"I will. Soon."
I don't want to leave, but I don’t think he’s telling me to leave to be mean. I’m exhausted and despite the way he’s acting, I can tell he's tired too.
“Goodnight.”
I turn, forcing myself toward the bedroom even though every part of me wants to stay. I can feel his gaze on me the entire way. I don’t look back. That night, I lie awake with my hands trembling against the sheets. My body feels overheated and restless. I can’t stop thinking about how close we were to kissing. I inhale deeply, remembering the scent of his cologne. He smelled so good.
I close my eyes, imagining his hands on my face again, this time, they don’t stop at my jaw. They slide lower, touching my breasts, his fingers on my nipples.
That would be amazing. His lips on mine, kissing me hard. Possessive. Like I really belong to him. I peel my underwear down, touching myself right where it aches, my pussy. That's a word I wasn't supposed to know but heard at school. It's so wet, pulsating and needing what only Roman can give me.
I stroke myself pretending it's him. It feels good and helps, but it’s not nearly enough. The ache is insistent, demanding more from me. I don’t know how to make it stop, so I pull my hand away, tug my panties back up and curl onto my side, knees drawn up, trying to make the pulsing need go away.
It doesn’t. It takes hours before I fall asleep. When the faintest hint of morning light peeks through the blinds, I get dressed and head into the living room.
Roman is already up, at the table with his laptop. He looks up as I enter, his eyes giving no hint of what happened last night.
"I have to go out,” he says. “Business.”
“Okay.”
He closes his laptop and stands. "Tonight, when I get back, I’ll take you outside.” A faint smile touches his lips. "Like I promised."
My heart jumps. "Really?"
"Yeah."
Happiness that no one else could ever understand unless they'd been locked away for years, floods through me. "Thank you."
His eyes soften. "You're welcome." He reaches for his jacket. "I'll be back around seven."
I fall into my routine. I read, eat and do some fake yoga poses I made up in the basement.
At seven-oh-five the door opens and Roman comes in carrying two more large shopping bags like last time.
"If you're going,” he says, setting them down, “you need a coat."
I feel stupid for not thinking of that, but happy Roman did. I walk across the room and pull the coat free. I see the color first and it’s beautiful, a light brown that reminds me of caramel. It looks heavy and also very expensive. I run my hand over the smooth fabric and the thick fur lining the sleeves and hood.
"This is so beautiful,” I whisper.
I try to lift it, but it’s heavier than I expected. I guess it has to be for Russian winters.
Roman steps closer. "Here."
He takes the coat from my hand, holding it open. I turn around and slide my arms into the sleeves, the coat settling onto my shoulders. I feel Roman's hand adjusting how it sits across my back. His fingers brush the nape of my neck, smoothing the collar into place. My breathing stills. Heat spreads across my skin and that familiar ache is between my thighs again.
He comes around to face me, his movements feel deliberate,as if he's purposely taking his time. His eyes stay on mine as he reaches for the zipper, pulling it up slowly until the back of his hand grazes my collarbone through my sweater.
When the zipper reaches my throat, he uses both hands to adjust the collar again, his fingers lingering there longer than necessary, making sure the fur rests right against my skin.
"How do I look?" I ask, once I remember how to speak.
He steps back, his gaze traveling from my face down my body then back up. He nods.
"It fits."
"That's not what I asked."
