Going to Father’s is complicated at the best of times and if he brings Rebecca, I need to prepare myself. All the initiates are there tonight, but her being there with my brother feels different. I don’t know why.
“Angela,” he replies simply, stabbing his food, and relief floods me before I can hide it.
Roman doesn’t say much after that. He just watches me, feeding me when he thinks I haven’t eaten enough, as the rest of the table slips into the kind of chaotic banter that comes easily to them. We all go to our separate classes before Riggs drops me home.
A garment bag hangs on the back of my bedroom door. Inside is a dress, expensive in a way that doesn’t scream but whispers. The red fabric feels like liquid beneath my fingers. Next to it sits a pair of Louboutins, with a handwritten note from Roman. Five simple words cover the thick white card.
Wear this tonight. You’re mine.
My heart still splutters when I think about that. A small smile pulls at my lips as I dab on my lip gloss. NotI ownyou. Not youbelongto me. But you’remine. The distinction shouldn’t matter. It does.
I stand in front of the mirror, taking in the plunging neckline of the red dress as it accentuates my breasts. The silk falls over my curves like it was made for me. My hair is lightly curled, half up, half down, my makeup soft with just enough contour to sharpen my features.
The gala at Father’s always unsettles me. It’s nice to be going with someone other than Felix. It’s even better knowing I get to leave tonight.
A parade of wealth, power, and predators dressed in tuxedos isn’t my favourite activity. I’m not a novice. I’ve done this dance enough times to know appearance is everything. No matter what I feel inside, the outside is an impenetrable mask.
Bending down, I slide my feet into the silver shoes as the door slams shut. I used to know that noise meant it was either Robyn or Felix. Now it could be Roman too.
I spritz myself with perfume and walk out into the lounge, as my breath catches at the sight. Roman stands in a fitted suit. A red tie, perfectly matched to my dress, sits around his neck. Black trousers. A white shirt. With a sinful smirk that spreads across his face as he takes me in. His eyes burn as they trail up my body as my pussy dampens at the look on his face. He looks hungry and needy and entirely focused on me.
When his gaze finally reaches mine, he wolf whistles, licking his lips as I chuckle and shake my head.
“You’re staring,” I say lightly.
“I’m appreciating,” he corrects, his voice carrying that low, deliberate husk.
He doesn’t walk to me, he prowls. Slow and controlled, like he knows exactly what he’s doing with every step. My pulse skitters under my skin as the air tightens between us and he closes the distance. Heat blooms low in my stomach. He stops just close enough for me to feel the warmth of him through the silk.
“Turn around,” he commands.
I arch a brow but comply, pivoting slowly so my back faces him. I feel his gaze trace the line of my spine, the dip of my waist, the curve of my arse. His hand settles on my hip as he steps in, firm and possessive, before sliding lower to give me a slow, deliberate squeeze. I inhale sharply, my fingers tightening around my clutch.
“Behave,” I mutter, though there’s no bite to it.
He leans in, his chest brushing my back as his mouth grazes the shell of my ear. Slowly, he drags my dress up my legs, leaving my thong pressed against the metal of his belt.
“Behaving is the last thing on my mind,” he whispers. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”
“No,” I breathe, as his free hand slips around, pulling me tighter against him, his fingers brushing over the fabric between my thighs.
“Like I’m about to spend the entire gala imagining what this dress looks like on our bedroom floor.”
The wordourdoesn’t go unnoticed as heat floods my veins. His thumb strokes lazily over my clit, it’s not enough pressure for release, just enough to tease and pull soft breaths from my lips as I chase what he won’t give.
“You look like my Queen, Tinkerbell.” He presses a chaste kiss to my neck and I tilt my head to give him more access. “A sweet, delicate little flower with thorns.”
His phone goes off, breaking the spell and we both groan. He steps back slowly, letting the silk fall as his fingers trail from my body with clear reluctance. When I turn to face him, he leans in and presses a hungry kiss to my lips. I pull him closer, gripping the lapels of his jacket. His cock presses against my stomach, as my hand slides down his chest in a chaotic chase, his phone beeps again.
My shoulders slump as he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine.
“That’s our ride, let’s go.” Roman offers me his arm, a complete juxtaposition to how he nearly took me. This is a formal, polished perfect picture for the outside world.
“You ready?” he asks, opening my front door and escorting me out.
I’m not sure what he’s asking. Am I ready for the gala? My Father? Dr. Fisher? I steel myself as I wait for him to lock upbefore sliding my hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling his strength beneath the fabric of his suit as I tilt my head to look up at him.
“Always,” I say instead of all the other questions sitting on my tongue.