He scoffs lightly. “Yes.”
“Properly?”
“Yes, Anastasiya.”
“Sleeping?”
“Adequately.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I am fine,” he says, and I can hear the faint smile in his voice now. “You worry too much.”
“I learned from the best.”
Roman’s hand tightens briefly at my thigh when Papa chuckles.
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” Papa says. “Everything is stable. Your brothers are fine. The situation remains contained.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“And you?” he asks. “Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
Roman’s thumb pauses at that word. “I am,” I repeat, firmer this time.
There’s no interrogation in his silence. Just assessment. “Good,” he says finally. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
We say goodbye, and I lower the phone slowly. Roman doesn’t ask what was said. He just looks at me. “They’re fine,” I tell him. “All of them. No issues. No Orlovsky.”
He nods once. “Good.”
I lean back into him, resting my head on his shoulder again. His arm comes around me automatically, hand settling warm and steady on my hip.
Jenny's text pings the group chat. Chili night Friday. Clubhouse. Bring your man and your appetite. Carlie already sent the recipe.
I smile. Type back quick. We'll be there.
Roman reads over my shoulder. "You're cooking?"
"Learning."
He chuckles low. The sound vibrates through his chest into mine. "Savannah's gonna love that."
"Carlie sent step-by-step instructions. Like I'm five."
"Of course she did."
I set the phone down. Turn into him. Straddle his lap on the swing. His hands slide to my hips, grip firm through my leggings. Thumbs press into the crease where thigh meets hip.
"Again?" he asks, voice dropping rough.
I rock once. Slow. Feel him thicken under me through the thin fabric. "Always."
He groans. Pulls me down for a kiss. Tongue sliding against mine. Hands shoving under my hoodie, palms hot and rough on my bare back. Fingers dig in, pull me tighter against his growing hard-on. We don't make it inside. Leggings shoved down my thighs just enough. His sweats pushed low. He lifts me and sinks in slow. The stretch is perfect ache. I sink my teeth into his shoulder to muffle the moan. He rocks up into me. Deep. Steady. Swing creaking louder with every thrust. My arms around his neck, fingers in his hair. His hands bruising my hips, guiding me down harder. I ride him faster. Breasts bouncing under the hoodie. He yanks the fabric up, mouthfinding a nipple, sucking hard. Teeth graze. I cry out. His hand slides between us. Fingers find my clit, rubbing fast circles. Sweat beads on his forehead, drips down his temple. "Come on my cock," he growls against my skin. "Let me feel you milk me."
