Cross

17

Winter

My left cheeks stings. At least the swelling had gone down and it isn't bruised too badly. Still, the greenish patch is well deserve on my part. I really let him rail me after he put his hands on me like that. And I liked it too.

I deserve it all of it and the bruise will serve as a reminder that I am Roman's whore.

Wife or not, I'm just his plaything. A willing one.

For a moment I was happy in that living room; happy that he sat with me and listen to me talk. Even he looked content even if it was just for a second. I didn't feel like a prisoner; I was just a girl sitting with a man beside her.

In love.

My stomach jumps unpleasantly at the thought. I'm not in love with Roman Cross. I'll never been in love with Roman Cross. It's just lust. I'm allowed to feel lust, right?

God, I would have to be a masochist to fall in love with a man like Roman. I shake my head and push aside the thoughts and hope it'll go away.

At eight in the morning I sluggishly drag myself into the kitchen, lost in my own thoughts. The smell of bacon and eggs engulfs me and I'm so thankful Nina is here every morning with breakfast ready.

"Morning Nina." I greet and head straight for the refrigerator.

It isn't until a moment later that I realised Nina never responded to my greeting. She always does with a little too much sunshine for the morning.

"Nina?" I say again and close the fridge door.

Heat stains my cheeks red from the blistering embarrassment burning me from the inside out.

Nina isn't here. Only Roman.

He stands by the fancy stovetop in low hanging grey sweatpants. I drool at his body and the longer I linger on it, my IQ drops to 0. No one should be able to look so sexy in only sweatpants.

My eyes follow the movements of his muscles whilst he works on scrambled eggs. The way it ripples as he moves effortlessly has my pussy weeping.

"No good morning Roman?" He teases me. There's a lightness to his tone that I haven't heard before. It draws me in; my footsteps carries me towards the breakfast bar by where he works. There's no doubt a look of fascination on my face as slide into a sit. He must be in a good mood, his tone is hardly ever sweet.

"Morning Roman." I say without thinking.

"So, you're just walking around the house in only a t shirt now?" His voice drips with menace but not the kind that would instil fear in me. It's playful, borderline possessive and a hint of jealous.

I glance down at my clothes. I'm wearing one of his oversize cotton shirt and underneath I have a white bikini on with red love heart patterns.

"I'm going for a swim." I explain whilst leaning against my palm as I watch him expertly mans the kitchen. For a second, I ponder then the words shyly leaves me, "If you have time, do you want to join me in the pool?"

I see the corner of his mouth tug into a smile. The movement makes the lines on his face so prominent and I'm suddenly reminded of the age difference between us.

"How old are you Roman?" I ask.

"Aren't you full of questions today." He plates the eggs along with some bacon and pushes it to me. "I'm thirty five."

"I knew you were old." I say, wrinkling my nose. "But I didn't know you were that old." I fork the scrambled eggs.

"Thirty five isn't old, baby."