Page 10 of Fractured Loyalties

Ten

ROMAN

I don’t know what the fuck my plan is, as I move swiftly through the hallways toward Ivy’s room. But I know this: I didn’t expect to hear sounds like that on the other side of her goddamn door.

I have to hear it better.

I rest my palm on the wood, feeling the hum of the house and her. I lean in, letting my forehead touch the door, and I close my eyes. There’s nothing but the blood rush in my ears for a second, but then there she is.

She’s breathing hard, little stuttered gasps, the same kind she made for me last night. My mouth goes dry. I press my other hand to the door.

She’s touching herself. She’s fucking touching herself.

And fuck, I want to see her.

Instead, however, I feel like a coyote staring at the highway, unable to move even as the lights bear down on it. My pulse is so hard it’s deafening. I want to rip the door open, but I don’t move. I just listen to those beautiful noises.

She’s desperate, frantic, and fuck, if it doesn’t make me feel more complicated than I’ve ever been.

The groan that slips from me is guttural.

It’s not even a real word, but I catch it before it can crawl out of my mouth, and I bite down on my cheek.

I glance down at the tent in my pants, my dick straining, making the gray a darker shade.

Fuck if I don’t want to smash through the door and show her what it really means to beg.

My hand reaches for the doorknob, but I stop myself. It’s too early. She’ll never let me have her without a fucking fight.

She starts moaning louder, the pitch of it bouncing off the paneled walls, and her breathing turns ragged, as if she’s on the verge of something so sweet.

I want to kneel between her legs and drink her in until I drown.

I can’t stand it any longer. I slide my hand into my waistband, fingers closing around my cock. I’m so fucking hard my balls ache for release. Every stroke is agony and worship at the same time, and in my head, I’m not outside her door.

I’m inside, crouched over her, watching her squirm and cry out under me.

I jerk off, slowly at first, then viciously, my palm slick with sweat and precum. I squeeze my shaft tight, just the way I’d do to her throat if she let me. I imagine her hands spreading her pussy, fingering herself to the thought of me .

Not any of the pretty boys at school. Me. The screwed in the head stepbrother. The only one who can fucking touch her like this.

She’s getting louder. There’s a rhythm now, a music in her moans, and I match it stroke for stroke. I’m not even sure I’m breathing anymore. I want to see her face as she comes. I want to hear my name ripped out of her.

I want to break her open and then put all the pieces back together in my shape.

Heat spirals in my abdomen, tight and electric, and my balls draw up. I’m so goddamn close, but I force myself to hold off, to wait for her.

I’m such a gentleman.

Her cries start to change. The little moans dissolve into one long, wavering whimper, as if she’s trying to keep it inside and can’t. With my eyes shut, I picture her with her knees drawn up, her teeth digging into her fist to keep from screaming, and her cunt so wet it soaks the sheets.

I can almost smell it through the door. I know her scent. And that only makes it so much more tantalizing.

Ivy keeps whining. It’s helpless, sultry, and it pushes me right to the edge. I bite my cheek so hard it bleeds, and my cock jumps in my grip.

Then she comes in a half-moan, half-sob, and that’s it.

I blow apart. My load floods over my hand, hot and viscous, running down my knuckles and dripping into my pants.

I jerk through it, squeezing every last spasm until it’s pain instead of pleasure.

It takes everything I have to stay silent.

I want to fucking burst through the door and make her clean me up with her mouth.

But instead, I just stand there, dizzy, empty, and hollow. It takes some time before the world snaps back into focus. I look down at the mess I’ve made, at the slick sheen on my skin and the dark, spreading stain in my pants.

She’s mine. She’s so mine.

Except… My head is still buzzing, and in the cold static of afterwards, something… snags . My mind runs back to the pickup today, back to the school where she was all giddy smiles and selfies with that unidentified surfer boy loser.

That’s who she was probably thinking about.

My soul dies instantly in my chest as I put all the pieces together. I press my palm flat to the door. I want to drag her out by her perfect hair and make her come again, saying my name this time.

He’s the worst mistake you could make, Ivy. I grit my teeth and then push off the door, although I don’t leave. No, I wipe my hand on my pants, scraping the come off like it’s an infection. My jaw aches from clenching, my chest is tight, and my mind is pure rage.

Breathe, Roman. You have to breathe.

It won’t last. She’ll forget the pathetic boy. I’ll make sure she remembers who owns her in this house. And she will beg for me to touch her.

I just need to plan. I need to erase the guy, erase the memory of anything except my hands, my voice, and my body. I need to make her crave me so badly she can’t breathe.

I know that the loser will be at the party. All of them always come. But if she gives him even a single look, I’ll end him. I’ll ruin his life so thoroughly he won’t be able to crawl out of bed without thinking of me.

I press my ear to the door again, listening for her breathing, memorizing every shudder.

You’re mine, Ivy. And I don’t fucking share.

Even in the midst of my anger, my cock still aches from the memory of her voice, and my hand is still sticky and trembling. My dick starts to harden again as I consider knocking on the door just to give her a hard time.

However, just as I reach for the knob, I freeze. A new sound, heels clicking on stone, sharp as broken teeth, reaches my ears in a painful tick. I take a few more steps back, wipe my palm on the inside of my shirt, and pivot, just as Irena emerges from the bend in the hallway.

Even if I’m not doing a thing in the moment, I already know I’m about to face her wrath. That’s just who she is now.

Irena floats toward me, as always, every inch of her sculpted and controlled.

She’s in a tight-fitting dress, black as my father’s dead eyes, and cinched so tight it makes her waist look unreal.

Her eyes are on me, cold and precise, her pupils shrunk to pinpricks by whatever the fuck she’s on tonight.

As much as I hate it, I brace for impact.

She doesn’t bother with hello. She slices her hand through the air, one manicured nail like a dagger, and points it dead at my chest. “What do you think you’re doing in this part of the house?”

I let my lips curl up in a lazy smile. “Just taking a walk? I didn’t know there were places we couldn’t go, Irena.” My voice is low, calm, as if I didn’t just come in my pants to the sound of her daughter getting herself off.

Irena steps closer, and the bloom of her expensive floral perfume hits me in the most suffocating way.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Roman. I know every inch of this house.

I know every noise it makes. You’re never over here.

And I swear,” she pauses, her eyes boring into mine, “If I ever catch you near Ivy’s room again, I’ll have Robert send you far, far away. Hopefully in a fucking prison.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, a bitter crack of amusement. “Prison? Are you projecting right now?”

For a split second, I think she’s going to slap me, the way her expression breaks with shocking emotion.

But instead, she just leans in, her eyes narrowing to small slits.

“You’re not even subtle about it, are you?

You’d ruin her if you could. You’d ruin everything.

You’re just like your father. You fucking disgust me.

I thought I was raising you better than this. ”

“You don’t care about Ivy,” I say, my voice as soft as a pillow over a pistol. “You never have. She’s just a weight to you, and you know it. You never went back for her after you left. You don’t want her. She’s nothing to you.”

“And you’re a disease,” Irena hisses, and this time her fingernail makes contact with my chest. “I said to stay away from her, and you will . Everyone in this fucking place will.”

The urge to say something, anything, is like a hand at my throat. I want to grab Irena, shake her, and leave her bruised and sobbing the way her presence made my mother feel.

Fucking home-wrecking bitch.

“That’s what I thought,” she sneers, shaking her head at me in a way that causes her blonde hair to bounce.

I raise a brow, tilting my head and stepping into her finger once more. “You think you scare me?”

“I know I do,” she snaps, but her voice drops, getting tighter around the edges. “Don’t test me, Roman. You’ll lose.”

Something in her voice makes me fall silent.

The hallway feels smaller, as if the walls are closing in, and I find myself struggling to react with sharp words.

Maybe it’s her tone. Perhaps it’s because, as much as I hate her for being a home-wrecking witch, she’s the only motherly figure I’ve ever had remain in my life.

And I fucking hate that I don’t understand her. She’s the biggest secret of all in this place.

Irena straightens up, flicking an imaginary speck off her dress.

“Dinner will be brought to your rooms tonight. Robert is handling a business call. I think we shouldn’t all sit at the table together.

” She pauses, looking upward and holding my gaze.

“I expect you to make yourself scarce until the party. If I see you in the main wing after ten, you’ll regret it. ”

She turns then and glides off down the corridor, leaving nothing but the echo of her contempt behind.

I rake my fingers through my hair after she finally disappears, and the rage begins to simmer beneath the surface again. I want to destroy something. I want to find who made Ivy smile, and wipe them off the fucking planet.

I want to tear Ivy out of her bed and teach her what real obsession looks like.

But because I play the goddamned long game, I go back to my room, lock the door, and pace. Every step is a beat of hate, and every breath takes me a little deeper into the grave I’m digging for all of us.

Irena says I’m supposed to stay away from Ivy. Fuck that. I’ll do the opposite.

I’ll make her need me so much it hurts. I’ll make her beg for it. And if anyone gets in my way, I’ll gut them with a smile.

That’s a Woods family tradition, I can respect.

You get in the way, you disappear.