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I was no longer alone. In this moment, I didn’t have to hate myself for being the bad daughter who’d destroyed her family. Instead, I was part of something better—part of him.
It brought tears to my eyes. The intensity bordered on confused, amazed anguish. I wanted to bottle this feeling and keep it with me always. Roman wanted me. And I wanted him so much.
My heart beat wildly, pulsing through every nerve from the tips of my fingers to the base of my spine, and everywhere in between.
He leaned forward, rocking over my body. “You want more?” he grated into my ear.
“Yes.”
Straightening once more, he gathered my hair in one fist while the other gripped my hip.
“Amy,” was all he said before hammering inside of me.
My body jolted forward, but his hold on my hair kept me flush against him. My scalp burned slightly, the tingles spurring my already-aching body into a frenzy.
He thrust in and out, harder and faster. Pumping deeper every time. His grip kept me close, and his body moved fluidly with mine. He hit that spot inside over and over until I begged to come.
Releasing his grip on my hip, he wrapped his arm around me, delved between my slick folds, and rubbed my clit. I couldn’t hold on anymore.
“Roman,” I sobbed, shattering into a million pieces, his hold the only thing keeping me up.
He groaned and sank, if possible, even deeper. I clenched around him, over and over, bathing him in my orgasm. He stilled, buried to the hilt, as if simply enjoying the feeling of my body’s spasms. His cock twitched inside of me, and his heavy breaths echoed through the room.
“Fuck, Amy,” he growled, and I felt him tense with his own release.
He slowly withdrew, relaxing his grip on my hair. The strands fell from his fist and landed against my back as he pulled out.
I instantly felt chilly and achy. My body missed him already.
“I’ll be right back.” He headed toward one of the doors I had seen when I’d first walked in. Turned out it was a bathroom.
I took a moment to right myself. Standing up straight was almost painful, and the throbbing between my legs was one of total satisfaction and a little discomfort.
Had this been another situation with another man, maybe I would have felt different. But between my lack of experience and having no idea how to bounce back from what had just happened, anxiety rushed through me.
I felt confused. Like something had been taken from me, and all I could think of was how to get it back. But I couldn’t. It was done. Over. The previously clear line of this arrangement had been irrevocably blurred, and I had no idea how to react.
I refastened my bra, my breasts screaming at the lace for scraping over my swollen nipples, and quickly buttoned up my shirt. Righting my skirt, I looked around for my panties, but didn’t see them.
Roman returned from the bathroom looking more put together than he had when I’d first arrived. No sign of what had just happened. His hair was smooth, his white shirt tucked into his black slacks, his belt in place. Polished perfection. While I felt disheveled…cheap.
“Are you hungry?” He stood several feet in front of me, the fi
re shadowing his handsome face and making those eyes burn like the pits of a volcano.
“No.” I looked at my hands, which were fidgeting, and tried to ignore the roiling in my stomach.
What had happened? More importantly, how? In one conversation, at the sound of his voice and the persuasive look of his eyes, I had melted. Just like I had the first night I’d met him. He’d walked up, out of nowhere, and put himself in my world. But he was right—he never forced me.
From the beginning, this had been my doing. I just didn’t know how to handle the aftermath. The emotions of the last few days were like a rollercoaster in my chest. Up and down and up again, until I didn’t know if I was reaching for the sky or clawing at the ground.
“I think you should eat something,” he said, taking a step toward me.
“I want to go,” I whispered.
“Amy, look at me.” Another step.
I backed away.
