“Just shut up and fuck me already.”
His hands clamp onto my hips, lifting me just enough to line us up, then he thrusts into me with one smooth, brutal stroke that knocks every bit of air from my lungs. I cry out, clutching his shoulders, my forehead pressed to his as I try to breathe through the pleasure tearing through me all at once.
“I hate that I want you too,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth, his thrusts deep and slow at first, like he’s savoring every second. “But God, it’s so fucking sweet… taking something I shouldn’t have.”
The words should hurt. Should remind me this is temporary, meaningless. But right now, I don’t care.
I rock my hips eagerly, meeting him stroke for stroke, needing more, needing everything he’ll give me. The watersloshes over the sides of the tub with every powerful thrust, splashing onto the balcony floor, but all I can focus on is the way he feels inside me—thick and hot and relentless, hitting that perfect spot that makes my vision blur and my legs shake.
He curses under his breath, his grip bruising on my hips, dragging me down harder, deeper, until all I can do is cling to him and moan. I’m unraveling. Completely coming apart. No logic, no control, just raw sensation and a helpless need that drowns out every thought exceptmore, more, more.
I don’t even realize I’m crying out his name until he kisses me again, swallowing the sound with a groan of his own. My orgasm hits fast and devastatingly hard, ripping through me in waves that leave every nerve on fire—and he fucks me through it, holding me tight as he spills into me with a growl and a snap of his hips.
When it’s over, I collapse against him, trembling, heart racing wildly, arms looped around his neck like he’s the only stable thing in the world. I feel ruined—not just physically, but somewhere deeper, as if something inside me has cracked wide open with no hope of ever being whole again.
I’m so screwed. Totally, hopelessly, screwed. Because Roan owns me now—my body, my thoughts, my damn soul—and I have no idea how to take any of it back.
We don’t speak. I couldn’t even if I tried. My throat is tight, my thoughts spiraling dangerously out of control.
Am I… falling in love with my enemy?
Oh, you’ve gone and done it now, Katie.
No, no, no, that’s not what this is. It’s just the aftershocks from incredible sex. The L-word is a long stretch. Too long of a damn stretch.
Eventually, he lifts me out of the tub, and I cling to him because my legs sure as hell won’t support me right now.
Roan carries me into his room without a word, his arms locked tight around me. I’m still wet, water dripping from myhair and trailing down his chest, soaking into the floor beneath us. He sets me on the edge of his bed, then disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, he has a towel in hand and starts drying me off, slowly and quietly, like he’s done it a hundred times before—like this is normal. Like we’re normal.
He starts with my shoulders, then moves down my arms, his hands steady and gentle as he works the water from my skin.
I sit in silence, watching his dog tag sway hypnotically with his movements, my chest rising and falling too fast, my mind spinning out in a dozen different directions, none of them helpful. I still don’t speak, because I don’t trust my voice not to break—or worse, not to ask him what this is, what it means.
I don't want the answer yet, because deep down I do know what it means to him. He said it himself only minutes ago—taking something he shouldn’t have.
He runs the towel down my thighs, over my knees, then gently presses it between my legs. I flinch, not because it hurts, but because I feel so exposed. So raw. And not just because I’m physically naked. The whole night cracked me open in a way I wasn’t ready for, and now I’m sitting here, stripped down to my most desperate truth: I want him.I want this to be more than just sex.
And I don’t know what the hell to do about it. Because I can’t have this. He’s not mine to have. Once he finds Kayla and the man who sent me here, I’ll have to leave his estate and try to build a new life with my sister.
A new life without him.
Once I’m dry, he drapes a second towel around my shoulders, then goes back to the bathroom to grab one for himself. He rubs it briskly through his hair, down his chest, and finally knots it around his waist before climbing onto the bed beside me.
He lies back like he owns the whole space, like he owns me, then reaches out and pulls me into his arms.
I go willingly—there’s no resistance left in my body. I’m his now, whether he wants me or not.
I rest my head on his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart against my ear soothe me. One of his hands finds my hip and settles there like it belongs, his thumb moving back and forth in lazy strokes. My eyes slide closed for a moment as I just breathe him in, feeling the heat of his skin, the solid weight of his body beside mine. It should terrify me. Itdoesterrify me. But I don’t move.
Because this is the first time in weeks I’ve felt anything close to safe.
I try not to think about the impossible mess we’re in. About the fact that Roan is a man born into violence, raised to kill, to manipulate, to protect only those he claims as his own—and despite the possessive words he says during sex, I know I don’t really mean anything to him.
I’m something he knows he shouldn’t have. A momentary distraction from his grief. A mistake he’ll regret when his head clears. And despite knowing all this, knowing this won’t—can’t—work out, I’m still falling for him.
Fucking hell.
Of all the men to fall in love with, Roan Përmeti is the absolute worst choice. Because men like Roan don’t love.Not the way I need.
