Chapter 67 Chapter 67 Lingerie
"Gabriella, you are such a shit!" I lean forward, setting my dainty cup back onto the tray with more force than necessary. "Why do you always rile her up?"
"I’m jealous of your freedom," she replies, flashing me her most sinister smile. "And the guys you date." She leans back dramatically, fanning herself as if she might faint from the scandal of it all.
I make a conscious effort not to look at Roman. Right now, I can’t read him at all. He feels different—quieter, heavier somehow—nothing like the boy I used to run wild with.
"Did you go out with Aleksandr Fedorov?" I ask, redirecting.
"You told me not to!" she huffs, crossing her arms.
"Good." I rub my forehead, then take another bite of a chocolate pastry, letting the sweetness ground me. "He’s not your speed," I add with a small laugh. "Anyway, he moved to the States. We’re going to be neighbors."
Gabriella laughs again, louder this time. "Asshole. You always get all the fun without the responsibilities. What happened with Mason Jones? Your hot bodyguard broke his arm!"
"Fun?" I echo, shaking my head. "My life is drama galore. It’s not fun when you’re actually living it. Mason hurt me, then cheated—it’s a long fucking story."
"Helena showed me the pictures of your neck," she says, lowering her voice slightly. "How did you not kick him… you know where?"
I exhale sharply. "Hard to kick a guy in the balls when his dick is inside you."
Her eyes widen, but before she can respond—
"He should be fucking dead," Roman says flatly, not even looking up from his phone. His tone is calm, but it cuts through the room like glass. "Are you done asking about that piece of shit, Gabby?"
Gabriella flushes instantly, her face turning a deep shade of red, a sheen of sweat forming on her forehead. Roman continues scrolling, his grip on his phone so tight it looks like he might snap it in half.
I clear my throat. "Any chance you want to join me on a shopping trip?"
"I have ass-kissing events and meetings with Mother," Gabby says, frowning.
"I’m free," Roman says without hesitation.
Both of us turn to him, surprised.
"I’m going to a lingerie store," I add, testing him, a small laugh escaping me.
"So?" His eyes finally lift from the screen. "I’ve seen you naked for years. Even after you ‘grew’." His gaze flicks down to my chest before returning to my face.
I can’t argue with that. He has. But something about it feels different now.
An hour later, we say goodbye to Gabby. Roman and I slip into the town car, and just like that, he’s back to his phone, distant again. To my surprise, Christian—one of his childhood guards—is still with him. He sits in the front seat, and I immediately start asking him questions, falling into old habits. He answers everything patiently, just like he used to when I was younger.
Roman stays quiet.
At one point, the car hits a bump and his leg brushes against mine. I glance over at his phone, but the privacy screen blocks everything. I try asking him a few questions, but his answers are short, clipped. Eventually, I give up. I don’t understand why he even came.
When we arrive, security floods the sidewalk. Roman waves them off with a lazy flick of his hand, dismissing them all except Christian, who stays outside.
Inside, the shop smells like flowers and silk. Lace and satin line every surface. I run my fingers over delicate fabrics, picking out a few pieces to try on. Roman trails behind me the entire time, still glued to his phone, somehow managing not to walk into me when I stop suddenly. I circle the store more than necessary, just to watch him follow me like a shadow.
Eventually, I head to the fitting rooms.
The lace feels incredible against my skin—soft, delicate, dangerously pretty. Even in sweats, something like this would make me feel… different. Powerful. Sexy.
I realize one piece won’t fit right and ask for a larger size.
A knock at the door startles me.
I open it, and Roman is standing there, holding what I asked for. His eyes drag slowly over my body, lingering, taking in every detail. He inhales sharply, almost stumbling back.
I take the hanger from him and close the door, a smile tugging at my lips.
His words echo in my head: I’ve seen you naked for years.
My hand lingers on the handle.
Then I open the door again.
He’s still there. Frozen. Watching.
"Do you like this color?" I ask casually.
His lips part, but no words come out.
Something inside me shifts—a little vixen waking up, stretching, ready to play.
I unhook the bra and let it fall.
My skin pebbles under his gaze.
"Or is this better?"
He gulps, adjusting himself hard, tugging too tight, too fast.
Before he can think, I grab his hand and pull him into the dressing room.
The door shuts behind us.
His eyes widen, but I don’t give him time to process. I pull him down and kiss him—hard, claiming. His hands land on my lower back, hesitant at first, controlled. My fingers tangle in his hair, ruining the perfect style he walked in with.
Then he breaks.
His hands slide down, gripping my ass as he lifts me effortlessly, pressing me against the mirror. I feel him harden between my legs. His lips move to my neck, softer at first, then sharper—teeth grazing my skin before biting down at my collarbone.
A moan slips out before I can stop it.
His hips grind against me, slow and deliberate. Then harder, faster. Sparks race across my skin with every touch, every breath. His hand comes up, cupping my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
"Roman?" I breathe.
"Yes, my thorn," he groans.
I can’t help but smile at that. My thorn. He’s called me that since we were five, when I told him he was too pretty to be real—like a rose that needed something sharp to protect it.
"We’re going to make a mess of your pants soon," I murmur. "Put me down."
He hesitates, then smiles faintly, pressing one last kiss to my shoulder before lowering me back to my feet.
He leans against the wall, watching as I get dressed again. His eyes don’t leave me.
Once I’m done, I fix his hair, smoothing it back into place like nothing happened.
We walk out of the dressing room one after the other.
At the register, he tries to pay. I refuse.
Back in the car, I glance at him. "So… you and Gabby?"
"I don’t double dip," he replies coolly.
The driver catches my eye in the rearview mirror, a grin creeping across his face.
"Eyes on the road," Roman says sharply.
"Yes, Your Highness."