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Chapter Four

Istand there with my mouth hanging open as Mr. Gregory stalks out of the room as if just seeing me has him ready to explode.

"What the hell?" I whisper, wondering what I did to piss him off. And then I jump when a door upstairs slams so hard glass panes rattle all across the condo.

I don"t know what I did to earn his wrath, but damn! He"s scary when he"s angry.

Scary hot, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers.

It's not wrong. He is scary-hot. Jesus.

A little rude, too.

I"ve gone out of my way to stay out of his way since he walked out of the kitchen the other night, leaving me turned on and confused. The look in his eyes when he demanded I say his name…well, I"m pretty sure I wasn"t the only one all hot and bothered. I think some part of him felt the same attraction I've always felt toward him. Stupidly, I thought maybe he"d asked me to stay because he actually planned to do something about it.

Clearly, that"s not the case.

"The only thing that man feels for me is annoyance," I mumble, limping to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

God, I"m an idiot.

Why would he be interested in me? He"s almost twice my age and hot as hell. Even if he had a clue about my crush, he"d never do anything about it. As far as he"s concerned, I"m barely even an adult, certainly not a woman worth his time. He didn"t ask me to stay because he wanted me here. He asked me to stay because he felt sorry for me and was trying to be nice for Tahani"s sake.

Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I twist the cap off my water and take a big drink, pushing down the swell of disappointment that sends a lump into my throat.

First Damien, and now this.

Awesome.

"Screw "em both," I mutter, determined not to cry over his blatant rejection. I turn around and limp toward the stairs. My foot still hurts where I sliced it open, but it"s not terrible. Even so, I planned to stay off it for a little bit longer by spending the morning on a chaise on the deck with my Kindle.

Not anymore.

No way am I staying here any longer. Mr. Gregory can be a dick all by himself.

I hobble up the stairs, intending to pack my bags, only to stop in front of the heavy door to his bedroom. It"s closed tight, warning me to move on and let it go, but I hesitate for a long moment anyway. Part of me wants to pack and leave quietly, sneaking out without a word to avoid irritating him more. But some other defiant little part of me—the pissed off, offended part, I think—isn"t satisfied with that plan. After all the tossing and turning I"ve done the last two nights, remembering how he demanded that I say his name, that pissed-off part wants to annoy him one final time. Payback for almost making me cry.

Before I can resist the childish urge, I lift my hand and tap on the door.

He doesn"t answer.

"Mr. Gregory?" I tap again, a little louder this time. I wait for several seconds but don"t hear anything. Leaning closer, I press my ear to the door. Nothing but silence greets me. I know he"s inside, though. He"s ignoring me.

Just when I"m about to say screw it and walk away, I hear…something.

A moan.

What?

Is he–?

He moans again, the pleasurable sound unmistakable.

Oh my God. He is!

"Mila, fuck, baby." His voice is low and guttural, making it clear exactly what he"s doing and who he"s thinking about while he does it.

I should walk away. I know I should…but I don"t.

He"s getting himself off, fantasizing about me.

My heart hammers as my hand lands on the doorknob. I don"t even think about it. Every single piece of me focuses on the sounds he makes.

The knob twists beneath my fingers, and then the door slides open.

The outer wall of his room is glass like the rest of the condo, but his bedroom is dark and masculine instead of modern and airy. It screams decadence, with deep, bold colors and black furniture. A massive four-poster bed sits against the inner wall, so big I could get lost in it. The dark red sheets and comforter are twisted up, standing as proof that he tossed and turned most of the night like I did.

A quiet whimper escapes my lips when I catch sight of him. He"s standing against the wall, his ripped body on display as he leans back with his head tipped back and eyes shut. His dark hair is tousled, a few strands falling into his face. He"s shirtless, revealing a toned, chiseled chest covered in vibrant tattoos that curve and twist around each muscle. Every inch of him screams strength and power, like he was carved from rock.

My eyes drift lower.

My water bottle slips from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud as I stare in shock and awe. His jeans are undone, his right hand wrapped around his exposed cock as he jerks himself off. His dick is as intimidating as he is, thick and so hard it looks painful. The broad head is an angry red, the purple veins seeming to pulse with every stroke.

My mouth waters as I stare at him working himself. I want to wrap my lips around his length, see how much I can take before my eyes water, and I have to pull back. I"ve thought about it so many times over the last four years, I can practically taste him on my lips already.

"Mila."

I jump at the desperate crack of sound, my gaze flying from his cock to his face. His piercing hazel eyes are wide open, pinning me in place. There is no shock or embarrassment in his expression, only a dangerous hunger that sends shivers down my spine.

God help me. He looks like he wants to eat me alive. I'm helpless under his intense gaze, prey caught in a predator's trap. Desire and anger war in the depths of his stormy gaze, stripping me raw. He"s so aroused, so pissed…

And I want it all—all that power and anger unleashed on me. I want to know what it feels like when he"s wild and spinning out of control.

I stare at him, frozen in place, as my clit pulses. I"m so turned on I can"t think. I can"t move.

"Mila," he groans again, biting his lip. "Fuck."

I whimper, squeezing my legs together as he begins to move again, his hand working up and down his cock.

He doesn"t ask for permission; he just takes what he wants, his gaze locked onto mine as his arm flexes and ripples with each thrust of his hand. His stomach tightens, and I feel like I might explode from the sheer intensity of it all.

God, I"ve never seen anything so fucking sexy in my life.

"You like watching me, don"t you?" His voice is harsh and commanding. He doesn"t stop stroking himself, fucking his hand as he growls at me. "You fucking love knowing I"ve gotten myself off to the thought of you for years, don"t you?"

I nod before I can stop myself…before I can even think it through.

Something shifts in his gaze. His eyes darken. He looks predatory and lethal, like a big, dangerous animal.

I think I"m his prey.

I think I want to be his prey. I want to surrender myself completely to him.

A throaty moan escapes my lips as I imagine his massive body pinning me down and using me for his own pleasure, punishing me for four long years of unfulfilled fantasies.

Wetness pools between my legs.

"I can smell your cunt from here, Mila. It"s practically begging me to fuck it." He speaks with such urgency and need, it"s like he can"t hold back anymore.

His hand flies across his cock, tugging and pulling, jerking himself off hard and fast as he says filthy things to me. Things no one has ever said to me before. Things that should offend me but don"t.

"I"ve thought about fucking you until you can"t take any more," he growls, his voice pitched low and primal.

My heart pounds as he continues to talk, each word igniting a fire within me that I didn"t know existed. He makes me feel alive in ways I've never felt.

"Do you taste as good as you smell, baby?" he demands, his gaze locked on me with an intensity that promises pure ecstasy. The raw desire on his face mesmerizes me.

"Yes," I moan, unable to hold back any longer.

No one has ever talked to me like he is, with his voice pitched low, panting. Like he can"t stop the words pouring from his lips as he works his cock. Like he wants me to know every dirty fantasy he"s ever had about me.

He"s close…so close to losing it. I know exactly what he needs to send him over the edge, too. I want to send him over the edge. I think I need it more than I need my next breath.

"Roman," I whisper his name.

"Again, Mila." He"s not asking; he"s demanding again. His gaze is locked on me, compelling me to give him what he wants, to say his name.

"Roman," I moan, shifting again, trying to ease the ache between my thighs. And then, because I can"t stop myself, because I think it pisses him off and turns him on at the same time, I whisper, "Mr. Gregory."

"Fuck!" he roars, his head falling back against the wall with a thump. He comes all over his hand and stomach while my name echoes between us, shouted as he finds release. His cock jerks in his hand as he continues to work it, his juices dripping down his hand and arm.

I"m so dizzy with desire I sway on my feet, unable to look away from him.

He stands there, breathing in harsh pants. His hand still moves slowly up and down his cock, wringing every last drop from himself. The look on his face…if I live to be one hundred, that look will be seared into my mind even then. His pleasure is so intense it borders on pain. His lip is curled up in a snarl, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes closed.

I was wrong a few minutes ago. This is the sexiest thing I"ve ever seen.

This man. Jesus, this man is in a world of his own, and every cell of my body begs me to jump him right here. To beg him to bend me over and fuck me until I can"t move. To do every dirty thing he wants to do to me.

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.

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.

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