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We haven’t slept at all. We’ve been like this for hours, tangled and hungry for each other. He has drawn orgasm after orgasm from me until my body feels wrung out and boneless.
Roman shifts, pinning both of my hands above my head, our fingers interlocking. This time is different. It isn't rough. He moves inside me slowly, deeply, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. It feels like he’s looking straight through me, connecting with something far beneath the surface as he sinks in and draws back out again.
“Roman…” I breathe his name, the sound soft and broken.
The pleasure builds gradually until it finally spills over. I come with a quiet, trembling cry. He follows soon after, burying himself deep with a low groan as he empties inside me.
Afterward he collapses onto the bed and pulls me on top of him, my head resting against his chest. He presses kisses to my forehead and cheek, one hand stroking slowly down my back while the other slides through my hair.
The steady beat of his heart under my ear lulls me, and I drift off still wrapped around him.
When I wake in the morning, I’m no longer on Roman's chest. I’m alone on the bed.
Disappointment flickers through me, but I push it down. Even if he didn’t stay the entire night, things between us have changed. We’ve moved forward. I’ll give him time. He’ll come around eventually. I would have liked to wake up with him this morning, but I’ll take what I can get.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts when the bedroom door opens. I look up in surprise as Roman walks in carrying a breakfast tray, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants.
“Good morning, baby,” he murmurs.
He sets the tray down, leans over, and greets me with a deep, lingering kiss. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well,” I answer, still a little stunned that he’s here.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “Since I missed having breakfast with you yesterday. Thought we could have it together this morning.”
I'm even more stunned. “Oh, okay.”
He joins me in bed. “Yeah.”
We eat breakfast in bed, our plates balanced on the duvet between us, mugs of coffee warming our hands. It’s such an ordinary thing, yet it feels extraordinary. A week ago, I never would’ve imagined sharing a morning like this with Roman.
Roman glances at the sketchbook resting on my nightstand. “So,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee, “how did all this start? The art?”
I smile, following his gaze. “I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I’d sketch on anything I could find. The backs of receipts, newspapers, even the walls once.” I laugh softly at the memory. “My father wasn’t thrilled about that.”
“I can imagine.”
“He thought art was a waste of time.” I spear a piece of fruit with my fork. “When it was time for university, he wanted me to study business. He said it would be useful to the man I marry.”
“And you disagreed.”
“More like pleaded with him.” I grin. “Eventually we struck a deal. I would study Business Administration… if he also allowed me to study art.”
Roman looks genuinely surprised. “So you have a business degree?”
“I do.”
He nods thoughtfully. There isn’t a hint of impatience on his face. If anything, he seems completely absorbed in the conversation.
“But my sister, Audrey, isn't as lucky. My father didn't allow her to go to college back then. In fact, she and Dante were the ones who fought for my chance to go to school. I truly hope she has a good life ahead of her.”
“She will. And if she ever needs help, I'll step in,” Roman says.
I keep talking about my favorite professors, the first painting I ever sold, and how terrifying it had been to hand it over to a stranger. I even bring up how Dante helped me transport my paintings out, and how Audrey and I used to sneak out of the house to attend art exhibitions.
Only when I pause to take a breath do I realize I’ve been talking almost nonstop. I laugh, covering my face for a second. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
