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Roman isn't like my father at all. Even as busy as his job keeps him, he's always made a point to visit Tahani every few months. The entire time Tahani and I lived together, he texted her every day and called every few days just to say hey and see how she was doing or if she needed anything. From what Tahani has told me, he didn't know she existed until she was a teenager, and as soon as he learned he had a kid, he dropped everything to meet her and be her dad.
And I'm her best friend.
He doesn't want to hurt her. I don't either. The thought of hurting her makes me sick, honestly. She welcomed me into her family without reservation, and I’ll never be able to repay her for that. Falling into bed with her father seems like a terrible way to try.
But who says she has to know? the little voice in the back of my mind whispers. She told you to have a fling.
She did tell me that, but I highly doubt she meant with her father. Still, after what I just witnessed, why can't it be him? It doesn't have to mean anything. I'm not looking for a relationship; I doubt he is either. All I want is to dirty-hot sex.
Holding onto my virginity hasn't done me any favors. I'm tired of clinging to it like it's this special thing. It's mine to give away. Why not give it to someone who knows what to do with it?
Roman's been single for as long as I've known Tahani. We're attracted to each other. I may not be as old as he is, but I'm an adult. We're both here. Why not go for it?
"You can't seriously be thinking about this," I mutter to my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. My eyes are still wide and dilated with desire, my cheeks flushed. My nipples are hard, visible through the fabric of my bikini. I look…well, I look like I need to be fucked.
I know Roman can take me places and teach me things I didn't know existed. I want that—so badly, I can almost taste it.
"It doesn't have to mean anything," I tell my reflection, even though I'm pretty sure I'm lying to myself about that.
An image of him leaning against the wall, his cock in his hand as he stares at me flashes through my mind.
You fucking love knowing I've gotten myself off to the thought of you for years, don't you?
I do. I really, really do. Because, if I'm being honest with myself...he's the one I've thought about for years, too. Even when I shouldn't have, even when it was wrong, he was the one I thought about.
And just like that…my mind is made up.
He's the one I want, no matter the consequences.
Chapter Five
Roman
I avoid the condo all day, driving in aimless circles around Santa Cruz until the sun sinks below the horizon and night descends over the city. My mind is stuck on the image of Mila standing in my bedroom, watching me get myself off. It's stuck on the stricken look on her face when she turned and ran from me and on the fucking silence waiting on the other side of that door when I went after her.
Why did I go after her?
I told her I was sorry, but I'm not. Not really. I'm sorry I didn't take her right then and there. I'm sorry she ran. I'm sorry for a lot of shit, but I can't seem to find it in me to be sorry for what I did. I'm not sorry she caught me. I'm not sorry for a damn thing I said.
"I'm so fucked," I mumble when I pull into the driveway close to midnight and see her car is still there. I honestly wasn't sure she'd stick around after what happened. I wouldn't have blamed her if she ran and didn't look back. But I wanted her to be here for a thousand reasons that I've tried all fucking day to convince myself still matter.
I'm no longer sure they do…if they ever really did at all. I crave her. Her sweet smile. Her curvy body. That angelic voice. Her. Something about her—hell, everything about her—drives me wild for reasons I can't even articulate to myself. I'm just fucking done trying to deny it.
Tahani is going to kill me.
As I climb from my truck and head toward the house, that doesn't matter much either. This thing with Mila feels inevitable…like it was only a matter of time until it played out one way or another. And fuck if I'm strong enough to say no now that it's started.
When I step through the front door, tossing my keys into the glass bowl on the credenza, the condo is quiet. The living room, kitchen, and hallway upstairs are dark.
Is she in her room?
Fuck. Is she even here?
"Mila?" My steps are heavy as I climb the stairs, tension twisting my stomach into knots. The door to the guestroom sits slightly ajar. I push it open and peer inside. The bed is neatly made, and the blue comforter and accent pillows look fresh and clean. Mila's stuff is littered all over the room, clothes strewn across the floor and over the arm of the chair in the corner.
The sight has my heart slamming against my ribcage.
She didn't leave. Her car was still outside, but I didn't really believe she'd still be here.
