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Shay used the pool wall for leverage, pushing back against it to sharpen Roman’s movements that turned frantic and rough, both of them sprinting toward that same, delicious end.

Roman held onto her tightly, a hand on the small of her back, pushing down on the base of her spine as he thrust in and out of her, their bodies slapping together. He bowed his head to kiss her neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat up the side of it, all the way to the sensitive spot just below her ear. As they neared climax, his breaths became heavier and rougher, his strokes deep and swift. Water sloshed around them, and Shay felt Roman throbbing inside her as he neared his release, her ass slapping against the wall.

“Roman,” she gasped, digging her nails into his back, his rock-hard length grinding into her inner walls with every thrust. “Don’t stop.”

He moved faster, angling himself so his pelvis rubbed into her clit with every roll of his hips.

“Yes,” she whimpered, crying out his name again. “Yes.”

She climaxed, her inner walls squeezing him tightly. The feel of him moving inside her was almost too great, too much.

“Ah—fuck, Shayla.” Roman came with an erotic groan, letting off deep inside her. “Shit—fuck,” he panted, his body trembling with release, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop.”

“It’s okay,” she gasped, running a hand through his wet hair. “It’s okay—we’re good.” She couldn’t catch her breath to explain any further, but she knew he understood what she meant.

He reached up to brush a strand of wet hair out of her face, and then cupped her cheek, thumb stroking as he looked at her. Just looked.

Shay stared up at him, too, as he held her there against the wall, and asked herself a question: Truth or lie?

She was hopelessly in love with Roman Devlin.

There was only one right answer. It had barely taken a week for this man to win her heart, and it would take even less time for him to break it, if he felt so inclined.

They had promised each other this night—just one. But it wasn’t enough for her. And that truth terrified her to her core.

No amount of time with Roman would ever be enough. Every moment spent together was stolen time. She was a thief who’d stolen minutes and moments with a man she couldn’t have.

And that time was up.

95

Roman’s House

YVESWICH, STATE OF KER

Loren maybe got three hours of sleep that night.

Darien was ravenous for her, and her for him. They didn’t leave that room, but they changed positions often, and by their third time, Darien switched to where they were both lying on their side, her back to Darien’s front. He fucked her slowly and deeply this time, taking his time with her, lifting up her thigh to nestle in as far as his firm, hot length could go.

This man was exquisite. Exquisite and all hers.

“Are all hellsehers like this?” she asked him. A whimper as taut as her body slipped out of her as he picked up speed, her breasts bouncing with every firm thrust.

He bent his head, pressing his lips to the space just below her ear, his rough, panting breaths warming her skin. “You’ll never find out,” he replied, every word edged with insatiable lust. He kissed the edge of her jaw. “Because you’re mine, sweetheart,” he said with a husky whisper, teeth nipping her ear. He pounded into her harder, his fingertips digging into her hip. Loren clawed at the mat, her core tight with carnal need. “All. Fucking. Mine—”

His words—his claiming—were her undoing. She cried out his name, her inner walls fluttering around him as she was struck with a surge of ecstasy, her body unraveling like a spool of thread.

“Goddamn,” he growled, breath fanning her ear, his cock jerking inside of her, his release close.

And then Darien’s arms were circling her waist, gripping her to him. He flipped over so he was lying flat on his back, Loren now upside-down on top of him, spread out over his lap. His hand fisted her hair, the other gripping her hip, positioning her so she was lined up with him, her head resting against his shoulder. She arched her back over him as he drove his hips up.

Deep. Deep. Deeper. He dipped his good hand between her legs, rubbing her wet, swollen clit.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, fucking her ruthlessly. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Pleasure sparked again, and she clenched around him, her body and blood heating—

She tipped her head back with a moan as another orgasm ripped through her, her heart beating so fast it was more a hum. Gods, she hoped her tattoo wouldn’t act up, because she never wanted him to stop.