I cried out, my fingers gripping the mirror, my body trembling.
I felt stretched, filled, torn between the devastation of my last climax and the need for another.
I wanted to be consumed. To be devoured. To be his.
Roman groaned, clutching my hips, stilling me.
“Now, watch me.” His grip tightened. “Watch me fuck you.”
Our eyes locked in the mirror, the heat between us unbearable.
He slid inside—inch by inch—until his cock was buried to the hilt.
His eyelids went heavy, his muscles tensed, and his fingers dug into my hips.
“So fucking beautiful.” His voice was wrecked, strained, and full of reverence. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
“Nor I you,” I whispered, my voice full of need and devotion.
Then—a pause.
Roman stayed still, buried inside me, pulsing, throbbing, stretching me wide.
Our gazes held, the moment thick with intensity, vulnerability, and, unfiltered need.
There were no walls, no games—just us.
I felt everything.
“Roman,” I whispered, my chest rising and falling.
His grip on my hips tightened.
“I feel it, too,” he breathed.
His voice turned rough, almost pained.
“You’re my everything, Olivia. The pause between the heartbeats, the breath I draw into my body.”
A moan tore from my lips, the words sinking into my skin, into my soul.
Roman pulled out, just enough to make me whimper, then drove back inside.
A devastating thrust. Deep. Hard. Possessive.
I cried out, my body convulsing around him, pleasure surging, overwhelming.
“Oh, God, Roman!”
His pace quickened, every thrust shaking me, dragging me under.
We struggled to hold each other’s gaze, the intensity between us blistering, unbearable, soul-shaking.
My heart felt ripped open, bare, vulnerable in a way I had never allowed myself to be with anyone else.
Roman was my everything. My ruin. My salvation.
His rhythm shifted, steady now, deep and deliberate, dragging pleasure from my body with every intoxicating stroke.
