It’s Just Business - Roman Reigns x Female Reader
Plot: You attend a high-stakes dinner to secure a major brand collaboration with Roman Reigns, where his subtle, sweet flirting quickly escalates into an invitation to his hotel suite. There, he seduces you with the promise that sealing the deal with rough, intense sex on the bed is “just business,” and you give in to both your desire and the opportunity, letting him fuck you senseless until the contract is yours.
The silk of your dress clung to every curve like a second skin, the deep emerald green catching the low light of the restaurant and making your skin glow. You’d chosen it carefully—professional enough for an intern pitching a multimillion-dollar brand collab, but just revealing enough to remind Roman Reigns that you weren’t just another suit in the room. The neckline dipped low enough to hint at the swell of your breasts; the hem skimmed mid-thigh, showing off the smooth length of your legs in strappy black heels. You knew exactly what you were doing. The deal had to close tonight. Your future at the agency depended on it.
Roman Reigns sat across from you like a king on a throne, broad shoulders filling out the tailored black button-down that stretched across his chest. The top two buttons were open, revealing a glimpse of smooth, tattooed skin and the thick column of his throat. His dark hair was pulled back into that signature bun, a few loose strands framing the sharp angles of his jaw. Those eyes—deep brown, almost black under the candlelight—never left you.
“You look stunning tonight,” he said, voice low and velvet-smooth, the kind of tone that made your stomach flip even though you’d rehearsed this meeting a hundred times. He lifted his glass of whiskey, the ice clinking softly. “That dress… it’s doing things to me I probably shouldn’t admit over appetizers.”
You laughed, soft and practiced, crossing your legs under the table so the slit in your dress parted just a fraction. His gaze dropped immediately, tracing the exposed skin of your thigh before sliding back up to your face. “Flattery won’t get the contract signed any faster, Mr. Reigns.”
“Roman,” he corrected, leaning forward slightly. The movement made the fabric of his shirt pull tighter across his pecs. “And I’m not flattering you, sweetheart. I’m stating facts. You walk into a room and every man in it forgets why he’s there. Including me.”
Heat bloomed low in your belly. You’d watched hours of his promos, studied the way he commanded arenas, but nothing prepared you for the real thing up close. He was massive—six-foot-three of solid muscle that made the chair beneath him look small. When he smiled, slow and predatory, the dimple in his cheek softened the edge just enough to make your pulse stutter.
The waiter brought the main course—seared scallops for you, a massive ribeye for him—and Roman waited until the plates were set before he continued.
“Tell me again about this collab,” he said, cutting into his steak with precise, powerful strokes. “Your company wants my name on a fitness line. Apparel, supplements, the whole package. But I don’t sign just anything. I need… incentive.”
You launched into the pitch you’d memorized: market projections, target demographics, the exclusive limited-edition “Tribal Chief” collection that would sell out in hours. He listened, nodding, but his eyes kept drifting. They lingered on the way your breasts rose and fell with each breath, on the delicate gold chain that disappeared between them, on the curve of your hip when you shifted in your seat.
“You’re good at this,” he murmured when you finished. His fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Smart. Driven. And damn, the way that dress hugs your ass when you walked in…” He shook his head, chuckling darkly. “I’m supposed to be focused on numbers, but all I can think about is how those heels would look wrapped around my waist.”
Your breath caught. The flirtation had been subtle at first—compliments on your ideas, questions about your career—but now it was blatant, laced with heat. You felt it between your thighs, a slick warmth that had nothing to do with the wine.
“Roman…” you started, trying to steer back to business.
He leaned in, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrated through your bones. “Relax. I’m just admiring the view. You’re a beautiful woman who knows what she wants. I respect that. Hell, I like it.” His eyes flicked down again, slow and deliberate. “A lot.”
Dessert came and went. He paid without letting you see the bill, then stood, offering his hand. When you took it, his palm was warm, calloused, swallowing yours completely. “My hotel’s two blocks away. Penthouse suite. We can go over the final details somewhere more private. No waiters. No distractions.” His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, sending sparks straight to your core. “Unless you’d rather call it a night and let the lawyers handle the rest?”
The implication hung heavy. You knew what he was offering. You also knew the agency had been chasing this deal for six months. If you walked away now, the internship could turn into nothing. And God, he was looking at you like he already owned you.
You swallowed. “Lead the way.”
The elevator ride up was silent except for the soft ding of floors. Roman stood close enough that you could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive, cedar and smoke. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, thumb tracing lazy circles over the silk. Every touch felt electric.
Inside the suite, the city lights glittered through floor-to-ceiling windows. A king-sized bed dominated the room, crisp white sheets turned down like an invitation. Roman poured two glasses of whiskey from the bar cart, handing you one.
“Sit,” he said softly, nodding toward the edge of the bed. You did, crossing your legs again, the dress riding higher. He didn’t sit. He stood in front of you, towering, and loosened the top button of his shirt. “You know why I really brought you here.”
Your heart hammered. “To discuss the contract.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “Partly.” He stepped closer, big hands sliding into his pockets. “But mostly because I’ve been hard since the moment you walked into that restaurant. That dress… the way your tits look in it… the way your ass sways when you move.” His voice stayed gentle, almost reverent. “You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart. And I want you. Bad.”
You set the glass down, fingers trembling. “Roman, this is… I’m here for the deal. Not—”
“I know.” He dropped to one knee in front of you, still somehow eye-level because of his size. One large hand settled on your knee, warm and steady. “And I’m a man of my word. The contract’s already signed in my mind. But business is business. Sometimes you have to sweeten the pot.” His fingers traced up your thigh, slow and teasing, stopping just beneath the hem. “Let me make you feel good. Let me show you how much I want this partnership. How much I want you.”
His touch was soft, almost worshipful, but his eyes burned. You felt yourself leaning into it, thighs parting just a fraction.
“This is wrong,” you whispered, even as your body betrayed you.
“Is it?” He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Or is it just business?” His breath was hot. “You want the deal. I want you. We both get what we need.”
Your resistance cracked. He was so close, so big, so undeniably hot. The scent of him, the heat rolling off his body, the way his hand felt on your bare skin—it was too much. You needed the contract. You needed him.
The moment the word left your lips, something in him shifted. The sweetness stayed in his voice—“Good girl”—but his hands turned possessive. He stood, pulling you up with him, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it. His mouth was hot, demanding, tongue sliding against yours with a low groan that vibrated through your chest. One massive hand cupped the back of your neck, the other gripping your ass hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.
He walked you backward until your knees hit the bed. “Take the dress off,” he ordered, voice rougher now. “Slow. Let me watch.”
You reached for the zipper at your side, sliding it down. The silk pooled at your feet, leaving you in black lace bra and matching thong, garter straps framing your hips. Roman’s eyes raked over you, dark and hungry.
“Fuck,” he growled softly. “Look at you. These tits…” He palmed one breast, thumb flicking the nipple through lace until it pebbled. “So full. So soft.” He leaned down, mouth closing over the lace-covered peak, sucking hard enough to make your back arch. His teeth grazed you, then he switched sides, devouring you while his free hand squeezed your ass.
You moaned, fingers threading into his hair, pulling the bun loose so thick black strands fell around his face. He straightened, shrugging off his shirt. The sight of his bare chest—chiseled abs, tribal tattoos swirling over smooth brown skin, the sheer width of his shoulders—made your mouth water.
“On the bed,” he said. “On your back.”
You obeyed, heart racing. He followed, crawling over you like a predator. His weight pinned you deliciously as he kissed you again, deeper, messier. Then he sat back on his heels, hooking thick fingers into your thong and dragging it down your legs, leaving the garters in place.
“Keep the heels on,” he murmured, almost sweetly. “They look too good on you.”
He spread your thighs wide, big hands gripping the soft flesh. “So wet already,” he praised, voice low. “All for me?” Two thick fingers slid through your folds, circling your clit before pushing inside you—deep, stretching you open. You cried out, hips bucking. He pumped them slowly at first, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Say my name.” He added a third finger, scissoring, stretching you roughly while his thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and perfect. “Gonna make this pussy come before I even get my cock in you.”
He didn’t stop until you shattered—back bowing, thighs shaking around his wrist, a broken moan tearing from your throat. Only then did he withdraw his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean with a low groan.
“Delicious,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Now I want more.”
He stood just long enough to shove his pants and boxers down. His cock sprang free—heavy, thick, veined, the head already glistening. It was huge, easily nine inches, curving slightly upward, and your mouth went dry at the sight.
“Roman…” you whispered, half awe, half nerves.
He stroked himself once, twice, smirking. “You can take it. I’ll make sure of it.”
He climbed back over you, lining up. The blunt head nudged your entrance, then pushed in—slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretch you open. You gasped at the burn, nails digging into his shoulders. He paused, kissing your forehead almost tenderly. “Breathe, baby. You’re doing so good.”
Then the sweetness fractured. He snapped his hips forward, burying the rest of his cock in one brutal thrust. You screamed—pleasure and pain twisting together—as he bottomed out, balls pressed against your ass.
“Fuck, so tight,” he growled. “Gripping me like you were made for this.”
He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a punishing rhythm. The bed creaked under the force. Each thrust drove the air from your lungs. His hips snapped hard, skin slapping skin, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing.
“You can take it,” he grunted, one hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The deal sealed with my cock buried in you.” He angled deeper, hitting your cervix with every stroke. “Say it. Say ‘it’s just business.’”
“It’s—just—business,” you sobbed, the words breaking on a moan as another orgasm built fast and vicious.
He laughed, dark and satisfied, then released your wrists to hook your legs over his shoulders. The new angle let him pound even deeper. Your heels dug into his back. Sweat slicked his chest, dripping onto your breasts as he fucked you like an animal—relentless, powerful, every muscle in his body working to ruin you.
“Look at these tits bouncing for me,” he snarled, leaning down to suck one nipple hard, biting just enough to sting. “So pretty when they shake like that.”
He flipped you suddenly, manhandling you onto all fours. Your face pressed into the pillow as he re-entered you from behind in one savage thrust. His hand fisted your hair, yanking your head back so he could growl in your ear.
“Arch that back. Ass up higher. That’s my good girl.” He spanked you—hard—then again, the crack echoing. “This ass was made to be fucked.” His pace turned feral, hips slamming into you so hard the headboard banged the wall. One hand reached around to rub your clit in rough circles while the other kept your hair in a tight grip.
You came again, screaming his name, pussy clenching around his cock like a vice. He didn’t slow. “That’s two. Gonna give me one more before I fill you up.”
He pulled out, flipped you onto your back again, and drove back in. This time he hooked your legs around his waist, grinding deep, circling his hips so the head of his cock rubbed that perfect spot inside you over and over. His free hand wrapped around your throat—not choking, just holding, thumb stroking your pulse.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel you milk my cock.”
The orgasm hit like a freight train. Your vision whited out. You clenched around him so hard he groaned, deep and guttural.
“Fuck—yes—good girl.” His rhythm stuttered. “Gonna come. Gonna flood this pussy. Take every drop for the deal.”
He slammed in one final time, hips flush against yours, and came with a roar. You felt the hot pulse of him—thick ropes filling you, spilling out around his cock as he kept grinding through it. His body shuddered, muscles flexing, sweat dripping.
For a long moment he stayed buried deep, breathing hard. Then the roughness melted. He kissed you softly—sweet, lingering—brushing damp hair from your face.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice back to velvet. “Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head, dazed and sated. “No. God, no. That was…”
He chuckled, pulling out slowly. A rush of warmth followed, his cum leaking down your thighs. He watched it with dark satisfaction before grabbing a warm cloth from the bathroom and cleaning you gently.
“Stay the night,” he said, sliding under the sheets and pulling you against his chest. One thick arm wrapped around you possessively, the other stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “The contract’s yours. Fully signed. But tomorrow… we can talk more business.” His lips brushed your temple. “Or we can do this again. Your choice.”
You nestled closer, body still humming, the city lights painting golden stripes across his skin. You’d come for a deal. You’d left with so much more.
And somewhere in the haze of pleasure, you smiled.
It really was just business.
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