Chapter Four: Don't Come Without My Permission
He didn't need to touch Micah to control him. He just had to stop.
Micah was hard the second the door shut behind him.
It didn't make sense, he hadn't even seen Roman yet. But the scent of him still lingered in the apartment. The faint musk of leather, smoke, expensive soap. It clung to the walls, soaked into the air. Micah's knees felt weak just breathing it.
And Roman hadn't even touched him yet.
He hated how fast it happened now. The ache. The heat in his gut. The pulse between his thighs, already throbbing before a single word had been spoken.
"Upstairs," came the voice. Calm. Cold. From the hallway.
Micah obeyed instantly.
When he entered the room, Roman was seated on the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled up, thighs spread wide like he'd been waiting for him. His eyes flicked up, nothing hungry, nothing eager.
Just sharp.
Knowing.
"Strip," Roman said.
Micah did.
No hesitation. No shame left to hide behind. He peeled his shirt over his head, unbuttoned his jeans, kicked them off. His cock was already hard, pathetically so. He didn't try to hide it. Roman's gaze didn't even lower.
"On the bed."
Micah climbed on, breath shaky, back arching instinctively as he lay down. He didn't know what he was hoping for just touch, just something.
Roman stood.
Came to the side of the bed.
Ran one finger down Micah's stomach, slow, barely-there contact that made Micah's abs twitch and his cock leak against his own belly.
"You're always so ready for me," Roman murmured.
Micah nodded. "Please..."
Roman silenced him with a finger to his lips.
Then knelt between his legs.
The first stroke of Roman's tongue over the head of his cock made Micah cry out. Loud. Shameless. His fingers fisted the sheets as Roman licked again...slow, flat, dragging the heat from base to tip with maddening precision.
Then he stopped.
Micah blinked down at him, heart racing.
Roman looked up. "You're not coming tonight."
"What?"
Roman dragged his tongue slowly along Micah's inner thigh. "You don't deserve to."
Micah's breath stuttered. "Roman, I..."
"Did I say you could speak?"
Micah fell silent.
Roman kissed the inside of his knee.
Then his hipbone.
Then sucked a mark right under his navel—slow and possessive, mouth wet and open, tongue teasing the edge of a place Micah needed him.
But he never touched his cock again.
Instead, Roman spread his thighs farther apart and lowered his mouth to the crease where thigh met groin—biting, sucking, dragging his teeth slowly along the sensitive skin until Micah was shaking.
"Roman...please..." Micah whispered, eyes glassy.
Roman licked along his thigh again. "So desperate."
His lips brushed the head of Micah's cock and then he blew cold air against it.
Micah whimpered.
Roman gave one long, slow lick, from the base upward...then pulled away entirely.
"Not tonight," he said simply.
Micah's hips jolted upward, chasing nothing.
Roman stood.
Micah stared, wide-eyed and dazed.
"You can stay like that," Roman said. "Hard. Leaking. Aching."
He buttoned his cuffs, straightened his collar.
"You'll learn what happens when you act like a needy little whore instead of my obedient plaything."
Micah sat up on his elbows. "Roman...I.."
Roman turned back briefly, expression unreadable.
"If you touch yourself," he said coldly, "you won't come for a week."
Micah swallowed.
Roman walked out.
And Micah stayed exactly where he was—naked, flushed, painfully hard, thighs still trembling from the ghost of a mouth that never gave him what he needed.
He didn't move.
He didn't dare.
He could still taste him on his skin. Still feel him in the air.
And when he finally fell asleep, untouched and aching, his cock was still leaking against his stomach.