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We stroll through the expansive halls, Roman shows me the library, recreation room, living and dining rooms, theater, pool, then we end up in his childhood bedroom. His mother keeps his things out. The room seems untouched from when he must have lived here, that of a teenage boy’s room, except that it’s clean. Though I doubt Roman has ever been untidy in his life.
I take it all in. It smells faintly of vanilla. The space is sophisticated and decorated in whites, navy and soft blues. A few nicknacks decorate his shelves that are loaded with books. The only real personal touch is a collection of framed pictures of him with his family over the years.
I do a double-take at one of them. Surely that smiling, optimistic youth isn’tthisRoman De Luca? Even in his college graduation photo he looks…different. Happier, full of life, and more relaxed.
Then I finally pin down what it is I’m seeing. His eyes. In these pictures his emotions shine through them, open and inviting. Unlike the man I know today, who is mostly unreadable, shielding his thoughts and feelings from others.
What happened to Roman in the past decade? Why the dramatic change in him?
He closely studies me as I explore his room. I’m keenly aware of his gaze following my every movement, everything I touch, the spots where I linger.
I pick up the graduation photo, the only one where he’s alone in the picture. He’s handsome, around my age, and mirth dances in his eyes. This version of himself is buried somewhere deep inside of my future husband.
Turning to Roman, I say, “Who changed you? Was it my father or Nik?”
His muscles tense and he becomes unnaturally still. The air between us hums with tension. Suddenly he springs at me like a tiger.
He snatches the frame from my hands, then grabs me by the waist and presses my back up against the wall. I gasp and my heart flutters—with fear or excitement, I’m not sure. His body is flush against mine, pressing me into the hard wall at my back.
His lips move lightly across mine as he speaks. “I never want to hear Kozlov’s name come out of your mouth again. Never speak it. Don’t eventhinkit. He’s not worthy of his name upon your lips. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I say breathily. My every cell is aflame from the perfect way his strong body fits against mine. Pure dominance radiates from him, brushing against my skin.
He pins my wrists above my head. “Good girl.”
So Nik is the one who’s wronged him, not Papa. I wonder how. What is the bad blood between them?
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” He nips at my earlobe.
My sensitive nipples rub against his hard chest. “I was just…”
“No lying.” He sucks at my neck, and I moan.
“I’m not going to lie. Yes, I was thinking about both you and him.” I can barely think straight as he plants seductive kisses along my collarbone.
“And what did I tell you about that, principessa?” He murmurs against my skin.
I inhale a shaky breath. “You told me not to.”
“And you disobeyed.” He grinds his erection against my stomach as he leaves another love bite on my neck. My pussy throbs, needing more. I wrap one leg around his knee, pressing us closer together.
“I can hardly control my own thoughts. Sometimes things show up in my mind before I can stop them.” I’m rambling. I have no idea if my defense makes any sense at all.
“Then you’ll learn to control yourself. Or you’ll be punished.” He kisses me, his tongue parting my lips.
I kiss him back. We devour each other with fevered desperation, until his words fully sink into my lust-clouded mind.
I break away. “What do you mean by 'you'll punish me’?”
“I’ll bend you over my knee and spank your gorgeous ass.” His steady gaze holds mine, showing no remorse or shame at his threat.
I roll my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare—”
Abruptly, he scoops me up, and tosses me onto his bed.
“What the hell?” I bounce on the mattress and glare at him.
“On all fours. Right here. Now.” He takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, exposing muscular forearms. Heat burns through me at the sight of him, at his bossy words, and his lustful gaze.
