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I want him. All of him. Until my eyes water and I can't catch my breath. I don't want it slow. I don't want to be in control. He's my best friend's father…and I want him to devour me.
I've never wanted anything more.
His hazel eyes fly open, his gaze colliding with mine.
"Mila," he says.
And I know…I fucking know he's going to say something to rip this moment away from me, just like he did in the kitchen two days ago. He's going to apologize or snap at me or say something to take back what just happened, to erase the shameless, filthy truth he just gave me. So I don't let him.
I turn and run, not stopping when he yells my name.
Not stopping when the cut on my foot throbs in painful protest.
Not stopping until I'm in the guest room, and the door is locked between us.
"Mila." Not even five minutes later, he thumps on the door, his knock heavy and demanding.
I lean against the cool wood, my heart hammering so loudly I think he can probably hear it through the door standing between us. I don't open it, though. No way am I letting him in here.
He doesn't get to do that and then just take it back like it never happened. Hell no.
"Dammit, Mila." Something thumps against the door harder, making me jump. "Open the fucking door. Please."
I don't respond. I don't move.
"Fuck," he growls when it becomes obvious that I'm not going to answer him or let him in.
He stands there for a long time anyway, like he thinks he can wait me out.
I stay where I am, leaning against the door as if the lock itself isn't enough to keep him out. I'm not sure it is. The only reason he's still on the other side of that door is because he's off-balanced by what just happened. Any other time, I have no doubts he would come through it anyway, even if he had to take it off the hinges.
I don't think much stands in his way when he wants something.
The thought sends a shiver through me—part fear, part excitement.
My body still throbs, practically pleading for release. Every part of me is on fire, burning like molten lava. Mr. Gregory?no, that's not right. Roman just jerked himself off with me standing right there, watching him. And regardless of what he probably wanted to say after it was said and done, he wanted me. I saw the way he looked at me. I saw how turned on he was to know I was watching him get off. I heard the words rolling from his lips.
Minutes tick by, neither of us budging. Neither of us says a word.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly a moment later, and then he walks away.
He's sorry?
"What the hell?" I whisper, fanning myself with a hand.
The front door slams, making me jump again. A few seconds later, an engine roars to life.
He's leaving?
"Of course, he's leaving," I snort to myself and push away from the door. Part of me feels bad for him. He doesn't want to like me. For some reason, his attraction to me pisses him off. I think that's because of my friendship with Tahani. He's a good father, and he adores his daughter. I've admired that about him since the first time I met him.
My own father is…well, he's something.
I remember him being a good dad when I was little. He would take me on play dates and listen to me chatter about my day while he got me ready for bed. He had tea parties with me and was always laughing.
All of that changed the day my mom died. He started drinking. The laughter died. Eventually, he stopped talking to me altogether.
He couldn't stand looking at me when I looked just like her, he told me when I finally asked why he didn't want me. I moved out right after that and didn't look back. He hasn't tried to contact me since. That should probably bother me more than it does, but eventually, I just stopped wishing for the impossible. He hasn't been a father in a long time. Maybe I should feel bad for believing I'm better off without him in my life, but I don't.
