Chapter 10 Isabella #2
“Self-defense.” He removes his tie completely. “After what happened at the park when you tried to be a runaway bride and later with Salvatore, I realized you need to know how to protect yourself.”
I blink, caught off guard by his concern. “Self-defense? Now?”
“Yes, now.” He rolls up his sleeves, revealing powerful forearms.
“Is this really necessary? I mean, I'm hardly ever alone.”
“You’re the one standing behind the door ready to stab someone with scissors.”
“Right. Did something else happen?” I wonder why he all of a sudden is worried about me.
“I've been doing some digging into your mother's case. If someone really did target her specifically, they might come for you too.”
A chill runs through me. “You think I'm in danger?”
“I think we need to be prepared.” He reaches out, his hand hovering near my shoulder before he lets it drop. “I need to know you can defend yourself if something happens.”
The concern in his voice sounds genuine. It's unexpected, this protective side of him directed at me rather than just Angelica.
“Okay. I should change.”
“Someone who is attacking you isn’t going to wait for you to put on gym clothes. You’re fine. We'll start with the basics. How to break a hold, where to strike to incapacitate. With your size, you'll need to be quick and precise.”
I nod, suddenly grateful for his foresight. For his protection.
For the way he's making me feel valued rather than just watched.
“The first rule of self-defense is awareness,” Roman says, circling me slowly. “Most attackers rely on surprise.”
I nod, remembering the man in the park. I’d been expecting Agent Blackwood, so I didn’t think anything of the figure heading toward me.
“Keep your awareness on me.”
He continues to move, and I try to focus on his words rather than the way his muscles shift beneath his shirt.
Roman stops behind me, close enough that I feel his breath on my neck. “If someone grabs you from behind…”
His arms suddenly encircle me, one across my collarbone, the other around my waist. He tugs me against him, my body pinned against his. I gasp at the contact.
“What do you do?” he asks, his voice low in my ear.
My mind goes blank, hyper-aware of his chest pressed against my back, his hands firm but careful not to hurt me.
“I… don't know.”
“Drop your weight,” he instructs. “Bend your knees and drive your elbow back—here.” He guides my arm to position. “Then stomp on their foot and run.”
I try the movement half-heartedly, and Roman sighs.
“You need to mean it, Isabella. Again.”
This time when he grabs me, I follow his instructions with more force, driving my elbow back, although still pulling it, and mimicking a stomp.
“Better,” he says, releasing me. “Now, if someone comes at you from the front…” He steps toward me, and I instinctively back up until I hit the wall. Roman places his hands on either side of my head, caging me in without touching me.
“What now?” he asks.
I stare up at him, pulse racing, although it’s not from fear. Heaven help me, I’m turned on by him. “I could… knee you?”
His eyes darken. “Yes. But first…” He takes my hands, places them against his chest. “Push hard against their solar plexus, then knee. Creates distance.”
I press my palms against his solid chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath my touch. The training session suddenly feels like something else entirely.
“Like this?” I whisper.
Roman's gaze drops to my lips. “Yes. Just like that.”
We stand frozen, my hands on his chest, his body inches from mine. The air between us crackles with tension that has nothing to do with self-defense.
“Do you really want me to knee you?” I don’t want to hurt him. I want him to use that part of his anatomy.
“I want you to try.”
I look down at his groin.
“You have to act fast. You’ve given me way too much time to restrain you or kill you.”
I look up into his face. His dark eyes watch me. “Act fast?”
He nods.
I grip his shirt and tug, fusing my lips to his. My heart pounds against my ribs wondering what’s come over me. Wondering how he’ll respond.
He groans as he tears his lips away. “Isabella…” His voice is rough, warning.
I’m mortified and yet, I can’t stop.
I'm tired of warnings. Tired of fear.
For the first time since being forced into this marriage, I feel something I want to chase rather than escape.
“Show me what happens next.”
Roman's control, his legendary restraint, visibly fractures. His hands move from the wall to my waist, gripping firmly.
“This isn't self-defense anymore,” he murmurs, his face inches from mine.
“I know.”
When his mouth claims mine, it's nothing like the chaste kiss at our wedding or even the heated moment in his office.
This is possession. Hunger.
His tongue sweeps against mine, and I respond with an eagerness that surprises me. I had no idea I had this inside me.
I've never felt this before, this consuming need to be closer, to feel more. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.
Roman presses me against the wall, his powerful body flush against mine. One hand slides down to grip my thigh, hitching it around his hip.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls against my neck, teeth grazing my sensitive skin.
“I don’t want to.”
His hand moves beneath my shirt, his warm palm skimming over my ribs and up to cup my breast.
When his thumb brushes over my nipple, even through my bra, I moan, a sound I've never heard myself make before.
“Christ, Isabella,” he breathes, forehead resting against mine. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
But I think I do. I can feel the evidence of his desire pressed hard against me, and instead of frightening me, it thrills me.
This powerful, dangerous man wants me.
And God help me, I want him too.
“Teach me,” I whisper, echoing his earlier promise. “Teach me everything.”
Roman lifts me into his arms with ease, carrying me to the bedroom. My heart pounds, a mixture of nervousness and desire as he lays me on the bed.
“We can stop anytime,” he says, his voice rough but sincere. “You say the word, and we stop.”
I nod, unable to find my voice as he slowly unbuttons my blouse, his fingers brushing against my skin with each movement.
The tenderness in his touch is unexpected from a man with such lethal hands.
“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing with my blouse open but still on.
“Yes,” I breathe, marveling at how he asks permission for each step. I was always told that men just took what they wanted from a woman. But Roman is giving. He’s careful and gentle.
When he removes my bra, his eyes darken with appreciation. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, lowering his head to kiss the newly exposed skin. His mouth closes over my nipple, and I gasp, arching into the sensation.
“Do you like this?”
“Yes,” I manage, my fingers threading through his hair.
He takes his time, like he’s mapping out my body.
Each touch, each kiss is deliberate.
When his hand slides beneath the waistband of my jeans, he pauses again.
“You sure?”
I nod frantically, beyond words now.
His fingers find me wet and ready, and the growl of satisfaction that rumbles from his chest makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced.
“You’re so fucking wet. Just for me.” His fingers move in slow circles that make my body hum. “Say it, Isabella. You’re wet just for me.”
I can barely think, let alone articulate words.
“Say it.” He moves down my body, his shoulders settling between my thighs. “Say it or I stop.”
Oh, God. I’ll die if he stops. “I’m… wet…”
“Just for me.”
“Just for you.”
Then oh, my God.
His mouth is on me… down there… and it’s like nothing I could have imagined.
He licks and sucks and my body goes wild, rocking and trembling as pressure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter.
And then it all comes apart. It’s like a bomb detonates inside me. My breath catches. My body goes taut. Pleasure floods through me.
“Mmm… You taste delicious,” he says, still licking and lapping at me. I feel completely spent. Done. It’s a disappointment because I wanted to experience it all. The feel of him inside me.
As I lie in his bed boneless, he kisses my stomach as his finger slides inside me. “Let’s see if you’re ready.”
Wait. He’s not done?
He uses one finger, then two, moving them in and out of me. I can’t believe it when my body starts to hum again. When pressure builds again. And then he stops.
I whimper as he moves away, but then I see him undressing. God, he’s like a marble statue carved by Michaelangelo himself.
Sculpted chest and abs. Strong arms and hands. And his penis…
Good Lord, will it fit?
When he’s naked, he positions himself above me. He looks down on me with concern. “You can’t un-ring this bell, Isabella.”
I’m terrified, but desire outweighs it. “Don’t stop.”
“This might hurt,” he warns, pressing against my entrance. “We'll go slow.”
The initial discomfort as he enters me is brief, overshadowed by the fullness, the connection, the way he watches my face with such intensity, checking for any sign of pain.
“Okay?” he asks, holding perfectly still inside me.
I nod, adjusting to the newness of him. “Yes,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around him as the awkward discomfort gives way to that humming sensation again. “Please…”
He begins to move, and the pleasure builds. It’s different from before. More intense, if that’s possible.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” His hips rock against me, and I’m lost in the feel of him. My body is pulsing. Vibrating.
And then I’m there again. “Roman!” Pleasure bursts like fireworks, shooting to every cell in my body.
I hold on to him, feeling like he’s the only thing keeping me anchored as I fly, I soar with the most exquisite pleasure imaginable.