Roman woke up to an empty bed, and for the first time in a long while, the solitude gnawed at him. The cold silk sheets clung to his skin, emphasizing the void where warmth and another body should have been. His king-size bed, luxurious and sprawling, had easily accommodated three people before—he’d tested that more than once. But this morning, it felt cavernous, a cruel reminder of how utterly alone he was.

His body ached with a primal need, especially the lower half, craving the soft, electric touch of a woman’s hands and the worshipful attention he considered his due. Roman was no ordinary man—he was rich, strikingly handsome, and accustomed to the finer things in life. Deprivation of any sort felt beneath him, a discomfort meant for the unfortunate or undesirable, not someone of his stature. Yet here he was, the absence of affection and indulgence pressing heavily on his chest, stoking a simmering frustration that threatened to ruin his morning.

What he deserved, Roman thought, was a waking filled with pleasure—a slow, intoxicating seduction leading to the kind of release that would put him in a good mood for the day. Instead, he had this hollow ache, both physical and emotional, gnawing at him. And waiting, especially for gratification, was something Roman despised. Patience was not a virtue he had cultivated; it didn’t need to be when everything he wanted was usually at his fingertips. If something took too long, he lost interest—and right now, his patience was running thin.

With an exasperated sigh, he rolled over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before tapping out a curt, deliberate message.

“Come over. I want to see you.”

No preamble, no ambiguity—just the kind of directness that matched his mood. There was no time for subtlety, not when every passing second added to his irritation. He expected an answer soon, and if one didn’t come, he’d find someone else. He always did.