I glance at his hand, noticing the absence of his ring. My breath catches.
Roman lifts his hand, studying his hand like it’s something foreign. “You asked me in that church to make a decision,” He says quietly, though the edge in his voice remains. “So I’ve made my decision. When I’m with you, I’m no longer the hand of God. You want to see it all, Eden? Fine. But know that ring held back monsters you can’t even begin to understand,” He warns. “That gentle touch you felt with me before? It took everything in me to give it to you.”
“I never asked you to be gentle, Roman,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I shift in the seat. “I never asked anyone to treat me like I’m some broken thing. But after tonight, I don’t see that getting any better. I told them why I came home. I...I just needed to get it out.” I pull my knees to my chest, feeling the weight of everything crashing down around me.
He says nothing, just watches me with a penetrating gaze, his expression unreadable.
My eyes catch on the bruising around his eye, the weariness etched into his face. He looks exhausted—worn down by whatever battle he’s been fighting, both with himself and the world around him. And here I am, torn between wanting to reachout and touch him, to soothe the pain I see so clearly, and the anger simmering beneath my skin. Anger at him, at myself, at the whole damn situation we’ve found ourselves in.
Why does he have to look at me like that? Why does he have to be the one who’s always in control, even when he’s unraveling? It’s maddening, the way he tries to protect me while keeping me at arm’s length, as if that’s supposed to make this any easier. As if that’s supposed to make me feel less guilty for the mess I’ve become.
I want to hate him for the way he’s made me feel, for the way he let his guard down just enough to draw me in, only to push me away again. But I can’t. Instead, all I feel is this twisted knot of guilt and longing tangled so tightly around my heart that it’s hard to breathe. It would be so much easier if I could just let go, if I could just walk away from this man who will never truly be mine, who belongs to something far greater than I could ever be.
Yet here I am, sitting beside him, feeling the pull of him like gravity. The weight of his exhaustion, his bruises, his burdens—it’s all too much, and yet I can’t tear my eyes away. I care for him more than I want to admit, and it terrifies me. Because I know that no matter how much I might want him, I’ll never get all of him. I’ll never be the one he chooses above everything else. I’ll always be second to God, to his vows, to the life he’s sworn to live.
And maybe that’s what hurts the most. The knowledge that he’ll always be just out of reach, that no matter how close we get, there will always be this barrier between us. I can feel the tension crackling between us, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. I want to reach out, to press my fingers to the bruise on hisface, to show him that I care, even if I shouldn’t. But I don’t. Because I’m too afraid of what might happen if I do.
So instead, I sit here, waging this silent war within myself, torn between wanting him and hating myself for it. I can’t help but wonder if he’s fighting the same battle. If he feels the same pull, the same longing, the same guilt. Or if he’s already made peace with it, resigned himself to the life he’s chosen, even if it means leaving me behind.
The thought makes my chest tighten, the pain sharp and sudden.
I sigh, giving in to my desire to be closer to him. I reach over, my fingers brushing the bruise around his eye. He flinches slightly, grabbing my wrist with surprising force.
I glance down at his tight grasp but don’t pull away. "How much did you drink tonight?"
"A lot," He admits, his voice softening. "After what happened in the church, it seemed... necessary."
He leans closer, his breath warm against my lips. "And what about you? I thought you gave up drinking?" He locks his eyes with mine, mouth parted slightly as he waits for me to respond.
"I did," I whisper back. "But italsoseemed necessary after you had your tongue all over me earlier and then clearly regretted it the moment we were done. I couldn’t deal with the shame I saw written all over your face, Roman.” I was too tired to be anything but honest. I’m not sure how much more he could shut me out. I’d already begun to resign myself to the fact that this could never go any further.
Roman’s expression hardens. "Is that why you let him touch you? You were trying to convince yourself that you’d be satisfiedby anyone else?" His grip on my wrist loosens as he reaches to touch me again.
I stop him, catching his forearm in a firm grasp.
“Maybe I just wanted his cock in my mouth.”
The moment those words leave my lips, I see the flicker of rage, quickly hardening into something more primitive and possessive.
"Fine," Roman whispers, his hand coiling in my hair, dragging my head closer to his lap. "You want to choke on something tonight?" His eyes glance down to the prominent bulge in his pants. "Then so be it. I’m done being gentle with you."
I try to lift my head, but his grip tightens, keeping me firmly in place.
"You were so eager to explore Luca," Roman hisses. "Afraid you won’t be able to handle a real man?" He taunts, his voice laced with venom.
"Hardly," I whisper, daring to provoke him. "I’m just wondering if your pre-cum is as sweet as Luca’s."
A rough, territorial snarl rips from deep in his throat. He tugs my hair so hard that a sharp yelp escapes me, my eyes watering from the pain.
"If I hear that bastard’s name come out of your mouth again, you’ll regret it." He glances down at his pants, the tension between us palpable. "Now, let me feel those pretty lips."
I glance at the thick strain beneath the fabric of his pants and swallow hard, feeling the grip of his hand ease slightly as I inch closer. I fumble with the button of his pants, tugging them down just enough to expose his boxers. My lips trail along his length, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric, lost in a heady,lust-filled haze as I listen to him groan. I let my tongue slide across his lower stomach, tasting the salt of his skin as I kiss my way up to the hard line of muscles on his lower abdomen.
Roman watches me, intrigued as I gather a bit of his skin between my teeth, sucking gently before nipping at him just enough to leave a small bruise.
"Fuck," Roman groans, his grip tightening in my hair as he pulls my head back. A devious smile curves my lips as he looks down at me.
"You think that’s funny?"
