Chapter 25 This Isn't Acting I was still on top of Roman. My chest heaved. My thighs trembled around his hips. My pulse? A jackhammer. The room was still. Silent. Except for the throb of the bass lingering from the track. Except for the sound of my heavy breathing… and the faintest creak of the leather seat under Roman as I adjusted myself on his lap—pressing down just a little harder. Just for the show, I told myself. Roman’s eyes were on my mouth. His pupils blown. Lips parted. Jaw clenched like he was trying not to commit a crime. My palm flattened against his chest. “We should stop,” I whispered. “They’re watching.” Roman’s hand slid from my lower back to my ass, gripping. Spreading. Possessing. “Let them,” he said, voice husky, dark. “You started this.” My legs trembled slightly, not from exhaustion—but from the coil of need that was now tightly wound between my thighs. I leaned into him, my palms pressed to his chest, and whispered low into his ear, “We’re just putting on a show… right?” Roman’s jaw clenched. His hands slid up my thighs, slow, like he was savoring my heat. “Right,” he echoed, voice rough, lips ghosting my ear. “Just giving them something to watch.” “Good,” I replied, grinding down again—once. My breath hitched. His hands slid higher. “For the act.” “A performance,” I murmured, kissing down his neck, nipping the skin just above his collar. “Finish it then,” he growled, grinding up into me again. “Make them remember what they’re missing.” I met his eyes—dark, hungry, wild. His fingers slid beneath the neckline of my top, brushing bare skin. I leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I don’t think they’ll ever forget.”I ground down again—deliberately. I could feel him now. Thick and hard. Caged beneath his slacks and perfectly aligned with my aching core. No barriers. Just damp lace and tailored fabric. And the pressure? God. It was maddening. My hips rolled once, then again, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Still just a show?” Roman growled low in his throat, pulled me tighter. His mouth found my neck—open, wet kisses. Then bites. Bruises. Proof. His hand slipped between us, palming my breast—right there in front of Dean and Chloe—and squeezing hard enough to make me throw my head back and moan, loud, filthy, needy. Dean shifted uncomfortably. Chloe stiffened. “Ew, stop.” I heard her spit in anger. A smile appeared on my face. I gasped when he cupped my breasts through the scandalous fabric of my outfit, thumbs brushing over my peaked nipples. His mouth was at my throat now, biting, sucking—sending jolts through my spine. “For the act,” he repeated like a curse, one hand slipping behind me to knead my ass, pulling me tighter against the hard ridge of him pressing up through his pants. I moaned— I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out. And Roman heard it. He felt it. He turned his face and caught my lips in his—and the kiss exploded. Messy. Desperate. Tongues colliding. No rhythm, no patience. It was teeth, groans, and heat. His fingers tugged at my hair, mine clutched his collar like I’d fall if I let go. Our mouths moved like we were starving for each other. Like we were the only two people in the world. Across the room, Dean was sitting forward now, fists clenched around his drink, the glass threatening to crack. Chloe’s jaw had gone slack, eyes narrowing in utter disbelief. I felt Roman’s hips begin to move—slow thrusts that rocked me gently against him. Our bodies moved in sync. His hips rocked up. My hips rocked down. Dry humping? It should have been that. A filthy, perfect rhythm that made me dizzy. The friction sent fire racing through my belly.But this felt like actual fucking. Still for show? No fucking way. Roman’s mouth crushed mine. The kiss was savage—no control, no sweetness. Just teeth. Tongue. Possession. I whimpered into his mouth and he bit my lip. I gasped and he kissed me deeper. Our tongues fought—messy, breathless, vulgar. “Roman,” I panted against his mouth, “this isn’t acting.” He licked down the curve of my neck, hand slipping under my bustier, thumb brushing over my hard, pebbled nipple. “Then stop pretending you want me to stop.” “I don’t.” “Good.” His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face to deepen the kiss. My moan was swallowed in his mouth. I rutted down harder, breath catching. He was effortlessly carrying both our weights. I grabbed his shoulders, clawing at his shirt. He grabbed me by the hips, thrusting up again—his cock grinding into me in a way that made my body jolt. The friction? Perfect. The rhythm? Dirty. The tension? Unforgivable. And yet I didn’t stop. Roman’s mouth found the swell of my breast, sucking the lace-covered mound into his mouth. My back arched, head tilting back, moaning, completely unbothered by Chloe’s gaping face or Dean’s furious jealousy. Dean looked like he might combust. Chloe had gone pale, gripping her clutch like it was the only thing grounding her. We locked gazes. She glared at me then stomped off. My smile curved darkly as I rolled my hips once more, slower this time, making sure Dean saw every filthy second. Roman’s hands tightened on my waist, groaning softly into my shoulder. I bit back another moan, dragging my tongue along Roman’s jaw My hands cupped his jaw, yanking him up for another kiss.Sloppier. Hungrier. He pulled me harder against him, his voice ragged. “Ride me like you did the chair.” I obeyed. Slow, grinding circles. Filthy, deep rolls. My garter rode up, and his hands were on my inner thighs now, gripping like he owned me. “You’re wet,” he groaned into my ear. I bit his shoulder. “Because you’re hard.” “Fuck.” He gripped my ass, dragging me forward—again. And again. My body trembled. My nipples scraped against his shirt. My thighs were soaked. My breath caught on every grind. Still just a show? It didn't feel like it anymore. Then the music stopped. The lights came on. I pulled back, breathless, chest rising and falling. My lipstick smeared. My eyes locked on his. “Do I look like I care who’s watching?” Roman grinned, eyes still glued to mine in the light. Then the sound of clapping erupted behind us.