Page 45

GWYN

Tears form in the corners of my eyes, and I wish I could stop them.

It’s been the way of it since Roman got here, and I’ve let him see far too much.

Just like I did that night when he’d asked me about my own depression, I feel as if my skin has been peeled away.

All the muscle and tendon and blood and fat is on display, and I’m more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.

I wish he didn’t interrupt me during the worst of my own self loathing. He has seen too much.

He sits up, positioning his legs beneath my bent knees.

I don’t think I could move if I wanted to, so I lay there, looking up at his imposing figure.

Most of his hair has fallen out of the tie, and it hangs loosely on his shoulders.

His chest heaves as he comes down from orgasm, looking like a fallen god who just led a battalion into war.

He’s still inside me and he’s fixated on the spot where our flesh meets.

Slowly, he pulls out—just a fraction—before pushing back in, and then he repeats the action.

Somehow he’s still hard and I’m so sensitive and the tears seem to find the simplest excuse to fall.

It feels too good. All of this has felt like too much.

But I am no good. I don’t deserve it.

He caresses my thighs, watching his length in fascination as he drags it out of me.

After a moment, his gaze moves higher. He reaches for me, palming my stomach, grabbing it as he continues the slow thrusts, and I almost smile.

Each time he’s seen my body, been with me, he’s grown more bold.

Roman has never refused the parts of me that past lovers have avoided or ignored.

His touch moves higher and grows delicate, fingertips dusting gently over my skin.

His thumb presses against my sternum, hand cupping the underside of my breast.

Finally, he looks at me, and the tenderness that had grown familiar to me has reappeared, and I think there’s something stuck in my throat.

“I thought you were too beautiful, you know,” he says, voice low.

“Too beautiful for what?”

“To kill. Like my father wanted.”

“You don’t think that anymore though?” I ask, and I hate how pitiful it sounds.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The minute Roman leaves, I plan to find another way to do what I’ve contemplated for so long.

Though he wants that kill for himself, what’s just one more betrayal between us? What’s one more thing I rob him of?

“Now?” He finally slips out of me, hauling me up to sit. His hand gently cups my face and he thumbs away my unwanted tears. “Now, I think you’re too beautiful not to. But I can’t bring myself to do it just yet.”

Roman’s warm eyes darken, dipping down to my lips.

It’s almost as if he moves in slow motion when he leans forward.

I can’t help but hold my breath. I’ve wanted this since the moment I knew I could no longer have it.

A sigh slips free when his mouth caresses mine.

His lips are still just as soft as I remember, and a whimper escapes me.

A pleasant hum resonates low in his throat, and he grips the back of my neck to deepen the kiss.

I brush my tongue over the seam of his lips, seeking entrance, and he grants it.

Tentatively, I explore his mouth, grazing my tongue against his, and our kiss turns into something sweet and slow and sensual.

It’s not hurried. It’s not desperate. It’s sure and steady.

It’s a first kiss of many kisses, not a final goodbye.

This kiss makes Roman just as much of a liar as I am.

Abruptly, he pulls away. We’re both nearly breathless—and I don’t think it’s because of the act itself. That kiss was a conversation between lovers, and I don’t want it to end. Desperately, I want arguments and confessions with Roman. I want soliloquies and songs.

“I missed you,” he says, leaning forward to press another quick kiss to my lips. “But I can’t forgive you. The coven, my father, hell, even taking Remy? I would’ve done the exact same thing. But you know what I wouldn’t have done, little cockroach?” he asks, and I know where he’s going with this.

I’ve regretted so much since I stole the coven from him. Since that night in the dungeon when he’d told me he loved me and I didn’t say it back. When I kept him in the dark and betrayed him. When I spilled his father’s blood and took what belonged to him.

I think I always knew that the hateful thing he said to me in the cemetery came from fear of the emotions he didn’t want to contend with. But I’ve spent so much of my life feeling like my mental illness was too much. That nothing about me was worth wading through it.

So even though my heart had raged and thrashed inside my body, my mind saw it as just another repeated pattern. Too much and not enough. I’d known from the beginning things would implode one way or another. And wasn’t it easier if I could blame him for it?

“I wouldn’t have made you love me and then destroyed you for it,” he says, but there’s no anger in his voice. In fact, he leans forward, allowing his lips to brush mine. I nearly start to cry over the intimacy of his touch. Of his unspoken admission. That he loved me and I ruined him.

“I almost told you,” I say, and he tugs me into his lap. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He presses his forehead to mine, and I decide it’s finally time for explanations when he asks for them.

“When?”

“At your mother’s grave.”

“And why didn’t you?”

No matter how beautiful the fractured parts might be, I’m not about to risk everything for someone so broken.

“You know why. Telling you the truth would’ve been a risk you didn’t seem willing to take.

For all I knew, you would’ve killed me,” I say, and he doesn’t like that answer.

He tugs at my hair, tipping my head back before kissing me fiercely.

His beard rubs across my skin, and I love the raw sensation of it.

He breaks away, frowning at me. His fangs have extended, and he’s angry.

“After swearing myself to you, Gwyn? You still thought that was an option for me? What about when I told you the truth in the dungeons, before my father came down?”

“You think telling you then would’ve hurt you less? By then, there was no going back.”

He uses both hands to grip my face, whispering his question against my lips.

“Did you love me?” he asks, point blank, and I close my eyes.

“Yes,” I say, unwilling to admit I haven’t stopped despite the odds stacked against us.

“Then why didn’t you say it back?” he asks, referring to the moment he’d screamed my name and told me he loved me.

I tilt my head and sit back, giving him a rueful smile. I wanted to tell him—so badly. But I knew what I had to do at that point, as Bjorn dragged me up the stairs. It would’ve just been one more thing for Roman to question.

“Would you have believed me? Once you saw what I did to your father, to your coven, would you have believed it?”

He works his jaw, and the furrow between his brows is a harsh line.

“No.”

His eyes dart all over—eyes to lips then back to my eyes—and I think he’s going to kiss me again.

I want him to so badly, but I need him to know.

Before I betray him once more and finish myself off.

Before I take away this painful predicament he’s found himself in.

There will be no hesitation or lack of resolve if I’m not here to confuse him. But he needs to know.

“Would you believe me now?”

He rolls his lips inward, and his chest heaves. “Should I?”

Unable to speak the words, I nod, tears filling my eyes.

Within a beat, he’s standing up, hands cupping my ass while my legs wrap tighter around him.

He kisses me, and it’s frantic. Violent, even, as he bites my lip.

I match his passion, hands sliding up his jaw, my fingertips pushing into his silky tresses.

I decide I owe him the gift of clarity after all of my deceit.

“I haven’t stopped loving you, Roman. When you turned me, I knew I was in too deep, and I’m sorry I never told you the truth.”

“Gwyn,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

He kisses me again, dragging his mouth across my flesh.

Lips meet my chin, my jaw, down my neck.

I think he doesn’t want me to see him, and I don’t know if I blame him.

For all of Roman’s harsh words and actions, this is who he is at his core.

Tenderness doesn’t come easy to him, but once it’s earned, it’s like walking on air.

It can get addicting if I’m not too careful.

“I think loving you will kill me,” he murmurs against my collarbone, and everything within me begins to ache.

There’s nothing I can say, so I wrap my arms and legs tighter around him, and I can feel his hardness prodding at my ass.

He’s walking us past the kitchen into the hallway toward the primary bedroom, and I break the silence.

“If my mess doesn’t swallow you whole first,” I say, attempting lightness as he picks a path across discarded clothing—dirty or clean, who knows.

After the honesty we’ve exchanged tonight, I don’t know if there’s any room for more sincerity.

Or maybe I’m just deflecting, but if I am, so is Roman.

My foot hits a box, dumping the contents onto the floor at the foot of the bed.

“It’s too late for that, sweetheart,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. I need a bed for what I plan to do to you.”

With little effort, he throws me onto the bed, then grabs my ankles and tugs me to the edge.

I cringe, thinking about how he’s probably standing on dirty laundry, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He’s never cared about that part of me, other than to demand that I stay, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to keep any promises.