Something shifts in her expression, like a wall cracking. The defiance in her eyes softens, just for a heartbeat, and for the first time, I see belief flicker there. She believes me.
And then—before I can even breathe—she moves closer. Her hand trembles as it reaches for me, fingers grazing my jaw.
“Elara…” I start, but the rest dies in my throat when she rises on her toes and presses her mouth to mine.
It’s soft at first. Hesitant. But then the spark catches, and I lose myself in it.
My hand slides to her waist, pulling her against me. The taste of her, the feel of her, it’s everything I’ve been fighting, everything I’ve wanted to destroy and protect in the same breath.
For the first time, she kissed me not out of fear, not out of defiance.
She kissed me because she wanted to.
Chapter 15 – Elara
I don’t know what comes over me.
One moment, I’m staring up at him—furious, breathless, my heart pounding like a war drum—and the next, I’m kissing him. Soft, at first. Then hard. Desperate. Like I’ve been holding my breath since the night he took me, and only now can breathe again.
His hands grip my waist, firm, possessive, and something inside me shatters. Since that first night, I’ve done nothing but think about him—his touch, his voice, his control. The way he makes me feel things I swore I’d never feel for a man like him.
I pull back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “I need you.”
Roman’s eyes darken, his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move. It’s like he’s fighting himself, holding back that dangerous side of him that always hovers just beneath the surface.
“Elara…” he warns, low and rough.
But I shake my head. “Don’t stop me.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he lets out a low, rough growl that vibrates deep in his chest. It’s a sound of surrender—not to me, but to the overwhelming need I've just confessed. He pulls me off the wall, lifting me as if I weigh nothing at all—like a doll—and takes two swift strides to a small table in the corner. He places me on top of the hard, cool surface.
The edge of the table presses into the back of my thighs. My silk dress bunches around my waist, and my legs dangle, exposed and vulnerable. This position—high up, laid out—is pure, physical dominance. He is claiming me in this temporary, borrowed space, making it his.
His hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. His hazel eyes are black with consuming need, and the restraint he showed moments ago is entirely gone. He leans in, his body crowding mine against the table.
“You should not have said that,printsessa,” he mutters against my lips, his voice thick with a deadly kind of satisfaction. “Now I can’t let you go.”
He shifts his hips, pressing his hardness against the slick core he knows he controls. The contact is electric, sharp, and immediate. I arch my back, desperate and ashamed, reaching for the buckle of his belt.
The hatred is lost. All that remains is the dark, terrifying compulsion to obey the only man who has ever made me feel safe and utterly alive.
Suddenly, he pushes my legs apart, and my dress slides open, leaving me fully exposed. I gasp, preparing for the intense friction of his body against mine, but he doesn’t climb up. Instead, he drops to his knees on the carpet beneath me.
His face is inches from my core. I can't breathe. My hands fly up, gripping the edge of the table, ready to shove him away, but his powerful gaze, fixed on my eyes, holds me captive.
Then, his mouth is on me.
The shock is immense. He eats me out right there, consuming me with a focused, savage hunger that steals my breath and my thoughts. It’s beyond brutal, beyond tenderness—it is possession in its purest, most desperate form. I scream, silent this time, pressing my knuckles white against the mahogany. Every muscle in my body tightens and bows against the force of his tongue.
My climax hits hard, a shocking, desperate wave that makes me sob.
He pulls back, his mouth wet, his eyes blazing with a dark victory. He doesn’t waste a second. He works his belt, and then, he is hovering above me, massive and ready.
He spreads my legs with a push of his hips, aligns his rigid length to my core, and then plunges inside, pushing his cock deep, fast, and hard. I cry out against the impact, but it’s quickly drowned out by the intense, grinding pleasure.
He moves with a furious, primal rhythm, fucking me raw against the table. He’s utterly lost in his need, and I’m lost in the overwhelming ecstasy of being claimed like this. The world outside this small room, outside the desperate contact of our bodies, ceases to exist.
