Ruthless Reign #3
“Yes,” I said. Though I had always expected to have them with Hugo, not the president of my family’s enemy.
He nodded and glanced to the bed, perhaps reading the solemnness in my eyes, before climbing off the mattress. “Stay there. I’ll get something to clean you up.”
“Don’t bother,” I said, rolling to my side so I could stand. “I’ll take a shower—”
“Julia,” he cut in. “Please. Let me.”
His begging stopped me, and I froze to look at him.
He had his hands on his hips and a soft expression on his face, as if it was his honor to do it.
So I let him. I lay down and spread my legs, and he returned with a warm washcloth to wipe away anything he hadn’t played with.
When it was done, he nodded toward the primary bathroom and grinned.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s play pretend some more and shower together like a real couple.”
I should have told him no. I should have insisted I go back to my room and clean up by myself. But I couldn’t resist him, not when he looked so damned adorable. So I took his hand and let him lead me to the amazing walk-in shower with four showerheads.
“Wow,” I said, glancing around.
“Ru’s father helped me renovate this part of the house. We were working on the rest before he got arrested.” Roman turned on the water and held out a hand to gesture me inside. “But I’ll finish it one day.”
I smiled and ran my gaze over the assortment of shampoos and conditioners, mostly male-oriented, but when I got to the end, I paused. Right next to his sat my favorite brand, new bottles of the exact versions I used. Picking one up, I scowled and turned to face him.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He ran a bar of soap over his muscles and grinned. “I wanted you to be comfortable.”
“In your shower?” I sneered and opened the lid, but he took it from me and poured some into his hand. “Quite presumptuous.”
“Well”—he moved behind me so he could run the shampoo through my thick hair, massaging and rubbing at all the right spots to nearly have me moaning—“you’re here, aren’t you?”
“Mr. Montgomery,” I said, pretending to be offended. “Don’t tell me this was a ploy all along just to get me wet and naked.”
He chuckled low in his chest and leaned down so his mouth was right next to my ear. “Mrs. Montgomery, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to get you wet and naked.”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed and leaned into his touch while he cleaned me.
“Is this your first time experimenting with kink?” he asked.
I tensed, unsure what he meant. Was that what we were doing? I’d always liked it a little rougher in bed, but I’d never been so quick to heed a lover’s demands.
“Yes,” I finally said.
“How do you feel?” he asked, massaging the shampoo deeper into my scalp.
“I like when you tell me what to do,” I said. “It’s like…it’s like I don’t have to think anymore.”
“I like taking control,” he said, his fingers working down my neck into my shoulders. “I like when you give in to me. It makes me feel powerful.”
“Is this unusual, what we have?” I turned to face him, squirting some of his shampoo on my hand so I could do the same to him.
“No, not at all.” He let me wash his hair, even leaning his head back and humming when I hit a particularly sensitive spot. “But if you do like it, there’s a lot more we could do. We could explore the dominant/submissive thing…only if you want to.”
“I’ve never done anything like this.” I’d been raised a good Catholic girl, and even though I’d had sex with Vittori, it was extremely conservative.
Hugo had been more traditional. He’d wanted to wait for marriage.
We didn’t do much more than heavy petting.
It had never been anything like this. Roman was the only man to ever fuck my throat.
“I’ve never been in a relationship with someone I’ve done kink with,” he admitted, his voice low and husky like it pained him to say.
Are we in a relationship now? I supposed we were, even if we were doing it backward.
“How would that work?” I couldn’t help my curiosity.
“There are lists online,” he said. “I’ll print two off. You fill out one, I’ll fill out the other. Then we’ll compare and see what we have in common.”
A rush of heat coated my veins, but I wasn’t sure if that was anticipation or nervousness. Still, never one to back down from him, I nodded. “Okay.”
“There are limits to this thing,” he said. “We don’t have to…pretend…in public. Only in private. There’s a lot more I’d want to do to you, but only if you consent to it.”
Consent. I nearly melted when he said it. I’d been called beautiful my entire life. I’d started growing boobs in middle school and hips before I was in high school. Older men had touched, pinched, and grabbed at me for as long as I could remember. No one had ever asked me for what I wanted.
Standing under the scalding water with Roman, I could have dropped to my knees and begged him to marry me again.
He was so sweet, so tender and caring. I didn’t deserve him, not one bit.
And I cut off that line of thinking with a harsh smack to reality.
We had a bloody, violent history between us, and thoughts like that were dangerous.
Those types of emotions made me vulnerable.
Falling for him, letting this be real, made me weak.
After Hugo, I swore I’d never be like that again.
I’d been cursed with my family, and there would never be an escape, not while Gabriella still lived.
“Do some research,” he said. “My sister’s website is a good place to start. She’s got lots of videos explaining what kink is and what a healthy lifestyle looks like. Then, we can have that conversation.”
“Thank you, Roman,” I said, too emotional to meet his gaze. “Thank you for all of this.”
He touched my chin and forced my eyes to meet his again. “Hey, we’re in this together, right? We might as well make the most of it.”
I nodded and pushed up on my toes to kiss him before grabbing the washcloth to suds it up and rub circles over his muscular frame.
We joked and teased for the rest of the shower, taking turns soaping each other thoroughly.
We talked about our families and what it was like growing up in our respective clubs, and not once did we mention our arrangement or how this was supposed to be pretend.
And when he made me laugh again, I decided I liked Roman Montgomery perhaps a tad too much.
“Stay with me tonight,” he said, shutting off the water when we were done.
“What?” I didn’t believe he’d meant it.
“In my room. In my bed. Stay with me.” Roman wrapped a towel around my shoulders and handed me another one for my hair before reaching for his own, circling it around his waist.
I paused, unsure of what to say. I’d grown used to sleeping on my own, but I could admit I didn’t particularly like waking up in a cold sweat, terrified my aunt or her goons were after me again.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he said. “It’s purely selfish. I don’t want to have to walk across the hall to wake you up when you have another nightmare, as much as I like a knife to the jugular.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved at his shoulder, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer to him, leaning down so our foreheads touched. “Come on. Let’s pretend, just a little longer.”
I took a deep breath and sighed, telling my poor, pathetic heart not to read too much into this. It was fake, just practice for our show in front of his family. But I wanted to give in. For now, I wanted to pretend.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll sleep here. Just let me go get my clothes.”
“No need.” He grinned that beautiful boy-next-door smile and headed back toward his bedroom, opening a dresser drawer to toss me a white T-shirt.
It smelled like detergent and him, and my heart fluttered when I lifted it over my head.
Now completely consumed by him, inside and out, I’d never felt more claimed.
Julia Montgomery, indeed.
“I like you in my clothes,” he said as he climbed into bed, shoving his long legs under the covers.
“Yeah?” I walked around to the other side and scooted in next to him.
“Yeah,” he said. “It makes me feel like you’re mine.”
“Hmm.” I smiled as he turned off the bedside light, bathing us in the faint moonlight trickling in through the curtains. “If we’re still pretending, then I am yours.”
“What if—” His voice came soft and slow, almost innocent in its quiet demeanor. “What if I wanted you to be mine for real? What if I didn’t want to pretend anymore?”
I took a deep breath and let it go on a slow exhale as my stomach dropped. Maybe I’d been thinking the same thing. Maybe I didn’t want to pretend anymore, either. But he’d killed my family. My family had killed his. We could never—would never—be anything more.
Shoving that down, I snuggled closer to him and rested my head on his chest, relishing the feeling of his fingers tangling in my wet hair.
“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out,” I said.
He seemed to like that answer, and I fell asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat. And when my dreams came that night, they were of dark brown eyes and soft curly hair and tattooed fingers around my throat in a dominant caress.
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