Page 65

He roughly jerks the poofy sleeves of my dress down, and I pull my arms out.

Roman reaches behind me, tugging down the zipper, and the top half of it pools around my waist. He takes a half-step back to look at me, and he looks edible in that fitted suit.

He brushes a lock of hair from his forehead.

He’s got it up in that man bun that makes me feel like I’m ovulating, and I try to stand my ground.

“You know, like, we both abused each other and it’s like an addiction? David thinks?—”

“Don’t say another man’s name when I’m about to fuck you stupid,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he stares at my body. “Especially the name of a witch who won’t let me sleep next to my mate.”

“Roman, that’s not at all?—”

“Does he think that by us living apart but still seeing each other, still loving each other, still fucking each other’s brains out that we’ll somehow be less trauma bonded?”

I huff a laugh, biting my lip. In reality, David just wants me to be cautious, but I’m honestly afraid for Roman to live in my filth. With front row seats to the shit show, why would he want to stick around? Mate or not.

I am doing better though. It’s amazing what having no secrets or living enemies will do for a person.

“Take your dress off,” he says, and I’m grateful he doesn’t force the issue. He’s here nearly every day anyway—he’ll be fine if I push it off for a little longer.

Slowly, I shimmy the tulle fabric over my hips, letting it drop to the floor. It puddles around my feet, and I kick it aside.

“I want you to go lie on the bed and don’t even think about touching yourself,” he growls, stepping closer and running a single fingertip down my arm.

His eyes flicker as my hand moves to my center. With a devious grin, I use two fingers to part my pussy and gently rub my clit.

“Is that so, sweetheart?” he asks, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand away. “On your knees then,” he says and he takes off his jacket.

“Or what?” I taunt. I like getting into this headspace with him. It feels like us, and it turns me on all the more. He licks his lips as he takes off his tie and undoes the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Do you want me to fuck you downstairs in the ballroom in front of everybody?” he threatens, and honestly, the thought makes my body grow taut and warm. But it’s probably not a good idea to engage in such voyeurism as new leaders of the covens.

I slip down to my knees, and when he unbuttons his pants, I begin to salivate. He steps closer, and I reach for him.

“No, baby. Do as you were told.”

He turns, walking toward the bedroom, and I start to stand, ready to follow him.

“ I said do as you were told—on your hands and knees.”

I stare at him, turned on and confused and nearly overwhelmed by the relief that comes with surrender. But I hesitate, waiting for him to clarify just one more time.

“Crawl.”

And I do. Past the living room and around the bar stools in front of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. He lets me lead the way, and when I glance over my shoulder, his eyes are laser focused on my pussy and ass. When I get to the bed, he tilts my chin up with one knuckle.

“I knew you could do it, sweetheart. Now get on the bed.”

This time, I obey. I climb onto the bed and lie back on the pillows propped up by the maid Roman insisted I hire. I have to admit, it’s nice laying down on a tidy bed.

When I’m tempted to touch myself as he finishes undressing, I put my hands behind my head instead.

Because I can do it, just like he said.

With one leg straight and the other knee raised, I can’t help but squeeze my legs together. All I want is heat and friction.

I’m still not used to his new tattoo, and I caress his flesh with my gaze as I take in the design on his stomach.

With silver-laced ink, he’d had a dragon in flight tattooed across his upper stomach, no bigger than his hand.

It’s a reference to Remy’s favorite show, and it’s both fierce and delicate.

He turns, and I’m grateful for the glimpse of his muscular shoulders. He’s strong and capable—and he’s mine.

When he slips his boxer-briefs off, I’m awarded with the profile of his hard cock. Even if he’s teasing and torturing me, he’s not unaffected considering the drop of pre-cum glistening on his tip.

When he finally comes closer, agonizingly slow, leaning over me, I expect him to kiss me and stop this torment—but it only gets worse.

Because he reaches beneath the headboard and grabs the straps he uses to hold me in place. With a delicate touch, he places my wrist inside it and fastens it shut.

Slowly, he walks around the bed, watching my compliance with a soft smile. I like when I can see the satisfaction on his face. It’s almost as good as when I frustrate the fuck out of him.

So when he grabs my other wrist, I twist my hand and tug him down. He loses his footing and his elbow lands on the bed beside my head. Without hesitation, I grab the back of his neck and bring him to me. I bite at his lip and he growls as he tries to pull away.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” he asks as he stands up. Roughly, he fastens my other arm to the bed.

I close my eyes, thrilled to be nothing but a fucktoy for him. But he seems to have other ideas as he tucks my legs up and wraps a soft rope up one thigh, under my ass, and down the other. Displayed for him, I can’t move.

I moan when he drags his fingers through my wetness, spreading the slick moisture all over my cunt.

“How many times do you think I can get this pussy to cum before you beg me to stop? How long do you think you can last?”

I clench, not having an answer for that because I already want to scream. With a devious expression, he climbs onto the bed and presses a soft kiss to my silver-scarred skin.

“I don’t think you can get past five,” he says.

“I bet I can,” I say, scowling at his lack of faith in me.

“If you can, you get your way and we wait until the witch signs off on our living arrangement. You can’t? I move in, and I fuck you like this all hours of every day. Deal?”

I nod, knowing I’m a lot of fucking talk. But I don’t care. The only thing holding me back now is fear that he’ll get sick of me and leave. But he’s seen the worst already, and he’s still here.

He wins the bet pretty fucking quick. I’m panting and writhing after the third orgasm as he withdraws his tongue from my clit.

I’m so fucking sensitive when he slides two fingers inside me.

Palm up, he finds my g-spot and pulls out the big guns.

Massaging that spot, he moves fast, and my whole body shakes.

“Please stop, Roman. Please. You have to. You have to stop or I’m going to piss myself,” I gasp, surprised by the sudden need to empty my bladder. But I realize I’m an idiot a moment later when I understand what’s really happening.

“Just relax your body,” Roman commands, and the moan he rips out of me is barbaric, deep and guttural.

When he pulls his fingers free, I do as he said and relax.

His satisfied growl reverberates through me as my body gushes just for him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so fucking good when you listen. ”

I can’t catch my breath, pussy drenched and body sore, but I manage a chuckle. “It’s too bad I do it so rarely.”

He crawls up my body, releasing my hands from the straps, but keeping my legs tied as they are. He twines his fingers between mine, keeping my arms above my head. His cock slides through the wetness, and as he holds me still, he thrusts against me.

His mouth brushes mine, and I sink my teeth into the pillow of his lower lip as I rake my fingernails down his back.

“Fuck, Gwyn,” he breathes. “Can you take any more, baby?” He nuzzles the side of my face, pressing kisses down my neck.

“Fuck me like you hate me,” I say, and he laughs.

“You’re the actor, not me.” But he slams into me hard all the same.

“Pretty, little slut taking me so sloppy and wet,” he groans, but I don’t think he can commit to more dirty talk as his thrusts grow more desperate.

He’s been teasing me long enough that it won’t take him long to follow after me.

He rolls his hips, using one hand to hold mine above my head and the other to caress my side.

He bends down to kiss me as he thrusts deep.

“My mate,” I whisper, knowing how much it means to him—how much it means to us both. It tips him over the edge and he bites my lip hard as his body jerks without rhythm. I lift my hips, chasing friction, and it only takes one thrust for me to follow after him.

Later, after he’s cleaned me up and we’ve changed the sheets and are lying in bed together, I think he might have actually fucked my brains out.

Because for the first time, things are quiet. There’s no soft voice in my mind whispering all the horrific things I should be worrying about. There’s no repetitive bitch calling me worthless. It’s just pure silence.

Until Roman adjusts and pulls me closer. Tucking my head beneath his chin, I press my ear to his chest and all I can hear is his heart. The metronome that has led me headfirst into his arms beats sure and steady beneath me, and I feel at peace.

“Je t’aime, ma petite cafarde,” he whispers against my hair, the sweet cadence of his tender affection lulling me to sleep.