17. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Xena
I wake up to sunlight on my face, warm and almost comforting. Blinking against the brightness, I realize Roman isn’t next to me. And for once, I’m not tied up. My whole-body aches like hell, sore in all the familiar places, with cuts where the Christmas lights wrapped around me, but… I’m free. My mind feels clearer and less foggy. A small smile creeps onto my lips—this is the longest I’ve gone without popping any pills.
"Damn bastard was right," I mutter, rubbing my sore wrists, bruised and marked up from last night. Roman never goes easy, but he always makes up for it in other ways.
I take a deep breath, letting the morning air fill my lungs. That’s when I catch the smell of coffee—and something else. "Bacon?" I mumble, feeling my stomach grumble. And the urge to pee hits me hard.
Rolling out of bed, I feel every bruise and cut as I shuffle toward the bathroom. Still naked, I glance at myself in the mirror. My skin is marked with bruises, red welts, and small cuts. And damn, if it didn’t feel good while Roman was doing it. After a moment of staring, I do my business, brush my teeth, and grab the Batman robe hanging behind the door, wrapping it around me. That’s when I notice the shock collar still around my neck. I’ve gotten so used to the damn thing that I barely even register it anymore. My fingers trace the leather, the small prongs pressing against my skin.
Hair? Whatever. Roman’s been keeping it braided and out of my face this whole time, so it’s not my problem. I head out of the bedroom, following the smell of coffee and bacon down the hall. When I get there, it’s just a cracked Hello Kitty mug and a plate of bacon and eggs waiting for me. Not Roman.
"Bummer," I whisper, sitting down at the small kitchen table. The mug feels warm in my hands, and I blow on the coffee before taking a sip. Roman’s many things, but a bad cook isn’t one of them. But who am I kidding. Even if this was cardboard, I’d still eat it—my stomach’s growling way too loud to care.
I scarf down the bacon and eggs, clean up my plate, and then notice—it snowed even more overnight. The woods outside are covered in a thick, white blanket. I stare out the window for a minute, wondering where the hell Roman is. After a few minutes of zoning out, I wander into the living room. The Christmas jazz station is still playing softly in the background, the same low melodies we used to listen to when we were teens. The melodies I still listen to thanks to him.
Curling up in the lazy boy by the window, I pull my knees to my chest and just stare at the snow. My mind starts racing, dragging me back to the past—always the fucking past. Being alone like this? It’s the worst thing for someone like me.
A memory of Roman floods back. It’s Christmas.
He’s standing across the room, leaning against the doorframe, glaring at me like always. He’s wearing nothing but black sweats and a black long-sleeve henley that hugs every muscle. There’s a mistletoe hanging above his head, but he hasn’t noticed. I do, though. A smirk spreads across my lips.
"You act like you hate me, big brother," I tease, walking toward him. His hazel eyes burn into mine, but he doesn’t say a word. Fuck, he’s devastating. That golden skin, those eyes, the tattoos covering his muscles… and the mohawk-mullet thing he’s rocking just works.
But he is my stepbrother.
My obsession.
I stop right in front of him, looking up into that stupid scowl of his. "What the fuck do you want, Xena?" His voice is low and dangerous, but it just makes me want him more.
"Why?" I ask, moving closer, forcing him to step away from the doorframe—right under the mistletoe. "Why do you hate me big brother?"
"Why?" he mimics, clicking his tongue, his rough, tattooed hand suddenly gripping my chin. "Stop playing games. I don’t hate you and you know it. If I give in, I’ll break you, Xena Bean."
His words send a pulse straight between my legs, and I swear I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. "Kiss me," I whisper, pointing up at the mistletoe. He glances up, and when his eyes come back down, I surprise him by pressing my lips to his.
That night? Let’s just say Roman claimed more than just my lips. The lines blurred. He was my first.
The sound of a box dropping snaps me back to reality. I turn slowly and immediately regret it. Roman stands there, looking sexier than he has any right to in that damn red flannel, blue jeans, and scuffed-up work boots. Without the fog of withdrawal clouding my mind, I can appreciate him fully.
"You’re up early," he says, his voice low and rough, like he hasn’t quite woken up yet.
"The smell of food woke me up," I reply, trying to play it cool.
Roman crouches down, digging through the box he dropped. "I was hoping it would," he says, flashing a devilish grin as he pulls out a Santa hat from the box—the same one from years ago. He plops it on his head, looking like a mischievous Christmas elf.
"What’s with the box?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He gives me a dumbfounded " are you serious ?" look. "Christmas decorations. I thought the words ‘ Christmas decorations ’ on the box might clue you in." He shrugs. "But I guess, besides being a junkie, you’re illiterate too?"
My eyes narrow at him. "I decorated already. Considering you used my own Christmas lights to tie me up, I figured you’d notice." I click my tongue. "Felon and blind, Mr. Delgado."
Roman flares his nose, a groan escaping his lips as he gestures around the room, his gaze landing on the decorations I half-heartedly put up with Jimmy and Marcos. He shakes his head, smirking. "You call this decorating?"
I cross my arms over my chest, rolling my eyes. "Asshole," I mutter under my breath.
His expression darkens, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Careful, sweetheart." He steps closer, eyes flicking to the collar still snug around my neck. "Keep talking like that, and I might just shock you again."
I swallow, my breath hitching at the heat in his gaze. "Maybe I want you to," I reply, my voice steady, though my heart is racing.
For a moment, we just stand there, the tension between us thickening, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. His lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. "You really don’t know what you’re asking for."
I lean in closer, my eyes never leaving his. "Maybe I do."
He shakes his head, tsking. "Nah, baby. We’re doing this right—like old times. We’ll put up the decorations, make some cookies… and then I’ll fuck that tight little pussy of yours." He winks, his tattoo wrinkling at the corner of his eye with his smile. "Hope you enjoyed breakfast. Feeling any better?" He ask changing the subject.
I can’t help but grin, heat rushing through me. "Thanks. I still feel like shit, but my head’s clearer." Stretching, I walk over to the box, bending down to pick up a snow globe. "You remember this?"
Roman’s eyes soften as he takes the globe from my hands, shaking it gently. Inside, an ice-skating couple swirls around—the same one he stole for me that first Christmas together.
"Yeah, I remember," he says, voice thick with emotion. "I remember everything, Xena Bean. Ten years I did nothing but remember." He gazes at the globe, a hint of pain in his eyes. "I didn’t want to forget—especially not you."
Guilt hits me like a punch to the gut because, while he’s clung to every memory, all I’ve wanted was to forget.
We stand in silence before Roman steps closer. His rough fingers tilt my chin, his thumb brushing my lower lip. "So beautiful. So broken," he whispers. My breath catches as he pulls out a mistletoe from his back pocket, holding it above us with a wicked smile. Before I can react, there’s a sharp jolt of electricity from the collar. A small gasp escapes me—he’s testing me, pushing to see if I’ll break. "What was that for?" I snarl but there’s no hostility in my voice and he knows it.
"Kiss me," he commands, his voice thick with power, lips hovering over mine, teasing. And then he crashes into me, the kiss rough, hungry, demanding.
His grip tightens, yanking me against him as his mouth devours mine, filled with a desperate hunger that burns right through me. Every touch, every movement of his mouth ignites a fire inside me, even as guilt twists inside. His hands roam my body like he’s memorizing me, claiming every inch. The collar tightens just enough to remind me who’s in control. Above us, the mistletoe sways like a twisted promise.
He pulls back, his breath hot against my skin. "Live for me, Xena," he whispers. It’s not a request—it’s a command. My heart slams against my ribs, but before I can answer, his mouth is on mine again—slower this time, deliberate, savoring every second as if he’s imprinting me on him. My knees buckle, the room spinning as all I feel is him.
When he finally pulls away, both of us are breathless. Roman looks at me, his cocky smirk returning, his voice low and rough. "I’ve been waiting for that."
I blink, still catching my breath. "For what?"
His thumb grazes my jaw, his grin widening. "To kiss you sober. To have you actually want it."
A shaky laugh escapes me, still buzzing from his touch. "Oh yeah?" I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head. "And was it everything you hoped for?"
His chuckle rumbles low, his fingers tracing my hip. "Everything and more." He leans in, his lips ghosting over my cheek, his voice dropping to a dark whisper. "Kiss me again. Tell me you hate me while I’m inside you. Fight me, little sister."
My stomach tightens, heat pooling low at his words, sharp and teasing. I tilt my head, lips curling into a dangerous smile. "Stop calling me your sister… and make me."
The air between us thickens, his eyes narrowing as tension crackles like electricity. His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, his breath warm against my skin. "You want to play, Xena Bean?"
I press my body against his, defiance sparking in my gaze as I stand on my tippy toes and brush my lips against the bottom of his ear. "You think you can break me, Roman?"
His laugh is dark, his grip tightening. "I don’t need to break, what’s already broken." He leans in, biting my lower lip, his voice low and rough. "You’ll come to me willingly, begging, hating me for it… and loving every second."
I pull back, eyes flashing with challenge and desire. "Then stop talking." My fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him down to me. "And show me."
Roman grins, resting his forehead on mine. "I want to decorate first, then we can play."
I give him a small smile, knowing it’s for the best. The thing is, I hate Christmas. The small decor I place around every year is just to remind me of that night. The night that changed the course of my life. And just like that the anger, resentment, and pain that I've managed to keep at bay with drugs flood through me. Words spill from my mouth before I’m able to stop them. "You can’t just come back after all these years and expect things to be the same. Roman, it’s been ten fucking years," I finally say, my voice raw with emotion.
Roman looks at me, confusion crossing his face. I can’t blame him. I went from wanting to jump his bones to becoming an emotional wreck in seconds. But that’s trauma for you… my mind and the past are my enemies. That’s why I numb it all. If I can’t use drugs or sex to escape, I’ll drown him with me.
Yes, that’s what I need to do. Drown him.