15. Fae #2
I watch him dry himself and leave the bathroom.
For a moment I don’t know what to do, but he returns with a large top in his hand.
He guides me and I lift my arms, letting him pull it over my head.
It swallows me, hanging loose around my thighs as the soft cotton brushes my skin.
I lift the collar and breathe in his scent without thinking.
Roman opens a toothbrush from a new packet, directs me to open my mouth, and brushes my teeth with a care I have not felt since my mum.
He dries my hair, then lifts me from the counter and carries me to his bed.
Gently, he lays me down and pulls the quilt over me.
The soft cotton adds another layer of safety as I sink into his pillows.
The bed dips behind me and I am pulled into a hard body, a quiet groan leaving me at the comfort of him beside me.
“Thank you,” I whisper as he pulls me closer, one arm sliding under my head while the other settles across my body, his hand resting over my heart.
“Never thank me for this, Tinkerbell. It is the minimum you deserve.” His voice is low and soft against my skin, his breath brushing my neck and making me shift slightly, drawing a quiet grunt from him.
I try to close my eyes, but every time I do I am back in the crypt.
Images crash through me. Jack collecting my period blood.
Dr. Fisher changing my IV while I thought I was finally getting rest. The other masked men…
Were they part of it too? The thought of Fisher still breathing makes something dark coil inside me.
For every breath he takes, the past tightens around my throat.
I turn into Roman, pressing into his chest, my head tucked beneath his jaw as I draw myself closer. My breath catches when I feel the hard line of him against my thigh.
“Ignore it,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed as I tilt my head to look at him.
“What if I don’t want to?” I whisper back and his eyes open slightly taking me in.
I curl around him, my heart rate picking up as the thought settles in. The desperate need for something to drown out the noise in my head. The images. The not knowing. The loss.
“I don’t want to feel this,” I continue as I straddle him, crawling up his body. Our breaths mix as his hands settle on my hips, squeezing gently. I press down against him, shifting slightly as a soft moan slips from my lips. “I don’t want to think, Roman.”
His breath hitches, an internal battle playing out across his face as he presses his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips.
Like he is holding himself back. Like he is scared to take from me like this.
Roman keeps me there, caught somewhere between grief and wanting, where forgetting feels too close, and for the first time since the dungeon, I feel something other than emptiness.
His mouth finds mine slowly, like he is asking rather than taking. The kiss is soft at first as his lips brush mine. There is no rush, no force, just warmth and patience. He lingers, pressing closer, then pulls back just enough for my breath to catch between us.
His taste settles into me and in that moment, I realise I don’t know how I ever went without him.
This time when I lean forward, it isn’t a kiss, it’s a claim. His hands move with purpose as I whine into his mouth, grinding my wet pussy against his cock, his boxers the only barrier between us and what I actually want.
He lets me lead and it shouldn’t annoy me, but it does. He wants to be gentle. I feel it in the way his hands hesitate, the way his touch lingers instead of grips, like he thinks I might shatter if he holds me too rough.
Does he believe his softness will save me?
It won’t.
“Don’t.” I whisper, breaking the kiss and pressing my forehead to his. “Don’t be careful with me.”
His jaw tightens. “Tink—”
“I don’t want careful,” I cut in, lifting myself up. The pressure of him beneath me feels too good, too distracting. My voice is steadier than I feel, even as it sharpens with need. “I want you to make it stop.”
“That’s not what you need.” He squeezes my hips, the pressure firm and exactly what I want.
“Says who?” I challenge, rocking against him as I pull my top off and throw it to the floor, leaving myself bare to him. Lust flickers across his face as his chest rises and falls faster.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I demand and his brows pull together.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re afraid of me.”
His hand comes up and grips my jaw, firm enough to still me, his thumb pressing just shy of painful.
“I’m not afraid of you, Tink,” he says quietly.
“Then stop touching me like I’m breakable,” I slide my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around him, squeezing. The feel of him makes my mouth water. I move my hand slowly, twisting at the tip, and his head drops back against the pillow with a groan.
“Fuck, little one,” he moans. One hand slides up to my chest and he pinches my nipple between his finger and thumb, firm enough to make me squeal. “You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“Please,” I whine.
For a moment, I realise I have never begged a man unless it was performative, but everything about Roman makes me want to drop to my knees just for a taste.
“Do you think it was rough in the bathroom? You have no idea what I am truly capable of,” he growls.