“Say that you’re mine.” He licks the shell of my ear, sending a shudder of pleasure through my core.
“Yours,” I cry, the word torn from my lungs, a total, devastating surrender.
“Good.” He steps away from me and walks back to his desk, leaving me desperate and panting against the hardwood. “Remember that the next time you want to act coy, Elara.”
I gasp against the cool surface of the desk, caught between fury and unbearable need, the raw realization hittingme: No matter how much I resist, Roman has already invaded every part of my life. The man who just laid down the rules of my imprisonment is the same man who holds the key to my physical pleasure. I’m irrevocably trapped.
Chapter 14 – Roman
The car ride is silent.
Elara sits beside me in the backseat, dressed like sin disguised as royalty in red and black silk, the colors clinging to her in all the right places. As petite as she is, she’s got curves that test every ounce of restraint I’ve got left.
And right now, I’m losing.
I force myself to look out the tinted window, but my gaze drifts back to her again. The curve of her throat. The way her fingers toy with her clutch. The soft rise and fall of her chest. I can smell her perfume—something floral, something dangerous—and it’s driving me insane.
We’ve been married for almost a week, and I haven’t touched her since that night. Every day it gets harder to stay away. Every night, when she sleeps beside me, I’m one breath away from losing control.
But I’m waiting.
I need her trust before I take her again. I want her to come to me, not fight me. I don’t want to break her. Not this time.
“Stop staring,” she snaps suddenly, catching my gaze in the glass reflection.
I don’t even bother pretending. “Why? You’re my wife.”
She rolls her eyes and looks away, muttering something under her breath. Her hand shifts to her wristwatch, and she murmurs something under her breath before leaning against the seat.
She’s excited today. It’s the first time she’s been allowed to leave the mansion since the wedding, and she’s trying hard not to show it.
We’re headed to Sasha and Lev’s estate, where the family’s arranged a small “celebration” for our marriage. It’s supposed to make the union look legitimate in the eyes of everyone who matters.
I can already picture the smug looks on my brothers’ faces.
Elara straightens her posture, brushing invisible lint off her dress. She looks radiant, defiant, proud, like she’s daring anyone to pity her.
And damn if that doesn’t make me want her more.
I take a slow breath and adjust my cufflinks, grounding myself in the routine. Family politics. Appearances. Business. That’s what today is about.
Not her lips.
Not the way her perfume makes my thoughts dark.
Not how she looks like every man’s temptation and every sinner’s undoing.
But when she turns her face toward the window, light spilling across her cheekbones, I know I’m already lying to myself.
The estate is alive with noise and sunlight when we arrive. Children dart across the garden chasing bubbles, the smell of grilled meat mixes with laughter, and somewhere in the distance, a piano hums beneath all the chaos.
Niko, Lev, Adrian, and Kaz are already there when we arrive, each of them with their wives. Lev and Sasha greet us first—him with a grin, her with a warm hug that somehow manages to look both genuine and assessing.
Elara blooms under the attention and handles it with a quiet poise that infuriates and fascinates me all at once.
Then Violet swoops in—Kaz’s wife, wild and bright as a firecracker—and slips her arm through Elara’s. “Come on,beautiful. I’ve heard so much about you. Let me show you the real reason I come to these parties. The food.”
“Vi!” Jennie groans, rolling her eyes as Violet tugs Elara along. “Introduce her to the others first. Not food!”
