CHAPTER FIVE
POV: Harper
The sheets smell like him—warm fabric, clean soap, something darker I can’t name.
I’m lying still, but every part of me is buzzing. My thighs are sore. There’s a tremble under my skin that won’t stop, like I’ve been opened up and not stitched back together.
Roman’s next to me. Fully dressed, elbows bent, fingers brushing his mouth like he’s still making decisions. I can feel the warmth of his strong body, his arm draped possessively over my waist and a large palm holding my breast gently.
I know that he can hear the pounding of my heart as if it were beating right in his ear. My breath is shallow, and I am trembling like a leaf.
I shift on the mattress and his eyes flick to mine.
“Pain?”
I shake my head. “No. Just… full.”
He doesn’t smile nor does he soften. He nods once, like he understands anyway.
I sit up a little, careful not to pull the blanket too far. I’m naked underneath, and he’s seen it—touched, tasted, owned me—but this moment feels different. Like now it matters.
“Say it,” he says, voice low.
I swallow. “I want more.”
“You are sure?”
I nod. Then—because I know better now—I speak.
“Yes.”
He moves quietly and purposefully. He takes his jacket off, then his shirt. When he unbuckles his belt, he doesn’t break eye contact. It’s not a performance. He’s not putting on a show.
It’s a warning.
He pauses, just long enough to look at my face again.
“I’m not going to pretend I didn’t know,” he says. “You’re not the kind of girl who lets men in.”
I swallow hard. “And now?”
He leans closer. “Now you’re letting me own what no one else touched. And you’ll remember every second of it.”
He kneels on the bed, knees bracketing mine. I reach for him eagerly, but he catches my wrist.
“No touching. Not yet.”
His other hand moves to my cheek, thumb dragging along my lower lip. Then he leans in and speaks directly into my mouth.
“I’m going to go slow.”
“I want that,” I whisper.
He shifts lower, his hand sliding between my thighs, checking. My hips lift without thinking.
“You’re ready,” he says. “Look at me.”
I do.
He groans softly, spreading my legs wider as he positions himself at my wet entrance. I buck against him, desperate to have him inside me.
“Every inch of you,” he murmurs, pushing forward, “all for me.”
He enters in one long, steady press.
I gasp. My hand flies to his chest, not to stop him—just to feel him. I’m desperate for his heartbeat, the heat of his skin, to try to gauge the weight of him inside me.
He holds still.
“Too much?”
I shake my head fast. “No. Don’t stop.”
His hips roll forward once, then again, deeper. His body tenses instinctively, but I surprise him by holding still, waiting without easing up, very firmly and fully sealed.
The world is held suspended as I struggle to adapt to his girth. I'm unsure of what to do, I've never felt so impaled; so full.
The stretch burns, but not in a way that makes me want out. It makes me want more.
I close my eyes and feel him tap my cheek almost immediately.
“No. Eyes open. Stay with me.”
I obey and breathe through the push of him. My legs spread wider as he drops his forehead to mine.
“You’re taking it well.”
A single tear slips down the side of my face. I’m not sure why. It’s neither from pain nor regret.
Maybe it’s everything.
He wipes it with his mouth.
“I’ve got you,” he says. “Let me.”
I nod, and he starts to move.
He’s slow, deep and careful.
He doesn’t rush me, grip, thrust or talk. He just holds my hips and watches me unravel.
The ache spreads through my thighs, then down my spine. I clutch at the sheets. My legs shake and my breath punches in and out of me in short, broken pulls.
My hands find their way from his head all the way down to his firm ass, greedily pulling him closer, needing him deep.
“More,” I whisper.
He gives it, but not harder. Just deeper. My body pulls him in like it was waiting for this. I lift my hips, drawing him deeper as if willing my cunt to envelop his cock, taking more and more.
My body is in a zone and my mind, thrown out of focus. I settle into the steady rhythm of my hips pumping against him time and again. His eyes roll back as he meets me thrust for thrust reaching between us to expertly roll my clit beneath his thumb.
When it hits, I don’t see it coming.
The orgasm comes through my ribs, tight and relentless, spilling out of my chest in sobs I can’t stop. My legs twitch. This time as my hands claw at him, it’s not to pull him closer but to anchor myself somewhere.
He holds me through all of it. He doesn’t move or speak, instead he presses his mouth to the side of my head while I cry into his shoulder.
“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” I breathe.
His fingers slide up my spine. “It only feels like this when it’s real.”
I don’t ask what that means.
I just curl into him. My skin feels raw, and my chest is open. My body is still twitching from the aftershocks.
“Don’t let go of me,” I whisper.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He doesn’t kiss me.
He stays, fully inside me. His body is warm against mine, heavy and quiet.
And something I’ve never felt before opens wide in my chest.