Chapter 42
Ride or Die
Isla
Roman fucking riled me up to no end. There I was, literally dragging him upstairs to my place, asking if he wanted to stay for dinner, making sultry eyes at him, and he fucking stood around like a stupid idiot!
What the fuck! What the actual fuck! Who had he been fucking, and why was he here!
I gulped down the wine, rage blinding me, but he stared back, his eyes blank and confused. "What?" he asked slowly, looking at me like a lost dog.
Ugh. I was so fucking tired. Tired of being heartbroken, tired of this whole situation, and also just…physically tired.
"Nothing." I had nothing to fucking tell him.
But that last sip did something to me, like my body was beginning to shut down by itself. My head spun, and I just wanted to close my heavy eyelids. "I'm just so tired. I barely slept last night, and school has really exhausted me."
I explained and wondered why I felt so incredibly drunk. Might have been the fact that I only had a muffin that day…about twelve hours ago.
The sound of glass shattering drew my gaze down to the floor, my empty hand just hanging in the air. I must have dropped the wine glass instead of placing it on the countertop. Everything was floating in my eyes, and my legs were weak. I just wanted to lie down. To fall asleep.
To pass out and never wake up.
But suddenly, I was floating in mid-air. Without making a sound, Roman appeared behind me, easily picking me up. My head fell back onto his shoulder, and I finally let go, closing my eyes and sinking into him. He carried me somewhere unknown, and it was so easy to descend into darkness.
It was magical.
Gentle and strong arms held my fatigued body, taking all the effort away. Slowly, I descended onto something cool and soft, like I was in a cloud. My bed.
The spinning never stopped, but Roman’s warm body and intoxicating smell were finally within reach. I grabbed onto his arm, unable to open my eyes—to think, to feel anything except him. “Donn…go,” I mumbled in delirium, wanting only one thing.
The mattress dipped beside me, and so tenderly, his large limbs enveloped me and pressed me into his chest, finally giving me a chance to take a calm breath in. For the first time since I left L.A., I fell asleep without tears.
But soon it was hot, dark, and confusing. I ripped my eyes open to discover that I was alone on the bed, fully clothed and in the pitch black. A small light was coming from downstairs, and I shot out of bed, discarding my wool sweater.
Did Roman…leave? As soon as that question accosted me, his voice sounded from downstairs, quietly speaking Russian. I bolted down the steps, holding onto the railing for dear life, afraid to tumble in my sleepy state.
There he was, sitting at the kitchen island in a spotless kitchen, scrolling through his phone. The stove time read half past nine, and I figured I must have taken a good two-hour nap.
Roman turned to me, the pain spelled out clearly in his eyes. "Isla? You should go back to bed. You're exhausted. I'm going to leave soon."
Bitterness settled in the back of my throat from his words. I stepped closer, still dazed from my sleep, and posed a very important question. "Why…why are you leaving?"
"Because you need to get some rest. You literally passed out from how tired you were.” Roman spoke gently, but he didn’t touch me, didn’t reach out, didn’t even move from his spot.
His lack of words and actions hurt more than I expected. I stood there, holding back the tears that were clawing their way out of me. Finally, I conceded.
"Fine. You should go.” I gulped down the disappointment. “I’ll take a shower and head back to bed. Thanks for the housewarming sushi." I faked a small smile, but he didn't return it, just stared at me in contemplation.
Forcing my legs to move, I shuffled back upstairs and shed all my clothes as soon as I closed the bathroom door.
Roman and I were clearly over. Painfully, obviously, irrevocably over.
I’d never given up hope. The entire time apart it lived within me, holding on by a thread, but it was there—hope that we would be together again. The hot water scalded my skin, and my quiet, salty tears disappeared down the drain.
Roman would be gone by the time I’d be done, so I took my time, staying a few extra minutes.
I had replaced the white nightie a few weeks ago and slipped it on, focusing on how the silky material felt against my skin. I applied face cream and brushed my teeth, ready to get into bed and never wake up again.
But when I opened the bathroom door, I stopped right in my tracks. Roman was sitting on my bed, arms crossed, leg bouncing, like his nerves were rippling through all of him. My heart skipped all the fucking beats, threatening to stop at the mere sight of him.
I stepped out slowly, very aware of how much skin I was showing. His eyes glued to me instantly. He shot up to his feet, taking quick and purposeful strides toward me, both fear and determination in his eyes.
"Do you still love me?" he asked suddenly, his voice rough with urgency. He towered over me like always, his big body so strong and dominating.
Do I?! I'm crazy about you, you idiot!
"Yes,” I said quietly, but with absolute certainty. Yes. Yes, I fucking loved him. I contemplated asking him the same question, but he never gave me a chance.
"Then what are you doing, Isla?” His voice cracked, no longer composed and reserved. “Why are you still doing this?! How long is this going to last?!" He stepped closer, and without thinking, I stepped back.
"Do what?" I only breathed out, both scared and aroused.
"This! All this!" His face twisted in pain, his tears imminent. "I. Can't. Live. Without. You,” he gritted out, his voice shaking and his eyebrows furrowed. "Stop this insanity!" And he gave up, letting his tears break the surface.
He turned away sharply and threw his head back, dragging his tattooed fingers down his cheeks and doing his best to keep it together.
I didn't know what to say. This was as hard for him as it was for me…maybe harder. Had I forgiven him for what he did? For killing my family? No, but...
The last three months had been excruciating.
I wasn't sure what was more painful, knowing that I loved him and chose to never be with him or living through the loss of my family. The rage still burned white-hot inside me, but it wasn’t directed at him anymore.
God, fate, kismet, circumstance, whatever you wanted to call it, but not him.
The fact that Roman killed my parents was an unfortunate and gruesome fact that would forever haunt me, but it seemed that my dad led a dangerous life. It was only a matter of time before he landed six feet underground.
Was I ready to let it all go and be Roman's ride or die? Just like my mom had been for my dad? A lady who attended private school and who never even swore, who supported her husband in all his wrongdoings because her love for him was stronger than anything he may have been involved in?
Yes. I was his.
Roman still had his back to me, but ever so slowly, I tippy-toed closer and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my whole body against his strong back.
This felt...surreal.
Please don't tell me I was dreaming; please don't tell me I was asleep.
But in a second, Roman turned and leaned in, crushing his lips with mine and making everything else disappear.
God. Fucking. Damn. Everything to hell.
The kiss almost knocked me off my feet. He was so hungry for it, and I was so desperate to have it. I melted into him, my body trembling in his arms.
I had missed him so fucking much.
I had loved him so fucking much.
My tears poured down my cheeks again, but not from sorrow this time—from relief, joy, and the realization that this was real.
"You're—" Roman murmured between greedy plunges into my neck, "—so fucking oblivious Isla!” he half-whispered, half-cried, his tears mixing with mine.
He pulled me in harder, like he was afraid I’d vanish, like this was a dream. Our moans tangled together, desperate and breathless, trying to drown each other out. This was the best moment of my life.
I finally had what I so deeply desired after waiting for so long. My man. Beside me again.
"I'm so—" Roman kept breaking off, his hands roaming my back, his sweet lips glued to my lips and cheeks. “—fucking in love with you.” He let out a quiet sob, gently cradling my face in his hands. "You stupid, stupid girl!" he whispered, his tears akin to medicine on my hands.
Our kiss oscillated between sensual and rough, just like everything we did. It was both hot as fuck and mellow. It was desperate and hesitant. God, I was fucking crazy about him.
Unable to pull away, my trembling fingers worked to unbutton his shirt, all of me on fire at the proximity once more. His chest, so inked, so strong, so warm against my hands, pressed me into the wall right before my feet left the ground.
He carried me to my bed, laying me down slowly, as if savoring the moment.
The shirt slid off his shoulders as he towered over me, and he did that thing I always loved to see: he threaded his fingers through his hair to push it back, but one jet-black lock fell over his forehead, always a millimeter away from his eyelid.
I crawled back, and he climbed on, the look in his eyes dangerous as he pulled down my barely-there panties. Saying nothing, he spread my legs, and his tattooed fingers slid on my inner thighs right onto my pussy, sending me into outer space.
Being touched by him was like having every single sexual fantasy played out at the same time. It stirred something inimitable inside me. Only him, only his hands, only his eyes, only his lips—only my Roman was ever to enjoy my body and soul.
He dove in between my legs, and I fell back onto the pillow, floating in bliss. My head spun and my thighs trembled when his tongue reminded me just how filthy and perfect he was at this.
Slow, teasing, relentless, Roman licked up my pussy, dragging his tongue over my clit, making me gasp.
He moaned into me, the vibration shooting straight through me as his spit mixed with my juices.
His tongue circled and flicked, dipping in and out while his long finger plunged deep inside me, curling just right, as if beckoning me to him.
It was all a haze. His hands traveled my body and pulled down my nightie applying the perfect pressure to my breast, his fingers doing God’s work. Or maybe the devil’s.
Heat pooled in my lower belly, so fast, so sharp, his tongue barely even having started. I’d been so touch-starved that it took me only a minute to fall apart with his face between my legs.
I cried out his name, the sound satisfying me more than the orgasm. Everything was so sensitive, so I pulled back and clasped my legs closed, unable to take anymore. His arms wrapped around me like vines, and he laid his head on my abdomen, matching my deep breaths in.
"Isla..." he sighed just as I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling gently, asserting my ownership over him.
My man, forever. "Isla…you got your revenge, okay?
Please…please don't do this to me again.
" The notes of desperation were loud and clear, igniting my desire for him even more. "I won't survive."
I couldn't fight it; a small smile clawed its way onto my face. No. No, he wouldn’t survive it. But neither would I.
I wanted more, and as if reading my mind, his lips were on mine again. Frantically unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans, I reached down into his boxer briefs, shamelessly grabbing a hold of his hard cock, so ecstatic to have it in my hand again.
Fuck, I wanted it, I wanted it so bad. Our limbs tangled as we tried to pull off our remaining clothes, but Roman didn’t let me bend down and put his dick in my mouth, eliciting a whine of protest.
Instead, he pushed me on my side and spooned me, his large arms pressing my back into his chest, his face nuzzling into my neck.
So easily, his big and fucking addictive cock slid into my pussy and pushed all the air out of my lungs. It filled me up so perfectly, just like the intrusion I so wanted and dreamt about. We both paused, just trying to breathe through it.
Slowly, teasing, taunting, loving…he thrust inside me, connecting us forever. His powerful body slightly leaning onto mine, and he peppered my neck and back with kisses and small bites. I shivered from the tenderness of his lips and from the deep thrusts his cock was gifting me.
"Oh my fucking God," my voice trembled just as his hand squeezed mine. "Fuck you, Roman."
"Yes, fuck me, baby…only me…forever.” He breathed into my ear, his thrusts deep and slow.
My body was his, finally living out its destiny. He touched all of me—my stomach, my clit, my tits, my thighs…my mouth. And he did it all exactly how I liked.
Because Roman was an angel and a devil all at once. Because Roman brought heaven to me and drowned me in the deepest sins.
Because Roman was my destiny.
Roman made love to me like this was the only thing that existed in the universe.
I gave in completely, pliant beneath him, my body answering every demand without thought.
Even with my eyes shut, he was all I could see—his touch, his aura, his energy burning into me, until there was no world beyond him.
He flipped me on my back and squeezed me with his weight, slipping inside me, sensual, slow, like this was the first time ever. He gazed into my eyes, searing the truth into my soul—the connection between us was unbreakable.
“Fuck, Angel..." he pleaded. "Fuck, baby, I can't live without you."
His breath turned heavier and erratic, and he collapsed into my neck, fucking me harder, faster, both of us tumbling toward the edge.
His impending climax was overtaking his body, and he was about to pull out, but there was no way I was letting him go. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held him tight around his neck, demanding it.
"Come inside me, Daddy. Only inside me," I whispered into his lips, feeling him unravel on top of me. His low groan satisfied the dark void in my soul, and I felt every single twitch and pulse of his hard cock, filling me up with his hot cum.
Never. Never, ever...would I let him go again. He was mine.
And I was his ride or die.