Chapter 20 Isabella
ISABELLA
What am I doing?
Every rational part of me screams to keep my distance from this man.
His lecture tonight was to remind me to behave, to remind me of my perilous situation.
He's an enforcer, a killer, and yet he's the only person who seems genuinely interested in discovering what happened to my mother.
Not for gain or leverage, but because he sees the pieces don't fit together.
I’m in a state of confusion. I feel safe with him, despite everything. Wanted, despite our arrangement. The contradiction of it all makes my head spin.
"You okay?" Roman asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice. How can I explain that I'm terrified not of him, but of this effect he has on me? That I'm afraid to trust him completely even while my body betrays me by craving his touch?
“Thank you for helping me. Nobody has cared enough to look deeper."
"I care," he says simply.
And that's the problem. I'm beginning to believe him.
Beginning to see the man behind the enforcer.
The devoted father, the loyal friend, the person who notices when I'm afraid and tries to ease that fear.
I'm falling for the one man I should run from. And the worst part? I'm not sure I want to stop.
He lifts me and settles next to me in bed. I curl into him like it’s the most normal thing in the world and fall asleep.
I don’t know what wakes me. It’s still dark out, moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains.
Next to me, Roman sleeps soundly, his breathing deep and even.
I turn on my side, studying him. In sleep, the hardness melts from his face.
The constant vigilance, the calculating gaze that misses nothing are all gone.
He looks almost peaceful.
The sheet has slipped down to his waist, exposing his broad chest.
My eyes trace the contours of his muscles, the scars that mark his skin like a history book of violence.
One particularly jagged line runs across his left shoulder. I wonder what, or who, gave it to him.
I shouldn't be looking at him this way. This marriage is a business arrangement, a stay of execution. Nothing more.
Yet I can't tear my eyes away from the sheet that pools loosely around his hips, hiding the rest of him from view.
My fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. To explore this man who threatens and protects me in equal measure. Who makes me feel both terrified and safe.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach out. Carefully, I grasp the edge of the sheet. My breath catches as I slowly pull it down, revealing more of him inch by inch.
The defined V of his hips. The trail of dark hair leading lower. The powerful thighs of a man who's spent his life in motion, in pursuit.
He's magnificent. Dangerous. And for now, mine.
I shouldn't want him. But in the darkness, with no one to witness my weakness, I allow myself this moment.
I'm attracted to Roman Ginetti.
To his strength, his devotion to his daughter, his unwavering loyalty.
To the occasional gentleness I glimpse beneath the brutality.
My hand hovers over his skin, not quite touching. In sleep, he's vulnerable in a way he never allows himself to be awake. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.
I freeze as Roman stirs beneath my gaze. His eyes remain closed, but a slow smile curves his lips.
“You can touch if you want,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
Heat floods my cheeks at being caught. I should pull away, apologize, retreat to my side of the bed.
That would be the sensible thing to do.
But something about the darkness, about the intimacy of this moment, makes me brave.
“I’d hate to wake you.”
“Honey, I’m always willing to wake up when a woman wants to fuck me.” He doesn't move, doesn't reach for me, just watches as I hover over him.
"I want…" My voice catches. I've never been this forward with anyone. Never had the chance. "I want you to teach me what you like."
His hand captures mine where it hovers above his chest. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’ve liked everything we’ve done.” His thumb traces circles on my wrist.
“I still want to learn more. Teach me, Roman."
He guides my hand lower across the ridges of his abdomen. The muscles tense beneath my touch. "What do you want to know? What do you want to touch?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "Everything. I want to know what makes you… respond."
Roman chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Men aren't complicated creatures, Isabella.
" He releases my wrist, giving me freedom to explore.
"But since you asked so nicely…" He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"Start slow. Pay attention to how I react.
If my breathing changes, if I tense up, if my dick rises, those are good signs. "
I’m fascinated by how his dick is already thickening, rising, and I haven’t done more than draw my fingers down his chest.
I continue on, following that tantalizing line of dark hair toward said dick.
"Like this?" I ask, emboldened by the slight hitch in his breathing.
"Just like that," he murmurs. "Now try using your nails. Lightly."
I do as instructed, dragging my fingernails gently across his skin. The way his eyes close and his body bows back sends a thrill through me.
"Feels so fucking good," he praises, and something inside me melts at his approval.
"What else?" I ask, hungry for more knowledge, more of his reactions.
Roman takes my hand again, guiding it lower. "Some places are more sensitive than others. My dick, of course, but also my balls.” He places my fingers over the soft sacs. I gently massage them, noting how his breath hitches.
I explore more, caressing the skin under the sacs, fascinated by the way his muscles jump beneath my touch, the way his breathing grows heavier.
"You're a quick study," he says, voice strained as my fingers trace patterns on his inner thigh.
I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "I want to use my mouth on you.”
Roman's eyes darken. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupt. "Show me how."
He guides my hand to wrap around him, showing me the pressure he likes. "Start with your hand," he instructs, his voice husky. "Then use your tongue. Explore what feels natural."
My heart is racing with nervous anticipation. His skin is hot beneath my fingers as I stroke him the way he showed me.
I flick my tongue over him and then wrap my lips around his tip. The skin is velvety soft as I swirl my tongue and taste him.
His sharp intake of breath emboldens me.
"That's it," he groans, one hand gently tangling in my hair. "Just like that."
I follow his guidance, learning his body through his reactions, the tensing of his muscles, the quickening of his breath, the occasional words of encouragement that fall from his lips.
There's something intoxicating about having this powerful, dangerous man vulnerable beneath my touch.
“Fuck… Isabella… I’m going to come.” He attempts to push me away.
“Is that wrong?” Why is he making me stop? Isn’t coming the point?
“It’s messy and… well, you might not like it.”
I ignore his protests. “I won’t know until I try.” I grip him and resume sucking and licking him.
“Oh… Fuck… Yes…” His hips buck up, his hand tightens in my hair, and warmth fills my mouth. I stay with him as he comes, feeling strangely powerful and sexy all at once.
Roman pulls me up his body, his mouth claiming mine in a searing kiss. "My turn," he murmurs against my lips as he rolls me underneath him.
His hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once, worshiping my body with an intensity that makes me tremble.
This isn't just physical release.
There's something deeper in the way he touches me, the way he watches my face as pleasure courses through me.
He moves down my body, settling between my legs. “Hold on, Isabella, because I’m hungry.”
His mouth devours me. My fingers grip the sheets as his ministrations build exquisite pressure. It isn’t long before I’m writhing and begging for release.
"Roman!" I gasp as waves of sensation crash over me. My body shudders, and he holds me through it, murmuring praise against my skin. When I finally come down, boneless and breathless, he gathers me against his chest.
In this moment, I feel something I never expected. Cherished. Desired. For the first time since this arrangement began, I feel like I belong. Not as an object or pawn, but as a treasure.
I lie in Roman's arms, my breathing finally slowing to match his steady rhythm. The weight of his arm across my waist should feel possessive, another symbol of how my life isn't my own. Instead, it anchors me.
"You okay?" he murmurs.
"Yes," I whisper, surprised to find it's true.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, raising goosebumps in their wake. I never imagined finding comfort in the arms of a man I was forced to marry.
A man who kills for a living.
Yet here I am, feeling safer than I have in years.
"What are you thinking about?" Roman asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
"How strange life is," I admit. "A month ago, I thought I knew exactly who you were. What you were."
"And now?"
I trace the scar on his chest, considering. "Now I know you're more complicated than that. I suppose we all are."
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“It is. I just never thought I'd feel this way," I confess in a moment when I somehow feel okay with being vulnerable. "Safe. Content."
His arm tightens around me. "You are safe with me."
I believe him. Despite everything, I believe him.
My eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion claims me, the tension I’d been feeling for so long melting away in the warmth of his embrace.
As sleep pulls me under, I wonder at the strange turns my life has taken.
How the arrangement meant to silence me seems to have given me a voice.
How the man sent to watch me has become my protector.
How the marriage meant to be my prison might actually set me free.
I fall asleep feeling content for the first time in a long time.
Those feelings continue over the next days. I still wake up alone, but it’s to the scent of coffee and whatever breakfast Roman is making for Angelica and me.
During the day, I sketch and sew, not just for solace, but now with purpose.
With the idea that someday, my design dream will become a reality.
I spend time with Angelica, teaching her stitches or playing games.
In the evenings, Roman and I talk, sometimes about my mother’s case and anything he’s learned, but often about other topics.
And late at night, I explore Roman's body and let him explore mine. The routine feels close to normal, close to happiness.
Even as I remain technically captive, I've never felt more free.
A shrink might call it Stockholm Syndrome, but I try not to dwell on that.
For now, I’ve put my trust in Roman.
Foolish or not, I’ve made my choice, chosen sides. I pray I’ve chosen wisely.