Page 8 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

My words cause his gaze to sweep down my body. I cross my arms refusing to feel any certain type of way at the way he looks at me.

“You were never really a dress code type of person,” he says.

I go back to my march, willing myself away from him. I don’t know what the fuck this is, but I decide I will be the mature one. I’ll walk away politely. Or somewhat politely because a flicker of annoyance appears when he follows.

The last time I came into contact with Roma, we were in the Akatov family home. He’d come over to check on Elijah after Leopold’s attack and Isolde and I were there, doing the same for Len. Hours before that, I’d stopped one of Leopold’s men from shooting his face off.

I hate Roma. But like I said earlier, I’m not going to be the reason he ends up dead. It’s why I warned his father about the random serial killer on the loose.

Abe might be right. I should probably focus on that instead of sex.

“You’re not sticking around?” Roma breaks me from my thoughts.

We’re by the coat check.

“Ma’am.” Someone appears, ready to help me put on the jacket. Ready to hide the dress I proudly picked out. I keep my arms crossed, so the older man drapes the material over my shoulders.

“A taxi, ma’am?” he asks. I nod.

Life is unexpected. Abe’s dad says that all the time. But what in the fuckery is going on that I somehow end up standing in the hallway of a sex club with Roma.

I head outdoors, needing the cool air.

“Ma’am,” the old man says.

I shake my head. I’d rather stand outside than wait around with my ex-boyfriend.

Roma doesn’t get the hint, though.

Soft warm amber fills my nose. He’s always smelled so damn good.

He stands right beside me, rubbing his hands together. “You want to share a cab?”

“Does it look like I want to share a cab?” I refuse to look at him.

“I think it’s both economical and green.”

“Green?”

“Carpooling is a valuable tool, cutting down on greenhouse emissions.”

“If we’re going the same direction,” I argue. “I’m going home.” I don’t know where the fuck he thinks he’s going. In fact, “What the fuck are you even doing here?”

I came outside, hoping it’d calm me down. It does the opposite. I’ve had enough time for my annoyance to let loose.

He shrugs.

“Don’t fucking do that. Answer the question,” I demand.

“I had a thing here.”

“A thing here? You’re not even dressed right.”

“In all fairness you don’t really need clothes here,” he says under his breath.

I face him. “Why the fuck are you here?”

His hair is more grown out than usual. The top is slightly curly, a strand falling over his brow. I’m wearing six-inch heels and he’s somehow still taller than me. I hate how it feels like he’s staring down at me. Especially since his eyes are hard, his jaw tense.

“All right, Ren, you want to know the truth?” I blink when he says my name. “I heard you’d be here and it pissed me the fuck off.”

I step back, tightening my hold as I keep my arms crossed.

“You plan on fucking someone tonight?” he asks.

For the past few years, we’ve awkwardly operated around one another. We know all the same people, but we never interact. Now he not only makes eye contact with me but he stands straighter.

“It’s none of your business if I planned to fuck someone tonight.”

He shrugs, rubbing his hands together. There’s a glint in his eyes, a calculating scheming expression on his face.

“Roma, what are you doing?” I take another step back.

He nods at a car pulling up. “The cab’s here.”

“I’m not sharing a cab with you.”

“You planning on walking home in those shoes?” I hate how I flush when he stares down at the stilettos. Nothing’s on display and yet everything is on display.

Hating a person is strange. Because earlier I thought I’d lovingly picked out this dress. I never pictured myself buying fancy dresses and going to places made out of gilded gold.

But I didn’t wear this dress because I felt pride and excitement. I wore it because Roman Zimin broke my heart five years ago and I wanted to get back at him. I wanted to prove that I am no longer beholden to this man who nearly ruined my life.

“Go away, Roma.” My voice is hard as I open the cab door. “Whatever you think this little stunt is, it’s over.”

I will not be trapped again .

The door shuts, Roma’s thigh bumping into mine.

I bite down hard on my lip, fighting my frustration.

“Excuse me,” I say when the cab driver takes off. I don’t have to stay in this car just because he thinks he’s being clever.

“Ren.” Roma places a hand on my thigh.

“No.” He immediately removes his hand but opens his mouth. “No,” I repeat. He frowns before his lips part again. “Shut up.”

His confusion mirrors mine. I don’t think I’ve even heard myself use this voice before.

But what can I say? Bitter Ren sounds like a hard ass.

“You ruined my fucking night,” I say after giving the driver my address.

Roma shifts in the seat beside me. I scoot over, gaining a sliver of space between our thighs. He drops his head back, sighing.

“What?” I ask. There’s no way he’s the one acting sad right now.

“Hellcat,” he whispers.

I go cold.

“Don’t call me that.”

His dark eyes are sad. And it pisses me the fuck off.

My knees angle toward him so I can better face him. The jacket slides off my shoulders. His gaze dips to my chest before dragging back up to my eyes. He dares to move hair out of my face, a finger skimming over my skin.

The electric jolt has my brow wrinkling.

“You don’t get to touch me.”

Roma’s finger runs over my cheek and down the bodice of my chest making my blood boil.

“You ruined my night,” I tell him.

I decide right then and there, he doesn’t get to ruin any more of my nights .

I grab his hand and watch his face. He expects me to slap him away, to shirk his touch.

I force his hand down my body, shifting up to tug the skirts of my dress.

Roma’s brow lifts slightly. There’s boyish surprise and it equally infuriates and fascinates me.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” This dress is tight as fuck, but Roma’s hands sneaks underneath. His eyes widen when his fingers meet the smooth skin of my pussy.

“Y-you’re not wearing?—”

“Underwear.” I force his hand where I want it, hissing when his palm meets my clit. I’ve wanted friction there all night. “I had a whole fucking plan, Roma. Until you ruined it.”

My hips rock. I’m shamelessly riding his hand.

“Hellcat,” he whispers into my ear.

“I said don’t call me that.” His nickname for me died five years ago.

I shove at his chest. Two fingers thrust inside my pussy and my head lands on his chest. Fingers dig into my waist, pulling me closer. It’s a tight space and he invades me inside and out.

At this moment nothing else matters, but my desperate needs.

I’ll feel horror later. Or at least properly acknowledge the low-level amount of it already outlining this experience.

He pumps his fingers in and out of me. They curl, hitting a spot that has my own fingers curling into the material of his leather jacket. I should shove him away, but I cling, my hips driving on their own.

"You fucking ruin everything.” The whisper comes out breathless.

He adds a third finger and the wave crests easily. I’m not surprised, considering how eager and desperate I am for touch after going so long without .

Roma’s fingers are wet when he removes his hand. He lifts them, studying them in the dark. The car rocks forward before taking a right. I hope the driver liked the show.

Roma tries to speak but I slap my hand over his mouth. He destroyed me and I plan on destroying him.

The low whimper he produces when I unzip his jeans is worth it. He’s as desperate and needy as I am.

He hisses when I palm his hard cock. He’s painfully swollen and I’m not in the mood for gentle. His hips jerk when I wrap my hand around him, tugging his erection.

My thumb finds a bead of precum and the grunt from Roma is worth it when I swirl my thumb at the tip, smearing the liquid.

“You ruined my night.”

I don’t think he’ll answer. I don’t want him to be able to. But his head tips back and his dark eyes find me.

“So you’ve said,” he groans.

My hand wraps tighter, his hips jerking again.

A glutton for punishment, Roma pisses me off by saying, “I’ve made your night, hellcat.”

“Is that what you think you’ve done?” I lean forward, kissing the column of his neck. Every inch of him is tense, desire radiating from him. My hand strokes faster, and I’m close enough to feel his chest move with a sharp intake of breath.

I can’t stop from placing a kiss on his cheek. On the corner of his mouth. His head rolls to the side, but I chuckle against his lips.

“You think you’re going to come.”

He takes a deep breath. God, he wants it bad and all it does is turn me the fuck on.

“Only good boys get to come,” I coo in his ear, my fingers brushing his soft hair back. “And you’re not a good boy are you, Roma?”

“Ren, p-please.”

His cry touches me, my thighs growing stickier. If we had more time, I’d leave him on the edge and force his hand back to my pussy.

It’s unfortunate when the car comes to a stop.

I take my hand back and adjust the top of my dress.

His chest rises and falls, wide brown eyes staring at me.

Unbothered and uncaring, I grab my clutch and coat. He twitches when I place a hand on his thigh. “Good night, Roma.”

I open the car door. One heel is on the street when Roma tries to grab me.

“Wait, Re?—”

Hair falls over my shoulder as I glance back. It’ll be a painful car ride home. Glazed, wild eyes beg me for help.

“You only come when I say,” I tell him before slamming the car door shut.