Roman
Moxie.
What?
Roman
Are you trying to drive me crazy?
Is it working?
Roman
Room 847. Ten minutes.
You have a game tomorrow.
Roman
Nine minutesnow.
I should say no. Should maintain some kind of boundary. Should not let him think he can just summon me.
I’m knocking on his door in eight minutes.
He opens it immediately, pulls me inside, and backs me against the door in one smooth motion.
“Hi,” I manage.
His hands find my hips. “You’re trying to torture me.”
“I’m just reading a book.”
“You’re reading discipline porn and texting me about it.” He leans down, mouth at my ear. “That’s not innocent.”
“Maybe I’m just expanding my horizons.”
“Maybe you’re trying to make me as desperate as you are.”
“Is it working?” I ask, echoing his earlier question.
Instead of answering, he kisses me. Hard and hungry and nothing like the controlled touches from last night. This is want without patience, need without strategy.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“Lesson two,” he says. “Same as lesson one. You get close, but you don’t get to finish.”
“That’s not fair?—”
“Life’s not fair.” But he’s smiling as he lifts me, wraps my legs around his waist. “But I promise it’ll be worth it.”
He carries me to the bed and I’m already so wound up from yesterday that when his hand slides between us, I gasp.
“Still sensitive?” he asks.
“You know I am.”
“Good.” He works me slowly, thumb circling while his mouth finds my neck. “I want you to feel like this for days.”
