CHAPTER 79: BEAUTIFUL WIFE

After what felt like forever, Roman’s mouth returned to her clit, and Patricia’s body reacted before her mind could, arching, shuddering, her voice breaking in a desperate cry.

"Roman! Nooo...!"

The sound made him smirk against her, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

"That’s my favorite spot," he murmured, lifting his head just enough to speak before sinking back down. "She gets special care."

Then he was on her again, licking, sucking, drawing out every last flicker of pleasure until her thighs quivered around his head. He took his time, devouring her as if nothing else existed, as if she were the only thing that could keep him alive.

Five more minutes of unrelenting bliss, and finally he pulled away, crawling up beside her. He wrapped her in his arms like she was something precious, her chest rising and falling as she fought to catch her breath.

"This is the next stage," he said softly, almost teasing. "We will continue next time."

The satisfaction on his face was unmistakable, he liked knowing she was breathless because of him, liked claiming that part of her no one else had touched. She was his to kiss, his to lick, his to taste. Only his.

Patricia stayed silent, too overwhelmed to speak. Her mind was still struggling to process what she had just felt. If he hadn’t stopped, she wasn’t sure she could have handled it, maybe she would have fainted from the sheer intensity.

A strange thought crept in... maybe this was why Zara always seemed to keep so many boyfriends around. If this was what she was experiencing, it was no wonder. Still, Patricia knew she could never give herself like this to just any man.

And then, unwelcome and sharp, the fear returned. The fear that Roman could be deceiving her, using her. Her mother’s warnings echoed in her mind: Don’t trust men. How could she be sure? She had seen her father’s coldness toward her mother, the absence of affection, the absence of care.

Roman might not love her... but he was possessive, protective, unwilling to let her go. That was already more than her father, who had claimed to love her mother, ever gave. She had never seen her father kiss her mother, never seen him hold her like this. Maybe Roman was different. Maybe not all men were the same.

He reached for the duvet and pulled it over them, tucking her close against his body.

"I am sorry for bringing you here without warning," he said after a moment, his voice low. "I just... feared you wouldn’t come."

Her head lifted slightly, her eyes searching his face. She found no trace of deception there, only sincerity more like helplessness.

"Why are we truly here?" She asked quietly.

His gaze softened. "Eve is getting married. I can’t let it happen unless I have confirmed something."

The statement caught her off guard. She shifted, propping herself up to study him. "What do you need to confirm?"

"That her fiancé isn’t an abuser," he said simply, his voice tightening with quiet resolve. "She’s suffered enough. I won’t let her end up in the wrong hands."

Something in his tone made Patricia’s chest tighten. She didn’t know Eve personally, but she remembered the scene she had witnessed that day, the loneliness in the other girl’s tone. She could not help sensing the poor girl just wanted to be happy, just like her. And now, to think she was marrying someone else... maybe Syres truly had been a jerk until the very end.

"I... I heard everything that transpired between you both that day..." Patricia began, but Roman cut in smoothly.

"I know. It’s fine, you can ask whatever you want to know."

"Is there no way to convince Syres? If you tell him the kind of man she’s being married off to, he might be able to stop the wedding before it’s too late," she suggested, clinging to the only solution she could think of.

"No. You heard what she said that day, they would both never forgive me for killing Mother and Syres’s brother. Every attempt to reach them has failed." His tone was casual, as though the weight of it had become something he carried every day without flinching.

"But you didn’t do it, right?" Patricia asked, her gaze steady, as if she already knew the answer. For some reason, her eyes lacked the judgment he was used to whenever those deaths were mentioned.

"How do you know I didn’t do it?" He asked, almost testing her.

"You don’t act like someone who’s guilty, you act like a victim too."

Roman fell silent, caught off guard. No one ever saw that side of him.

"You believe I didn’t do it?" He asked, still in disbelief.

"I know you didn’t. But the reason you can’t clear your name is because you have no answers either. You are also searching for them," she said, and for the first time, Roman felt something dangerously close to vulnerability.

To be understood, truly understood, was foreign to him. And it was coming from the last person he expected. She was the one he had treated worse than anyone else in his life, yet she was the one who saw him clearly when those he trusted most could not. The only reason his relationship with Silas and his grandfather remained intact was because they didn’t openly blame him for what happened. They dismissed it as a mistake made in youth, but deep down, he knew they believed he had done it.

"Don’t be too quick to trust people." He flicked her forehead lightly, letting a playful laugh mask what he really felt.

"So, what’s your plan?" Patricia asked, rubbing her forehead.

"Find solid evidence to get him arrested. The marriage won’t stop, I know my sister, she would still go through with it but at least he wouldn’t be around to hurt her."

Patricia nodded, supporting his resolve.

Then her stomach grumbled loudly, and she winced, embarrassed. She had been about to eat before Kay came rushing in with news about Roman, and the only thing she had all day was a single biscuit that morning.

"I guess you were too worried about me to eat." He smirked knowingly, aware he was the reason.

He got up from the mini bed and walked over to where his shirt lay on the floor. Picking it up, he returned to her side and helped her slip into it, his hands lingering briefly as he adjusted it around her.

"Let me cook you something, you have fed me too," he said, picking her up. Her face flushed instantly, knowing exactly what he meant by fed me too.

...

The following morning

Groaning softly, Patricia stirred awake, stretching her body before slowly opening her eyes. As the memories of where she was came flooding back, she sat up and glanced around, only to find the bed empty, Roman was nowhere in sight.

Leaving the balcony, she walked into the main lounge, checking every corner. Just as she was about to head toward his room, a rich, mouthwatering aroma drifted from the kitchen, drawing her in.

The sight that greeted her made butterflies dance in her stomach. There he was, her... well, you know... husband, cooking. Last night had been too dimly lit for her to take in the view, but now she saw him clearly: Roman, wrapped in nothing but an apron and a pair of boxers, moving about the kitchen. The sight made her skin tingle in ways she couldn’t explain.

And then there was that single red strand of hair, always catching her attention. She swore one day she would touch it.

"I don’t mind being stared at all day, but unfortunately, we have an event to attend," he said, already sensing her presence.

"Good morning," she greeted, stepping out from her hiding spot and taking a seat at the counter.

"Morning." He raised his head, smiling warmly, and she couldn’t help but return it, her cheeks heating.

"This should return the energy I stole last night," he teased as he served her a portion of stew.

Her "stupid self," as she called it, could never resist his flirts. Images of last night flashed in her mind, making her body ache with sudden longing. She quickly dropped her gaze to her plate.

"We are in the kitchen," she muttered in rebuke.

"Yes, cooking for you... so I can eat you later," he replied without missing a beat. She choked on her food, while he broke into laughter.

Sliding into the seat beside her, he picked up a napkin. But instead of using it, he leaned in and licked away a smear from the corner of her mouth.

"Roman!" She exclaimed in shock, but he seized the opening, pressing his lips to hers and wrapping a hand around her neck.

Patricia pinched his side, making him pull back, though not before biting her lower lip in playful retaliation.

"It’s a birthday party for one of my colleague’s wife," he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "I wasn’t planning to attend, but Eve’s fiancé will be there. That’s my chance."

"Do I have to go? I don’t want to get in the way," she replied.

"Actually, yes, I might get hungry and need to eat," he said, smirking again and she punched him in the arm.

"Okay, fine," he continued, now smiling. "His sister will also be there. She’s known for loving new friendships, and I just happen to have a very beautiful wife. You would be her prime target. Maybe you can get some information from her."

When she didn’t immediately answer, he began, "It’s fine if..."

"No, I am just thinking about what to wear. I would do anything for Eve," she interrupted, pushing back her chair and heading for the bedroom.

Roman’s eyes lingered on her retreating figure, his shirt draping over her frame, her long legs bare and stunning. The urge to take her right then burned in him, but he held back. He wanted to make her feel everything, so that if she ever considered another man, the thought would vanish instantly. She was his, after all.