Chapter 37 Good Girl Savannah “We had sex,” I said flatly, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat, shoving the memory into a locked corner of my mind. Roman’s smirk was slow and deliberate, like he could see through my mind. “Good girl.” It should have felt uncomfortable—him positioned this close, this intimate. But it didn’t. Not even a little. “Next clue?” I asked, ignoring the bite of the belt around my wrists. “Game over, Sav.” His voice was smug, final. My brows knit. “What? What do you mean ‘game over’?” He was still holding my thighs apart like he owned the right to. “I’ve dropped all the clues. You’re a smart girl—think.” That was it…? “Three clues?” I ran through them in my head, but the pieces didn’t fit. My brain scrambled to line them up, flipping through every hint he’d given. “Think harder.” His face dipped, his voice a low rumble against my skin. Then his mouth brushed my inner thigh, and my breath caught. “Can I really do that when we’re… in this position?” His grin was wicked. Another kiss, closer. “Think, Sav.” “I am—” My voice broke, my body betraying me. “It’s like that mobile game you were obsessed with. Four pictures, one word.” His kisses trailed higher, slow and tormenting, his breath warm where I needed him most. When he hooked my leg over his shoulder and bent, I nearly melted into the mattress. “Roman… I don’t think this is the right time—” “Shhh. I’m helping you think. Focus.” His tongue flicked against the sensitive skin of my thigh, pulling another shiver from me. My heart was hammering. My wrists strained against the belt. “Roman, seriously, this isn’t—”The rest of my protest dissolved into a gasp when his mouth finally claimed me—one long, devastating stroke that had my back arching off the bed. “Roman…” My head tipped back, lips parting on a silent moan as his hands slid up, cupping my breasts possessively. He pulled away just enough to whisper, voice dark silk, “Think deep.” Was he kidding? How was I supposed to think when his mouth was doing that? I gasped when his mouth touched me there. One slow, deliberate lick from base to top. The sound that left me was raw, pulled from somewhere deep. My hips jerked against him without permission. “Shhh,” he said against me, the vibration making my stomach clench, “Don't lose focus.” My wrists strained uselessly against the belt. “I can’t—” “Yes, you can.” His hands slid up to grip my hips, anchoring me while his tongue made a lazy circle that had my spine bowing off the bed. Every nerve felt on fire. My thigh trembled against his shoulder, but he held me in place like I was his to keep open.“Roman…” My voice was wrecked, breathless. He hummed against me. I felt the sound everywhere. He pulled away a little… His mouth hovered just above me, warm breath ghosting over skin that felt too tight, too sensitive. Every nerve was on edge, straining toward him. I tugged at the belt around my wrists until my shoulders ached, the leather biting into my skin. I hated it. I loved it. I wanted it gone. I wanted my hands in his hair, dragging him where I needed him most. “Roman,” I rasped, my voice cracking on the syllables. He didn’t move. He just smirked against my inner thigh, his lips brushing, barely kissing now. “Patience.” “I don’t—” My protest broke into a gasp as he kissed me there, firm enough to make my hips jump. He stilled them with his hands on my thighs, his grip unyielding. “Stay still.” The sound that left my throat was half frustration, half need. “Let me—”“Ah,” he cut me off, “you remember what I told you earlier?” My breath was erratic, chest rising too fast. “What?” “That you were going to beg me.” His voice was low, dangerous in that way that made my stomach clench. “I’m not—” The flick of his tongue erased every syllable from my head. I arched, pulling hard against the belt, but he pressed me flat to the bed with one palm on my stomach. The weight of it was possessive, commanding. Every slow stroke of his tongue felt like it was pulling something taut inside me, winding me tighter and tighter. “I said…” he murmured against me, still gripping my thigh over his shoulder, “…stay still.” I whimpered, my hips disobeying as I tried to press against him harder. His mouth closed over me again, and my vision went white for a second. The belt cut into my wrists as I fought to get free. “Roman, please—” “There it is,” he murmured, the vibration of his voice making my thighs tremble. “Begging already, sweetheart?” I wanted to deny it, but another slow, deliberate swirl of his tongue had me crying out instead. “Let me touch you. Please. I want—” “You want?” he prompted, pulling back just far enough that I felt the loss like a punch. “I want my hands in your hair,” I blurted, desperate. “And what would you do with them, Savannah?” I bucked into him. “Press you deeper. Hold you there. Make you—oh God—” “Make me what?” His tone was almost lazy, but his mouth wasn’t. “Make you finish me,” I panted. He chuckled low against my skin, the vibration shooting straight through me. “Told you you’d beg.” “I want to touch you. Please.” I begged, shamelessly. He chuckled, dark and rich. “Of course you do, Sav. But you’re staying right where you are.” And then he moved. Fast. He dropped my thighs from his shoulder then slid his hands under my ass, gripping hard, and dragged me to the edge of the bed in one rough pull. My legs fell wider, dangling over the sides, completely open to him. I made a strangled sound, torn between embarrassment and the shiver of anticipation that raked down my spine. Then he bent, mouth hot and relentless. The first deep stroke had my head snapping back against the pillow. “Oh God—” “Not God,” he said into me, not even pausing. “Say my name.” “Roman,” I gasped, and the sound was almost a sob. He alternated between slow, languid licks that made me whimper and quick, devastating flicks that had my hips surging up, only for him to push me back down, holding me in place like he owned me. “Press into me,” he ordered suddenly, pulling me even closer, his grip bruising. “Go on, love. Use me.” I did, unable to stop, grinding against his mouth until I thought I’d lose my mind. His hands kept me steady, his tongue ruthless. Every stroke, every shift in rhythm felt calculated to break me open. My wrists burned from straining, my muscles aching to pull him closer, to drag him impossibly deeper. “Please, Roman, please—” He hummed against me, and the sound sent another jolt through me. “Almost there, aren’t you?” “Yes,” I gasped. “Please don’t stop.” “Then think,” he said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world while I was coming apart under his mouth. “The clues, Sav. Put them together.” I wanted to scream at him that I couldn’t, that my brain wasn’t working, that all I could think about was the slick heat of his tongue and the way he had me spread open and helpless before him. But he didn’t stop. He pressed me harder against his mouth, his tongue moving faster, his grip unyielding. My body climbed higher and higher, the edge so close I could taste it— “Say the clue,” he murmurs against me, and his tone is amused and hungry at the same time. I try to think… Professor Kingston; the way he said the name; Dean Archer — my thoughts bump against one another like frightened animals. But the problem isn’t the memory. It’s the way his mouth sends electric currents through me, unraveling whatever thread of concentration I had. When his finger slid inside me, quick and precise, the world condensed to the slick circle of his fingertip and the way he tasted on my skin. “Fuck,” I breathe. It’s not a composed answer to his clue; it’s not a thought at all. It’s raw and animal. He laughs softly, a sound I imagine he enjoys in the same secret way he enjoys my little attempts at cleverness. And then— It hit me. Not all at once, but like a spark catching in the dark. Little flickers of memory aligning. Dean’s smirk earlier. The phone in his hand. How he silently put his phone back before Roman walked in. Roman’s silence on the truth. The way he’d looked at me when I’d mentioned that night. The restraint in his voice when he’d spoken about last night earlier. And then the last piece—Roman’s own words, too careful, too deliberate. He'd been dropping the clues all this time. Dean doesn't have something on him. No… it was me. He had something on me. I went over all the answers to the clues; My ex. Sex. Making a video. It finally clicked. Dean had used it to blackmail Roman. The truth slammed into me at the exact second the orgasm did. My back arched, the belt biting into my wrists as my body shook, my cry raw and breathless. Roman didn’t ease up—he devoured me through it, holding me down, prolonging it until I was gasping and trembling against the sheets. When I finally sagged, boneless and panting, he lifted his head. His mouth glistened, his eyes dark and unreadable. As I came down from the high, the severity of the situation slammed into me like a truck. I slapped a hand over my mouth. “You know now,” he said simply, as if he hadn’t just torn me apart in every way possible… “Oh my God.” I whispered, chest heaving.