squealed, half-giggling, half-pleading, squirming against him as the friction tipped me frighteningly close. "I mean it, I don't wanna! Orange, or-- pink, whatever!"

At that, with a low groan and a muttered curse, he rolled off, collapsing onto his back beside me-- of all the things I could take him for, I could never say he didn't respect a good safe word.

"Fuck," Roman panted, throwing an arm over his face again, his chest rising and falling fast. "You ruin everything."

I burst into laughter, breathless, my body still humming from the edge he had left me on. "Me?!"

"Yes, you," he grumbled, peeking at me from under his arm with that boyish, huffy glare. His cock still lay flushed, wet, and hard against his stomach as he spoke; "Here I am, trying to give you a good time, and you tap out like a coward."

My jaw dropped, mock-offended. "Excuse me?" I swatted at his chest. "Roman Godfrey, what did you just call me?"

Roman snorted, catching my wrist without even trying, his smirk infuriating. "I mean, if the shoe fits..."

I let out a scandalized gasp, gearing up to shove him again-- but suddenly, tired of our back-and-forths, Roman's strong arm slid around my waist, tugging me sideways and half across his chest.

I squealed at the surprise pull, laughing, but the sound hitched when he shifted beneath me, aligning his hard cock with my entrance. Before I could catch up, he pushed into me with an impatient little thrust of his hips, and I gasped as Roman slipped inside, slow, lazy, and startling, filling me before I even had the chance to process. My breath caught hard, my hands instinctively pulled at the duvets at the stretch, and my laughter dissolved into a stunned moan as my back arched against his chest. "Oh-- Oh my God--"

Roman groaned low into my hair, his lips brushing the crown of my head as he sank the rest of the way in. His arm wrapped tighter around me, anchoring me down against him, his cock stretching me in a lazy, unhurried thrust that made my toes curl.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself," he muttered against my temple, his voice ragged but smug. "Can't get enough being inside of you like this. You're all warm and snug... Surprisingly wet, too, for someone who whines the amount you do."

I twisted my head back enough to glare at him, though the heat flooding through me betrayed me instantly. "You--" I broke off on a whimper as his cock pushed into me again, maddeningly slow, grinding me back down onto him. "You did that on-- purpose."

Roman smirked, kissing the side of my jaw, utterly unbothered. "Obviously. Best way to shut you up,"

I laughed, breathless as ever, as my nails dug into his forearm where it held me caged to his chest. "You're nuts," I whispered, even as I melted fully against him, letting him guide the lazy rhythm.

"And you love it," he rasped, smug and tender in the same breath, kissing my cheek as his hips rocked slow and deep into me. "Let's just do this for a bit, yeah? You're so pretty and tight... need to fuck you for a bit. Why waste good pussy?"

"Roman!--" I huffed, my toes curling as I clutched at his forearm. Outrageous!

"Shh," he soothed. His tone stayed smug, playful, and unbearably casual about how deep he was inside me. "Relax. Just let me have you like this. Lazy. Perfect. Saturday morning sex." And then, just to make matters worse-- "Now, tell me what else you did with that Forbes magazine."

Now?! 

"There's-- nothing more to tell," I breathed between the moans I couldn't swallow back as his cock stroked into me, in and out, in and out. "I just got off... No biggie."

"Right," Roman said, like he didn't quite believe me. His hips rolled a little deeper, deliberate, like punctuation. "Come on, I know you. You had a whole ritual, didn't you? Lights off, door locked, magazine open to my face?"

"Stop it!" I whimpered, kicking weakly at his shin, but his arm only tightened around me, keeping me snug to his chest as he rocked me down onto his cock, making me take his thrusts, in control and unhurried, like he needed to keep a rabid animal still.

"Shh," Roman soothed, voice soft and patronizing as his mouth brushed my temple; "Easy." his cock slid and pushed deeper into me as if to remind me who had the leverage. "I'm not asking for much, here. Just wanna know how you rubbed your pretty little clit to the thought of me."

My breath hitched as I clenched around his cock. There was no fucking way I'd explain that to him in this position?!

Roman sighed at my silence, utterly casual about it, his cock still dragging in and out of me at that maddening, lazy pace. "Okay, well... If you're not willing to talk,"

Before I could argue, his free hand slipped down between my thighs, the broad span of his fingers brushing over my slick folds; my whole body jolted. "Ah-- A-Aah--"

"Relax," he murmured against my temple, patient, like he was explaining something obvious. "Just testing my theory." His fingertip circled my clit in a slow, deliberate spiral before pressing three fingers together, adding pressure in a side-to-side motion.

I squeaked, clutching at his forearm. "Fuck-- fuck!--" My stomach coiled at the pleasure, and my walls clamped down around Roman's thick cock.

"Was it fast like this? Or did you tease yourself, hm? Took your time?" His fingers switched pace, now using two, stroking slow little circles around my clit that made me gasp.

"God," I whimpered, kicking weakly again, but my hips betrayed me, rocking against his hand.

Roman chuckled low, kissing the crown of my head. "Yeah, that feels about right... Look at you squirming," He pressed his fingers harder, grinding me against his palm while his cock pushed deep and steady inside me. "You always were a little tease. You edge yourself often?"

I groaned, trying to bury my face into anything available, my whole body burning, but to no avail. "You're-- mean. Not telling you that," That'd give him way too much leverage, anyway.

"Aw," Roman murmured, faux disappointed as his fingers changed tempo again, dragging me toward the edge whether I liked it or not. "Fine. If I'm so mean, I'll give you something back, yeah?" 

I whimpered, my breath catching as his fingers on my clit slipped into that quicker rhythm, matching the steady push of his cock, making me more hazy. "Roman, please, please--"

"Shh. Listen," He kissed the top of my head like he was about to tell me something ordinary, his tone ridiculously casual-- why was this so hot? Why did I like this so much, like I was simply here for his convenience, for him to get off? 

It only got better when Roman went on; "You think I haven't gotten off at the thought of you, too?"

Heat spiked down my spine as his cock continued stroking into me, over and over, in and out, in and out. "I-- What?"

"Mhm," His smirk curved against my temple, and his fingers abruptly slowed, dragging lazy, torturous circles around my clit, which had me sucking in a sharp breath to adjust. "Especially when I was in Geneva on that trip. Thought about you under my desk, wet and messy, legs spread just for me... Sometimes I stroked fast like this--" 

His hand picked up pace out of a sudden, relentless circles rolling over my clit that made me squeal, my hips bucking into his touch.

"Ro-- Roman!"

He chuckled, smug and calm, pressing another kiss to my cheek. "Yeah, that's it. And sometimes..." he went on, his voice lowering; "I liked it slow." Roman's touch shifted again, maddeningly patient, dragging long, deliberate strokes over my swollen nub, teasing me until my toes curled. "Pretending I had all night to properly fuck you. I even tapped the tip of my dick on my palm sometimes, just to imagine it was your tongue. How pathetic is that?"

Holy fuck. I was so, so unbelievably turned on by all of this, but I couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "You filthy--" I gasped, the words dissolving into a whimper as he switched speeds on my clit again, perfectly timed with the roll of his cock inside me.

Roman only laughed, smug and patronizing as ever. "Says the girl who named my nose after a magazine she gets off to,"

I should've never told him that. Ugh. I gave a helpless moan, my face burning, but it broke into a whimper as his thick cock pushed deeper and his fingers continued those firm circles on my clit, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. "Roman-- oh my God--"

"Yeah, I know... I know, you're being so good for me, yeah?" he soothed with awe, like we weren't both seconds from unraveling. "That's it, good girl. Just let me have you, yeah? You feel so fucking good-- warm and tight--" His breath hitched, breaking his composure for the first time, his thrusts growing rougher, sharper in their laziness, like he couldn't hold the restraint. "Shit, I'm close."

His words set me off balance, my nails digging into his arm as the coil in my stomach tightened closer to snapping. "Me too," I gasped, my voice breaking high and desperate. "Roman, please--"

"Yeah?" Roman's soft lips brushed my temple, his voice strained now. "Gonna cum for me? Do it, then. My sweet girl, all wet for me, just how I thought about you-- fuck--"

That was all it took. My body seized, shuddering as release tore through me, pleasure crashing hot and relentless. I cried out, arching against him, my walls clamping tight around his cock.

Roman groaned into my hair, breath ragged, his rhythm breaking as his hips jerked harder, desperate. "Fuck-- fuck, that's it--" His hand stilled on my clit when he knew I was done, holding me through his peak as he spilled into me with a guttural sound, cock twitching against my walls.

We collapsed together, exhausted and breathless, my back still flush to his chest as his arm tightened like he couldn't bear to let me go. Roman's mouth pressed soft, lingering kisses into my damp hair, and I could only beam, my smile never leaving my lips as I caught my breath. 

Life had never felt so good.

Roman let out a contented sigh, his cock slowly softening inside of me, engulfed by his own sticky cum. "That was so fucking good," he said, a bit out of air as he smiled. "'Good morning' just got a new meaning."

"I agree," I whispered back, turning my head just enough for him to catch my flushed cheeks. "Good morning, you."

With a smug grin, Roman kissed me, slow and languid, the kind of kiss that didn't demand anything, but sealed us together in the quiet aftermath. "Good morning," he murmured. His arm curled tighter around my waist, his nose brushing my temple like he couldn't get close enough.

For a blissful moment, there was nothing else-- just the warmth of his body caging me, the sheets tangled around us, and our uneven breath.

But then, his phone rang.

Of course.

The sound sliced right through the haze, sharp and insistent from the nightstand. Roman groaned against my hair, muffling his curse into my skin, but he didn't move at first; his forehead tipped against me like he could will it silent.

"Don't," I murmured, making myself more comfortable in his arms. "Ignore it." Pretty please.

Roman sighed, low and reluctant, his arm tightening around my waist like he agreed. "I want to," he said, honest as ever, kissing the side of my head. "But we both know I can't."

The phone kept buzzing the more he stalled. With every vibration, I felt the change stirring in Roman, like the air itself thickened. He pressed one last kiss to my temple, then sighed, and reluctantly started peeling his body away from mine.

His cock slipped out of me, leaving me warm and aching, the intimacy of moments ago vanishing with the cool rush of air between us. Roman exhaled hard through his nose, then reached for the phone without letting me go, snagging it off the nightstand with one long arm. He kept me tucked against his chest as he swiped yes on the call.

"Godfrey,"

The difference was instant; his voice, still gravelled from sex, dropped into that smooth, clipped cadence I was used to at the office. My Roman, hair a mess and cum still inside me, was answering the phone like... CEO-Roman. 

"Yes," he muttered, absently rubbing his thumb against my waist like he didn't notice he was doing it. "I'm aware. Send me the numbers." A pause, his jaw tightened-- "No. Not Monday. Today. You're already calling me on the weekend, Pryce."

The contrast made my stomach flip. A minute ago, he had been kissing me like he couldn't stand stopping for just a second, and now, his green eyes were sharp, focused, his words clipped into that familiar CEO cadence.

I curled closer under the duvet, watching him with a mix of awe and disbelief. Roman wasn't mine anymore-- he belonged to his empire again. This version of him would certainly never dry hump me like some horny teenager. Stubborn, I pressed my face against his chest like maybe I could block out the sharp edges of his other side. 

Roman glanced down at me briefly, mid-sentence, his green eyes flickering softer for just a second, and when Pryce on the other end droned on, he mouthed I need to get up.

My pout deepened instantly; I shook my head against him, small and defiant, clutching at him like I could keep him tethered to me.

Roman's mouth curved upward, faint and fond, as his hand kept rubbing distracted circles against my arm whilst his tone stayed sharp for the call. "No," he said into the phone, smooth and unyielding, like he hadn't just had sex. "I don't care, it's been three weeks. We're moving the numbers, it won't take too long."

The duality was maddening. His strong arm was snug around me, his thumb drawing lazy patterns on my skin, his lips brushing the top of my head between sentences, and yet, his words were all business.

When the voice on the line bit back, Roman groaned softly, tilting his head into the pillow. He mouthed again, quieter this time: I'll be quick.

I whimpered faintly in protest, clutching at him like a needy child. At that, with an apologetic smile, Roman leaned down, pressing one last kiss to my cheek, before pulling away. When he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and raked a hand through his ruined hair, he was someone else entirely. Boyfriend-Roman melted away; Mr. Godfrey rose in his place, just as I remembered him.

I felt his cum seeping out of me as I grabbed the duvet with a permanent pout, dragging it over me as I watched him get dressed. Over and over, I told myself I had the rest of the weekend with him, and it helped for a moment; but I hugged the duvet tighter, huffing into the fabric, my body still aching from him.

Roman slipped into his sweats, phone pressed to his ear, voice all steel and precision now. The sun caught in his tousled hair, showering him in light as he glanced back once, catching the way I was burrowed in the covers. His mouth curved-- not CEO-sharp, but something boyish and wicked again. Without missing a beat in his businesslike tone, he pressed the rambling phone between his ear and shoulder before he reached down with his free hand and gave the duvet a sudden tug.

I squealed, clutching the fabric to my naked body as Roman's green eyes flashed with mischief.

Don't pout, Roman mouthed, lips quirking, before straightening again, his attention sliding back to the voice on the line. A second later, he was pacing toward the window, phone to his ear, already Mr. Godfrey again, but this time with a know-it-all grin.

I sank back into the bed with a helpless little laugh, hugging the duvet like armour. 

Sure, the Godfrey empire was his to own and run-- but beneath it all, he was all mine.

(a/n: oh how I love these two idiots!!! thank u to everyone who has read this far, the love and comments have made my day!!! MWAH<333)

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[kingkat12]

emotion is pain (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: sexual harassment, fluff, mentions of sex, fluff, sexism, fluff, fluff, FLUFF!!

summary: the French have always been fond of claiming things that are not theirs-- will Mr. Godfrey let them, though?

word count: 11,245

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a/n: I basically wrote this whole thing over a span of 24 hours, and I have been plotting this chapter since the absolute start, so... ENJOYYYYY HOPE U LIKE IT OMG THIS IS THEEE CHAPTER<333

"Ooh-la-la," Letha teased from the other side of the phone. "A Birkin? That doesn't sound like my cousin."

I stared down at the bag nestled in its silk shroud on my bed, sighing. I had been going nuts all day since Mr. Godfrey kicked me out of his office, and I couldn't get it out of my head how he had panicked. Had I ruined everything? I needed an expert opinion-- also known as Letha. "He said he thought it would match my heels," I murmured, still not over it. "I can't believe he even thought about that. He had my initials engraved on the gold pleating and everything."

There was a beat of stunned silence from the other end.

"Okay, what the hell is happening?" Letha burst out, somewhere between awe and alarm. "He bought you a customized Birkin and remembered your heels? This is not the man who forgot my birthday two years in a row! That jerk!"

I smiled faintly, but my head kept throbbing; it was way too late. The moon was shining brighter than ever from outside my window, and I couldn't sleep before I cracked the enigma that was Roman Godfrey.

There was a pause. Then, Letha let out a knowing little hum, like she had already read the ending of the book I was still stumbling through. "So... how badly did you fuck it up?"

"... What?"

She didn't miss a beat. "Roman only gives that much of a shit when he's on the brink of an emotional aneurysm. So either you kissed him, or you said something dangerous,"

"I'm not stupid, I didn't kiss him!"

"Oh, come on," I could hear Letha grinning through the phone. Her tone was smug now, but underneath it, there was something protective. "Roman doesn't do grand gestures, and the second you respond to him like a normal human being with emotions, he short-circuits. So," A beat. "What did you say?"

I hesitated.

"Oh God," Letha's voice dipped. "You said something emotional, didn't you?"

"I might've..." I clutched the Birkin tighter. "I might've told him I think about him... all the time..." My voice died out the further down I got in that sentence, and the silence that followed was brutal.

"Oh my God," Letha whispered, horrified for my sake."You told him?!"

"I didn't mean to, Lee! It just came out!"

I heard her flop dramatically onto something-- probably her bed. "Jesus Christ... That man's nervous system is already hanging on by a thread as it is. You basically set off an emotional nuke. There will be no North Korea tomorrow,"

I covered my face with my hand, groaning at my stupidity. "It was awful. He looked like he was going to be sick,"

"Because he was," Letha said. "Emotionally."

I let out a strangled sound. "I don't fucking get it anymore!" This was impossible. Mr. Godfrey was fucking impossible. "Not that I ever got it, like, ever, but this-- I don't get it! Why gift me a Birkin if you don't like me?!"

"You know he likes you,"

"I don't fucking know anymore!" I whined. "He got nauseous, Letha. Nauseous! Like he was about to throw up on the dead orchid in the corner that he never lets me water! Why is he like this?!"

Letha was quiet for a moment-- and then, with unnerving calm, she said; "I think it sounds like you might've reached past the persona and touched the actual Roman, and you scared the hell out of him. Of course he got nauseous,"

I sank deeper into my sheets, curling around the Birkin like it might save me. "Well, I'm scared now, too," I whispered. "What if he fires me?"

"Oh, you're such a drama queen!--"

"I'm serious, Letha!" My voice cracked as panic licked up the back of my throat. "What if that was it? What if that's what happened to the other secretaries? What if they all made the same mistake, thinking they meant more to him than the rest, and that was the line?"

"You didn't cross a line," Letha said, softer now.

"But I did," I whispered. "I felt it. Something shifted. I'm not going to have a job tomorrow, and-- and I'll never see him again." At that, I felt my eyes well with tears for the hundredth time today. I couldn't stand the thought of never seeing Mr. Godfrey again, of being discarded like his previous secretaries, of going back to meaning nothing to the man that had become my everything. 

Letha exhaled quietly, full of sympathy. "Look... he's not used to people sticking around after the mask slips. It's always easier to run than wait to be hurt,"

"I didn't say anything hurtful," I mumbled. "I just said that I think about him--"

"-- All the time,"

I said nothing. The silence was loud enough for us both. Even the Birkin wasn't helping, no matter how gorgeous it looked in the moonlight right now. "I'm just... sad that he thinks he has to run,"

Letha was quiet for a moment. When she finally spoke again, her voice was unusually gentle; "He's not running because he doesn't care. He's running because he does,"

I swallowed hard. That felt too generous, too hopeful. "Then why doesn't he just say that?"

"Because he's Roman," she huffed, matter-of-factly as ever. "And Roman hasn't said how he actually feels since he was, like, five. That's when his whole world blew up."

"You mean when his dad?--"

"Yeah," A beat passed. This was clearly sensitive information. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but... Roman found him, y'know? And my mom still talks about when Aunt Olivia hit him in our driveway before the funeral because he cried."

Breathless, I could only muster a tiny what?

"Yeah," Letha mumbled. "Aunt Olivia was very adamant about mentioning that J.R. had abandoned the family on every occasion. It was constant. She's cut back on it now, though, but... it was fucking brutal. Roman was never the same after that. Every time I come crying to him about anything, he tells me I should get myself together. Still, to this day."

I went quiet.

For a long moment, the only sound between us was the soft rustling of my sheets as I shifted, the Birkin carefully sliding off my lap like even the fucking bag knew this conversation had crossed into something too raw.

"He was five," Letha added, her voice low. "Just five. So don't be shocked if he gets nauseous or if he flinches. He associates emotion with... pain, I guess."

That was it-- like the last piece of a puzzle, it slid into place, and it clicked in my head.

That's why Mr. Godfrey liked putting me over his knees. Emotion is pain. That's why he liked playing mind games and seeing how far I broke down. Emotion is pain. That's why he liked how painfully desperate I was in that drunk mail. Emotion is pain. That's why he liked humiliating me. Emotion is pain. 

The more hurt we both were, the more I indulged, the more I enjoyed it too... the more he felt like he was showing me affection?

It hit me like a punch to the chest, how backwards this all was-- how twisted, how fragile. No wonder he had frozen, no wonder he had looked like he might pass out. Because I didn't cry, I didn't beg, I didn't fall to my knees like the first time, all messy and unraveling for him to feel powerful about...

I had smiled.

I had looked at the bag and smiled and said something that, to any normal person, would've meant connection.

And for him... that was the most dangerous thing of all.

I could feel it now-- what he must've felt. That invisible wire pulling tight in his chest. The walls coming down before he could stop them. The horror of it. Because maybe for the first time, it didn't feel transactional. It didn't feel controlled. It felt warm, soft.

It felt like falling, and Mr. Godfrey didn't fall-- he dragged people down with him.

"Jesus Christ," I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of it all. "I think I broke him."

"You didn't break him," Letha murmured, gentle with my fragile state. "He was already broken. You just... got close enough to hear the cracking."

I held my Birkin a little tighter, not for the leather or the hardware or the status, but for what it suddenly represented; proof. Proof that he tried, that he cracked open a door he hadn't opened since he was a child, and I (the fucking idiot that I am) had rushed through it without knocking.

"I have to fix this," I whispered. "Somehow."

"Then be there tomorrow," Letha said, soft as ever. "Even if he acts like he doesn't want you there, be consistent. He's going to try to run away, maybe he'll even try to fire you, but he will come back eventually to see if you're still waiting for him or if you've already gone. Just show up for him. Stay put, and stay loyal."

"But... what if he says something awful?"

"Girl, this is Roman. He probably will,"

I sighed. "That's not very comforting,"

"Roman doesn't mean it," Letha sighed. "And that's always the comforting part." ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had prepared for this morning like countries prepare for war.

My nails were French. Long. Lilac. My hair was down. My skirt was exactly mid-thigh, with those dark, thin pantyhose I knew he liked, and my Louboutins were worn with no wobble, only poise. Mr. Godfrey wasn't going to find anything wrong to point out. There was nothing to point out. I was the picture-perfect secretary. I was a good secretary. 

And I was ready to stay put. 

By the time I walked into the morning staff meeting, the boardroom was already humming. Department heads. Legal. PR. Operations. The air was heavy with nerves and perfume and fresh espresso, the usual corporate tension dialed up to something just shy of explosive. Everyone was seated. Everyone but him.

The chair at the head of the table remained empty for a full ten seconds-- then, the door opened behind me.

And there he was.

Mr. Godfrey.

I felt it before I saw it; that sudden dip in the atmosphere, like someone had opened a window in a pressure-sealed room. Cold. Controlled. Terrifyingly elegant. He had walked in without looking at me, dark suit ironed to perfection, crisp collar, not a hair out of place. And his expression? Indifferent. I could've been the wall for all he cared.

Mr. Godfrey took his seat at the head of the table, set his Cartier watch down in front of him, and didn't say a word for a long, long moment, until-- "We have thirty-eight minutes before the Arnault consortium arrives. Listen very carefully, because I do not care to repeat myself, nor do I have the time to repeat myself today. Here's how this is going to go,"

His voice was low, commanding, and flat in a way that told me one wrong move today could cost someone their job. And still, the part of me that had cried into a thousand-dollar handbag last night wanted to believe there was more beneath it, that maybe the frost was just the scar tissue over whatever the hell had happened to him when he was only just a boy.

Dress codes. Press protocol. Who was allowed to speak. Who wasn't. It all went on for a while, and as it did, my eyes scoured the room, looking for the one person I had avoided since the banquet this Sunday.

And there he was-- Peter Rumancek.

He was tucked into a corner seat, legal pad already scribbled over, one foot tapping quietly under the table. His shirt was rumpled in the way that suggested he had been up since dawn, not out of obligation but because he cared too much about this case not to be. 

And then he saw me.

His big, brown eyes landed on mine, and in the middle of Mr. Godfrey's frostbitten monologue, Peter gave me the gentlest, most unexpected thing I'd received in twenty-four hours; a small, soft smile.

Just for me.

No mocking. No curiosity. No smug little told-you-so. Just kindness. Concern.

But there was something quiet and understanding in the look he gave me, like maybe he had seen this before. Maybe he knew what Mr. Godfrey looked like the morning after he broke something he didn't mean to with one of his secretaries? Or maybe he just recognized the look on my face, somewhere between poise and ruin.

Then, he mouthed something across the table, silent as snowfall; you okay?

My throat tightened-- how did this even happen? How did someone so kind end up working for this evil corporation? How did something gentle bloom beneath these harsh lights? I gave the tiniest nod I could manage, feeling my heart swell; there was hope after all. Kindness was still a thing of the earth, even though Peter knew there would probably never be a him and I.

At that, relieved, Peter nodded back, lips pressing together, serious and ready to get back to work.

Meanwhile, Mr. Godfrey hadn't even glanced in Peter's direction. He was too busy pacing the front of the room now, one hand tucked into his pocket as he ran through the logistics like he was reading out a will. His voice never cracked, never faltered, but I could feel the pressure winding around the room like smoke. Every instruction was a command. Every command was a line drawn in blood.

Then, without stopping, his voice rang out again-- clear, direct.

"And you--" he said, without even looking up; "You're shadowing me today."

It took me half a second to realize who he meant.

Me.

My stomach dropped.

I blinked, heart leaping in my throat. Slowly, every pair of eyes in the room swiveled toward me-- fuck. My throat tightened as I nodded once, sharp and obedient, schooling my expression into perfect neutrality. "Yes, sir,"

The meeting dismissed moments later in a rush of chair legs and shuffling papers, but I didn't move-- I didn't dare.

Mr. Godfrey didn't have to tell me to stay behind, and sure enough, once the door closed behind the last department head, he turned on his heel and stalked toward me. "Walk," he hissed, brushing past me without slowing. I followed, heels sharp on the marble, trying not to read into the clipped pace or the way his shoulder tensed when I matched it too closely.

He led me into the hallway behind the boardroom, where the hum of corporate urgency faded into something heavier, quieter. It was sleek, sterile, and ice-cold-- white walls, no windows, and lighting that made everything feel too exposed. It was the kind of hallway where voices echo and secrets suffocate. I followed him without a word, my heels clipped sharply against the floor as I tried not to draw attention to the fact that we were alone again. Just him. Just me. Just silence.

But then, he stopped.

Mr. Godfrey turned to me with a suddenness that knocked the air out of me, like a trap snapping shut-- one second I was walking, and the next I was up against the wall, the cold biting through my blouse as he closed the distance with terrifying precision. His arm braced to the side of my head, caging me in, his body angled too close to ignore, and his scent of leather and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke pressed into the space between us like a hand around my throat.

"You are going to keep your mouth shut today," he hissed, each word slow, deliberate venom. 

I didn't move, didn't speak-- I couldn't. My pupils had probably blown, staring up at Mr. Godfrey with fear churning in my gut. 

"You will not smile. You will not sigh. You will not breathe the wrong way in my direction, do you understand me?" Every word was punctual, like a needle prodding my skin; his green eyes darkened with every word. "If I hear one word-- one fucking sound from you that isn't strictly professional, I swear to God, I'll make you wish I had fired you yesterday."

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

Mr. Godfrey didn't blink. Was he perhaps hoping to obliterate me with his eyes?

He was so close that I could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his knuckles had gone white where they pressed into the wall above me. Even worse, was that up close, he looked like he hadn't slept, like he had spent the night unraveling and had stitched himself back together just for the sake of this day-- and barely managed so. Just barely.

There was only rage. Only rage, only pain. 

Emotion is pain. 

"I'm not here to make things worse, sir," I breathed. "My position is to-- to help you. I'm your secretary. Utilise me as you must."

Finally, Mr. Godfrey blinked, but it wasn't relief or acknowledgment that followed-- it was contempt, pure and unedited. He looked at me like I was a stain on his shirt, something ugly and clinging and beneath him. "Help me?" he echoed softly-- and then came the laughter. A single, bitter sound, short and joyless; "You think this is help?"

And just when I thought it wasn't possible, Mr. Godfrey leaned in closer, the expensive smell of him suffocating my every breathing cell. The space between us was already nonexistent, but he closed it anyway, like proximity itself was a weapon, pushing me up against the wall to make it impossible for me to run. "You are not helping," he hissed. "You are hovering, like some pathetic little girl playing office."

I didn't move, couldn't move-- my breath had gone still in my chest.

"You're not soothing. You're distracting. I have forty million dollars on the line today, and you're standing here with your little skirts and your silly fucking lip gloss like this isn't real, like--" Mr. Godfrey's eyes darted down at me with disdain, but had I not been alert to any new mood-change, I wouldn't have caught what I just did.

He had inhaled a short, sharp, shaky breath as his gaze fell on my lips. My silly fucking lipgloss, as he'd called it. 

Oh?

"You don't even know what the fuck you're doing to me," Mr. Godfrey breathed, low and vicious, as if blaming me for the fact that his pupils had just dilated. "I shouldn't have hired you. You might be the biggest fucking mistake of my time in this office."

The abrupt distance he created felt cold, harsh, like being plunged into freezing water after the unbearable heat of his closeness-- did Mr. Godfrey really just say that? Did he mean it? I stared up at him with big, glossy eyes, obediently silent as he straightened his suit jacket, adjusted his cuffs, and smoothed his expression into the same perfect, detached mask he had perfected. 

There was a quick moment where I noticed him scanning me, wondering whether he had broken me down completely, or whether he was up for another round of defiance. But here I was, getting a verbal lashing and taking it without flinching-- emotion is pain.

Nodding to himself, almost frustrated by my lack of resistance or snark, Mr. Godfrey rolled his eyes and accepted the reality that he perhaps had housetrained me enough. "Keep quiet today," he huffed. "Or I'll find someone else who can sit pretty behind your desk." 

It didn't take long before he turned and resumed his walk down the hall, leaving me to follow. I stayed where I was for a heartbeat, feeling raw and hollowed out. I knew this was coming. I knew, I knew, I knew it, yet it stung like a hard smack to my face. 

Sniffling, hearing Letha's words echoing through my head, I straightened my spine, gathered every fragment of dignity I could find, and silently followed Mr. Godfrey into the shadow of uncertainty.

Stay put.

Stay loyal.

I needed to keep my mouth shut today, no matter what-- there was no way in hell I'd let him find anyone else for my job.

Everything was on the line. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

How does one become one with the wall? Camouflage was probably the best solution. Why hadn't I worn that today? Wearing the same boring shade of grey as the wall could've helped me disappear, and there was nothing I wanted more right now. Stupid, stupid secretary.

I was doing my absolute best to blend into the wall just behind Mr. Godfrey, breath shallow and heart racing, willing myself invisible as the elevator doors slid open with a muted ding, and suddenly the hallway felt infinitely smaller as a regiment of impeccably tailored suits filed out, LVMH's most formidable leading the charge. At their front stood the son of the CEO, a man I recognized from the same issue of Forbes as Mr. Godfrey's front page-- this was the man splattered all over page six for a dating scandal. 

Frederic Arnault, tall, blue-eyed, and with the effortlessly dismissive smile of a man who knew he never had to introduce himself, came forward with a certain fondness I didn't often see in businessmen, immediately heading toward Mr. Godfrey with open arms. "There he is!" he exclaimed, voice richly accented and dripping with cocky charm. 

What caught me more off guard than witnessing this warm welcome, was the way Mr. Godfrey stepped forward, genuinely happy to see what I could only assume was a childhood friend-- how close were the Godfreys with the Arnaults? "Finally, I managed to drag you across the ocean," Mr. Godfrey murmured. "Get me a fucking medal."

Frederic laughed, leaning in to clasp Mr. Godfrey's shoulder firmly, their familiarity obvious and rooted in shared history-- I wondered what these two had gotten up to before. No good, probably. "Oh, you know me," Frederic purred. "I just follow the scent of money."

To my side, I felt Norman Godfrey rolling his eyes for me. "If we're done reliving your teenage years, gentlemen, perhaps we could move on?" he huffed. "We have a lot on the agenda."

And just as I saw Frederic turning to Norman, about to say something cheeky that he'd easily get away with, my biggest fear came true-- his icy blue gaze shifted with interested, eyes piercing through Norman's shoulder straight to me, tucked awkwardly in Mr. Godfrey's shadow. "And who's this delightful secret you're hiding back here, Roman?" he teased, eyes glittering with mischief.

My reaction was instantaneous. 

Goosebumps fleshed out across my skin, and I felt my nails trying to dig into the wall behind me. Now that I had Frederic's eyes on me, my blood ran cold at the discomfort-- he had a very peculiar empty look about him, and his eyes were a hole to the core of the energy he exuded. Suddenly, the warm persona wasn't working on me; I knew that look. I knew that exact look of I-can-get-what-I-want with a mix of I-don't-take-no-for-an-answer. 

Mr. Godfrey briefly glanced over his shoulder before turning back smoothly. "Just my secretary. She's new,"

"Ah," Frederic murmured, leaning back slightly, deliberately slow like he was tasting the sight of me. "Roman, dearest, your taste improves with each hire."

My pulse spiked, breath snagging somewhere beneath my ribs-- no, no, no, no, no!

Mr. Godfrey let out an unimpressed huff, masked as casual boredom, before recovering by introducing Frederic to the rest of the delegation, everyone exchanging quick pleasantries as I started scooting closer to Norman, hoping to be swallowed behind his height. 

And just as I thought I'd get away with it, Norman (that fucker) moved a step forward, greeting one of the LVMH partners, leaving me without a hiding spot. Before I could hide behind someone new, someone slid forward, and their large palm settled on the small of my back.

My breath hitched, and I wasn't surprised when I glanced up to see who it was-- Frederic was saying something to Mr. Godfrey in passing as his hand continued snaking down my back like he had all the right to feel me up. I could feel my ribs caving in on themselves, suffocating me from the inside, as his fingers moved up again to squeeze my waist, checking out the curve of my figure as panic rose in my throat. 

Before I could wriggle myself out of his grip, scream, kick, fight, Frederic had already withdrawn his hand, smoothly turning his attention back to Mr. Godfrey as though nothing had happened. 

He... had missed the whole thing.

My glossy eyes repeatedly tried to find his green ones, desperately, silently pleading for him to look at me, and I would've spoken had he not--

"If I hear one word-- one fucking sound from you that isn't strictly professional, I swear to God, I'll make you wish I had fired you yesterday,"

Swallowing my panic, trying to steady my breathing, I forced myself to remain composed, silently following as the entire delegation moved further down the hallway, praying the trembling in my hands wouldn't betray me.

I just needed to get through this day.

One more day.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Later that day, during the lunch break, the hum of the printer was the only thing anchoring me in the copy room, the rhythmic flash of paper offering a fragile distraction from the anxiety still prickling beneath my skin. Click, click, click. Bzzz.

My fingertips shook lightly as I rearranged the files, mentally counting the pages to ground myself. Click, click, click. Bzzz.

One, two, three. 

Click, click, click. 

Had I maybe imagined Frederic's hand on my waist? Maybe he had simply tried to pass by or something, or maybe he thought I was someone else? Then again, who else would he do that to...? Hopefully not Mr. Godfrey-- then they would surely have more than a friendly relationship, and I didn't like the thought of that. I was convinced Mr. Godfrey was too fond of women to ever fool around with men. Or? Maybe if he were drunk. Or high. Or on some type of drugs. Did Mr. Godfrey ever take drugs? In his youth, probably. If he still did it, that would be bad. Oh, well-- I concluded that Mr. Godfrey and Frederic Arnault probably didn't have some sort of intimate past, and that left me with... Frederic being a classic creep.

Before I could conclude on how to deal with the situation, the soft click of the copy-room door closing made my heart stutter.

Oh no.

I turned around in an instant, breath freezing as I met Frederic's piercing blue gaze. Why was he here? Why wasn't he taking lunch with the rest of his delegation? Oh, this was bad. This was so bad. 

He leaned casually against the now-closed door, hands tucked comfortably into his pockets, his expression effortlessly pleasant-- still, something was unsettling about his eyes; it was like his smile didn't quite reach them. 

I didn't want to be here with him. I didn't want to be alone with him. This was bad. This was dangerous. Should I brace for the worst? I already did.

The room felt impossibly small, cramped, suffocating, as I backed up against the printer, immediately alert. "Sir," I tried, forcing a polite smile like I wasn't trying to crawl into the copy machine. "I think you might've gotten a bit... lost. Should I help you find the rest of your company?"

At that, Frederic let out a warm, short laugh, dripping with wealth-- he shook his head, tutting at me like I was a wounded bird he was circling, ready to eat. "It seems I have gotten lost, yes," he said, voice smooth as velvet. "But it was fate, perhaps."

... Fate?

No, no, no!

My smile turned strained, desperate to hide my discomfort. Swallowing became impossible. "Just making copies," I managed to mumble, voice barely audible over the steady mechanical rhythm of the machine. Click, click, click. Bzzz. "Nothing about-- nothing about fate. Just my job."

"Yes... You might be right," he murmured, taking a slow, measured step toward me. "Roman does keep you busy. He's always been rather... demanding."

My breath hitched as Frederic took another leisurely step closer, my back pressing harder into the edge of the copier. There was nowhere to retreat, nowhere to vanish, nowhere to run-- I was screwed. "Mr. Godfrey has high expectations," I managed, voice trembling faintly despite my desperate attempt at neutrality.

Frederic's lips curved knowingly, the warmth of his charm sharpened by something colder beneath the surface. "High expectations," he echoed, voice gently amused. "I can see why he chose you, then." His blue eyes wandered deliberately down my form, lingering just long enough to make my skin crawl. When he lifted his gaze again, the emptiness behind his charm was unmistakable, terrifyingly hollow.

"You're nervous," he pointed out, his smile widening slightly, clearly pleased. "You shouldn't be. I promise I'm perfectly harmless."

"You never know," I blurted out.

"Oh, really?" Frederic hummed, cocking his head to the side. "What, do I look like a classic office rapist?"

He knew damn well. He fucking knew. That word made my blood run cold, and I swallowed hard, my mouth painfully dry. He was using it on purpose, of course. What was I supposed to do, though? I was so scared that I couldn't think clearly-- if I started screaming and Mr. Godfrey came running, he'd obviously take Frederic's side. This Arnault douche would say I was throwing a tantrum, that I was acting out, that I was trying to force a fake accusation on him to get money-- you name it.

I had nowhere to go, with no help in sight. 

My silence stretched between us, my pulse frantic in my ears as I prayed to every entity in the universe that I didn't believe in that Frederic wouldn't try anything, and that I wouldn't be forced to fight. 

And just when I felt certain he would close the remaining gap with his freakishly long legs, Frederic smoothly stepped to the side, reaching for the door handle with casual grace. He opened the door, stepping back with a practiced upper-class elegance "Ladies first," he murmured softly, the perfect picture of gentlemanly courtesy.

Despite the prestige, despite the facade, I saw it still-- the complete and utter glee in his eyes at the fear swimming in mine. 

My legs trembled as I rushed to move past him, hyper-aware of every inch of space between us. He didn't touch me this time, didn't even brush against me, yet his gaze lingered heavily on me as I passed.

"See you soon!" Frederic added, the promise in his voice sending ice flooding through my veins as I slipped from the room, breathing shallow, heart hammering painfully in my chest.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Click, click, click.

I was falling apart.

Click, click, click, came the sound of my heels as I followed a nervous Mr. Godfrey down the hall, on our way to finalize the contract with LVMH. His new passion project, his new dream of branching out Godfrey Industries, all depended on what would happen in that room in three minutes.

"Do you have the statistics poll?" Mr. Godfrey called out over his shoulder, flipping through the contract over and over. 

I could only hum-- I had promised not to speak. Not to make a sound. Not to say a word. 

My pulse was still frantic, skin still crawling from Frederic's barely-veiled threats, but as we stopped in front of the conference room, I forced myself to breathe, to steady, to maintain the fragile façade I had worn since this morning. He was right behind that door. That awful man was barely a wall away, and everything depended on me being able to take whatever he was about to dish out. 

If Mr. Godfrey lost this deal because of me, he'd definitely fire me. I'd never see him again. I'd never be his again. I'd lose everything. 

Stay put.

Stay loyal.

Mr. Godfrey's head bowed, eyes scanning over the contract meticulously, each word examined with ruthless scrutiny. His brows were knitted tightly, tension coiled in his posture, shoulders rigid beneath his perfectly tailored jacket-- I tried not to think about how handsome he was, and how I had leaned against those exact broad shoulders as he made me cum on his fingers in his office chair just a breath ago. I needed to have that again-- I needed him to see that I could take whatever he'd throw at me, so that he could snap out of whatever Godfrey-induced trauma-bubble he was drowning in.

But... 

I was so scared.

I carefully placed myself in Mr. Godfrey's line of sight, willing him to look up. My heart pounded, anxiety screaming that I shouldn't even attempt this, that he would only dismiss me again, but the ghost of Frederic's hand still burned on my waist, my spine still shuddering under the memory of his cold, possessive touch.

Slowly, Mr. Godfrey's gorgeous green eyes lifted, meeting mine with barely concealed irritation. "Yes?" he snapped.

"Sir," I whispered, my voice strained with tension, scared to speak, desperately trying to communicate my fear, my discomfort, everything that remained trapped behind a veil of silence. I stared up at him, eyes wide and desperate, pleading silently for him to truly see me. "I..."

Mr. Godfrey's gaze hardened slightly, patience visibly fraying at the edges. He gave me an expectant, cold look; "You better choose your words very carefully," he hissed. "We're about to finalize a critical deal. I don't have time for distractions or confessions."

I think about you all the time.

Click, click, click.

My heart tightened, pain souring through me as my courage dissolved beneath his dismissal. I felt small, insignificant, like a child interrupting important adult affairs-- but Frederic's actions lingered in my mind, causing a slight tremble in my fingers. 

Still, my will-power to adhere to Mr. Godfrey's commands of keeping quiet and out of sight outweighed my fear; he was more important to me than anything.

However, on the other side of my inner monologue, Mr. Godfrey sighed at my silence, irritation flashing briefly before he shook his head with dismissal. "If you're going to hover like this, at least make yourself useful. Go get coffee for everyone. Make it quick,"

His tone left no room for argument, no space for explanations or pleas for understanding. Hurt flickered briefly in my eyes before I forced it down, nodding silently. I was doing the right thing by staying quiet. I was adhering to orders. I was adhering to the orders of my dominant. My boss. The CEO. Roman fucking Godfrey. I stepped back quietly, turning away, humiliation burning hot and bitter in my chest. 

This had been my opportunity to say something...

But I was a good secretary-- Mr. Godfrey would realize that after the contract was signed, right?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Minutes later, the boardroom hummed with anticipation. The heavy wooden doors were shut behind me, sealing in a numbing mix of expectation, ambition, and power. The suits lining the sleek mahogany table were pristine, expressions composed, voices hushed and professional as they finalized the arrangements. 

The ultimate terror, Frederic Arnault, sat opposite Mr. Godfrey, lounging back with effortless ease next to his delegation, as though everything around him belonged firmly in his grasp, including the contract now placed before him by the one and only Peter Rumancek.

Avoiding Peter's pitiful gaze, I circled silently around the table, carefully setting cups of freshly brewed coffee before each executive and lawyer, my hands trembling imperceptibly with each placement. 

Mr. Godfrey was visibly out of himself with excitement, his leg bouncing with joy; "I'm so glad that we managed to draw something up," he murmured, watching Peter hand Frederic the pen. "It's been an honour doing business with friends."

"Agreed!" Frederic's blue eyes glinted with smug satisfaction. "I still believe this was all a ploy to have me step on American soil, though. You better not try to make me eat some McDonald's trash."

Norman cleared his throat, scooting forward in his chair next to a laughing Mr. Godfrey. "Boys," he said, voice stern. "Enough. Do we have a deal or do we not?"

Grinning, Frederic leaned back in his chair, holding the pen like it bored him. "Mmm..." he mused aloud. "I'm not sure. I think I need to be courted a little harder, the French way. Perhaps someone should make me another offer... maybe with a kiss?"

Polite laughter skittered across the table like static, unsure and awkward. I felt my stomach twist, my grip on the next hot coffee faltering as my heart skipped an anxious beat. 

"Maybe you can offer up the secretary, Roman?" Frederic continued, tapping the pen against the table as amusement danced in his evil eyes. "Bet she'd do it for the good of the company, hm?" That hellish gaze darted to me-- "Wouldn't you, cherie?"

The silence was no longer polite. 

It was strangled.

Every eye in the room hesitated-- some darted to me, some to Mr. Godfrey, but most fixed downward in panicked neutrality, pretending they hadn't heard what they'd just heard. I stood still, coffee cup hovering uselessly in my hand, my body completely detached from my mind, which had gone screaming somewhere far away. I could feel Peter's horrified gaze on me, the pity in those brown eyes searing through my body like a sword cutting me in half. 

Mr. Godfrey's foot stopped bouncing, and that was enough of a tell for me. No matter how panicked he was about my confession yesterday, no matter how furious he was with me, this made his jaw tick. "This is America," he said, tone light and controlled. "We tend not to auction off our secretaries here, though I'm sure you miss the old world charm."

We only tend to spank them sore and make them cum in our private offices.

Frederic grinned wider, pleased with himself. "What can I say? I bring the old French spirit wherever I go,"

"And the lawsuits," Norman muttered under his breath-- it was loud enough to hear, but no one laughed; not this time.

As the tension rose, Frederic raised his hands in mock innocence. "Oh, come on, it was a joke! She's lovely, that's all!"

"And aren't you charming," Mr. Godfrey said, clearly souring despite the polite smile still plastered on his face. "But now that we've all complimented each other, let's move on, shall we?"

Yes, please. 

With a shaky breath, I continued my coffee run, trying to steady my breath as I realized I was nearing Frederic.

I watched as he finally leaned in over the contract, signing his family name with a dramatic flourish he probably learned in some expensive boarding school in Switzerland. As he laid down the pen, Mr. Godfrey visibly relaxed, the barest flicker of genuine relief softening his features.

And for that, this was worth it. 

His relief, his pleasure, his peace-- it was all worth it.

My heart soared as I calmed down a notch, and I held back a small smile as I placed Frederic's coffee down with exaggerated caution, trying not to get too close. I was so crazy about Mr. Godfrey that I'd go through this hellish day for his gain, I'd stay quiet for his comfort, and I'd suffer for his joy. Wasn't this love? Wasn't this pure, unfiltered devotion? Why couldn't he see it and enjoy it too?

But just as I straightened, feeling a faint relief at escaping unscathed, my biggest fear came true.

Frederic's hand moved, and it settled on the curve of my ass like it belonged there, like it was his right, like he owned me.

Humiliation and shock seized me, freezing me in place, and a startled squeak was barely suppressed behind my tightly clenched teeth as I shot up straight. My eyes widened, glossing instantly with tears of betrayal and violation as my vision blurred, staring straight at the wall in front of me as I forced my thoughts out of my brain. I couldn't be here. I couldn't stay in this moment. My body wasn't mine. It didn't belong to me. Not right now. 

Ironically, Mr. Godfrey had once predicted this one of our first email exchanges; the French are awfully fond of claiming things that are not theirs.

But this time...

Mr. Godfrey saw.

His green eyes snapped directly to Frederic's hand, and in an instant, something flickered in Mr. Godfrey's expression-- momentary disbelief chased by furious, white-hot rage.

It probably didn't take more than two seconds. Nothing more. He didn't need more to decide his course of action.

In one smooth, lightning-fast movement, Mr. Godfrey snatched the contract off the table before kicking away his chair, shooting up straight-- this sent a jarring, shocked silence cascading around the room, with Peter's jaw dropping and Norman freezing in his seat with horror.

"Get out!" Mr. Godfrey yelled, the boom of his voice making the coffee in front of him shake.

To make matters worse, Frederic leaned back casually, utterly unfazed, eyes glittering smugly as he slowly removed his hand from me, making no move to apologize or back down. "Oh, relax! She doesn't seem to mind!"

No, no... no, no, no.

My face flushed hot with shame, tears welling, blurring my vision further. 

And with that, it only got worse-- Mr. Godfrey's rage ignited, a terrifying blaze in his green eyes as they finally met mine. He saw. He knew. He saw. So, without hesitation, possibly for the first time in his life, he ripped the contract into jagged shreds, flinging them onto the polished table. Gasps echoed around the room, executives frozen in stunned disbelief, with Norman gripping his heart like he was about to have a heart attack. 

Frederic stood, slow and threatening, no longer smiling. "Careful, now. You're making a mistake, Roman,"

"No," Mr. Godfrey hissed. "You did. Now get the fuck out before I make you bleed!"

"Roman!" Norman cried out, standing up as well. "We have a forty million dollar deal! Think about this!"

But he was too far gone-- blinded by rage, Mr. Godfrey grabbed the coffee mug in front of him and flung it across the table, making Frederic duck. "Get out!"

The mug hit the wall behind Frederic with a brutal, wet crash. Coffee sprayed across floor-to-ceiling windows in a starburst of heat and ceramic shrapnel; one of the LVMH partners let out a shocked yelp, ducking instinctively, someone dropped a pen, and Peter jerked to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process.

"Roman, enough!" Norman shouted.

But it was chaos now. Pure chaos.

Frederic straightened slowly, brushing an imaginary speck from his jacket-- that infuriating, oily smirk had finally faltered. "You're unstable!" he yelled. "You've just made the worst mistake of your career! The Arnault association will never forgive what happened here today!"

"I don't give a crap!" Mr. Godfrey yelled back, already reaching for another mug of coffee; had Norman not stepped in, there would've been another one flung across the room. "I will make sure you don't have a job by dawn!" Mr. Godfrey continued; "I will ruin you!"

I was sick to my stomach.

Their shouting became distant, like I was underwater-- echoing, distorted, and suffocating. My vision blurred as nausea violently surged in my chest, panic roaring loud enough to drown out everything else. Unable to take another second of it, I turned and bolted from the room, nearly tripping over my heels as I stumbled down the marble hallway.

Behind me, the yelling continued-- Mr. Godfrey's fury tangling with Frederic's smug threats. I didn't stop to listen, didn't dare look back. I passed by my desk, grabbing my new Birkin, before dashing to the elevator; I hammered at the elevator button, begging for it to arrive before I burst into tears and died on the spot. 

It took approximately a year to arrive. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Everything was ruined. I would never see Mr. Godfrey again. I had somehow managed to be the thing that fucked it all up for him without even trying, so was this maybe a sign? Men. Fucking men. I hated Frederic Arnault. I hated, hated, hated him.

The doors slid open agonizingly slow as I watched all the businessmen streaming out of the conference room down the hall, some dripping with coffee. With a loud hitch of my breath, I slipped inside the elevator, hand pounding the close door button frantically, praying for the metal barrier to shut out the chaos and shame.

But just as the doors began to seal, a hand shot through the narrowing gap-- I let out a horrified scream. It was like a scene taken directly out of The Shining, and my mind went awry, thinking the worst, deciding the worst. Was this him? Was this Frederic? Was I not going to be able to escape after all?

The elevator jolted back open, and Mr. Godfrey stepped inside, chest heaving, eyes wild, tie askew, hair tousled from his fury.

Thank God.

My breath left me, and I nearly buckled over with relief.

He stood there, staring at me, breathing hard as the elevator started going down. For once, the mighty Roman Godfrey had no words, only raw panic and something else, something deeper, that made my stomach twist again. He swallowed thickly, voice ragged, shaky with worry as he finally managed; "Are you-- Are you alright?"

If I were... alright?

With that, the answer no left me before I burst into tears.

Loudly sobbing, all-taking sadness and anguish drowned me as I pressed my back to the elevator walls, dropping my Birkin before hiding my face in my hands. 

Mr. Godfrey froze for a good second before letting out a breathy fuck.

It didn't take long before he jammed his hand into the emergency stop button, our ride coming to a halt. He stared at me, hands twitching at his sides, unsure whether to reach for me or stay away. His eyes were coiled in panic and guilt, every breath ragged in his chest; "Was he like this all day?" he echoed, sounding as far from himself as he ever had. 

I couldn't speak, couldn't muster the energy. This feeling was too much-- I knew I was losing everything. Nothing was in my control. I knew I had failed his one wish of being invisible today, although it wasn't even my fault. I was going to lose Mr. Godfrey. I could never work here again. Was his career ruined? Had I managed to screw it up for him to that degree? Everyone had seen Frederic Arnault feeling me up like I was some toy, like I was some easily accessible whore that was designated to the office, and I couldn't get that awful feeling of his hand on my ass out of my system. 

"Were you... Were you trying to tell me about this earlier?" Mr. Godfrey asked, taking a step closer. 

I barely nodded, fingers clawing into my hair as I tried to scrape Frederic's touch off my body, off my skin, off my scalp. "You said-- You said I would lose-- lose my job if I spoke, I--"

"Did he do this any other time today?"

In the middle of a new sob, I mustered the energy to nod again, and that only made it worse; now, Mr. Godfrey looked like he was about to punch the wall. Instead, he raked a hand down his face, eyes burning, voice cracking. "You go against my orders every day, but not the one time you should have?"

"Because you needed the deal!" I sobbed. "Because you needed the deal and I--" My voice cracked; "I didn't want to-- to ruin anything for you! Not more than I've-- already done!"

"Jesus Christ," Mr. Godfrey breathed, more shocked than angry now. His eyes found mine, wild and horrified; "You think I'd sell you out for a deal?"

I couldn't answer-- my voice had died somewhere in the middle of the elevator floor, and my body shook too hard to speak.

Mr. Godfrey ran both hands through his hair, pacing again in the tiny space, teeth clenched like he was trying to hold back a scream. When another sob twisted out of me, he immediately stopped, turning to me with a horrible helplessness I had never seen in him. "I'm sorry," he said, voice trembling. Was that his first time saying that? "I should've protected you, I should've-- I never should've put you in that room. I knew he was a creep, he's always-- he's always been like that, but I didn't think he'd try to?-- I didn't think. I haven't been able to think since yesterday."

I think about you all the time.

I sank lower against the elevator wall, still crying, chest aching. Some small, soft part of me heard the sincerity in Mr. Godfrey's voice-- the way it cracked around the edges, the way he couldn't stop pacing like something inside him had shattered.

And then, it fell out of me; "I didn't-- I didn't sign up for this,"

Frail as ever. Broken and battered.

Mr. Godfrey stopped pacing.

I didn't look up-- I couldn't. I kept my fingers buried in my hair, trying to breathe through the dizziness rising in my chest. "I didn't sign up to be the... the office whore," I whispered, breath catching in my throat. "I-- I didn't sign up to get... felt up by your business partners while you look the other way."

"I didn't look away," Mr. Godfrey shot in, pained.

"You did," I snapped, the words rising bitter and hot. Tears streaked down my cheeks as my voice trembled; "Because you-- Because you pushed me away, I was scared to say a word to you. All. Day."

Mr. Godfrey's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his mouth open but speechless, like every word he might say would be the wrong one.

"You were so mean," I breathed, a fresh tear rolling down. "In the hallway. And I stayed put, I stayed loyal, and I was ready to-- to take your abuse, because I was stupid enough to think that maybe if I stayed quiet, you'd... consider me as something more than this."

Mr. Godfrey stared at me like I was slipping out of his grasp, like he could feel me fading from the frame of whatever structure we had built; whatever unspoken, burning, complicated thing had held us together was falling apart, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. "Abuse?" he breathed, tasting the word.

Sniffling, I desperately tried to wipe away my tears. "And I'm sorry that I-- I'm sorry that I said I think about you all the time, but I'm mostly sorry that it scares you so much,"

Instead of the barking I thought I'd get from saying that, there was nothing.

Silence.

Mr. Godfrey leaned against the opposite elevator wall like the floor was tilting underneath him. His eyes, those sharp, vibrant green eyes, had lost all their venom now; they were just wide, sad, and exhausted, searching for the right thing to say. 

"Maybe it's best if I leave," I breathed, feeling myself melt into the walls of the elevator. "I will only be hurt here. Maybe it-- maybe it will heal me to go." It will be death, it will be death. Click, click, click. "I don't want to leave you, or-- or this job, but I can't keep ruining myself like this for nothing in return."

The hum of the elevator resumed beneath our feet, but before I could take another breath, Mr. Godfrey slammed the emergency stop again. The lights above us flickered, the car jerked to a halt, and--

"No,"

The word cracked through the air like a verdict.

Mr. Godfrey stood there, one hand still braced against the panel, the other twitching at his side like it didn't know what to do with itself. His chest rose and fell in frantic swells, his tie was crooked, his hair was messed up from the violence of the boardroom, and something wild, raw, and unfamiliar had taken over the cold, composed man I had known for months.

"No," he repeated, barely above a whisper now, as if saying it aloud made it real. "You can't leave."

My world stopped. Everything did. 

I stared back at him, trying to blink away the tears that kept falling. "What?" I breathed.

"You--" Mr. Godfrey's hand dropped from the panel, hung limp for a second, and then curled into a fist. "You can't--" he broke off, swallowing hard, eyes flicking up to meet mine. "You can't leave me. I won't let you."

The silence stretched; my tears were still clinging to my jaw, my cheeks hot with them, and my chest started to bruise from the sobbing. 

Mr. Godfrey looked at me now like he was seeing me for the first time; not just the crying girl in the elevator, not just his secretary, not his temptation, but something entirely new, something he needed.

"I'll give you something in return," he breathed, a wave of calm pushing up against his shore. Something told me he had gotten to terms with what had been bothering him for so long-- something told me he had cracked it. 

And then, without a word, Mr. Godfrey walked toward me. His dress shoes thudded dully against the floor of the elevator, echoing off the metal walls like heartbeats, like my thudding heartbeat. The closer he got, the more I felt the constricted breath painfully tug at my chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut and braced against the elevator walls for what I could only assume was some sort of punishment or telling-off, or something that would hurt me in emotional ways I couldn't begin to imagine.

But...

That was until I felt Mr. Godfrey's fingers gently touch my cheek, touching me like I'd break with one misstep. I flinched, but not from fear of him; it was from the sheer disbelief that something so soft could come from him, the same man who had just shattered a multi-million-dollar deal like all his work had meant nothing to him at the end of the day.

My eyes fluttered open.

It didn't take long before Mr. Godfrey cupped my cheek, his thumb softly ghosting beneath my ear, brushing away the wet trails of what had once been silent, humiliating tears. I could barely breathe under the weight of it, under the tenderness I hadn't expected, under the ache that came with realizing I wasn't prepared for kindness; not from him, not now, not ever.

Mr. Godfrey didn't speak-- he didn't have to, not when his hand moved slowly, deliberately, from my cheek to my wrist, then lower, down to my hand, where he carefully took it in his.

And then... he placed it flat against his chest.

Right over his heart.

It was pounding.

This was not the calm, cold steadiness of the man I knew from meetings and memos, not the clinical thud of control-- this was frantic. 

Mr. Godfrey's chest rose beneath my palm, breath catching as I touched him. I couldn't believe he was letting me, couldn't believe this was happening; I felt his heart race under my fingertips and realized, with a dizzying ache, that it matched the rhythm of my own. "Sir," I breathed, searching his eyes.

"No," he murmured, like he was peeling off the armour he had worn for too long. "Do you know my name?"

"Your name...?"

Mr. Godfrey's eyes searched mine, swallowing, before his mouth brushed against mine, making my breath hitch. Then, like a confession meant for no one else in this world; "My name is Roman. Call me that," he whispered. "I want to be Roman to you."

Trembling, breathless, I whispered back into the space between us--

"Roman,"

At that, Roman exhaled. 

Roman, Roman, Roman. 

Click, click, click. 

He breathed against my lips, soft and reverent, relieved and nervous; "I think about you all the time, too," he echoed. "All the time, you are on my mind. You are my every waking thought. To me, you are water."

My breath trembled against the air between us. Had I heard that right? I stared back at Mr. Godfrey-- Roman, eyes wider than ever before. 

He stood there, frozen, for a heartbeat longer, the kind of stillness that felt tight, like the whole weight of the moment was pressing against his ribs. His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back to my eyes-- once, twice, like he was unsure if he was allowed, like he had forgotten how this even worked.

And then, suddenly, like he couldn't stop himself, his soft lips found mine. 

It was fast. Quick. A short press of his mouth to mine, more instinct than plan, like he just had to feel it, had to know. The kiss barely lasted a second, but his lips were warm, a little dry, and gone too soon. 

When he pulled back, the look in his eyes made my breath catch.

Roman looked... shellshocked. 

As if kissing me had burned him and soothed him all at once, as if his brain had to catch up to what his body had just done, as if it was his first kiss ever. Roman had probably not kissed anyone in a really long while, considering he didn't even like being touched-- when had his last kiss been?

Something about that made my cheeks redden, and a small smile formed, one I hadn't expected to have on my face today. My free hand found the lapel of his jacket and tugged, just enough to invite him closer, just enough to let him know I wanted more.

Roman's eyes flicked down to my lips again, this time slower, more deliberate-- and then he leaned in again, this time letting it happen.

The second kiss was different.

It was hesitant, yes, but deeper, like he was rediscovering something he had buried a long time ago. His hand cupped my jaw with a newfound care, and he kissed me like he didn't know what he was doing, but wanted to get it right.

Roman's hand left mine, slithering down to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and my fingers slid up his neck, disappearing into his hair. It was surprisingly soft, with a silky finish I hadn't felt against my skin before. At that, he made a soft, involuntary sound into my mouth as I touched him, like the sensation startled him, like he couldn't believe I was touching him like that, and he couldn't believe he was letting me.

Roman kissed like a man who had spent his whole life resisting softness and didn't know how to receive it. His mouth moved carefully over mine, pausing often, almost like he was memorizing the shape of me, the pace of my breath, the way my breath quivered slightly when he lingered.

It was almost frustrating how slowly this was going-- I had wanted him like this for so long, so much that I was ready to burst like fireworks. However, when Roman pulled away, his breath fanning shakily against my upper lip, his words changed something in me; "I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "I don't know how to be like this with someone."

My eyes rounded out, and with a surge of fondness washing through my veins, I reached for the strand of brown hair that lay softly over his forehead. "You're doing fine," I breathed. "Does it feel nice?"

Roman's green eyes dared to shut as my fingers brushed that loose strand of hair from his face, and for a moment, he just stood there-- utterly still, like that small, delicate touch had undone him more than expected. When he opened his eyes again, something had shifted in them; the hesitance was still there, but beneath it, desire began to bloom, as if I had just cracked open a door he had kept bolted shut for years.

Emotion... doesn't have to be pain.

"It does," he said, somewhat hoarse. "You taste sweet."

"That will be the silly fucking lip gloss,"

At that, we finally shared our first relaxed laugh-- a small huff of air, barely there, barely a breath. 

That laugh, fragile and startled, seemed to undo him further. Roman blinked slowly, like he wasn't used to that kind of ease, that kind of warmth; it was as if even the gentlest humour between us was foreign territory, a language he had only heard but never spoken.

But he wanted to learn-- I could sense it, I could feel it, I could see it.

I was still cupping the back of his neck, thumb gently stroking the base of his hairline, and when our eyes locked again, there was no tension; only inevitability. 

"Right," Roman murmured, smirking. "Let's get that lip gloss off, then."

Before I could process the sentence, before I could even breathe, Roman bent and hooked his arms around the backs of my thighs, lifting me in one smooth motion. I let out a small gasp, legs instinctively tightening around his waist, arms flying to brace myself around his shoulders. The elevator wall met my back with a dull thud as he pressed me into it, and then-- God--

His mouth crashed into mine.

This wasn't the hesitant, searching kiss from before; this was something else entirely. Roman kissed me like he had run out of time, like his hunger had overtaken every bit of restraint he had clung to. His tongue slid past my lips with a low, desperate groan, coaxing mine into a rhythm that was dizzying, filthy, and perfect. My breath hitched, body arching into his without thinking, my fingers fisting into the back of his suit as if anchoring myself to this moment, to him.

Roman was all heat and passion-- he pressed me harder into the elevator wall like he couldn't get close enough, like he didn't want there to be any space between us at all. His hands were gripping my thighs, hard, but not cruel; grounding, like he couldn't believe someone was this close to him and he was letting them. 

When Roman pulled back slightly to breathe, his lips were pink and flushed, a tiny smear of my gloss shining on his mouth. His voice was gravel and velvet all at once, and it ghosted over my lips with unbearable intimacy; "I think it's gone now,"

I could barely nod. My pulse throbbed in my throat, in my wrists, in places I didn't even know could ache, but I still leaned forward, mouth brushing his again, and breathed out against him; "Good job,"

Roman gave a hoarse laugh against my lips, something breathless and almost boyish that tugged straight at my heart. "God," he muttered, kissing the corner of my mouth like he couldn't help himself; "You really are trouble."

I grinned, still catching my breath, drunk on the taste of him and the air between us. "You like trouble," I purred. "You wouldn't have hired me if you didn't."

Roman's eyes flared at that-- something between mischief and dark hunger flickering just behind the green. He tilted his head, letting out a low, breathless laugh, and then he kissed me again, so briefly it barely counted, just a brush of lips that still managed to send heat licking down my spine.  "Filthy mouth," he whispered, his thumb ghosting over the corner of my lips like he could still feel the ghost of my grin. "Talking about taking cock on your first interview."

My cheeks turned a peculiar shade of maroon-- I remembered it like it was yesterday.

"Would I have had to lie down and take a cock for the first time to know how to handle this job? Would I have had to go through the experience of feeling myself being split open, the blinding pain of that, for you to know that I could take you stepping on me to get the job done at this company?"

Oh, how that comment had haunted me for days. "My mouth might be filthy," I mumbled, voice dying out midway; "But you're still kissing it."

At that, Roman's hands gripped my thighs harder, hitching me up with a breathless groan as he pressed me even tighter into the wall. I arched into him helplessly, heart slamming against my ribs as I realized he was pressing his hardened cock between my legs.  "Damn right I am," he murmured.

Roman's soft mouth found mine again, but this time it wasn't just hungry-- it was devouring, a series of slow, dragging kisses, open-mouthed, heated, sinful, that made me whimper into him, mind buzzing with aching pleasure, as if we were both trying to make up for all the time we had spent not doing this. Roman pulled back just a breath-- his lips brushed mine like a tease, his nose nudging the edge of my cheek, his voice vibrating against my skin. "You have a problem with that?" he asked, right as he kissed me again, wetter now, more possessive.

I tried to answer, tried to throw something smart back at him, but Roman didn't give me the chance. His mouth was already on mine again, drinking in every sound I made, every shaky breath, like he was starving and I was the only thing that could ever feed him.

Roman's teeth scraped lightly at my bottom lip, and when I whimpered into his mouth, he smiled against me: "Didn't think so," he whispered.

He kissed down the corner of it, along my jaw, toward my neck, dragging his lips lower. "Filthy," he groaned, tongue swiping once over the spot beneath my ear. "Pretty," Another kiss, hotter now. "Bratty mouth," He bit lightly at the edge of my throat, grinning when I gasped. "But it keeps saying my name."

I was melting, undone, clawing at his shoulders. "Roman," I breathed.

A groan tore from his throat-- guttural, low, shaken, before he surged forward and kissed me again, this time with tongue and teeth and possession, as my hips bucked into his without shame, chasing friction, chasing him.

Emotion is pleasure.

Emotion is soft.

When Roman finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us panting-- his lips were red, swollen, and wet from mine, and those green eyes (God, those eyes) were burning now. No fear, no confusion; just need.

I wanted him with that same fire. I wanted him more than I wanted safety, logic, maybe even dignity-- but the reality was creeping in now, slow and bitter, like cold fingers up my spine. My heart was still racing, lips swollen, body thrumming with heat from where his mouth had been, and somewhere in the haze of lust, fear still flickered.

"Roman..." I started, feeling how foreign his name was on my tongue. "What... what happens now?"

His hands stilled where they were gripping my thighs-- I could feel the weight of the question sink into him.

"That was Frederic Arnault," I whispered. "And you just blew up a really important deal for a secretary." 

HR would definitely come knocking now, those long-legged fucks.

But Roman just... stared at me.

He blinked once, slowly, unreadable. Then, without changing his grip on me, without even pretending to explain, he leaned in again, brushing his mouth just shy of mine. His voice, when it came, was low-- steady and warm, but dismissive in a way that made me shiver. "Don't think about that," he murmured, breath brushing across my lips. "I'll handle it."

That was it.

No justifications. No damage control speech. No panic. Just that quiet, maddening certainty in his voice. 

"You blew up a forty million dollar contract," I breathed, blinking. Did he not consider the potential ramifications? 

"I said," Roman whispered, pressing his forehead to mine now, his (Forbes) nose skimming along mine. "Don't think about it." His hands slipped lower, gripping the back of my thighs again before he rolled his hips slightly forward, pressing me harder into the elevator wall so I could feel all of him. "I've made worse messes for much less than you."

My breath caught, my hips keening against his before I could stop myself. Was this really happening? Could it really be that easy?

And then Roman kissed me again-- slow this time, but possessive. His tongue dragged lazily into my mouth, his hands firm, commanding, like now that he had made up his mind, there was nothing else in the world to consider. Not HR. Not reality.

There was no nausea. No panic. 

Just us, as it was always supposed to be-- grounded, together, and finalized, like a forty million dollar deal.

And God, how I kissed him back.

(a/n: omfg you guys have no idea how SATISFYING this was to write??? FINALLY these bastards got together!!!! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT AND COMMENTS AGGHHHHH ILY!!!!! HOPE U LIKED IT!!)

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