✔️ ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

Chapter 25

Rita's pov

Breaking news!

Josefina was dead, according to Roman. I was shocked. And I was the only one who was shocked. Roman acted like he didn't care at all.

Still, I couldn't find out what had happened to her. He wasn't in the mood to talk, looking tired. Now, I was sitting in the living room on the couch.

With the remote in my hand, I switched from channel to channel, hoping to find out what happened to her by watching the news, in case her dismissed body was found somewhere and got reported.

I watched television for good two hours, but I couldn't find the reason of her death out. Sighing, I turned the tv off and put the remote aside, coming to the conclusion that I couldn't get the answers I sought from the reporters.

I was on the verge of giving up. My only source of the information I needed was lying on the couch, taking a nap. Biting my lip, I looked at him.

He was way grumpier when he wasn't drunk, and less bearable. And more fearful. But I had to know what was going on — why she was dead.

Hesitantly, I got up from the couch and walked to the one he was lying on. Now, I was standing behind the armrest, right where his head was lying on.

His arm was supporting his head. His leg was dangling on the backrest. His features were relaxed, he seemed comfy.

My eyes traveled from his sculptured face down his body, taking in his broad shoulders and thick thighs. I had to mental to find his strong arms — which he used to manhandle me, almost kill me — attractive.

Alright, it was official, I had to be mental for admiring him. Stopping myself from drooling all over him, like literally, as I was standing right above his face, my mouth slightly parted open, I stopped my gawking and cleared my throat.

"Roman?" I called for his attention, my voice soft. Opening an eye, he peeked at me, before closing it again and ignoring me.

"Can we talk?" I asked timidly. "Do I look like I want to talk?" he asked harshly.

"I need someone to talk," I muttered a little intimidated, fiddling with my fingers. "Do I look like a damn therapist?" he asked with a huff, his eyes still closed.

"No, but you look like you could need therapy," I told him quietly. "Why you think that?" he asked, his lips twitching up.

"You have some serious anger issues," I claimed, looking at him with downcast eyes. "Is that so? What else do I have?" he asked with a hum.

"You find pleasure in killing, that's savage," I muttered with a frown. "Never said I wasn't." He accepted being a savage.

"Don't you feel bad for hurting people?" I asked, my brows dipped down. "No, because I hurt bad people," he said, his voice smooth, lacking any trace of emotions.

"What about me? You manhandle me all the time," I told him. "That means you're not sinless," he grunted.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked offended. He blamed me for manhandling me? "Beg for it later," he remarked, yawning, "fuck off and let me rest now."

"You are nothing but foul!" I said, my lips pursed. "I was called worse," he remarked, snorting at me.

"You really drive me up the wall!" I spat. It was impossible to have a human interaction with him. His every sentence provoked me.

"Go ahead," he claimed. "What?" I asked confused. "Drive yourself up the wall, it might knock some sense in your empty head." Forget about his mocking answers, his whole existence irritated me.