33. Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Eden
R oman tosses his keys onto the counter, his exhaustion palpable. His mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, each dragging him deeper into despair. His hands, bruised and stained with dried blood, speak of the violence he’s endured.
“I should have known better than to trust those men,” He murmurs, his voice heavy with regret. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes reflecting the weight of his failures.
I reach out, gently clasping his hands to stop his spiraling thoughts. “Roman, you didn’t know—”
“But I did,” He interrupts, his voice sharp. “I knew they were low-life scum, and I should have confronted them. I walked away, Eden, and because of it, you got hurt.”
“It’s just a cut—”
“Not to me,” He snaps, cupping my face with a desperate intensity. “I’m supposed to protect you, shield you from all the darkness in the world— ”
“That’s not living, Roman,” I counter softly, my gaze filled with regret. “No one can be shielded from all the evils of the world. If you try, you’ll only drive yourself mad.”
His eyes drift to his shirt, still stained with Eric’s blood. The grim reality of our situation hangs heavily between us.
“You’ve already risked so much by staying. Don’t torment yourself over the fact that some people are beyond redemption,” I comfort him.
“It’s consuming me,” He whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. “This longing, this overwhelming urge to keep you close, to make sure you’re only mine—”
His gaze falls to the cut on my back, and I wince as he touches it gently.
“It angers me,” He continues, his voice trembling with emotion. “It angers me that your pain brought no satisfaction. It angers me even more that I wish I were the one who inflicted it—”
“Roman,” I interject softly, halting his distressing tirade. “I asked you to come here, not just to my house, for a reason. I know who you are, Roman Briar. So take the key, and—”
Before I can finish, he lifts me effortlessly over his shoulder, draping my upper body down his back. His hand rests possessively on my ass as he strides toward the bedroom.
“Remember, Eden, you asked for this,” He growls, a predatory smile tugging at his lips.
“I know,” I whisper, a smile of my own forming. “So don’t disappoint me.”
Coiling the rope around my wrists, he binds them above my head, keeping my body restrained on the bed. The closet door stands ajar, revealing a collection of torturous devices: nipple clamps, leg spreaders, vibrators—everything a mind could conceive. Roman has amassed it all.
“How many women have seen the inside of your closet?” I ask, watching him move away from my wrists.
“Just you,” He replies, a hint of pride in his voice. “I thought collecting might curb the urge to use them. Clearly, that’s not the case.”
He pulls off my skirt, leaving me clad only in my crop top and underwear, my anticipation growing with every move he makes. Shirtless, his body in the dim light is a sight to behold. Tattoos snake up his arm and neck, ending at his hip, the intricate designs accentuating his muscular form. His dark sweats hang low, and he tugs at the drawstring, letting his hand brush over his growing length.
“So, Angel,” He purrs, inching closer, “are you ready?”
“Depends,” I retort with a sly smile, “how hard do you plan on going?”
“As hard as you can handle,” He murmurs, his voice low and intense.
Roman retreats to the closet, emerging with a concealed object. With deliberate slowness, he pulls me to the end of the bed by one ankle, stretching me as far as my bound wrists allow, the strain adding a thrilling edge.
He yanks down my underwear and kneels at the foot of the bed. With my legs draped over his shoulders, he gains full access, the anticipation making my heart race. He retrieves a large silicone toy from behind his back, the same one he used to prepare me for his size .
“If you cum from this,” He threatens, his voice a dark whisper, “I’ll make sure you regret it. The only pleasure you get to have is from my cock.”
He spits on my exposed warmth before dragging his tongue slowly down my folds, his touch deliberate and torturous. My breath hitches, small whimpers escaping as I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation.
“Do you want it inside you?” He teases, nipping at my inner thighs, driving me to squirm.
I glance down at him, a smirk playing on my lips. “I want nothing more.”
His eyes darken with a mix of desire and anger as he slides the toy into me, filling me completely. My hips buck, and my back arches in response, craving more.
“You like it, Eden?” He asks, his voice brooking no argument.
“I’d like your mouth even more,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Why don’t you—”
He doesn’t need further encouragement. His mouth lands on my swollen clit, his tongue working in tandem with the toy. He thrusts the toy into me with unrelenting force, his mouth teasing and tormenting, pushing me to the brink. I struggle against the bindings, desperate to free my hands, to push him away before the climax overwhelms me.
“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” He asks, his grip firm on my thigh. “Are you going to cum on something that isn’t my cock?” His tongue trails slowly over my clit, sending shivers through me.
Desperately trying to hold back, I meet his gaze. The sight of him working the toy in and out of me while lavishing attention on my clit is overwhelming .
I can’t stop it.
The warmth surges through my lower stomach as I arch my back, letting out a guttural moan, my release coating the toy. Roman swiftly pulls it away, taking several measured breaths as he examines the toy, his tongue savoring the taste of my cum.
“That’s not me,” He hisses, his voice edged with frustration. “Bad girl, Eden.”
Standing up, he sheds his sweats and retrieves something from the top of his dresser. My heart races as I catch sight of the gleaming knife, its sharp edge catching the light. Roman handles it with a dangerous calm, running his finger over the blade.
“I told you,” He murmurs, “it angered me how he brought you pain. You will only bleed with me, Eden Faulkner.”
He looms over me, pressing the knife’s edge under my shirt, slicing upward until it’s torn away, exposing my aching breasts. With my body on full display, he drags the knife’s point gently down my chest to my lower stomach, tracing a path of tension and anticipation.
He makes a small cut, drawing a trickle of blood, my breath catching in a sharp hiss.
“Keep singing for me, Angel,” He commands softly. “Keep fucking singing.”
Tossing the knife onto the nightstand, he lets the blood trail down my hip bone, his tongue eagerly licking the blood from my skin. Dropping his underwear, he gives himself a few deliberate strokes before grabbing my legs, his eyes intense with a lingering emotion.
“I hope you’re flexible, baby. ”
He grabs the backs of my thighs, pulling my knees to the sides of my head, stretching me as far as possible. Fully exposed, I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, my anticipation mounting.
Spitting once more on my warmth for lubrication, he slides into me. The sensation of him is more intense compared to the toy. I let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a moan, wrapping around him, singing for him in the way he desires.
“There’s my pretty girl,” He groans, pulling back slowly before thrusting back into me. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” He praises, his movements growing more intense.
“Look at me fucking you, Eden,” He hisses, his voice raw with desire. “Look at my cock driving into your perfect pussy.”
Forcing my head down, I watch him as his cock slides in and out of me, hitting my g-spot perfectly due to the position he’s put me in. Straining against the binds, I attempt to look away but am met with a sharp slap across my face.
“Did I tell you to stop fucking watching?” He demands, his anger palpable.
Defiantly, I meet his gaze. “Why don’t you take off these binds and fuck me like a real man?”
The familiar look crosses his face. He grabs the knife from the nightstand, slicing through the binds with swift, practiced movements, and tosses the knife away.
He flips me onto my stomach with a decisive motion, the sting of his hand across my ass leaving me gasping. My hips instinctively lift toward him, a whimper escaping my lips.
With deliberate force, he lines himself up and drives into me, each thrust causing a reverberating ache in my hips. His rhythm is relentless, pushing me to the edge with every movement. I clutch the sheets, my moans mingling with the sound of our bodies colliding.
“Is this what you want, Eden?” He growls, his fingers digging into my hips. “You want me to make you feel every inch of me, to make you come apart for me?” His voice is rough, a stark contrast to the rising pitch of my moans.
I feel his intensity and my own pleasure blending into a heady mix. My fingers find their way to my clit, rubbing with urgency. He grips the back of my neck, pulling me closer so his lips can graze my neck, his free hand caressing one of my breasts. The dual sensation of his touch and the toy drives me wild.
“Cum for me, baby girl,” He commands, his voice strained with desire. “Let go for me. Now.”
The moment I surrender to my climax, he muffles my scream with his hand, our bodies entwining in a chaotic tangle of passion. We collapse onto the bed, breathless and spent.
He pulls me into his embrace, covering us both with a blanket. I rest my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath me. He tilts my chin up, his kiss tender and reverent.
“You were perfect,” He murmurs against my lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Roman,” I whisper, my voice soft but filled with affection.
He covers me with the blanket, his kisses gentle as he tends to the cut he made. “It will heal,” He reassures me, his touch lingering.
“I don’t mind,” I smile, running my fingers through his hair. “It’s a part of you.”
His kisses trace up my body, returning to my lips. “You drive me mad, you know that?” He whispers, holding me close .
“I’ll embrace every bit of it,” I reply, a playful grin on my face.
“Once we’re out of this mess, I’m taking you far away from Idlewood—anywhere you want.”
“Anywhere?” I ask, my eyes lighting up.
“Just say the word,” He promises.
“I’ve always wanted to see Scotland in the fall,” I say, my smile widening.
“Then Scotland it is,” He declares. “We’ll explore the world together, making our own rules along the way,” he adds with a teasing glint in his eye.
“Promise you’ll stay with me?” I ask, my tone serious.
“Eden Faulkner, the moment we’re free, I’m putting a ring on your finger and never letting you go.”
“Eden Briar,” I murmur. The name feels like a perfect fit.
“Almost as if God himself made it,” He replies softly, holding me close.
Ecclesiastes 4:9: "Having someone to lean on through good and bad times is a sacred gift."