Page 38 of Downfall

“It’s your fault.” I tease.

“How?”

“If you weren’t so good at that.”

“Good at what?” He says acting like he doesn’t know.

“At that.”

He smirks. I’m still shy about it. About sex. Roman is my first. For everything. Though I know he slept with his girlfriend before me he doesn’t make me feel inadequate because I don’t have a clue how to touch him, how to pleasure him.

“Say it Rose. Say what I did.” He replies.

I go bright red. Redder than I already am from climaxing. “You licked my pussy.” I say squirming.

He chuckles wrapping his arms around me. “I didn’t just lick you did I?” He says.

I shake my head. “I enjoyed it.”

“I know you did.” He says. “That’s why I did it.”

I open my mouth to reply to tell him that I want to taste him now but we both hear it and freeze. Footsteps. Someone is out on the landing. I shoot him a look and he’s gone, disappearing into the closest like a ghost.

I grab the covers pulling them over me and shut my eyes. Playing at sleep.

My door creaks open and light from the hall cascades in. I don’t react. I keep my face perfectly neutral, turned away as if I’m so deep in sleep nothing would wake me.

“I thought I heard something…” My mother’s voice whispers.

My father sighs. “You’re imagining things.” He says irritated before half slamming door, clearly not caring if he wakes me.

I sit up, listening to their footsteps retreat and when the silence returns I know Roman is creeping back out and across the room.

“That was close.” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “They won’t catch me.”

“They’ll kill you if they do. You know that right?” I say. I mean metaphorically though in reality I wouldn’t put it past my father. If he had walked in and found Roman between my legs he wouldn’t have just thrown us out. Deep down I don’t know exactly what my father is capable of but I wouldn’t put murder past him.

Roman brushes my hair back, tucks it behind my ear reassuringly. “Nothing’s going to happen. I won’t let it.”

“You’re so confident of yourself aren’t you?”

He grins. “Yeah I am.”

I roll my eyes and mutter about privileged white men under my breath.

“I’m a Montague, Rose. I always win.”

“And I’m a Capulet.” I state. “I don’t back down.”

He kisses me, his lips crashing into mine so hungrily it steals my breath. “Good.” He murmurs and I can hear it, the finality of his tone. He’s leaving.

“Stay.” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Better not.”

“Please?” I know it’s pointless. Reckless too. He won’t stay. There’s far too much risk.

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