Page 55 of Beautifully Damned (Sinful Fates #2)
Ayla
That night, sleep is a stranger. Every time I close my eye, all I see is Roman on his knees, begging me to destroy him. Roman, offering me his ruin as though it were a gift. If my family knew I turn that down, they would call me a fool.
But I can’t do it to him. I believe that beneath the scars and the violence, there’s a hurt and confused little boy.
I’m terrified. Because what if he only wants the chase? What if one day he wakes up and realizes he doesn’t love me at all? Giving your heart to a man who doesn’t even know what love is, is terrifying.
Roman plants himself against the threshold of my bedroom like a guard dog, stretched across the hardwood floor with nothing but a blanket and his stubbornness.
I sigh too loudly, rolling over again.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“No.”
The silence is heavy after, and I break it. “Doesn’t your body hurt on that floor?”
“No. I’ve never been more comfortable than when I’m in your space.”
I lift the edge of my blanket and pat the empty mattress.
He studies me, confusion flickering into recognition.
He gets up with a groan and moves to me.
The bed dips under his weight. Heat radiates off him, burning through the inches between us.
We lie stiff on our backs, arms brushing, neither daring to breathe too hard.
Then he turns onto his side, fingers brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.
A soft, ridiculous giggle escapes me. His mouth quirks, but his eyes stay solemn.
“I missed you, angel,” he murmurs.
“I missed you too,” I confess.
We both inch forward, and his gaze drops to my lips.
“I’m not good with words,” he says roughly, “but I know this. Without you, I’m nothing. Before you, my heart is just muscle. Now it has a purpose. That purpose is you.”
The last time he touched me without permission, I drove a knife into his flesh. He hasn’t forgotten. Neither have I. If I let him touch me now, it won’t just be his hands on me—it will be me handing him my pride, my trust, my last defense.
His breath brushes my lips. “Can I touch you, Ayla? Can I worship you? Can I show you with my body what words can’t reach?”
“I’m scared, Roman,” I admit.
He pulls his hand back as if burned. “Of me?”
“Of what happens after this,” I force out.
His brow furrows. “What do you think will happen?”
“A trap. You’ll leave. You’ll break me.”
In an instant, he cages me beneath him.
“Without you, I rot. I wither. I unravel into pieces. If I ever leave you, Ayla, it will be because I’m in the ground. And even then, I’ll haunt you until your last breath. I’m begging you—let me rebuild it. Let me prove I can.”
I don’t answer him with words. I reach up, grab his face in both hands, and kiss him. I can taste the desperation on his tongue.
“I swear, Ayla,” he breathes after breaking the kiss. “I’ll never hurt you again.”
He strips his shirt off, and my breath catches at the sight of him—every scar, every muscle, and every reminder of the violence he’s endured and inflicted.
His rough fingertips brush my ribs, up, up, until he palms my breast. “Fuck, Ayla… you’re so perfect.”
He tears my shirt over my head, his hungry eyes drinking me in like I’m his last salvation.
“Beautiful,” he mutters, taking my nipple into the heat of his mouth. My cry fills the room as his teeth graze it. He switches to the other, giving it the same reverence.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he admits between kisses, trailing down my stomach. “Every night without you was hell.”
When he reaches the waistband of my pants, he pauses, his eyes lifting to mine. “Say the word, Angel. Say stop if you want me to, and I’ll walk away before I ruin this.”
I shake my head, breathless. He rips my pants down, dragging my underwear with them. Then his tongue parts me, making me lose my mind with pleasure. My thighs clamp around his head, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ayla…” he gasps, pulling back only for a second, his lips wet with me. “Come for me. Please. I need to feel you break on my tongue.”
He goes back to sucking on my clit, drawing figure eights on the bundle of nerves. My body convulses, release flooding me. Roman holds me through it.
After I catch my breath, his mouth crashes against mine, forcing me to taste myself on his lips.
“I want to be inside you,” he pants against my mouth. “Tell me I can have you, Angel. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’ve always been yours.”
He frees himself from his boxers, but he doesn’t rush—he just presses himself against me.
I lift my hips. “Roman. Please.”
“Look at me, Ayla. Tell me this isn’t a dream.”
“It’s real, Roman,” I say with my eyes on his.
His body slams into mine in one deep, delicious thrust. The sudden fullness makes me cry out, nails raking down his back. This is only the second time I’ve had sex in my life, and I’m still adjusting.
“Fuck—so tight,” he grits. His pace is hard, relentless, every thrust driving me higher. I cling to him until the coil inside me snaps, and I’m unraveling. Roman curses, his thrusts faltering as he follows me over the edge, spilling into me.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever loved, Ayla. The only one I will ever love. I’ll spend my whole fucking life proving it.” He groans.