Page 12 of Beautifully Damned (Sinful Fates #2)
Ayla
I wake with a start, the darkness suffocating, and my chest tight with a panic I can’t shake. Roman is in my nightmares too. I sit up, blinking hard to adjust. The room is a murky blur. My pulse races as I scan the space, and see Roman sitting on the vanity chair that’s far too small for him.
I nearly jump out of my skin. “What are you doing here?”
“You have your father’s blood,” he says, voice rough and low. “I need to watch you, to make sure you don’t pull anything. Even when you sleep.”
My heart stutters. “You’re a creep.” Where is this courage to insult him coming from? I have no idea.
I wrinkle my nose, suddenly catching that overpowering scent — way too floral, way too sweet.
Perfume, thick and invasive. I’m outraged, furious even, but mostly confused.
He spent god knows how long with some harem of women tonight, then comes creeping back here like a shadow in my room?
I refuse to admit the small, burning jealousy flickering inside me.
No way. Because he’s nothing but my captor.
My captor who chases me around fountains, corners me in the kitchen, calls me sunshine and rainbows, only to then return smelling like a fucking bouquet of women.
I glare at him. “You have no right to be here.”
He walks over to me. I don’t move back. Under any other circumstance, I wouldn’t dare stand this close. The rumors about Roman aren’t just stories, he could kill three men faster than you could blink, and with nothing but a knife.
But right now, I’m too tired, too raw. The cold edge of anger keeps me rooted in place. “I may be your hostage for a week or two, but that doesn’t mean you own me.”
Who is this person talking back? Being in this place has strengthened my backbone. That’s the only positive thing I can tell a panicked Emir after I’m returned back to my home in a week or two when these men-children resolve their issues.
“I own what I take,” he growls.
I snort. “You’ll never own me.”
He tilts his head. “Careful with your words.”
“I‘m not afraid of you.” That just may be the biggest lie I have ever told.
His breath brushes against my face. “You should be.”
Somewhere deep inside, my instincts scream at me to back away, but I hold my ground.
“Remember who you’re dealing with, Ayla,” he warns.
I swallow, he’s right, I’m dealing with a monster. Possibly the scariest of them all, but I refuse to back down. My fight or flight instincts are slowly, but surely, replacing my freeze response, and I’m enjoying every second of that.
We’re breathing in each other’s space, the tension so thick I can taste it.
Then something flickers across his face — a flash I don’t recognize.
His head snaps down so fast it almost looks like he’s broken his neck.
My eyes follow his gaze, and my heart stumbles when I see exactly what has caught his attention. He’s hard .
I stumble backward, but he closes the distance in an instant, fingers stabbing the air in my direction. His neck pulses with veins so swollen they don’t seem human.
"You—! You—!" he stammers.
“Me? What?!” I scream, already knowing how bad the situation is. He’s a man—alone with me, a woman—in this room packed with flat surfaces begging for disaster.
In desperation, I grab a pillow and throw it at him. It hits his chest, but he catches it and hurls it straight out the window.
“I liked that pillow!” I shout, stunned.
He catches the next pillow I fling. Same fate. Out the window it goes, my sanity flies with it.
Now I’m in too deep. My hands grab the blanket, and with one last desperate move, I throw it over his head, shrouding him in fabric for a moment.
Shit. How the hell did he get even harder? He rips the blanket off and, like the pillows, tosses it out the open window.
There goes my hope for a peaceful night. He shoves me back onto the bed so hard I gasp, the breath knocked right out of me. Before I can even process it, he’s looming over me.
I scramble to think of anything to push him away, anything to make him see me as anything other than an appealing sexual creature.
“I—look, I’m not feeling great. The food today was terrible.
Honestly, I think it was undercooked or something.
I have an upset stomach.” I wiggle my shoulders, hoping to create some space.
“Also, I just woke up. My breath smells.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you even saying?”
I grit my teeth. “Well, I’m trying to make you want to get away from me, so something’s gotta work.”
His hand slams down beside me, shaking the bed. “Stop tempting me. I can’t stand it.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“Stop. Just stop.” He growls in my ear.
I swallow hard, but keep fighting. “I’m not doing anything except trying to survive you.”
He grants me my prayer and gets off me. I don’t move a single muscle.
“Surviving me isn’t going to be easy,” he tells me right before leaving, and I can’t help but wonder what he has in store for me.