Page 167 of Sin With Me

“What the hell did that little shrimp do to you?” His deep voice rumbles against my skin, sending a path of shivers across my scalp. I blink at him, then to the shrimp he’s referring to. It’s mutilated. “Don’t murder the poor thing, Eve. That’s so shelfish of you.”

My head snaps to his, my mouth falling open as a shocked sound makes its way up my throat.

“Did you—” I break off, my brows crashing together. “Did you just say a shrimp pun? Like, a joke? A real one.” My head shakes, utter shock and confusion rippling through me. “Seriously?”

Roman’s face splits into a shit-eating grin as he flicks my nose. “Close your mouth, Evie, or I’ll find a way to fill it.”

My hand jolts out, his words snapping me from my stupor. I palm his smug face and shove him away from me with a frustrated sound. “Get over yourself,” I hiss. “Not everyone wants to worship the ground you walk on, despite what you may think.”

He shrugs, uncaring, and reaches over my plate for a slice of pizza. “Whatever you say.” My eyes are riveted to Roman as he tips his head back, somehow fitting nearly an entire piece of meat-lovers in his mouth at once.

Smirking to myself, I snatch his phone while he’s distracted since mine’s in my room charging, and snap a quick photo. “You deep throat that meat so well,” I chuckle, snapping a few more photos of him practically moaning around the sausagy-goodness. “I’ll tell Chase he taught you well.”

With a snicker that’s one hundred percent devious intentions, I flip his phone around, showing him the photos I took.

Roman chokes around the pizza, his face turning red in an instant. He coughs for a solid minute before he can breathe again, let alone speak. “What are you doing?” he rasps, his eyes wide on me sending the photos to Chase. “Why are you on my phone, Eve?”

I pause, my smile falling as I look up at him. “What?”

He reaches out and snatches the phone from my fingers. I don’t miss his irritation, it’s obvious. Every muscle is taut, his brows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed. But beneath that, I see something else. Something that looks a lot like panic.

And then it dawns on me.

He doesn't want me to see what’s in his phone.

The urge to apologize, to keep the peace, to ask for his forgiveness for touching what doesn’t belong to me, is strong, but I can’t get the words out. Because, for once, the need to please, that’s ingrained in me down to my marrow isn’t as important as the hurricane of emotions swirling through my gut.

What is he hiding?

But is he really hiding anything? It’s his phone and I have no right to its contents.

What are the contents, though? Women? Sexy and naked in compromising positions, no doubt. His conquests. The women he spends late at night with while he strokes his cock, imagining they were there with him. Women with perfect bodies, thin and curvy in all the right places who aren’t fucking their…

Oh my God!

What am I doing?

I’m jealous. Impossibly, disgustingly jealous of women I don’t know, pictures I’ve imagined. I feel sick, completely on the verge of vomiting up my meal at just the thought of his hands on someone else. Hands that don’t belong to me. Haven’t belonged to me in years.

Biting my lip, I shove myself up from the table and start to collect the various dishes spread out. I can’t sit here. I can’t pretend any longer.

A hand comes down on top of mine, stilling me. My eyes snap up and I come face to face with the man himself. The man causing me so much turmoil and confusion by just merely existing.

What would happen if he did more than that?

“Leave it,” he rumbles. His hand slides down mine and wraps around my wrist, sending goosebumps up and down my skin. Goosebumps that have no right existing in this room—this house.

Swallowing, I nod once, then shake my head, my eyes still locked on his. I feel like I'm in a trance. “I’m sorry,” I start, letting the to-go container slip through my fingers. “Were you not done?”

Ro’s head cocks to the side slowly, like a predator, and the sudden urge to flee ricochets through me once again. “No, Eve,” he whispers. “I’m not done.”

I swallow thickly, my eyes darting between his. Roman’s Adam’s apple is bobbing, his jaw flexing. His hand hasn’t released my wrist yet and with every aching second that passes, his fingers tighten as though he’s afraid to let me go.

Or maybe he just sees the way I want, no need, to run. The way every molecule in my body is dancing with equal amounts of panic and joy. Panic at having him so close, his knowing eyes riveted to me, taking in too much, seeing everything I’m trying so hard to hide. Joy because he’s here.

Why are you here?

Why did you come back?

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