Page 14

“I hate you,” he says, fingertips tracing upward before grabbing a piece of hair and tugging. It’s damp and tangled, and he spreads the singular strands apart between his thumb and forefinger. “Honestly, I don’t think there are strong enough words to describe it. Hate feels too…simple.”

His hand hovers over me, gliding down my body, doing more damage than if he were to simply touch me . My skin chases his motions, like a cat arching into its owners’ caress.

“It is too simple,” I agree. “I wish I hated you. More than anything.”

His eyes lock on mine, and there’s a hint of a smile peeking around the corner of his mouth. “Be careful what you wish for, cockroach.”

Suddenly, his sharp fangs pierce my breast—just above the sensitive bud aching for attention.

I suck in a breath through my teeth, the pain harsh enough to make me flinch, but his hand slides up my spine and grabs my hair at the base of my neck.

I’m forced to arch into him, but I allow myself to drift away on the ache.

His cock strains at the fabric of his jeans, and I can’t help but roll my hips on the massive bulge.

When Roman lets go of my hair, I sit up, slipping my weight to one knee.

His head tilts back, and my blood dribbles from his lips.

He’s wearing a half-smile, one I’ve rarely seen from him.

I fumble with his zipper, wanting to have his body inside of mine one last time.

He won’t let this happen again. I won’t let this happen again.

But I can allow myself a proper goodbye.

I’ve got his pants pulled low on his hips, and I’m working on his boxer briefs when his hand grips mine.

“No,” he says, as if it takes every ounce of concentration.

“Fuck no, Gwyn. You think you deserve this after everything you did?” Gravel and sea salt coat his words, and affront weathers his brows.

“Never again, sweetheart. You’ll just have to rub that filthy pussy on me and remember how good I gave it to you. ”

“Guess I’ll have to wait until you kill me,” I say, breathless. My mind screams at me to stand up, to run away from the predatory man who clearly wants me dead. But my body protests, and I don’t have the energy to fight it.

Or maybe I’m just back on my bullshit, as Hale would say. Risky choices with little regard for my own safety? That’s my bread and butter.

With Roman’s jeans pulled down, all that’s left between his dick and my cunt is the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs. He’s so fucking warm, and I start to rock against him despite everything.

“The best fantasies always start with you begging for my cock,” he admits.

He reaches beneath me and adjusts himself, lining his hardness up with my clit.

Every rock of my body over his is like a wave.

Cresting over my head, it’s hard to breathe through it.

In this moment, I’m not sure if dying would be the worst thing—well-fucked and thoughtless, I could just drift away.

“What if I begged for it right now? What if I asked you to fuck me and finish this?”

His mouth twitches and his eyes light up like a signal fire. The message he’s sending is bright enough that I should heed it.

“Well, are you asking?” he asks, and then he’s using both hands, indentations forming in my flesh from his grip as he moves me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Not yet, I guess.”

“Too bad,” he says, and that signal fire turns into a pyre as he moves, making me crave both his body and the flames.

Roman’s head dips low and he’s biting my other breast, and I nearly come from the sensations.

He’s so hard, and I’m slick with need. The fabric between us is soaked, and I slow my wanton thrusting.

Languid movements draw a groan from him, and he stops drinking.

“We’re going to kill each other,” he says, catching his breath. “You die, I die. You know that right? I can’t live in a world where you exist,” he says, and then he trails off, eyes widening in horror when he realizes what he almost said.

And I can’t live in a world where you don’t.

I’m reckless, spurred on by words unsaid, and I pick up my pace. He moans, gritty and raw. Despite our flesh not touching, the sound is obscene. I brace myself on his arms as his hands mold against my hips. His head lolls back and his eyes close.

My clit is so sensitive as it drags across damp fabric, his impossibly hard cock a persistent pressure beneath me as I move.

With each grind over his body, the fabric opening parts, and when I feel his skin against mine, I nearly implode.

It’s torturous. Not quite enough, but it doesn’t make it any less erotic.

The temptation, the heat, the hatred—all of it is too much.

“You must be aching,” I say, feeling him twitch beneath me. His skin is so soft and warm, and my wetness coats him. “So ready to come all over yourself for the woman you hate.”

I surge forward, sinking my teeth into his neck.

Drinking from him, I’m unable to contain the moan as his blood hits the back of my throat.

My hips buck without rhythm, my body searching for heat and friction and any kind of certainty I can find with Roman.

At least I know he’s just as fucked up as I am.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and suddenly he’s shuddering, hands clenching and opening against my hips. A choked sound escapes him as warmth spreads beneath me. It glazes my thighs, and I’m sticky with him. Covered with him.

It makes me feel like I’m his.

I’m panting—hot and heavy—between pulls of his blood from his neck. He’s reaching for me, thumb grazing low beneath my navel, but he’s too late. High-pitched, my cry is muffled against his skin as I tip over the edge. I try to catch my breath and his blood dribbles down my chin.

Laughter bubbles up my throat, and I do my best to tamp it down. It’s some sort of giddy euphoria or reckless abandon, and it takes every bit of control I can muster to silence myself. Somehow, I manage, but I have to bite on the inside of my cheek to fully suppress the smile.

Because when I finally find the courage to sit up, I know nothing will have changed.

“You’ve made a mess of us,” I say against his neck.

His blood has painted my mouth, and I’m tempted to leave a crimson kiss on his skin.

Roman’s hand slides up the back of my neck, wrapping around it.

He hauls me up, and I’m startled when I don’t find the emptiness I expected.

There are crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his fingers drum a beat on my thighs.

“You’re going to want to answer that, cockroach,” he says, head tilted to the side.

With his words, I realize my phone is vibrating.

I don’t know where it is—until I remember all my senses are different.

The vibration is loud enough now, with my attuned senses, that I can hear it from the bathroom where I’d left it.

I glance at Roman, frowning, when he flashes me a razor-edged smile. “It’s probably important.”

My eyes bulge as I clamber off of him. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I know it’s not good. Without a second glance, I sprint for the bedroom, Zuul hot on my heels.