Chapter 19 Roman #2
"I just want answers, Roman. That's all I've ever wanted. Do you know what it's like to have everyone act like your grief doesn't matter? Like your questions aren't worth answering?"
My heart goes out to her.
"My father and La Corona act like it never happened. It was like my mother just disappeared from everyone's memory except mine."
A tear escapes, tracking down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away, so I do, pleased when she doesn’t jerk away from my touch.
"No one cared, Roman. No one but me. Can you understand why I did what I did? Why I talked to the FBI? They were the only ones offering answers when everyone else wanted me to forget."
I lean forward. “Let me help you find the answers you need. Together, we’ll find who killed your mother. We'll find out why." I hold her gaze, making sure she sees the truth in my eyes. "But you have to trust me. No more secrets. No more calls to Blackwood."
I take her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. "The FBI isn't your ally in this. They're using your pain, your need for answers, to get what they want. And what they want has nothing to do with justice for your mother."
Her eyes search mine, and I hope she sees sincerity. I might be a monster, but my word means something.
"Okay," she whispers, and that single word changes everything. I don’t know why. What should it matter that she’s putting her faith, her trust in me? But it does.
My fingers trace her cheek. “I won’t let you down, Isabella. I promise.” It’s a promise I shouldn’t make because to be honest, I don’t know if I can keep it.
I don’t know fully what we’re up against.
But I know I’ll do my damnedest to find the truth for her.
She tilts her head, leaning into my touch. The tension in the room shifts.
It's still there, but different now, electric rather than threatening.
That undeniable, confusing pull toward her grows stronger. I should pull back, but I don't move.
Isabella doesn't either. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes, a question in them that has nothing to do with murder investigations or family loyalties.
She places her palm against my chest.
The simple touch burns through my shirt.
My body heats, my dick thickens.
I should stop this. I should remember all the reasons this complicates everything.
Instead, I pull her onto my lap in one fluid motion. She gasps, now straddling me on the settee, her hands braced against my shoulders.
I wait for her to protest or push away, but she doesn't.
I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with all the pent-up frustration and desire I've been fighting since the last time I touched her.
Her body melts against mine, soft where I'm hard, yielding where I'm demanding.
My hands slide under her sweater, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling her shiver at my touch. She rocks against me, drawing a groan from deep in my chest.
"Isabella…" I break the kiss, giving her one last chance to stop this madness.
She answers by pulling her sweater over her head and tossing it aside, her eyes never leaving mine.
I've never considered myself a man of hesitation. In my world, doubt gets you killed. But with Isabella's warm weight on my lap and her bare skin under my hands, I pause.
Not from lack of desire.
God knows, that's burning through me like wildfire. But because something's shifted between us.
“I’m going to help you no matter what. You don’t need to do this as some sort of gratitude.”
Isabella answers by taking my face in her hands, her eyes locked on mine. "That’s not why I’m doing this. I need this. I need to feel something real."
Well, alright, then. I capture her mouth again, kissing her with everything I've been holding back. My hands explore the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine, committing every inch to memory.
She works at the buttons of my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders.
When her hands trace the scars that map my chest and shoulders, I hope she sees the evidence of my warning there. I’m walking proof of the dangers in our world.
"These tell your story.” Her fingers linger on the jagged line near my collarbone.
"Not one fit for bedtime.” My hands slide up to her bra, unhooking it and freeing those magnificent tits of hers.
"I'm not asking for pretty stories, Roman."
Something about the way she says my name, like she's claiming it, sends heat coursing through me. My dick is demanding relief, so I deftly remove the barriers between us and guide her over me.
I want to impale her, but then I remember this is only the second time she'll be doing this.
I take a breath to temper the desperate urgency I feel. "Take what you want, baby, how you want it."
She hovers over me, looking unsure but determined. Then she lowers, taking me in, and sweet fucking hell, is it good. I groan as electricity fires along my dick.
She lets out a moan as well, her head falling back, exposing her neck.
I don't waste any time suckling it as I fondle her tits and suck them in turn as well. Her pussy contracts with each pull on her nipple, and I'm in fucking heaven.
"I… I don't know what to do."
I lift my head, staring into her eyes. "Do what feels good, baby."
She rocks back and forth, like she's testing the sensation. Then she rises over me, slides down again. In a matter of moments, she's found a rhythm, and I’m in perfect sync with her.
I hold her gaze, looking into eyes that don’t fear me now.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, because it's true and because I want her to know I see her.
I've never been a man who believed in fate. In my world, things happen because someone makes them happen, usually at the end of a gun.
The exception had been Emilia, who’d captured my very soul the moment I met her.
And maybe now, Isabella, who I watch move over me, her lovely face transformed by pleasure. Perhaps this was meant to be as well.
“Roman.” Her breath catches. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.
“Come, Isabella. Make yourself come on my cock.” I’m hard as a rock, needing to come, but that takes a backseat to her. I’m transfixed by her. How she’s surrendered her body to pleasure. To me.
I slide a finger over her clit and rub. She cries out, throwing her head back as her pussy grips my dick. Immediately, a tsunami of pleasure crashes through me.
“Fuck… yeah…” I grip her hips as I buck beneath her, my orgasm pumping inside her. We move together, our bodies slick, warm.
She collapses against my chest, her breathing ragged against my neck.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, feeling the thundering of her heart against mine.
For a moment, we stay like that, connected, silent. The only sound is our breathing slowly returning to normal.
I wonder what she’s thinking. Is she worried about sleeping with the enemy? Does she fully understand my warnings? Does she believe that I’m going to find answers for her?
It occurs to me that perhaps I should heed my own warnings. Isabella is right in that the answers could lead me somewhere that could put me in opposition to La Corona.
I consider all the complications this new development adds to an already dangerous situation. Marco would tell me I'm being reckless, letting emotion cloud my judgment.
He'd be right.
But watching Isabella now, her guard temporarily lowered, I know there's no going back.
Whatever game is being played, whatever truth we uncover about her mother's death, we're in this together now.
My world is bound to hers and vice-versa.
I hope to hell we survive.