Page 44

ROMAN

Gwyn sits back on her heels and opens her mouth wide, tongue out, showing me that she took everything.

She’s so proud of herself, hands folded in her lap as she sits.

Her pretty, honey eyes are wet with tears from the force of me fucking her perfect mouth, and I have to stop myself from leaning forward and kissing her.

She’s transcendent. A red flush creeps across chest, and her long, blonde hair shines golden in this light.

I hate her. I hate how she makes me feel.

I hate that she makes me question myself and everything I’ve ever known to be true in my fucking life, and I hate that I can’t stop thinking of what my brother said.

Because he’s right. How is what Gwyn did any different than what I would do in the same position?

As I sit here though, taking in how beautiful she is, freshly face-fucked and ready for more, I have my answer. It comes to me far too fucking quickly, and I hate it even more than I hate her. Because there’s a giant difference between the two of us, and I don’t know if I can reconcile that.

I don’t want to think about it.

Gwyn’s like a fucking stormcloud, and I’m hydroplaning on a darkened highway.

How the fuck am I supposed to steer into the fishtail when she rains down on me?

When it’s her smile and that sultry laugh and her sorrow and her earnest determination?

I’m stuck in her downpour, but fuck it if I’m not already sopping wet.

“Come here,” I say, patting my thigh. “Lose the panties.”

Gwyn stands, and I can’t look away from her body. Heavy, round breasts, a soft, rolled stomach that I want to grab onto, wide hips, and perfect curves. As she pulls down the black fabric covering that delicious triangle of flesh, I grow impatient.

I want her skin on mine. Need it.

Because I have to quiet the thoughts crowding my head.

And if there’s one thing that obliterates all fucking sense, it’s her body against mine.

It’s my cock inside of her and my teeth in her flesh.

It’s her lips on mine despite the taste being poison on my tongue.

I can’t cross that line because there is no fucking antidote.

Gwyn takes a few steps forward, knee brushing against me, and then she hesitates.

“Do you believe me?” she asks, and she doesn’t meet my eyes.

I almost laugh. Because how the fuck could she hope for that?

Part of me wants to trust her without hesitation.

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to parse out the truth from her lies, assigning validity to things I stupidly hope she meant and discarding the things she didn’t.

But I’ll never be confident in anything she says, because deception is a part of her.

Briefly, I think about all the people in her life she’s tricked into believing she was okay. Gwyn is well practiced in deceit. She’s a liar, and that’s all there is to it.

But she’s my liar.

“I do think you’re sorry for what you did. Now come fuck my hand before I change my mind.” I spit on two fingers and let my arm rest, ready and waiting for her.

Tentatively, her gaze darts from my outstretched fingers to my face, and I think the breath that sneaks past her lips is relief as she climbs on top of me.

She straddles one of my legs and sits. I can feel her warmth and weight and her wetness and it’s somehow both erotic and comforting.

My hand is between her thick thighs, but she doesn’t move to position herself more appropriately for my demand.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask.

She’s looking at me with those big, honey eyes, mouth slightly open.

I don’t know how the fuck I can watch her take my dick like she just did, stretched wide and easy, and still want to caress her lips and treat her so fucking gently.

Her blood is a curse, and it’s probably only a manner of time before I give in to her suffering.

She looks so vulnerable right now, naked in my lap, and she puts her hands on my shoulders.

With so much earnestness it’s almost adorable, she swallows and finds her words.

“You forgive me?” she asks, and I realize she’s misinterpreted me. Just because I believe her truth, barely discernible amongst all the lies, doesn’t mean I forgive her for it.

“No, Gwyn. I don’t.”

Her brows lift, and her eyes water. I put a fingertip under her chin, tilting it up as I lean forward.

Her lips part, and her eyes shut. She thinks I’m going to kiss her, and a really fucking annoying part of me wants to.

But that’s not what we’re doing. She’s self destructive, and I’m merely indulging her.

Even without my forgiveness, she’ll stay right here because she hates herself enough to maintain proximity to me even if it kills her.

In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s banking on it doing just that.

I let my mouth hover over hers, but I’m far too tempted to let them touch.

“Now are you going to ride my hand or did I spit on it for no good reason?” She sighs and we share breath and I swear to god this woman is going to fucking kill me. Because as she grabs my hand, sliding it through her wetness, she snags my lower lip between her teeth and bites—hard.

She rises to her knees, still drinking from my lip.

She moans when I press my fingers inside of her, but she doesn’t let go, filling her mouth with my blood while I fill her tight cunt.

When I use my thumb to circle her clit, she breaks free, mouth open wide and stained with my blood.

She pants, staring down at me, at my hand, at where her pretty pussy takes me.

When I slide a third finger into her slick, wet grip, she throws her head back.

She writhes and bucks on my hand, and her tits are in my face, bouncing and begging for my teeth.

Gwyn is so fucking wet, and the knowledge that having my dick in her mouth made her this ready makes me hard.

When our bodies crave each other, her betrayal doesn’t matter.

And it’s a craving, raw and needy, when my cock rubs against her thigh. Her knee is dangerously close to my balls, but she’s so preoccupied with her own pleasure, I’m not worried.

“I thought,” she pants, “you said I could earn forgiveness,” another pant, “on my knees?”

Before I can respond, her body starts to twitch. She’s close, and I wonder if maybe that’s the only thing she never faked with me, though I suppose I wouldn’t ever fucking know. Her movements grow jerky, body having lost all rhythm, and I move in one swift motion, taking her by surprise.

Because in one moment, she’s fucking my hand, and in the next, I’ve slammed her onto my cock and I’m bending forward to bite her shoulder. She screams when my fangs pierce her soft, ivory skin, but the sound is laced with pleasure.

Blood drips out of my mouth as I pull away to look at her.

We’re both so fucking messy in so many ways and god dammit if I never want it to stop.

Gwyn doesn’t even pause, continuing to ride my cock just as she rode my fingers.

Knees planted on either side of me, she rocks her hips, taking me deep, and her clit rubs against my skin, giving her friction.

It’s only a few seconds before her pussy squeezes me so tight, I can’t control the grunt that slips out of my mouth.

She’s screaming my name as her body jerks violently, and I wrap my arms around her.

My tongue glides across her chest, and I grab her hair at the nape of her neck, twisting her head just so I can whisper in her ear.

“The way I see it, sweetheart, you’re still on your knees.”

I don’t give her time to recover as I lift my hips and slam into her. Grabbing her ass, I drag her forward and back, tormenting her with the friction as I thrust with each backward push of her body.

“You don’t have to forgive me for you to kill me,” she says.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Blood dribbles down her chest from where I bit her, and I lean forward to clean it up.

My hands roam over her body as I lick and kiss her chest, slowly moving up to drink from her neck once more.

She rolls her hips and I grab handfuls of her ass, loving how soft and pliable her flesh is beneath my touch.

There’s never been any awkwardness or hesitation between us, our bodies moving as if they were made for each other.

I continue drinking, unable to stop. My thirst has been mild the last couple of weeks—except when I’m with her.

The moment I scent Gwyn, my thirst becomes consuming.

Ever since I drank from her to fight Emile’s command, I haven’t been able to get enough.

It’s pathetic, but it’s a familiar ache that I’ve come to savor.

I wonder if it’s masochism, a simple enjoyment of the pain because I deserve it after what I allowed her to do to me.

I decide it must be because the alternative is that my desire for Gwyn is too strong.

That the taste of her is too exquisite to give up.

“You’re such a dick,” she says. “Guess I’ll have to do it myself.”

And then she leans forward, bracing herself on the back of the couch. I use one hand to smack her ass as the other helps me guide her pretty pink nipple to my mouth.

She’s fucking me now, hard, and arching her back.

The way she moves her hips and her fat ass is mesmerizing.

She jerks her body, making her ass jiggle in my grasp as she takes me so deep I almost see stars.

I swirl my tongue around her perfect nipple while I try not to come.

Because now she’s making these little throaty sounds right in my ear, and I wonder if she does it on purpose to make me finish.

Quiet moans of pleasure ring in my ears as she slams her ass down on me. She’s so fucking perfect, and I wish I didn’t think that but goddamn it, there’s no one else like her.

I don’t think there ever will be.

And that’s what pisses me off most of all—because fuck her for being everything I could ever want, but nothing I can ever have.

This is the problem that I can’t wrap my head around. There is no fucking solution. I want her but I can’t have her. Not after I realized the difference between us. While we might’ve both sought vengeance for the murders of our loved ones, Gwyn took it farther than I ever would have gone.

Because I loved her.

Love her.

Hate her. Need her.

I begged my uncle on my knees. I took a beating from his men. I told her I loved her in that dark dungeon, and she never gave me the truth. She never gave me a single hint about what she intended to do.

Which means she never felt the same way I did.

She’s about to fall apart on my cock again, and I don’t try to stop myself from finishing. Letting her ride me, letting her suck me off, is having the opposite effect from what I’d intended. She’s not clearing my head, she’s filling it with insanity.

Because how fucking dare she want me to kill her? I haven’t been biding my time at all, I realize. Every single thing I’ve thrown myself into the last few days have been mere distractions, shit I could fixate on to distract me from the fact I can’t kill her.

And the very idea that she might try to do it herself?

Fuck.

It enrages me.

Gwyn is so close I feel her pussy fluttering around me, and I reach up to grab her throat.

I flip us onto the couch and loom over her.

She reaches up, hands gently caressing my face, and I have to force myself to ignore it.

Roughly, I position her legs to wrap around me.

When I thrust into her, she bites her lips and her eyes roll back.

“Don’t stop,” she says between choked breaths. My grip on her throat makes it hard for her to breathe, but maybe that’s what she needs. Maybe that’s what she wants.

“If anyone is killing you, it’s me, ma petite cafarde. My kill, my business. But I’ll decide, do you understand?”

She says nothing, only closing her eyes to avoid looking at me. I squeeze tighter.

“Do you understand me, sweetheart?”

I ease my grip and slow my motions. My thrusts into her are both harsh and precise, and each one makes her gasp.

“Roman, I—” she begins, breaking off to gasp.

“This isn’t over until I say so, Gwyn. Tell me you understand.”

Her eyes are wet when she finally looks into mine. “Okay, Roman. Alright,” she says, and her body bows as she admits defeat. Back arched, she moans, but she doesn’t break eye contact with me.

“Promise me. That you won’t…” I trail off.

“I promise.”

Porcelain skin and soft lips and golden eyes will haunt me until the end of my days—whether she’s dead or alive.

As I bracket my arms on either side of her, I’m tempted to tell her what I already know.

Ever since I saw my father, dead, and found Gwyn coated in his blood, there’d been a tightness between my lungs.

Like something has wrapped around what little bit of heart I had and has slowed its motion.

With each beat, thorns tear holes in vascular systems and ventricles, but the thought of killing her isn’t what loosens the constricting grasp.

Ending her would ruin me more than I already am.

The thought of keeping her though? The tightness ebbs away.

I’m fucking her hard, one of her legs hooked on my arm, and she’s writhing from the force of it. With my hand on her throat, I bring her to the brink. And when she cries out, I follow her siren song into the dark.