Chapter 44
Filthy Rich Fucktoy
Isla
Doing everything with Roman was pure joy. This wasn't a vacation; this was heaven. I finally got some rest. And I finally got what I wanted—him beside me.
Sand stuck to my skin all day, and the love of my life brushed it off with his tattooed fingers in the evening. I won the lottery.
Roman was rich—obscenely rich—and he’d long grown accustomed to everything that came with it.
While I had access to that kind of money too, I’d never lived or been exposed to that kind of lifestyle.
I wondered how my parents managed to live such a normal life, considering what was attainable to them.
I'd never stepped foot on a private jet before, never lounged on a yacht, but for Roman, this was just another afternoon. Servants, chefs, drivers, security; anything he wanted—he had.
And on my birthday—he proved it again. He woke me up with his tongue between my legs, which, frankly, I had zero complaints about. After a mind-blowing orgasm and sex that left me shaking, breakfast in bed appeared like magic.
The room was filled with flowers and boxes upon boxes of wrapped presents. But at breakfast Roman handed me another smaller gift—a beautifully wrapped rectangular box. I held the little black thing with two hands, the smile on my face unstoppable.
“Open it, baby.”
I hadn't celebrated my birthday since my parents passed. There had been too much pain, too much sorrow in my soul, but clearly, Roman was determined to make this one memorable.
I pulled on the thick black ribbon, unwrapping it to reveal a velvet jewelry box. Inside was a stunning necklace, the word Angel encrusted in diamonds so bright, I had to squint.
It glinted between my fingers like something out of another life. A life I hadn’t imagined could ever belong to me.
My chest tightened with a wave of anxiety. This was too much. I’d never had a diamond necklace before, and sure, Roman was loaded, but a diamond necklace?!
But I took a second to breathe and let it sink in. Our love was special. Not only because of the way it came about and the way we were connected, but also because I could never imagine myself with anyone else ever again in my life.
The happiness in his eyes reflected the spark of the diamonds, and slowly, I climbed toward him, taking another thing for myself—his kiss. “Thank you. I love it,” I whispered into his soft lips.
“Wear just that for me tonight…Angel.” Roman’s gaze slid down my barely clothed body.
I loved belonging to him.
I stayed a few seconds longer, on my hands and knees, just observing the way he soaked in the sight of me. Like I was the only fucking person he ever saw. Like I was indeed his angel, forever linked with the devil himself.
With every passing second, the pain of the past three months seemed to vanish.
The hot sun and salty water cleansed all my wounds, and looking into his deep blue eyes healed my soul.
We spent the day exploring the island a bit more, and in the evening after dinner, the air-conditioned villa was a blessing.
Exhausted from the sun, I kicked off my sandals in the spacious living room and was about to go on a search for cold water when Roman approached me from behind, whispering in my ear, "Will you be my good girl tonight? "
Fuck yes. Anytime and anywhere, I would get down on my knees for him. I forgot all about my thirst, now wanting only one thing. His hands on my back, his tongue in my mouth, he walked me back into the bedroom, both of us falling onto the huge bed, still in the kiss.
But the sound of crinkled paper made us both pause. Confused, I reached beneath me to find a large envelope. Before I had a chance to understand what it was, Roman was already up on his feet, snatching it out of my hands.
Carefully, he pulled something out, roaming his eyes over the contents. It looked like a series of documents, and I hopped up onto the bed to see over his shoulder.
But it wasn’t documents. It wasn’t a letter. And it wasn’t anything benign. It was photographs. Large, great-quality photos.
Of me.
"Is that me?!" I blurted out, my eyes bulging from surprise. One, two, three—Roman shuffled the photos between his fingers, and my face dropped when I recognized that I was half naked in each one. But that wasn’t all—there was something written on the images in bright red pen.
Me standing on a yacht, topless—filthy rich fucktoy written right on my breasts.
Me leaning over Roman for a kiss on the beach, the photo taken from behind to get the perfect shot of my ass—fucked full of secrets.
Me lying with Roman on the yacht, one of my legs bent, and right there in between my legs—pussy tight, pussy clean, pussy fresh.
My face burned like I’d been set on fire. “What the fuck is this?” I breathed out, voice shaking, the fear spreading down my legs.
Roman took a step closer to me, but his eyes studied another photo that I hadn’t seen yet.
This one was of me naked, sitting on top of him with my head tilted back, clearly while we were having sex.
It looked like it was taken right outside the window, the curtains of the room visible on the sides of the photo.
The writing was in red pen again—that’s good pipe.
To say that I was shocked to receive this would have been the biggest understatement in the world. Afraid to move, my eyes found Roman, who meticulously studied the writing, deep in thought.
Someone had been fucking spying on us every step of the way! There was only one man who could have done it—Sergei, the unhinged fucking psycho. Before I entered Roman’s world, no one had ever threatened me, mildly or in such a blatant manner.
But then the night with Sam burst into my memory—when he almost dragged me into my own empty apartment. Fuck. You never know which man could turn out to be a fucking rapist. They didn’t need to be a lifelong criminal to engage in that vile activity.
“Let’s see if there are more of these.” Roman’s voice broke through my haze.
We found two more envelopes.
One on the couch and one on the dining room table—neither one of which we noticed when we walked toward the bedroom.
The photos became more obscene with every new discovery. There I was, stepping out of the shower into our bedroom, dripping wet and naked—all wet, all his.
And one photo…was very explicit. Roman’s face was buried in between my asscheeks, eating me out from behind. Oh God. Oh fuck. My ass was in the air; my chest and face pressed into the bed while Roman’s body dominated mine, even if he was licking my ass.
Fuck. This looked like full-out porn. That photo had Daddy’s girl? written on my naked body.
"Roman, what the fuck is happening?" I plopped down into a dining chair and held the porn photo in my hands, my cheeks burning from the image. As unnerved as I was to receive this, I had to admit…we looked fucking hot together.
All the photos had been laid out on the table, and Roman stood over them with his arms crossed. Then, he said rather seriously. “Clearly, someone is trying very hard to intimidate us. Do these words mean anything to you?”
I read through them again, and it dawned on me. “A few are song lyrics.” I whipped out my phone and scrolled through my Spotify playlist—I knew I had a few of these in my favorites. Did someone hack into my Spotify?!
I clicked play on one, and Roman listened intently. The song lyrics sounded so out of place under the circumstances, but I saw Roman break out in a mischievous smile, his eyes darting to mine. "Damn, Isla. This song is fucking filthy. You listen to this?" he asked in surprise.
Cute.
"Yes.” I couldn’t hold back my smile either.
“Do I look like I only listen to Taylor Swift or the Backstreet Boys?
Although, I do love the Backstreet Boys," I admitted, deep in thought, but then paused the song and asked the most important question.
"Are we just going to stay here? After all this?
" The question sounded pitiful to my own ears.
Roman shrugged easily, as if all of this didn’t rattle him the way it affected me. "We can leave tonight if you want. Or stay on the yacht. But this is meant to intimidate us. To make us nervous.”
My jaw dropped at the way he spoke about this—so relaxed! There was no concern in his voice, no fear that someone may be hiding in a closet with a knife, waiting for us to fall asleep.
"But if we leave, they will know that their tactics worked. And that's the worst message we could send." Roman spoke slowly and with meaning, his eyes piercing mine and his body language authoritative.
I sat in front of him and pondered his words: that's the worst message we could send.
We?
Yes, we, because I was in his world now, and my actions had consequences, ones that I’d never imagined before. I linked my life with his, and that's when I stepped into this treacherous web.
"Do you understand what I mean, Isla?" He ripped me out of my thoughts, and even though I understood perfectly, I shot out another question.
“Who—who did this? Sergei?” I whispered, hearing my own naiveté.
"I don’t know,” he confessed, his voice low.
“But it's us against them now. They’ve openly let us know that we’re on their radar, and we can run away and begin a chase, or…
we can play our own game and set our own rules.
” He leaned on the table, getting closer to the photos once more.
“And if we’re the ones setting the rules, then we’re in control. "
Roman spoke to me in a tone I’d never heard before—cold, absolute, like he was discussing business, not the photo of me standing naked after a shower.
"I—I don't want to play anything." My voice shook, all of me regretful.
"It's not up to you now.” He finally looked up at me once more.
“If we run, if we back down, then it will escalate.
That's the way it works. It's a zero-sum game—always.
" Roman cut himself off, as if deciding if he should say the next sentence.
He blinked at me and took the chance. "Just like it was with your father.” The last word sliced the air between us, my comprehension of it all settling deeper within me.
“One person has to lose…for the other to win. "
I nodded slowly, looking right past him, calculating the implications of staying versus leaving. While I pondered the next steps, Roman called someone, his deep voice giving out instructions in Russian.
"Let's stay here,” I informed him when he hung up the phone. “I just…I just want to make sure there's no one in the house." The decision was made, although it didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.
"There’s no one in the house, baby.” He took a seat across from me, dropping his phone on the dining table with a thud.
“These envelopes were delivered by housekeeping staff, not anyone who broke in.
Don't be afraid. I'm here with you. No one can ever touch you,” he assured me gently.
“If you want, I won't sleep and keep watch over you.
" He tilted his head and melted into a soft smile, suddenly throwing an absolutely crazy idea into my mind.
My breath caught in my throat the more I thought about it. If we back down, then it will escalate.
The best defense is a good offense, so what was stopping us from making our own rules, just like he said?
I sauntered toward Roman, his blue eyes roaming around my body. His large, tattooed hand slid up my thigh the second I leaned against the table in front of him.
God, I loved how he looked at me. Dominant, possessive, his.
"I can think of another way to pass the night, my love." I grazed his jaw with my thumb and then traced his bottom lip. Down, down—I trailed my hand down his throat, watching the contrast between my delicate finger and his inked skin. It never ceased to flood my pussy with warmth.
The blinds were open, and the inside of the house was bright, offering any onlookers the perfect view inside.
The perfect view of us.
“If they take a photo of us now…” I whispered, sliding onto the dining table and spreading my legs. “What do you think they’d write?” Roman’s gaze shot up into mine, his pupils blown wide as understanding hit him.
He savored the moment, taking a deep breath in, and a slow, wicked smile curled his lips. His warm hand slid up my shin, and he leaned in. “Just one word, baby…” he rasped, his eyes glazed over with need. “Wrecked.”
I barely had time to process the word. He lunged forward, devouring my mouth and sinking his fingers into the flesh of my thighs, touching me just how I liked.
Fuck yes. In one motion, he yanked me off the table and spun me around. Effortlessly, like I was a ragdoll, just his plaything. My chest pressed against the surface of the table; the photos scattered beneath me.
My breath hitched when he leaned on me, his lips at my ear. “Or maybe…” His fingers slid past my flimsy panties, swirling right at my soaked entrance. “Daddy’s filthy slut.”
His voice. His voice alone could get me off, but when he said such vulgar words to me, I became mush in his hands. Compliant, obedient, desperate, begging.
The sound of his zipper sounded behind me, the anticipation forcing my back to arch, my body responding to him instinctively.
All wet, all his stood in front of my eyes, and my pussy throbbed pitifully when his hand lifted my dress and his palm landed right on my asscheek, the sound echoing in the room.
“A—” But my gasp died on my lips when his cock thrust into me—no warning, no tease. My legs shook from such a brutal intrusion, but quickly, all of me relaxed, taking him just the way he wanted.
One hand on my waist, the other pressing into the back of my neck—Roman held me down, giving me exactly what I’d craved. And as he fucked me into the table, the world fell away.
I was his. I was safe.
And we set the rules.