Playing for keeps

Chapter 4

I woke up gasping.

The dream disappeared the second I opened my eyes—but the feeling stayed. That tight, suffocating panic wrapping around my chest like I couldn’t breathe. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. Dark room. Different ceiling. Different bed.

Then—Roman.

The memory hit all at once, grounding me just enough to stop the spiral. My breath was still uneven. My heart still racing like it was trying to outrun something that wasn’t there anymore. I sat up slowly, dragging a hand over my face.

“Ella?”

His voice was rough with sleep, low and thick in the dark. I turned toward him.

“I—I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he said immediately, pushing himself up. “What’s wrong?”

The concern in his voice made something inside my chest twist. “I just… had a nightmare.”

A pause. Then the mattress shifted. Closer. “Come here.”

The words were quiet, gentle, but they weren’t a question. And unlike earlier tonight—I didn’t hesitate. I moved toward him instinctively, and his arm wrapped around me, pulling me against his solid, warm, safe body.

We stayed like that for a while, his hand soothing my back, until the silence shifted. I became aware of the way my body fit against his, the warmth seeping into every inch of me. My hand shifted against his chest—barely—feeling the hard muscle underneath the thin fabric. Roman stilled. A tension snapped into place between us, sharp and electric.

“Ella,” he said quietly—a warning, but weaker than before.

I lifted my head, our eyes finding each other in the dark. We were too close. Caught right in the middle of something we both knew we shouldn’t cross.

“This is a bad idea,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t let go.

“I don’t want to think about him,” I said, the words coming out unbidden. “I don’t want tonight to end like that.”

He went very still, understanding exactly what I was saying. “You don’t need to do anything because of him,” he murmured, his voice fragile in a way I’d never heard.

“I know,” I whispered. “Then show me.”

That was the moment everything snapped.

His mouth found mine with controlled intensity, like every ounce of restraint he had was barely holding together. His hand slid to my waist, pulling me so close there was no space left, and I felt every shift and breath he took.

Then, he shifted, moving until I was positioned between his knees. The air in the room grew heavy, the atmosphere shifting from comfort to a raw, undeniable hunger. Roman’s hands moved from my waist to the waistband of my sleep shorts, his movements deliberate and focused. As he slid his hand beneath the silk, he didn't hesitate. His palm pressed firmly against me, and he immediately felt the reality of my desire.

My breath hitched, a sharp sound in the quiet room, as his fingers curled against the junction of my thighs. I was slick, my body betraying exactly how much I wanted him, and the moment he touched me, he went rigid.

“God, Ella,” he groaned, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register that vibrated through me. He didn’t just touch me; he let his fingers explore, pressing firmly against my entrance and finding exactly how tight I was.

As he pushed a finger inside, stretching me, his eyes locked onto mine, burning with a mix of frustration and intense want. He leaned in, his face inches from mine, his breath ragged against my skin.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he rasped, his hand moving with a rhythmic, maddening pressure that made my hips arch off the mattress. “You’re so incredibly wet, and you’re so tight… you’re absolutely killing me.”

The way he said it—the sheer desperation in his tone—sent a wave of pleasure straight through my core. He didn't stop, his fingers working me with an expertise that pushed me closer to the edge, every movement a silent testament to the restraint he was barely managing to hold onto.

After a moment of pure, agonizing sensation, he positioned me between his knees and reached for his trousers. He bared himself, his length massive, straining and pulsing in the dim light. I leaned forward, my tongue tracing the sensitive tip before I took him into my mouth. He groaned, a sound that started deep in his diaphragm, and his large hands immediately came up to grip the sides of my head.

"That's it, baby," he rasped.

As I picked up the pace, he began to move with me. When I took him deep, my throat constricted, and I let out a soft, involuntary gag. The sound seemed to snap something inside him. He gripped my hair more firmly, his knuckles white, and pressed down, taking control. He was relentless, thrusting into my mouth with a rhythmic, brutal perfection that stole all my oxygen.

He was close—I could feel the shift in his pulse. Just as he reached his breaking point, he groaned my name, his body shuddering. He bucked into me one last time, and I felt him release, thick and hot against the back of my throat. He didn't pull away until he was completely spent, his fingers still tangled tightly in my hair, holding me there as if he couldn't bear to let me go.

"That’s it," he managed, his voice cracking, thick with the effort of stopping. "No further. Not tonight."

He pulled his hand back, and the sudden loss of touch felt like a physical blow. He gripped my waist, pulling me hard against him one last time, our bodies slick and desperate. We were both shaking, hearts hammering in unison, fully aware that the thin line we had been walking was now completely obliterated.