"Wouldn't Sofi be better company?" I ask. "She seemed excited enough for both of us."
He stops pulling tape and looks up at me in confusion. "What?"
"Or Sabine. She was very hands-on out there. Practically draped her whole body over you." I cross my arms and swallow hard as I let a few too many unwarranted comments out. "I'm sure she'd love to sit with you."
"Mila, what the fuck are you talking about?"
I can't help that it hurts my feelings watching him around them. I know he plans to marry one of them, and it doesn’t feel right that he comes to me for sex when he's actively letting them get closer.
"I'm talking about you courting two women while you're sleeping with me." I cover my face with one hand and press gently, but my heart is pounding. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut? None of that had to be said. I could just never say anything and this would be better for me. In fact, I could reject his advances and just show him I'm not someone's toy to be played with. Not my body, and not my heart, either.
I hear him moving and lower my hand to see him stand and walk toward me. "You're jealous."
"I'm not."
"You are." He takes another step and says, "And it's all over your face."
"Don't flatter yourself." My face feels hot and my throat constricts, and I let my eyes drop to the concrete under his feet. I don't feel anger at him. What I feel is disappointment at his cold rejection. And I hate myself for it. I know better than to let my heart feel things. Why don't I ever learn?
"You're coming to the gala," he says. "As my personal guest."
"What?" My head snaps up as I hear him. "No. That's not happening." I feel like emotion is choking me. I don't want to go to that gala and see Vera's daughters groping him all night. They'll be dressed impeccably again and I have nothing to wear. And I just don't have any desire to watch him dance with them and drink wine with them. I had to do that a few weeks ago at dinner when he put Vera in her place. I can't do it again.
"That's not a request."
"I don't care what it is, Roman. I won’t stand back and watch you flirt with those hideous women all night when you…" My lip quivers, and I feel tears burning. If I say one more word, I'm going to burst into tears as he steps closer.
"It's sweet of you to think you get a choice, Mila. Remember, I own you for the next nine years and nine months." He closes the last of the distance between us and takes my chin in his hand and tilts my face up. "You're coming."
"Roman—"
"You don't get a choice," he says, and then his lips are on mine, kissing so softly, it's hard for me to pull away. I whimper because I hate myself. I want to kiss him so badly. I want him to pin meagainst that wall and have his way with me, but more than that, I want him to tell me he wants me.
But I have nothing he wants. Right now, Vera has the power and Sofi and Sabine are his way into my father's legacy. If she can successfully box me out, he gets everything—the authority, the money, the territory. And with me captive to his every command for ten years, how would I even find someone to marry? I'm trapped here. I lose, no matter what.
"Are you done arguing?"
"No," I bite out, but I want to cry.
His hand slides from my chin to the back of my neck, and his fingers find my hair and tighten, and my head tips back and his mouth moves from my lips down to my jaw and to the spot below my ear.
I hear myself make a sound I can't take back. One that betrays my heart, because it communicates the pleasure he's bringing me while simultaneously inviting more of it. And I know how my heart will feel when this is over.
"I couldn't have won that fight without you," he says between kisses. "You saw what none of my men saw."
"That's not?—"
"I need to reward you for that."
"I thought I was a servant. I wasn't aware that slaves got rewarded." I turn my head, letting shame wash over me. I'm going to let him use my body, just so I can feel close to him. But he's going to walk out those doors and make plans to have dinner with other women and maybe choose one of them to marry. Andthere's nothing I can do to stop him. But I don't want him to stop doing what he's doing.
He laughs against my throat, and I feel it rumble through his chest where it's pressed against mine. Then he rolls his hips forward and I feel him hard against my thigh, and my breath catches.
"This," he says, grinding against me slow enough that I feel every inch of his dick, "is a different type of reward."
Roman turns me around and presses my back against his chest and his mouth drops to the side of my neck. One arm wraps around my waist and holds me there while his other slides down the front of my stomach, over the fabric of my shirt, past the waistband of my jeans. He pops the button with his thumb and drags the zipper down and his fingers push under the elastic of my underwear. I grab his forearm with both hands.
"Relax," he says against my ear, and his fingers slide lower, slipping into my moisture. I hear the breath leave his chest in a groan that vibrates against my back. "Jesus, Mila."
