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"Were we?" I try for innocent, but my breath falters as his fingers trace patterns against my sweatpants.
"Mmm. Something about a new relationship."
"Right. That." I swing one leg over his lap, straddling him with sudden boldness. "I was thinking equal partnership, mutual respect, and absolutely no professional favoritism."
His hands find my hips, steadying me above him. "Agreed. Anything else?"
"Complete honesty," I say, rolling my hips against his in a way that draws a sharp intake of breath from him. "Even when it's uncomfortable."
"Especially then," he agrees, his hands sliding under my sweatshirt to find bare skin. "My turn. Exclusivity. Privacy but not secrecy—we don't flaunt it, but we don't lie if asked directly."
"Agreed." I press closer, enjoying the hardening evidence of his desire beneath me. "And separate apartments. At least for now."
"Prudent." His fingers trace the edge of my bra, teasing but not quite giving me what I want. "Though I reserve the right to revisit that term in the future."
"Noted." I lean down to kiss him, slow and deep, reveling in the way his control visibly unravels. "Anything else?"
"Just one thing," he says, his voice rough with desire. "This couch isn't conducive to what I have in mind."
I laugh against his mouth. "Counter-proposal. Right here. I've always wondered if that famous control extends to all situations."
His eyes darken, accepting the challenge. "I should warn you—I play to win."
"So do I," I whisper, grinding against him more deliberately. "That's what makes this interesting."
What follows is a delicious test of wills. Roman, determined to maintain his composure, and me, equally determined to shatter it. I pull his tie free with deliberate slowness, enjoying the way his breathing quickens as I work my way down the buttons of his shirt.
"For someone who claims to be impatient, you're taking your time," he observes, his voice admirably steady despite the flush spreading down his neck.
"Good things come to those who wait," I murmur, pushing his shirt from his shoulders to reveal the chest I've come to know intimately over the past months.
I trace the defined muscles with my fingertips, following with my mouth, enjoying his sharp intake of breath when I find a particularly sensitive spot just below his collarbone. His hands tighten on my hips, but he makes no move to take control, letting me set the pace.
It's a heady feeling, having Roman Kade at my mercy, and I intend to savor it. I take my time exploring him, learning what makes his breath hitch, what makes the muscle in his jaw jump with the effort of restraint.
When I finally reach for his belt, his hand closes around my wrist, stopping me.
"My turn," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine.
In one fluid movement, he flips our positions, pressing me back against the couch cushions. Now it's my turn to catchmy breath as he tugs my sweatshirt over my head, his eyes darkening at the sight of the simple cotton bra beneath.
"If I'd known you were coming over, I'd have worn the black lace," I say, a breathless attempt at humor.
"I prefer this," he murmurs, tracing the edge of the cotton with his thumb. "This is the real Cassie. Not the Creative Director, not the woman trying to impress. Just you."
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, creating a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with physical desire.
His mouth replaces his thumb, tracing along the edge of my bra, then lower, across my stomach, creating a trail of heat that makes me arch beneath him. When he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my sweatpants, I lift my hips, helping him slide them down my legs.
"Still determined to test my control?" he asks, his voice rough as he takes in the sight of me wearing nothing but cotton underwear on my living room couch.
"Always," I manage, though my own control is rapidly unraveling under his hungry gaze.
He smiles, that dangerous smile that promises delicious retribution, before lowering his head to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh. "Challenge accepted."
What follows is an exquisite form of torture. His mouth and hands seem to be everywhere except where I want them most, teasing, building, until I'm practically vibrating with need.
What follows is slow, devastating torture.