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My need is fierce, but he takes his time. He learns the shape of my nipples with his tongue and fingers before giving me his lips again, kissing me sweetly as he frames my face between his palms.
My breaths come in pants when he places the head of his cock at my entrance and parts my folds with a tilt of his hips. I’m so wet, he slips in effortlessly. The stretch doesn’t hurt. The way he fills me feels good. He abandons my lips and pushes up on his arms to rock inside me with a gentle rhythm. Even with the space between us, he doesn’t let go. He holds my gaze and shows me what I do to him, giving me power.
When he increases his pace, he wakes new nerve-endings inside. My pleasure climbs again, but this time is different. It’s deeper and more intense. I lock my ankles behind his ass and lift my hips to meet his thrusts.
Sliding one hand over my uninjured hip, he caresses my thigh. “I’m going to come.” His voice is raw. “Inside you.”
The words alone trigger my orgasm. With the next brush of his pelvis over my clit, my climax contracts my muscles.
His body pulls tight. Thrusting deep, he drops his mouth to my ear and says, “Evie,” as he comes with a shudder.
The name on his lips hurts.
“Evie,” he says again, emptying himself inside me.
For the first time in years, I long to hear my own name. Even if I’m present in the moment, I’m still someone else to him, a wealthy man’s daughter, someone who can get him what he wants, not a girl from a poor family.
His world and mine are universes apart. Men like him marry for power and kill for pleasure. When he finds out I’ve given him a lie, he won’t hesitate to push a gun against my head. Yet not everything is a lie. My feelings aren’t. The way he makes me feel is real. And just like that, the freedom I’ve been chasing in the pleasure he gives turns me into a prisoner. His prisoner. The bars that hold me captive aren’t physical. They’re much more effective.
Collapsing over me, he turns on his side and brings me with him without breaking our contact, making sure I’m lying on my uninjured side.
He wraps his arms around me and says, “Close your eyes.”
I’ve had my eyes closed for too long. Freeing myself from his hold, I get off the bed. He doesn’t try to stop me, but he follows my movements with a dark gaze.
Being naked is too vulnerable. I can’t do it like this. Picking up his shirt from the chair, I pull it on and button it up. The shirttails reach my knees. I roll back the sleeves, inhaling the male scent that clings to the fabric. The bun has come loose, my hair falling to my shoulders. I don’t brush the strands away where they cover my face. I want to hide behind the veil they provide. However, I can’t hide from my heart. In this moment, I know with startling clarity that even if I still believed Bell would rescue me, I wouldn’t have sent Roman into that trap. I could never send him to his death.
Pushing onto his elbow, he rests his head in his hand. “You look good in my clothes. I told you that, already.” His expression turns heated. “But I haven’t told you that you look even better wearing nothing.”
“Roman.” I crumple the tail ends of the shirt in my hands.
“Evie,” he says, his tone light.
After what we’ve done, calling me by her name feels wrong. It’s my own doing, my own fault. I just can’t help how it makes me feel.
Alarm registers on his face. He sits up. “What’s wrong?”
I walk to the edge of the bed. “I want a wedding gift.”
His smile is amused. “Already exercising your wedding rights?”
When I don’t return the gesture, his smile fades. He holds out a hand. “Come here.”
I don’t react.
Getting from the bed, he pulls on his pants and walks to me. “Maybe you can do with that drink, now. No more alcohol, I’m afraid.” His gaze drops to my stomach. “Not if…”
Not if he’s trying to make me pregnant. “I don’t want a drink.”
“I have organic cucumber and mint infusion. I’ll go get you some. It’s not champagne, but—”
“Roman,” I say. “I’m not thirsty.”
He takes a step, stopping so close to me I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
“I know there’s a lot to deal with,” he says. “We need time to get to know each other. When I’ve broken the news about our wedding to your father, we’ll take a holiday. We can go on honeymoon.”
He’s trying. It only makes what I have to say harder. “I don’t want a honeymoon.”
