Magnets

She shouldn't have been nervous for this to happen. It was a date that wasn't really a date because she didn't like him. Not like that, anyway. She couldn't afford to when her whole purpose of getting this job was to destroy his life. Well— part of it. A big part of it. And it shouldn't have felt as satisfying as it did when he played right into her hands.

She supposed that there should have been just a little bit of guilt, and maybe— maybe there was… she didn't care. Boyfriends were overrated and so were men and that was probably the only thing she'd learnt from her mother.

Maybe she'd find a sperm donor if she ever wanted kids. And part of her, this small, tiny part of her heart fluttered a little when she imagined getting married.

But she was twenty five. And, at the most, she still had ten years ahead of her.

It was closer to four in the afternoon when a rapture of knuckles sounded across her hotel room door.

Instead of doing some kind of mossy green eyeshadow like she usually did, Kenna had opted for a more natural look of just a matte pale pink eyeshadow and winged eyeliner. Outside of the ring, her style was more toned down, more simplistic. A white shirt, ripped straight leg jeans kept in place with a black belt, black pointed pumps, a dark turquoise blazer, a maroon off-the-shoulder handbag— was smart casual the word for it? Either way, she'd been ready since two. (Not that she'd ever tell anyone that.)

And when she opened the door, Roman looked just as dapper, dressed in a pale blue button up— sleeves rolled up to the elbows— and dark jeans, hair, of course, tied up. Kenna would be lying if she said she liked it up better.

"Hey."

There was a smile on his lips but not once did his eyes leave hers. "Hey. Ready to go?"

"Got something worth spending time with you for?"

Roman's smirk was the only thing Kenna needed as reassurance and her face split into a grin then, eyes crinkling. "I have a few things up my sleeve."

He reached an arm out and she looped hers through it, securing the door shut behind them as they walked away from the elevators and towards another hotel room and suddenly, Kenna was very confused. "Did you forget something?"

"Nope."

When he offered nothing more, Kenna kept her mouth shut as well.

Not for long, though.

"So, seriously— what do you have planned?"

Roman raised a blasé shoulder and slipped the keycard into his hotel room door, glanced back over at her. "How do you feel about steak?"

"Uh… steak?" And really, she was stumped. Her face showed it too, because then all she could see was his bright, toothy smile. "As in like, the food steak…?"

Kenna trailed off as her eyes dropped onto the dining table in the centre of the room.

It was simplistic, exactly what she'd ask for, the table set for the two of them with a beautiful glass of red wine waiting for her. And really, Kenna wasn't picky with alcohol— because whatever got her slightly buzzed was good shit, but the bottle that Roman had picked looked exotic and intriguing (she may have let slip a white lie when she told Dean she didn't drink; she just didn't get drunk).

"You're cooking for me?"

Her voice was both confused and in doubt, and she didn't realise how close behind her the Samoan was until she turned around, eyes at his mouth instead of his pale irises, and she saw with perfect clarity the way they curved just slightly. The pounding of her heart spiralled right down into her stomach. "Just the steak," he said slowly.

Kenna struggled to pull her gaze away from his mouth to meet his stare, grinning a little as her mind worked faster than her body. "Hope you know I'm a fantastic cook, Roman. No pressure or anything."

"Just gotta prove that I'm better, don't I?"

For the longest moment, Kenna couldn't think. The man standing in front of her was absolutely magnetic and intense in a way that she couldn't comprehend and it was already beginning to mess around with her frazzled mind. Because, really, what she needed was to fall hopelessly in lust with the enemy while she was trying to break his career.

Another smirk tugged at her lips. "You've never tasted my cooking, but if you had— you'd agree that I'm untouchable."

His face split into a smile and he finally sidestepped around her, handed her the glass of wine, walked over to check on the sizzling meat, and quietly as she could, Kenna let out a very shaky breath.

Kicking off her heels, Kenna walked barefoot around the kitchen counter and leant against the one opposite to where he was cooking.

"So tell me a bit about yourself, Roman Reigns."

"Not much to know," he said easily, and Kenna could hear the smirk in his voice. "Grew up in Pensacola with my family, drafted for football at two different clubs before I screwed up my back— wrestling was a very good escape for me at the time, and it became my passion. So, here I am." He'd turned around to regard her halfway through, mimicking the way she was leant against the bench. "What about you? Apart from what I already know, I guess."

"Apart from what you already know?" She hummed thoughtfully and took a sip of the wine, purposefully kept her eyes on the ground. "I was in a correctional camp when I was a kid, just before I came here as well—" and she broke off into a laugh at the way Roman's eyebrows hit his hairline. "The first time was because I went for a joyride, the second time was because I volunteered to run a course. I guess I enjoy long walks on the beach, red wine, good meat…" Kenna trailed off again and raised her eyes to meet his, tilted her head a little to the left. "You're going pretty well so far."

She could feel the waves of tension rolling off of him as he stared at her with those stormy grey eyes, and Kenna felt the hairs on her skin raise in arousal. Again. And he hadn't even done anything except stare at her.

"This is supposed to be a date, y'know," Kenna spoke softly, and not one word out of her mouth was teasing— she was being completely serious. "I didn't come here to sleep with you."

Roman stepped closer to her anyway.

"What about the steak?" Kenna voiced instead.

He shrugged. "It's still got an hour left."

Had he planned this?

She didn't want to know (he probably had, and she couldn't really blame him; not with how she felt right now).

The entirety of Kenna's diaphragm seemed to constrict and she turned so she was facing away from him. Her thighs were pressed against the kitchen bench so hard that it would leave indents on her skin, but there was no where else for her to try and escape with him so close to her body. She could feel the heat radiating from the Samoan as he stood behind her, and as he placed a heavy hand against the curve of her waist, Kenna's cheeks flushed dark pink.

He was confident. She had to at least admit that his confidence was playing a big role in how her body was reacting to him, because very suddenly her heart was straining against her chest and her breath was coming much quicker.

"All you gotta do is say no," Roman whispered, and with a start Kenna realised that his mouth was right next to her ear, warm breath washing over her hair.

Kenna's mouth was moving before she could stop it. "I don't think I'm ever going to say no to you."

"You might regret saying that."

"Make me."

He spun her in his arms and the moment she stopped moving, his mouth was pressing down against hers in hungry desire. Hands pressing into the fabric of her top, arms drawing her impossibly closer to him, and Kenna found herself struggling not to jump his bones on the spot.

There was red wine on the end of his tongue and she could taste it as their lips parted, this intoxicating tingling at the back of her throat. She wanted to lose herself in him.

But she couldn't.

And even though he had a firm grip on her ass and an even tighter arm around her body, she needed to think. She just— she needed to think about what she was doing and what exactly she was getting herself into, what kind of hole she'd be digging herself if she slept with Roman Reigns. The very same Roman Reigns who was enemy number one. Fuck.

Mustering as much strength as she could, Kenna tore her mouth away from his and let her ragged breaths fill the space between them.

Roman spoke before she could. "Regretting it already?"

His voice was dark and sultry and it vibrated through his body in such a way that it sent tingles through hers. "No," she responded quickly, and then she cursed herself when she realised that she'd spoken again without really thinking about it. "I just— I just need to think."

"Can't think with your tongue in my mouth?"

She didn't reply to that and he inched a hand under her chin, raised it with a finger until she was staring right into his eyes. And then she found that she didn't want to reply to him, because he was right. In some extent, at least— she couldn't think with his tongue in her mouth. Couldn't think with the wine burning against the back of her throat. She realised quickly as his crooked nose lowered to hers that it didn't matter what part of him was on her, she just needed all of it and all of it right now.

A cocky little smirk spread across his mouth. "What happened to making me your man? You think that I'm gonna forget what you proposed to me?"

Her mouth became dry, and very suddenly she couldn't meet his stare— so instead, she dropped her gaze to his lips. "The offer still stands. If you want the titles, I can get you the titles. If you want your brothers to have gold, they're already in line for it. I can give you everything you want."

"Can you?" Roman's hand moved from her chin to the back of her neck, his fingers twisting slowly and gently in her hair and tugging it back until their mouths were just barely touching. "You want to give me everything for the price of what? Helping destroy your brother? Taking over the company? What do I have to do? I ain't making a deal with the devil until I know everything."

Kenna still couldn't think, and maybe that's what his plan was— maybe he knew that she became a mess when she was this close to his body, maybe he didn't want her to think… and maybe Roman Reigns was smarter than she gave him credit for.

Hazel eyes lifted to meet his stormy greys. "What are you gonna do when I tell you? Bend me over this bench and fuck me? Maybe fucking me doesn't do a damn thing and you can still back out of our non-existent arrangement, and maybe instead it'll give us a shot of being something a little bit more than work associates. I didn't come here to sleep with you. But if you want to press me up against a bench and shove your tongue down my throat, I'll be damned if I don't jump your bones. I can give you everything, but I need the opportunity and a position of power to do it. I need protection guaranteed. Your deal with the devil means you protect me and I'll protect you. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to work."

It was impossible for Kenna to miss the way his jaw locked or how he pulled back slightly to stare at the way her mouth moved around the word 'fuck', and maybe she saw the way his eyes darkened just a little.

So quick it pulled the breath from her lungs, Roman gripped the back off her knee in a large hand and yanked it around his waist, his hips grinding right against the meeting of her thighs. The movement was so harsh Kenna's jaw went slack, her eyes fluttering shut, and the Samoan that was crowding her didn't waste any time picking up where he'd left off. Because suddenly his tongue was back in her mouth, his arm around her waist slipping lower until his fingers were pressing into her ass.

There was no part of her body that didn't want to kiss him back, and so her hands knotted in his hair, remorselessly tugging. His hips pushed forward against hers and she could feel his hard length against underwear that was slowly drowning in her own fluids.

There was a lot of him and not enough of him all at once, but she needed more, she needed him inside of her, pushing at her limits, and she tore her mouth away from his and trailed her lips to his ear, tried to gather her breath enough to push out a raw and husky, "fuck me," and the arm that was around her waist tightened considerably.

Kenna found herself fumbling with the button to his top, but it wasn't because her hands were shaking. Roman had dug his teeth into the side of her neck, just under her ear, and was licking at her skin, sucking, biting, and there was no doubt that it would leave a fresh bruise.

But then she was pushing the button down over his shoulders, slipping her own top off, her fingers working at the buckle to his jeans, and it was rushed and imperfect and not how she'd expected this night to go. She shoved his jeans down his thighs and let him do the rest, because with authority, he'd swiped a strong arm across the bench behind her, condiments he'd placed there earlier clattering to the floor. Her pants were down next, underwear following, and she shimmied her legs as best she could— but nothing prepared her for the way his fingers curled into the flesh of her thighs and lifted her light as a feather onto his hips, his hard length shifting against her burning skin.

But short of pushing into her, Roman stopped moving. His face was flushed, just like hers, and his grey eyes were almost black with lust. Slowly, much more gently than he had done anything else, Roman Reigns set her down onto the bench and traced a finger down across her cheek.

"You only blush when you fuck someone?"

What?

She— what?! What kind of question was that? Kenna frowned and tightened the hold her arms had around his neck, tugged against his hair. "Does it matter?"

"I like it," he said lowly, and once more his lips were pressing to hers without kissing her. "Just need to know whether I should add fucking you to my list of 'daily things to do'."

"Why don't you find out, huh?"

The smirk that lifted the corners of his mouth almost had her eyes rolling into the back of her head. But he still didn't do anything, and she was questioning very suddenly his self control. Or her own, really. "I don't have a condom," he murmured. "But I know that I don't have any diseases. Do you have something you can take tomorrow?"

"I've got a contraceptive implant," Kenna whispered back. "Should be fine for the next three months. And— I'm clean."

"You sure?"

"Roman Reigns," she growled, "fuck me."

And so he did.

She wasn't prepared enough for him, and maybe how wet she was helped in some way, but Kenna gasped in a mix of raw pain and pleasure as he moved inside of her. He stopped right away, let her adjust to his size, and then pulled out slowly, and through the haze of her vision, she saw the way Roman's jaw was locked, the way his eyes were closed, and then she watched the way his muscles flexed as he began to move against her.

The muscles in her abdomen strained as he leant over her and Kenna was pushing the breath out of her lungs every time he slammed back into her, but the pace he was reaching, the quickness of his thrusts— he was already sweating with the effort, and it felt like he was using her body as a battering ram.

But it felt good.

The way his hands were harshly grasping at her skin, her thighs, her calves, her back, the way he was grunting and moaning into her hair, the way he was so overpowering even when her entire body was wrapped around him— it felt like sin.

Her open mouth was pressed against his shoulders and her eyes were shut, frown creasing her face, and she was digging the heels of her feet into his muscular thighs, drawing her nails down against his back, and his were busy trying to unfasten her bra. As the material fell away from her chest, the Samoan didn't waste anytime ducking down and pressing his lips around an erect nipple, a hand caressing the other one, and her very being felt like it had been set on fire.

The searing orgasm that ripped through her body had her walls clenching around him so tightly that without so much of a warning, he came inside her. She didn't much mind when she couldn't feel her toes.

Kenna was slow to lean down, the tiles cool against her skin, and it was forefront in her mind that she was spread across a hotel kitchen bench, naked, sweating, slightly shaking as she came down from the high, and Roman with his head between her breasts as he tried to catch his breath. She supposed that he'd prepared all the food on this exact table, that his stablemates had probably ate breakfast here before leaving.

She glanced down at Roman. His hair was in disarray, most of it hanging loosely where it was supposed to be pulled tight. There was a thin layer of sweat across his shoulders and she noticed with a start that there was a red mark on the muscle above his collarbone— had she done that?

Her fingers traced lightly over the raised skin of his tattoo. This probably changed a lot, she thought as she laid her head back on the bench.

Hunter was going to kill her.

so i should probably apologise for the lengthy wait between updates, but blame my best friend for visiting me from interstate and getting a job and also writing Reylo? but w/e, hope you enjoy this porn without plot (even though it has a little bit of plot).

let me know what you think x