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His breath heaves, and his thighs tighten as he stops himself from thrusting. Everything about Roman screams power—especially when he keeps it in check.

“That depends. Would you have wanted me to?”

I laugh, swirling my tongue around the head, as I palm his tightening balls. Smiling up at him, I spit on his cock, making sure to coat every inch of his length. He doesn’t move, doesn’tput his hands in my hair, doesn’t do anything. He merely watches as I attend to him. But his breaths grow louder as I use my hand to spread that wetness all over him.

Eyes meeting his, I slowly take him into my mouth. Opening up the back of my throat, I take him entirely, lips kissing the base of him—and he breaks. His hips twitch forward, and he grunts as I hold my mouth on him for as long as I can.

When I pull back, I take a panting breath as I smile up at him.

“Use me. Fuck my face until you believe I’m telling the truth,” I say.

A few pieces of his hair have fallen loose, and he stares down at me in a way that chills me to the bone. But then he reaches down, shoving his thumb into my mouth and stretching it wide. Slowly—so fucking slow—he eases his cock into my mouth, his thumb making it harder for him to fit, until finally he lets go and fills my mouth to his base.

A dark chuckle escapes him, and he tilts his head back.

“I don’t think I’ll last that long, sweetheart.”

And then he does what I asked for. His hands grip my hair to hold me steady, and he pistons his hips. Slamming into the back of my throat, he makes me gag, but I swallow around his dick and push through it. He’s not gentle, and it’s exactly what I wanted. Over and over, he fucks my mouth, and I can’t breathe, but I don’t care. I don’t need to breathe. I just need to be this for him. Some fuckhole that exists for only his pleasure. For me to try to earn his amnesty.

Before he kills me, I have to absolve myself of the guilt of betraying someone I fell in love with. He has to know if it’s the last thing I do.

He hits the back of my throat hard, and I choke—but he doesn’t pull out. He doesn’t stop, continuing to use me, until I pull my head back and spit onto the floor. It’s too slick, too wet,and too much in my mouth, and he slaps his thick dick on my lower lip as he waits for me.

“Thought you wanted me to kill you, cockroach. Not like this though, huh?” I wipe my mouth before trying to take him in my mouth once more. He grabs a fistful of my hair, stopping me. “Let’s slow down, baby. Take your time. You look so pretty begging for forgiveness on your knees.”

He takes a few steps backward before sitting down on the couch and taking his shirt off. He’s enormous, legs spread wide for me to settle between them, and his long arms extend over the back of the sofa. Ink covers nearly every inch of him, and I lick my lips as I look at the art gracing his body.

“Crawl,” he orders, and I’m too happy to acquiesce. I do as I’m told, moving on my hands and knees to where he sits, before placing my hands on his thighs. It’s then that I see a tattoo that stops me in my tracks.

The hood of the grim reaper leaves much to the imagination, but I’d been fascinated by the skeletal hand the first time I’d seen it. I hadn’t been sure if it was reaching for something at the time, but I’ve found my answer. There’s a new addition to the existing ink, and in the reaper’s hand now sits an apple. It’s the only tattoo on his entire body that isn’t black and white.

It’s crimson.

Slowly, I lift my gaze to his, and his jaw tics. Legs spread and cock standing proud in front of me, I don’t know how to react or if I even should.

Because that blood-red apple means something. It’s a symbol of what I’ve done to him with my cursed blood. But what is there to say?

“Well?” he says, eyes flicking to his dick. Because there is nothing to say. There’s only him and me and the fact I still love him, despite everything, and he still hates me.

Ass in the air, I bend over him, and continue to suck his massive cock. I use my hand to help, keeping my eyes down. I watch his stomach tremble with each shuddering breath. I can’t look at him, not right now. So I twist and lick and spit, giving him the best goddamn head I’ve ever given in my life.

He grabs my head in his hands, holding it still as he thrusts upward into my mouth. It’s not long before he starts groaning, and I can tell he’s close. Again and again, he fucks the back of my throat, and I relish the dominating force of him. All I am is a mouth for him to use.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, and liquid warmth hits the back of my throat. I’m choking on him, trying to relax my throat, when his hand comes down and caresses the side of my face. The tenderness after he roughly fucked my face makes me giddy. “Don’t you dare swallow,” he says.

And I don’t. I put my hand beneath my chin to catch whatever might spill out as his length twitches against the roof of my mouth. And when he pulls out, so fucking slowly, I sit back on my heels. Mouth shut, I wait for him to tell me what to do.

The submission feels an awful lot like peace.

He leans forward, crowding me as he braces himself on the coffee table beside me. “Open up. Let me see just how sorry you are.”

Curling my tongue to keep as much inside my mouth as possible, I open it wide.

“That’s good, Gwyn. Really fucking good.”

And then he tosses something onto my tongue. Before I can spit it out or ask what the fuck it is, he moves like a flash and covers my mouth.

Eyes wide, I stare at him in disbelief.