CHAPTER 71: SUCKING

Eve felt a pang of disappointment at his words. But if she could have her first time in the hands of the man she had loved for so long, even if he was a jerk, then she would carry no regrets. Not ever.

Syres seized her lips again, this time with raw hunger. He sucked on her upper and lower lips with ferocity, guiding her into his rhythm until her breath caught and her body melted into his.

Her arms found their way around his waist as she surrendered to the moment. She let herself be vulnerable, something she hadn’t done in years. This was the scene she had always dreamed of, wrapped in his arms, feeling wanted. Even if it wasn’t love... even if it was only pretend, it still made her feel alive.

"Take off my top," he muttered roughly between kisses. His hand dropped to the buttons of her shirt, undoing them one by one, his fingers brushing her skin with agonizing slowness.

Eve’s own hands slid up his torso, grabbing at the hem of his top. She rolled it up carefully, not wanting to break the kiss. But just as she was about to lift it over his head, Syres suddenly froze.

He pulled away without a word, putting space between them.

Breathless and dazed, Eve pushed herself up on her elbows, confusion clouding her face. "What is it?" She asked, voice soft, heart crumbling.

"Jude will take you home," he said coldly, avoiding her eyes.

The words landed like a slap. She scrambled up from the couch, anger quickly overtaking confusion.

"Why did you touch me if you weren’t going to finish it?!" She yelled, voice trembling. "Why did you start it, only to ignite my hope again?!"

But Syres didn’t turn back. He kept walking, silent, distant, as if nothing had happened. Eve collapsed back onto the couch, her body shaking. The tears came fast, bitter and silent. She hated herself for hoping. She hated that she still loved him.

She should have known, it was only a fleeting moment. He would never love her the way she wanted.

...

Patricia and Roman had just arrived at the estate. The night was heavy, and the silence between them was colder than the air. Patricia said nothing as she stepped out of the car. Roman had tried to talk during the ride, but she kept her gaze fixed on the window, determined to shut him out.

He knew why she was angry. The real culprit hadn’t been exposed, but if he had done it right there, Mireen would have found a way to protect Michelle anyway. But logic didn’t soothe disappointment.

He followed after her, grabbing her wrist. "We need to eat. Just wait," he said, voice low but firm.

"I am not hungry," she snapped, yanking her arm free. "Goodnight." And added.

Roman, half-expecting the outburst, moved quickly. He caught her waist, spun her toward him, and whispered, "I never said it had to be food." Then, without warning, he crushed his lips against hers.

She gasped, caught off guard. Her hands pushed at his chest, but his grip only tightened, pulling her flush against him.

His mouth was hot and commanding, and before she knew it, her resistance softened. Her arms fell helplessly to her sides as the kiss deepened.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head and claimed her lips fully. She parted her mouth, and he took the invitation, kissing her deeper, slowly, thoroughly, until her anger melted into heat.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her body leaning into his. Somewhere between the frustration and the passion, she surrendered.

Roman lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her around his waist, his lips never leaving hers, and set her down on the nearby counter, deepening the kiss with urgent hunger. His free hand slid lazily along her body until it reached her breast. He cupped her left one through the fabric, and she moaned softly into his mouth, arching into his touch.

With a swift tug, he tore her shirt open, buttons scattering as the fabric slipped off her shoulders and hit the floor, leaving her in just her bra. Patricia pulled back slightly when the cold air kissed her bare skin, shivering. Roman paused too, both of them catching their breath as the tension between them simmered.

"We... can’t do it here," she whispered, glancing nervously at the door. They were too close and anyone could walk in. The idea of being caught while half-naked sent a rush of adrenaline through her.

"The door’s locked," he murmured, voice low and rough. "We can do it anywhere in this house." Like a man starved, he reclaimed her mouth, his kiss deeper, more consuming. His hand dropped to the small of her back, and Patricia gasped at the warm contact on her chilled skin.

With a quick flick, he unhooked her bra and slipped it off her arms. Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself.

Roman frowned. "No. I want them looking at me," he said, possessiveness thick in his voice. "They are mine. All of you are mine." Then he dove back in, trailing kisses from her lips down her throat.

Slowly, she relaxed, letting her arms fall to her sides, allowing him to see her fully. His gaze lingered on her, dark with desire.

He pulled back just enough to make her bend slightly, then brought his mouth to her left breast, his lips enclosing her nipple as his hand supported her back.

"Ro...man!" She gasped, pleasure crashing through her like a wave. Her head fell back as he lavished attention on her breast, sucking, licking, biting, each movement practiced and hungry. Her skin prickled, her body tightening with need.

She reached for his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he worked her over mercilessly.

"Ahh..." Patricia moaned, louder this time, as he drew harder on her nipple, her body jerking slightly at the overwhelming sensation.

And just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, he moved to her other breast. He sucked gently at first, then deepened it with the same intense rhythm, his hand moving to fondle the one he had just left behind. Her legs trembled, barely holding her up on the counter.

Pleasure coiled low in her belly, fierce and insistent. Her core ached with need, and her thoughts drifted, to the memory of him stroking her there. She imagined it again; his mouth on her breast while his hand moved lower, skin on skin, driving her insane. The idea alone nearly unraveled her.

And then, just as quickly, another thought crept in. Would he delay the divorce again? Did she even want it anymore?

She didn’t want to be a second wife, to share her husband with another woman... but what if he didn’t marry Michelle? What if he changed, chose her, loved her?

It was a fragile, foolish hope. But it was still hope.

Maybe he was a jerk. But... maybe that darkness came from a place of possessiveness, not indifference.