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But what happens if she ever finds out what I’m doing or that I originally wanted her dead?
THIRTY-NINE
EMBERLY
My head spins. My skin tingles. My heart pounds so hard it might burst. Roman is so good to me that everything feels like a dream.
He’s still inside me, his cock twitching against my quivering walls. His eyes looking so deeply into my soul that I’m certain he can hear my thoughts.
Roman is the first person outside of college that has supported my art, and I’m not just talking about the studio and free supplies. Because of him, I met Mr. Lubelli and I’m sure my painting sold faster because of Roman’s influence.
And then the celebratory dinner at a restaurant that wouldn’t even employ me to clean the floors? And the mind-melting sex?
More importantly, the praise? No one has ever called me inspirational, let alone addictive. I was always a nuisance at best, a burden at worst, and that doesn’t even begin to describe how Jim treated me from the moment I fell under his control.
Roman isn’t the kind of man to take advantage of a woman’s dependence on him. He encouraged me to start painting and invited the right people to his party to help further my career. He’s the polar opposite to Jim, who treated me like a slave.
“Talk to me, baby,” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning across my skin.
My legs tighten around his hips, trying to pull him in deeper. “I want to stay like this forever.”
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, making him look so handsome my heart aches. “I want to spend the rest of my life with my cock nestled in your sweet little cunt.”
A breath catches in the back of my throat. Why does that sound like he wants a long-term relationship?
My heart, which had calmed to a steady beat, picks up speed. Maybe it was just a figure of speech. Maybe I’m overthinking things. Or maybe my paranoia is going into overdrive as usual to sabotage this beautiful moment.
Roman’s eyes bore into mine, waiting for an answer to his unspoken question. With each shallow breath, the pressure intensifies until I’m certain my lungs will burst.
Does he want me to say the same? I already did. I part my lips, making no sound, but a sharp knock on the door forces him to break eye contact.
All the pressure escapes me in an outward breath. Roman holds his shaft at the base, eases out, and pulls me off the edge of the table, so my dress falls down to cover my thighs.
The knock sounds again.
“I told you not to disturb me,” he snarls.
Whoever’s behind the door clears his throat. “Sorry, boss. It’s Gil.”
“Come in,” he says.
The door swings open, and the huge man lumbers inside with his gaze fixed to the floor.
Heat blooms across my cheeks at the thought of him knowing we weren’t eating. I wrap my arms around my middle and try not to shuffle on my feet. Gil must have stood behind the door, listening to Roman fuck the life out of me while waiting for the right moment to knock.
“What is it?” Roman asks.
“One of the vehicles was attacked,” Gil says. “We lost Sal.”
“Shit,” Roman hisses. “How the fuck did that happen?”
“They’re saying it was automatic weapons.” Gil grimaces. “And those bastards knew exactly what they were doing.”
“Why do you say that?” he asks.
“There was a message saying that next time, they won’t just blow up a lackey.”
“The police?” I whisper. “How did they know you switched cars?”
