Chapter 27 – Elara
I surface slowly, pulled up from a deep, black well of exhaustion. My body is a roadmap of pain—the deep ache of bruised muscle, the searing sting of rope burns on my wrists, and the persistent, terrible hollowness where my peace used to be. I am shattered by the ordeal, but alive.
I open my eyes. Sunlight struggles to filter through the heavy drapes of the bedroom, casting the room in a golden gloom. I’m back in Roman’s manor. Back in our bed.
I’m not alone.
Roman is sitting on the edge of the mattress, dressed casually, his posture rigid.
He’s watching me. He hasn’t moved. He looks utterly spent, a shadow of the focused warrior from the night before, but his hazel eyes are fixed on my face with an intense, hawk-like possessiveness. He won’t leave my side.
I try to sit up, but a fresh wave of nausea hits me. He’s instantly there, supporting my back with a strong, gentle hand, easing me back onto the pillows.
“Easy, printsessa,” he murmurs, his voice rougher than usual. “Rest. The doctor gave you something for the pain.”
The safety he provides is absolute. The horror he inflicted is gone. But the price of that safety—the life of my father—still hangs heavy in the air between us. I need to know. I need the final piece of the bargain fulfilled.
I look at the bruise swelling on my cheek, the one that bastard gave me. I run my tongue over my split lip.
“Did you…did you manage to take care of my father yesterday?” I whisper, the question barely audible. The words feel terrible and necessary.
Roman freezes. The tension snaps in his neck. He sits up straight, pulling his hand away from me, and turns his entire body to face mine. He looks down at me, and his eyes are cold and dark.
“If by ‘take care of him’ you mean kill him, then yes.” His voice is flat, dangerous, devoid of emotion.
He reaches out and gently cups my cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of the purple bruise left by the buyer.
“My only regret is killing him quickly. I should have dragged it out and made him beg.”
He meets my eyes with a grim, unflinching certainty. “But either way, it’s done, and he’s out of your life for good.”
The finality of the violence is shocking, but it brings with it an aching relief. The monster who saw me as inventory is gone. I don’t pull away. I place my trembling hand over his.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for choosing me.”
He searches my face, waiting for the expected revulsion. “You’re not mad?” he asks, the question quiet. “I killed your father.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. I don’t pull away. I place my trembling hand over his. “I don’t need his evil anymore. Everything I need is right here.”
A genuine smile breaks across Roman’s face, slow and devastating. He pulls me onto his lap, shifting until I’m cradled against his side, my head resting against his steady heart.
“The other day, before I left for Texas, you said you loved me too,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. His fingers brush the delicate skin below my eye. “Did you mean it?”
I feel a blush creep up my neck, hot and sudden. I nod, burying my face further into his shoulder. “Very much. I love you very much.”
He lets out a long, shuddering breath, a sound of relief and absolute victory. I reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kiss him. It is a soft, deep kiss—a promise of a future forged in violence and secured by truth.
He deepens the kiss and flips us in one swift, silent motion, so I’m on my back, and he’s hovering above me.
He slips the robe down my shoulders and away from my skin, exposing me to the hazy morning light.
His hand finds my breast, warm and heavy in his palm, and he twists my nipple gently, still kissing me like his life depends on it.
I moan into his mouth, a low, broken sound of absolute surrender. He drags his mouth away from my lips and lowers his head, sucking my nipple into his mouth.
As he sucks, his hand snakes down my body and parts my legs, his fingers finding my clit. I writhe beneath him, the combination of deep suction and careful friction driving the blood to my core. He’s gentle, softer than he ever has been, treating my body like delicate glass even as he consumes it.
He kisses a hot, searing path down my stomach, and then his mouth settles at the junction of my thighs. He sucks my clit into his mouth, and I cry out, grasping the sheets as the overwhelming pleasure washes away all the lingering trauma.
I writhe, desperate, my hips lifting and rocking against his mouth, begging silently for him to take me over the edge. His tongue is merciless and skilled, and the sensation is blinding.
Just when I’m about to climax, he pulls his mouth away from me. The loss is a shocking jolt of raw yearning.
“Roman….”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he grunts and drives inside me with desperate need. He plunges deep, filling me completely. I cling to him, whispering his name over and over again, the raw rhythm of our bodies chasing the pleasure he just gave me.
“Elara, I fucking love you,” he growls into my ear, his hips slamming into mine, and I believe it. I believe the savage love that moved mountains and brought me to this bed.
My world explodes in a final, searing wave of release. Because no man has ever sacrificed as much for me as this man. And I’ll love him for the rest of my life.