Unimportant

"Now continue..." he folded his arms under his chin and laid on his stomach so that he mimicked my posture and we were face to face. "You were saying something about a trip you once took to the game reserve?"
"Oh yeah!" I was surprised that he wasn't faking his interest, surprised that he really was listening to me.
It never felt awkward and as the night gradually turned to dawn I excused herself for a bathroom break, after my shower, he was still in the same position I'd left him and he continued right where he'd left off. He asked me about every single expect of my life and when he'd asked about my opinion about the new tiles he wanted to install in his kitchen I was yet again, surprised. He'd said my opinion mattered because I was now living in his house; that it's our home now.
And so it was decided, the kitchen tiles would be glossy black in colour.
Even over breakfast the next morning he still continued with his string of questions. An event that usually took us thirty minutes took four hours. I was so busy talking that time, the world and everything else ceased. I was sure then that no one knew me as much as Roman did.
His questions were random, it didn't seem he was following any particular order. From asking about my favourite movies — besides horror — to asking about what I usually did on my birthdays, to asking what I was going to study in college. When I'd told him, Marketing Management, he'd wanted to know my reasons behind my choice, wanted to know what exactly I aspired to be.
That had startled me and I had stopped to glance up at him and our gazes held and I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. He was just as relentless with his scorching gaze as he was with his interrogation. The familiar electric flicker had swelled around the room, filling it with its intensity. Roman broke eye contact and made a lame excuse about refilling his glass with orange juice again and my cup with coffee. That had only made me more aware of him. His presence a lingering effect on the runway hairs on my nape. I wanted him to touch me, wanted the familiar feeling his warm hand left on my skin. When he'd sat down again, I'd stubbornly made sure not to look at his eyes again for the rest of the day.
Later that day, Roman had — with a look of disappointment — excused himself for a quick shower. Before he left he kissed my nose, his lips lingering there for a second. He left the room in silence. Time slowed as I busied myself with the laundry. When I was done I heaved a sigh and walked into the bathroom, where he was still showering. I shrugged off my clothes and with my lungs full of air, slid the shower door open and stepped in.
He paused for a second, his body frozen and naturally I stiffened too. I was worried that I'd made him angry again, that I'd yet again shown him how obsessed I was with him.
"You'll get cold," he said finally, with no trace of anger. "Get in."
I sighed in relief and stepped under the water. It was hard... to look at his face when my eyes wanted to see all of him. More often I slipped and ran an appreciative gaze over his muscular body. My eyes fixed on his dick, I didn't realize I was staring until he cleared his throat.
"Stop staring, you're making me nervous."
The heat in my neck travelled all the way to my hairline and my eyes yet again found his crotch, this time it twitched and slightly rose to life.
I raised an eyebrow in question and looked at him.
"I told you to stop staring."
It was amazing how he managed to produce more cock as he massaged my hair with shampoo, squeezed body wash into his soft hands and ran them all over my body.
When he was done I could barely breathe. I took the shower gel and went on my knees and worked my way to his neck. His gaze was on my face and I had to command him on his self control. I couldn't look at anything but his bulging dick.
When he had no traces of soap on him, I switched off the water and grabbed a towel just like he did as we walked into his bedroom, he dried his body without a word, his gaze still on my face. I too tried to keep my gaze on his face as he trapped every last drop of water in the towel.
We hurriedly dressed afterwards, I was extra fast, I knew the fewer minutes I spent dressing, the sooner I'd get to be in his arms again. But Roman was faster, when I was done slipping on some underwear and his favourite white t-shirt, I stood at the edge of the bed.
His arms were open wide for me, a contagious grin spreading his lips. I returned his smile and quickly hurried into his arms.
We were so tired that we fell asleep almost instantly.
Sunday morning, I woke up to a sleeping Roman. His hand lazily draped across my chest, I didn't want to move, afraid I might wake him up. My muscles were stiff between the blankets but it was a discomfort I could handle.
He stirred and the thin blanket dipped low to expose the thin line of dark hair running from his navel to the heavy curve of his penis. In his sleep, his forehead was creased in worry lines, his lips almost tight together. He looked troubled, almost.... vulnerable.
I smiled. It looked like he was dreaming about me. In fact I was sure if it, for he wore the same look he always wore when I said too much, when I said something he didn't like.
I watched him sleep, his breathing deep and his features relaxed. There was just something about him, even as he slept, that haunted me, that called out to me, that made me absolutely positive my life would have no meaning without him in it. Roman stretched, and I stopped breathing but thankfully he got back to sleep. I struggled to keep my heart rate at a normal pace. His hand, in his drunken sleep, unconsciously moved up to cup my breast. Even with the expensive material of his t-shirt between us, it felt like I was naked. I was hungry, not the normal hunger that made my stomach grumble but the weird hunger that made my stomach muscles tightened in response. It was the same hunger from the day before, when we were sharing a shower.
My heart stuttered in its beat, I ran a hand over his face and watched him relax against my touch. Watched in satisfaction as he groaned in his sleep and unconsciously seeked more of me and watched in horror as my brain made the heart staggering discovery — I was in love with him. I was ridiculously in love with Roman Reeves. I closed my eyes, trying to even out my breathing.
I opened my eyes to study his perfect features.
"It's so creepy when you do that," he said, his voice amused as he caught me by surprise. "... stare at me while I sleep."
"Oh," I said, my heart twisting yet again. "You're awake."
He turned to smirk at me. "Good morning."
I frowned. "What was it you were you dreaming about me?"
He didn't respond and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. I searched his face, it gave nothing away.
This confused him and his eyes searched my face desperately. "Was I talking in my sleep?"
"No, actually." I smiled at him. "I saw the look on your face. I just knew no one makes you react that way but me."
"Oh." He smiled and the room seemed to brighten. "You were harassing me — sexually — again," he admitted with a impish smile. "I couldn't handle it this time."