Coffin’s screeching.
Blood. So much blood.
The way Eddie’s throat gushed until there was nothing left for it to expel.
The scene replays over and over again, and I keep searching for a way it could have ended differently. I can’t find one, but the guilt still eats at me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, not daring to glance at Roman as I speak. ‘For all of it. For tying you to a door. For my family, being who they are. For Eddie hurting you. For the pigs. For nearly getting you killed. For what you had to witness…’
I trail off, knowing my words won’t make any of it better. Roman has had to witness death, and it’s all my fault. In this bubble, I’m protected. But will Roman crack when we get home? Will he go to the police, or worse, his online world? Dad has enough sway that anything brought officially can be quashed, but with the way social media grasps onto anything salacious, I could be ruined. Roman’s platform is big enough to make my family’s secrets a global sensation.
Roman’s stare burns into the side of my face, and I can’t look at him. I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth to ward off the tears that threaten.
His hand turns my chin, and his mouth claims mine.
The kiss isn’t soft, and he doesn’t seek permission. Roman kisses me like it’ll fix everything.
It’s firm and grounding, his tongue making it hard to think straight. I melt into his touch, craving oblivion. When he rests his forehead against mine out breath mingles in needy pants.
‘Enough of the apologising’ he says.
My pulse swooshes in my ears.
‘There’s time for figuring this all out later, but tonight isn’t the time.’
I forget how to breathe for a second. ‘Roman?—’
‘Enough.’ His fingers tighten on my jaw, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to meet his eyes. ‘Look at me.’
His expression shifts to hunger. The need to gain some control. The softness is still there, but it’s wrapped in darkness. Obsession.
Eliza had told me often enough about using sex to eradicate overthinking after murder. And while Roman didn’t kill Eddie, I recognise the need for animalistic override.
‘You’ve been running on fear and adrenaline for hours,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re in survival mode. We both are.’
His thumb brushes my throat.
‘So here’s what’s going to happen.’ My breath hitches at the throaty timber of his words. ‘For the rest of tonight, we don’t think. We don’t plan. We don’t apologise. We don’t remember.’
Heat coils low in my stomach as he trails his fingers down my neck and over my collarbone.
‘Let me take this from you.’
I swallow. ‘Take what?’
‘The stress and the guilt.’
He tips me back onto the bed and yanks my hands above my head, holding my wrists firmly in one hand.It’s tight enough that I know struggling will be fruitless, not that I want to anyway. The way his fingers tighten has me remembering the morning and the way he’d given fully into desire.
I craved more.
My towel slips open, and his gaze travels over my bared skin, darkening with every naked inch.
‘Look at you. So fucking perfect, Princess.’
His eyes watch my face, my throat, and the rise and fall of my chest. There’s no pity or softness there, just the promise of pleasure.
Want.
