Chapter 16 The First Sin
POV: Sienna
The scrape of my chair against the black marble floor sounded like a gunshot in the cavernous dining room.
I couldn't sit there for another second. The heavy, suffocating weight of Roman’s gaze felt like a physical hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just tight enough to keep me constantly gasping for air.
I pushed away from the obsidian table, the midnight-blue silk of my dress catching the flickering light of the solitary pillar candle.
My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the relentless drumming of the rain against the smart-glass windows.
"Sit down, Sienna." Roman’s command was a low, smooth slide of gravel. He didn't even look up from his half-empty glass of red wine, his massive hand perfectly relaxed around the crystal stem.
"No," I snapped, the word tearing out of my chest with a jagged, reckless edge. I took two steps backward, putting distance between me and the twisted, macabre domesticity of the dinner table. "I am not a dog you can order to heel. I am not a possession."
Roman finally lifted his head. The candle flame danced in the pitch-black voids of his eyes, casting sharp, demonic shadows across the architectural planes of his face. "You are my wife. And you haven't finished your meal."
"I'm choking!" I yelled, the raw volume of my voice startling even me.
The sound echoed off the brutalist concrete walls, sharp and desperate.
"I am choking on this absolute, psychotic control!
You dictate what I wear. You dictate when I eat.
You dictate the opacity of the windows and the very air that I breathe!
I can't even get a glass of water without your biometric permission.
That isn't a marriage, Roman. It's a hostage situation. "
Roman set his wine glass down. The subtle, metallic clink was the only warning I received before he stood.
He didn't rush. He unfolded his massive frame with the terrifying, liquid grace of an apex predator ascending to the top of the food chain, his unbuttoned pitch-black shirt exposing the corded tension in his throat.
"You are alive," Roman stated coldly, stepping away from the table. "You are breathing, untouched, and entirely secure in the center of my territory. Your supposed agency would have gotten you executed by Jorath Nethra’s men twenty-four hours ago."
"At least it would have been my choice!" I screamed, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
I backed away as he advanced, my bare feet slipping slightly on the polished slate.
"I would rather take my chances in the dark than spend the rest of my life as a porcelain doll locked in your pristine glass box! "
"You do not belong in the dark," he snarled.
The icy, stoic Don finally fractured completely.
He crossed the remaining distance between us in three long, furious strides.
I scrambled backward, but I ran out of floor.
I hit the floor-to-ceiling smart-glass window with a dull thud, the freezing surface shocking my bare back.
There was nowhere left to run. Outside, the storm raged over the Vesperine District, but it was absolutely nothing compared to the violent, atmospheric pressure radiating off the man who had just caged me in.
Roman planted both of his large hands flat against the glass on either side of my head. His broad chest was heaving, brushing agonizingly against the plunging silk of my neckline with every frantic breath.
"You want agency?" Roman breathed, his voice a guttural, ferocious rasp that vibrated straight through my core.
His face was inches from mine, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked carved from solid granite.
"You want to make a choice, Sienna? Go ahead.
Tell me to step back. Give me the direct order to walk away and leave you entirely alone. "
My mouth opened, but my throat completely closed.
The heavy, intoxicating scent of bergamot and dark wine flooded my senses.
My eyes darted down to his mouth, then back up to the feral, unhinged obsession burning in his gaze.
I was trembling, completely enveloped in his heat.
The horrifying truth was that I didn't want him to step back.
The anger boiling in my veins had entirely liquefied into a dark, suffocating need. I wanted him to shatter me.
"You're insane," I choked out, a breathless, desperate whisper.
"I am starving," he corrected darkly.
Roman’s hand left the glass. He gripped my jaw, his calloused fingers sinking into my hair with a bruising, possessive force, and he crashed his mouth down onto mine.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a violent collision.
A startled gasp tore from my throat, immediately swallowed by his scorching heat.
His lips were punishing, demanding absolute surrender.
I tasted the rich, heavy notes of the vintage wine and the sharp, coppery tang of raw danger.
I brought my hands up, entirely intending to push against his solid chest, but the second my palms flattened over his hammering heart, my fingers curled into the fine cotton of his shirt and violently pulled him closer.
Roman let out a low, feral groan that vibrated against my tongue.
He crushed his body flush against mine, pinning my hips to the freezing glass window with the heavy, undeniable ridge of his arousal.
The extreme contrast of the freezing smart-glass at my back and his nuclear heat melting my front short-circuited every logical synapse in my brain.
His tongue swept into my mouth, possessive and completely devastating, claiming every inch of me just as ruthlessly as he claimed his empire.
I melted against him, my spine arching, entirely surrendering my agency to the beautiful nightmare I had married.
I kissed him back with the same frantic, bruising desperation, my nails digging into his broad shoulders.
When Roman finally tore his mouth away, we were both completely breathless.
He rested his forehead against mine, his chest heaving, his thumb roughly wiping a smear of moisture from my swollen bottom lip.
His eyes were entirely black, stripped of every defense, looking at me with a terrifying, absolute devotion.
"Mine," he whispered against my mouth, sealing the cage forever. And as I stared up at the monster who had finally consumed me, a dark, wicked thrill shot through my veins, because I knew I would never ask him for the key.