He slivers a penetrating gaze towards me, gives me that curled lip of his like he’s about to pull my long hair into a murder knot. But, no, he instead fists the glistening wetness up through my slit, rippling it between my clit and my ass with his diameter thumbs.
I hiss softly, bracing my hands on his hard chest, my face fleeting closer to his, tongues casually grazing then roaming. The kiss shouldn't distract me, but it does, briefly.
He holds my hips lightly—steady, warm, and reverent. His restraint only makes it better. He stays still and lets me unravel.
“I feel too much,” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine. “Feel it.”
I move faster. Harder. My thighs burn from holding steady. My body tightens around him, and I can already feel it building—hot, deep, unstoppable.
“You’re going to come on my cock,” he says, voice low. “And I want to see it.”
I slam down again, and again. Every thrust drives me closer. His hands move to my lower back, guiding me now, just a little and enough.
He lets out a roar as I hump more frantically, eager to impale my throbbing cunt on his cock to the point of an erratic explosion.
I break with a cry, my orgasm hitting hard enough to fold me forward. My body shakes against his chest.
He doesn’t stop or pull out. He strokes up my back with his mouth near my ear.
“I feel it. Every bit of you. You don’t get to hide this from me.”
I’m still gasping when I say it.
“I couldn’t if I tried. You already have all of me, to the most inner parts of my heart, Roman.”
He cups my face and tilts my head until I’m looking at him.
“You gave me that. Now ask me to keep it.”
I hesitate.
Then I nod.
“Keep it, please.”
His strong arms wrap around me in a way that feels all too real.
He doesn’t kiss me. He simply holds me while I breathe through the wreckage of what I’ve become.
CHAPTER TEN
POV: Roman
She’s still asleep when I wake.
Her face is down and her dark, blonde waves are messy over the pillow. She has one leg kicked out of the sheets like she owns the bed now. My bed.
The penthouse is too big. It’s bigger than it needs to be, bigger than I wanted when I built it.
The bed sits alone on the top floor, inside a glass cube high above the city. It doesn’t need walls. It’s a monument. The kind of room that swallows sound. Yet right now, the only thing in it I care about is her.
She doesn’t know I’ve been watching her for ten minutes. Not on a camera this time or through a screen. But in person, and close enough to reach out and touch.
It started with surveillance.
Now she’s here in my world and my hands.
