This Position’s Goated, Love

Chapter 7: This Position’s Goated, Love.

“Are we still talking about the room, Sav?” Chloe smirked.

Nobody spoke. It was as if they didn't want to offend the star child.

Dad cleared his throat. “Savannah, making minor adjustments for your younger sister so she can have a great event shouldn't be a reason to drag up old memories.”

“You can take mine if you want.” Alyssa offered.

Roman stepped forward and placed his hand on mine.

“Now we have more reasons to cuddle, love.” He joked.

His statement deflated the tension like a safety pin to an inflated balloon.

Dad said something about him being surprisingly decent.

“Don’t get mad, Sav,” Chloe added with mock sweetness. “You know the floor gets hostile when you're angry. Dean and I promise not to break your bed.”

That jab landed hard.

She’d always used my vertigo as a punchline. Nothing was off-limits with her—especially not pain.

But I didn’t fly all the way from Philly just to hand her the win.

So I smiled.

Then I rose on my toes and kissed Roman.

It wasn’t planned. But it was certainly for the show.

His lips were soft. Really soft and warm. It felt like the first touch of the sun after a really cold day.

Get a grip, Savannah.

I shifted on both feet, heart racing uncontrollably, “Let's make mom and dad grandparents.”

“Ew.” Chloe recoiled.

“You've gotta be kidding me.” Dean muttered.

Roman had the widest grin, “Ready whenever you are, love.”

“Dinner’s in an hour,” Mom interjected awkwardly, placing a protective arm around Emily. “I think we’ve all had enough gift-giving and tension for now.”

I grabbed Roman’s hand and we ran up the stairs like little kids escaping detention.

“Flora, you prayed for it.” Aunt Janice cackled.

Mom shouted something about “waiting until the wedding,” but her voice faded behind us. I slammed the bedroom door shut and slumped against it in one smooth motion.

“You okay, Sav?” Roman asked from his position on the bed.

“No. I want to murder my entire family. Twice. This is me being honest.” I answered.

Roman flopped on Chloe’s bed like he owned it, foot still on the ground, arm tucked behind his head.

“You okay, Sav?”

I tore my eyes away from him and looked around Chloe's bedroom.

The room smelled too much like Chloe’s lavender hair mist and superiority complex.

I sat on the bed beside Roman, facing him.

Roman leaned into me. “That went well.”

I shot him a look. “Don’t be smug. I’m one comment away from going full Carrie at prom.”

He reached for my hand on the bed and joined it with his. “I'll be your alibi and if shit blows up, I'll bail you out.” He offered.

I smiled. Genuinely. “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me.”

His green eyes sparkled with mischief. “I'm having fun, love.”

I laid back, staring up at the ceiling. “You're weird.”

He tilted his head. “You know they all think we’re screwing in here, right? Probably placing bets downstairs.”

I glared at the door like it had personally betrayed me. “Screw them. Except Alyssa.”

Roman rolled onto his side, eyes narrowing with mock offense. “You could’ve given me a heads-up back there. I almost laughed in your face when you kissed me.”

“There was no time,” I replied. “It was either that or stab Chloe with her own cheekbone.”

“Next time,” he said, moving closer, “we should practice.”

I barely had time to arch a brow before he pinned me down onto the bed, straddling me with a grin that promised trouble.

He held my wrists above my head with one hand, the other sliding slowly down my waist.

“Roman?” My breath hitched.

“Hi.” He leaned down, voice low.

“Hi,” I whispered back.

His mouth brushed mine, just teasing. Then he kissed me like he meant to win something.

His lips crushed into mine with wild precision, no hesitation, no scripts. Just heat. We fought for control. I bit his bottom lip. He groaned and deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against mine like he was trying to taste every lie I’d ever told.

This is fake. This is fake. I chanted within me.

Then why does it feel so stupidly good?

I wasn't sure when practice turned into foreplay, but the line was blurring fast—and Roman wasn’t exactly stopping it.

It started with a simple kiss, just a mock run-through of the fake-date script. Roman leaned in, brushing my hair back. “Let’s see if we have chemistry,” he said with that low voice that made my toes curl.

I was laughing before our lips even touched again. It almost sounded funny; I was kissing my best friend.

Roman’s hand cradled my cheek, his body hovering over mine on the bed as he said, “Okay, for the record, this is strictly for practice.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I hummed, already tilting my chin up. “Strictly for educational purposes. A science project.”

His lips found mine mid-smirk, soft at first, like he was still testing the water. But the moment he deepened the kiss, my fingers slid into his hair and tugged—just hard enough to make him groan against my mouth.

“Fuck, sav.”

My entire body flared alive. The absence of sex and also the weight of it, melted into my bloodstream like fire. I hadn’t been touched in weeks. And it showed in how hungry my body reacted.

Roman leaned closer, one knee slipping between my legs, hand pressing against my hip. “Careful,” he muttered against my mouth. “I might forget we’re just acting.”

“Then don’t.”

I grabbed his shoulders and rolled us fast—flipping him beneath me.

Now I was on top, straddling him, breathless, flushed, and grinning like a woman who had every intention of winning. Roman looked up at me like I was both trouble and dessert.

“Well damn,” he muttered, eyes gleaming. “Should’ve started with you on top.”

I smirked. “Of course you’d like that.”

“I do. You look—" he paused, his gaze roaming appreciatively, “very pretty up there. Regal. Dangerous.”

“Thanks, bestie.” I laughed.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, one hand sliding over the curve of my ass, slow and possessive.

“Oh, could you?” I taunted, leaning down until my mouth brushed his again.

But before I could go in for another kiss, Roman growled low and flipped my back, pressing me into the mattress.

“This position’s goated, love,” he whispered in my ear, his voice rough with teasing. “Ten outta ten. Would recommend.”

I gasped-laughed and shoved at his chest. “You’re such a menace—”

“Shhh,” he cut in, kissing me again. His body slotted between my legs, and my legs responded all on their own, welcoming him in. His mouth moved hot and slow over mine while his hand slid beneath the hem of my hoodie.

“Is this still part of the performance?” I murmured against his lips, breath hitching.

“We’re improvising,” he said. “I’m a very flexible actor.”

I grinned and shoved at his shoulder. “Let’s see how flexible you are now.”

With another wild twist, I flipped him again. Now I was back on top, one palm flat on his chest, the other trespassing beneath his sweater with zero warning. He sat up slightly, lips parted, hands landing on my hips like they belonged there.

He didn’t look the least bit bothered by the power shift. In fact, he looked like he was enjoying every second of me hovering above him.

“I gotta say again…” he murmured, eyes dragging lazily over me, “you look criminally good from this angle. Damn.”

I raised a brow, slowly leaning down until our noses brushed. “Appreciate the feedback, Mr. Director.”

I wasn’t even thinking anymore. I rolled my hips, slowly, almost absentmindedly. His hands tightened. The air between us thickened.

Now it was Roman's turn to ask, “Is this still... part of the performance? Something’s coming alive down there.”

I laughed. “We’re winging it.”

I was definitely winging it—unconsciously grinding. Subtle, slow. Just enough to have him suck in a breath. Just enough to make my lips part with a quiet sigh. He was already hard beneath me. My body lit up like a power grid, and I didn’t care if it was smart or stupid or somewhere in between.

Then—footsteps.

We both froze.

“Wait—” Roman lifted his head. “Did you hear—”

I paused, breathless. “It’s probably Chloe.”

He raised a brow. “So we stop?”

I smirked, mischief bubbling. “Or we give her a show.”

I grabbed the hem of his sweater and yanked it over his head. His hands were still gripping my hips, his eyes dark, focused only on me as if daring me to try.

A soft knock landed on the door. Then the door creaked open.

A throat cleared.

I, still on top of a half-naked Roman, turned toward the doorway, expecting my sister’s dramatic gasp.

It wasn’t Chloe.