His mouth brushed mine, just teasing. Then he kissed me like he meant to win something.
His lips crushed into mine with wild precision, no hesitation, no scripts. Just heat. We fought for control. I bit his bottom lip. He groaned and deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against mine like he was trying to taste every lie I’d ever told.
This is fake. This is fake. I chanted within me.
Then why does it feel so stupidly good?
I wasn't sure when practice turned into foreplay, but the line was blurring fast—and Roman wasn’t exactly stopping it.
It started with a simple kiss, just a mock run-through of the fake-date script. Roman leaned in, brushing my hair back. “Let’s see if we have chemistry,” he said with that low voice that made my toes curl.
I was laughing before our lips even touched
