Chapter 34 #3
He slams his fist against the wall, his voice a raw scrape.
"How can you be so goddamn certain about everything, Lilith?
The world isn't this fantasy place where light conquers darkness every time!
" His eyes burn into hers. "Sometimes darkness devours everything.
It consumes until nothing's left. How can you look at me and not see that happening?
" His hands tremble. "I'm drowning in it.
" He drags in a ragged breath, voice dropping to a whisper that cuts like glass.
"My mother's death ripped the light from me when I was three.
Then my father—" His throat constricts. "That bastard extinguished whatever flame was left.
Twenty-two years later, I'm still choking on that smoke.
This isn't darkness that just lifts, Lilith.
Maybe there's a spark inside me somewhere.
Maybe. But the rest? It's a fucking abyss. "
I sit down on his couch and pat it. He reluctantly sits next to me.
I reach for Roman's hand, my fingers trembling.
"Roman," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the thundering of my own heart.
"You have to have faith." I squeeze his hand harder, willing him to understand.
"Faith. It's invisible, untouchable—I know that terrifies you—but I swear I have enough for both of us.
" My eyes lock with his, and I can see the storm brewing there.
"Your father—" His jaw clenches instantly, a vein pulsing at his temple.
God, I'm playing with fire. One wrong word and he'll explode, banish me from this penthouse forever.
But the cards showed it so clearly, and something deep in my soul knows it's true.
"You're right at the edge of something transformative with him.
" I press my palm against his chest, feeling his heart race beneath my touch.
"I can feel it here, Roman. Not psychic mumbo-jumbo—this is pure, raw intuition screaming at me.
You and Michael—you're going to heal. It's already happening. "
He looks at me and his expression slams into me like a tsunami. I brace for rage—those obsidian eyes turning to volcanic glass, veins bulging in his neck, his massive hands seizing me and hurling me toward the elevator while his roar shatters the air between us. But no.
What I see instead rips through me like shrapnel—he's shattered, gutted, a man drowning in his own wreckage, yet...
God help me... there's a desperate flicker in those eyes.
Hope. Raw and bleeding hope. It's carved into every line of his face, a silent, primal scream asking if I truly believe he could forgive his father.
Because beneath all that armor, beneath the fortress he's built around himself, he's desperate for that reconciliation with Michael. I can see it in his eyes.
He breathes my name—"Lilith"—and closes the space between us. His mouth finds mine with a tenderness that makes my knees weak, his lips a whisper against my own before deepening into something that makes my pulse quicken and my thoughts scatter.
I don't want this. I want to rip him open with words, force him to bleed out every dark secret, every buried pain.
I need to drain his rage like venom from a wound before it kills us both.
But his mouth crushes mine, and my body betrays me—electric, desperate.
My fingernails dig into his shoulders as his teeth graze my neck.
Words evaporate. They always do. And God help me, I'm already addicted to this cycle of silence and skin.
Roman grips the doorframe until his knuckles blanch white.
"Lilith," he says, his voice raw. "I fucking love you.
Christ, I'm drowning in it. I'd tear my own heart out if it meant keeping you with me.
When you're gone, I can't breathe—can't think—but when you're here...
" His eyes burn into mine. "You're the only goddamn peace I've ever known.
I'm too selfish to let you go, even knowing I'll destroy us both.
I swear on my mother's grave, I'd put a bullet in my head before I'd hurt you.
But this—us—it's like playing with fire in a room full of gasoline. "
He scoops me up like I weigh nothing, his muscles flexing against my body as he carries me toward the spiral staircase leading to his loft bedroom.
Each step upward punctuated by his mouth crashing into mine, his teeth grazing my bottom lip, drawing a gasp from deep in my throat.
My skin burns everywhere he touches, electric currents racing through me.
"I can't breathe without you," he growls against my neck, his voice raw with need.
The words echo my own desperate hunger—he's become as essential to me as my next heartbeat.
His bedroom is magnificent—a sprawling sanctuary where floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Pacific like living artwork.
Minimalist furniture in muted grays and blues complements the view rather than competing with it, while the California king bed sits on a raised platform, its crisp white linens practically glowing in the golden hour light that streams across the polished marble floors.
My entire apartment could fit into this bedroom.
For the next three hours, we make love with a desperate hunger that leaves us gasping and trembling.
The world outside this room ceases to exist. There is only his skin against mine, the thundering of our hearts, the taste of salt on his neck.
We crash together like waves against rock, over and over, until neither of us remembers where one ends and the other begins.