Chapter 21 – Scarlett
Fresh out of the shower, I stepped into the bedroom, steam still swirling around my skin, my wet hair clinging to my face. A white towel wrapped snugly around my body as I strolled across the space with slow, measured strides.
The floor was cool beneath my bare feet, and the moonlight streamed in through the windows, silvering everything it touched. The curtains danced to the rhythm of the evening breeze, blowing into the room.
I combed my fingers through my moist hair as I sat on a wooden chair before the mirror. Reaching for the dryer in the cupboard, I turned it on, its low hum filling the air around me.
While using it on my damp hair, I recalled the last two times I surrendered myself to Roman. I couldn’t understand why I was unable to resist him, no matter how hard I tried. He never forced himself on me—never threatened to hurt me if I didn’t submit.
Yet, despite my hatred for him, I still ended up falling for his charms every single time. His hold on me was stronger than he knew, and I despised myself for the way I always let him hit it.
Him claiming my body was one thing; me craving him afterward was an entirely different thing altogether. I was supposed to be repulsed by him—disgusted by his touch. But whenever he was close to me, I always lost my sense of reasoning.
I sat there, staring at my reflection in the mirror while absently drying my hair. If confusion were a person, it’d be me right now. I couldn’t tell my left from my right anymore, couldn’t decide what exactly Roman’s touch stirred up in me.
Why did I always feel so guilty after he was done with me, only to crave him again shortly after? My feelings toward him shifted between hatred, guilt, shame, and an insatiable longing for his cock.
As much as I’d never admit it to anyone, I knew deep down that my body was gradually getting familiar with his touch. And maybe that was why I’d never been able to say no to him.
He was good at making me feel like a woman, even though he’d been rough with me on both accounts. His kisses, his caresses, and his thrusts weren’t gentle at all—they felt more like punishment and reckless branding than lovemaking.
Yet, I enjoyed every second of it and even yearned for more. I never thought that rough, violent sex was something I’d ever enjoy, let alone look forward to experiencing multiple times.
But here I was, fantasizing about him hitting me hard again and again. I recalled the way he trapped my hands over my head the last time we were together. The feeling that came with my inability to respond the way I would’ve wanted was ecstatic.
I wanted to experience it again: his dominance and my submission. Maybe this was a sign that I was into bondage sex and that it had always been one of my darkest fantasies.
Just thinking about it right now was already making me wet for him. I felt a tingling sensation down my tunnel, and my thighs reflexively brushed against each other. My heart was slowly swelling with desire, and the pleasure coursing through my blood was starting to turn me on.
My pulse raced as I fought the temptation to dip my hand and play with myself. I set the dryer on the table and bit my lower lip, my chest rising and falling in ecstasy. I stared at my reflection, the lust etched in my gaze fanning the flames ignited within me.
Ironic how the same man I wanted to run away from was the same one driving me crazy. Mia had said that she could help me escape this hellhole—but did I really want to leave? Was I ready to forfeit this pleasure and the way Roman played with my body?
It was a stupid thought that shouldn’t even be up for debate, yet it wasn’t an option I was willing to neglect.
It had been a while since anyone made me alive—a really long while. And after the record Roman had set, there was no way I wouldn’t die of sexual starvation if I somehow managed to leave this place.
The man knew his way around my body and had awakened fantasies I didn’t even know I had. Honestly, it would be difficult to cope without him—I’d be sexually frustrated.
Now, I was faced with two options.
One: Take Mia’s offer, get the hell out of here, and finally be free. But suffer the consequences of my unmet desires and a burning passion no one could quench.
Two: Remain a prisoner within these walls and keep enjoying the kind of sex that left me satisfied and fulfilled.
Which was the better option?
The choice was mine to make.
Honestly, I was ashamed that it had come to this—that I was weighing sex against my freedom. Such a comparison shouldn’t even exist. But that’s to show how deeply he’d dug into my heart.
A soft moan escaped my mouth as I reveled in the memory of his cock stretching me out. I pictured his face in my head, my hand slowly traveling up my tunnel. The more I tried to stop myself, the more I felt the urge to climb higher.
My breathing was coming in short gasps, my teeth seductively grazing my lower lip. A voice was screaming at me to stop this madness, but I couldn’t. I hated how good it felt when my middle finger finally settled on my cunt.
I was dripping wet!
Fuck!
I slid my finger through my slippery folds, and a soft purr left my mouth. My free hand flew to my chest region, and I palmed my left breast, nice and easy.
Roman…oh, Roman!
Driven by passion and the sweet sensation jolting across my body, I closed my eyes as I fingered my pussy. My legs spread apart for deeper penetration, and I threw my head backward, lost in a sea of ecstasy.
Just when I was starting to completely lose myself in it, the door opened, snapping me back to reality.
“Shit!” I exclaimed softly, pulling my thighs together, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. “Don’t you know how to knock?!” I snapped, glaring at his reflection through the mirror.
“It’s my bedroom,” he said. “I don’t need to knock.”
Quietly, he walked into the room, stripped from the waist up, wearing a pair of loose pants. He held my gaze in the mirror as he drew closer, suspicion etched on his face.
I looked away, avoiding his eyes while discreetly pulling myself together. My pulse raced, my heart pounding like a drum as I hoped he hadn’t caught me playing with myself.
A wave of embarrassment washed over me when I spotted that smug smirk on his lips.
“What were you doing?” he asked, his deep, husky voice doing little to help my situation.
“Nothing,” I replied, my tone swift and defensive.
He halted behind me, eyes squinting as he drew in a deep breath, as if trying to catch the scent in the air.
Oh, no.
Afraid that he might figure out what I was doing when he walked in, I sprang to my feet, attempting to walk away.
“Not so fast.” He grabbed my wrist and spun me around.
My breath hitched at the sudden dryness in my throat that made it difficult to swallow. His gaze seemed a little more intimidating tonight, and I could barely hold it.
“Tell me, milaya,” he began, his eyes pinned on me. “What is it you were doing?”
I locked my jaw. “I told you…nothing.”
His lips curled into a small grin. “I wasn’t born yesterday,” he said with a voice so smooth and endearing.
I hated the fact that he could see right through me, and my body wouldn’t stop trembling with both anger and desire. “What’s it to you?” My expression darkened, masking my lust with fury.
“It’s everything to me,” he answered, taking slow, measured steps forward. “You live in my house, breathe my air, and sleep in my bed. That means I have a right to your actions, your words, and even your thoughts.”
My face twisted into a frown. “And that,” I snapped, “is exactly why I have a problem with you!”
He paused, as if shocked by my rising voice.
I continued, the words flying out of my mouth like arrows.
“You have no regard for me as a person, and that’s why you treat me like I’m less.
” I went on, my voice trembling from a mix of frustration and fury.
“You talk down to me and act as if you own me, like I’m some worthless piece of shit you keep on a leash! ”
His brows arched in surprise as he watched me vent.
I leaned in, my breath coming faster, eyes blazing. “For the fifteenth hundredth time, Roman, you don’t own me. You never have. And you never will.”
The room fell silent, and I watched something flicker beneath his hard expression; something between anger and fascination.
He was quiet for a second, his gaze lingering on me as a slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He stared at me, his cold eyes darting over my body.
“You really should learn to sync your words and your body language, milaya,” he muttered, his voice soft and smooth. “You say one thing…” his gaze dropped to my heaving chest, “…but your body tells me something entirely different.”
I swallowed hard, trying to mask my desire even though he could see the struggle. I straightened, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself. My body just hasn’t caught up to how much I hate you.”
Then came that signature smirk again. “Is that so?”
My lips parted, ready to shoot back, but before I could respond, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him.
He looked into my eyes and quietly asked a question that shattered all my defenses at once.
“If you despise me as much as you claim, then why were you playing with yourself when I walked in?”
Fuck, no!
My breath hitched, and my heart stopped, shame and embarrassment flashing across my face. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me—anything to save me from the mocking glint in his cold eyes.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
My chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, speechless and unable to say a single word.
“Why touch yourself when I’m at your service?” he continued, his seductive voice fanning the flames of my desire.
I locked my jaw, struggling to breathe as my heart raced like a galloping horse. His erection brushed against me, and my body trembled when he ran his fingers along my arm.