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You don’t owe anyone your niceness, especially men.
“You’re not the Cortez I take orders from. Bark at me again, and I’ll be the one you need protecting from.”
I’m jealous that he’s squandering this perfect opportunity. Not to fuck her, but to fuck with her.
“You can hate me, treat me like a dog, tell me to be a good boy, but where you go, I go. And when shit hits the fan, you’ll be glad I'm in here and not out there.”
“Because when my hands are wrapped around your throat, I’m the one you’ll be praying to.”
Mentiroso. Liar. And maybe I am. Because right now, as I’m cooking breakfast, I can’t stop envisioning her. Walking in, tousled from sleep, shoving her against the counter and taking what I’m owed. And fuck do I want her. It’s like fire in my veins.
“I think grieving is always fucked up. There’s no right way to do it, but not because there’s no wrong way either. There’s nothing right or just or healing about grief. It’s a wound that never heals.”
Or just knowing that this whole no-touching rule is a farce because he and I both know that if he wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. He’s proven as much. It’s aggravating and confusing because I want him to honor it, but I also want him to break it. God, do I want him to break it.
It amazes me how quickly Roan has become a comforting fixture in my life, even if he drives me fucking insane.
“That’s my girl.”
I consider carrying her to the guest bedroom, but for some reason the prospect of her in my arms, holding her body to mine, sounds as dangerous as walking into a burning building.
“If you ever make me that hard again while torturing someone, I’m fucking you next to their corpse.”
She sighs, sweet and satisfied, and I encircle her with my arms just in case. Just in case it is a dream, I won’t let her go.
I find him equally mesmerizing. The knot of muscle at the back of his jaw. The purse of his lips followed by a harsh exhale. The feel of his hand, so large and strong, gripping my hip. The lines and curves of his tattoos. I say softly, with amazement, “There’s nothing I don’t find beautiful about you.”
“I can’t believe you’re real.”
All I think about is how perfectly my hand fits inside of his and how right it feels to not shy away from a future that may never come.
I want to tell him that if he gets himself killed, I'll kill him myself. I want him to know that if this is the last moment we have together, I will thank a god I haven’t talked to in years for the time we did have together. That he’s never felt more like mine than right now when I might lose him.
The absolute need, the deep instinct in my soul to protect her is going to get me killed. And I can’t bring myself to care about my safety, not when it comes to her.
“Nobody is going to care about your pleasure like I do, little menace. Nobody.”
“Don’t think for a second that you aren’t the one in complete control. That you don’t have total power over me.”
Breaking is often equated with ruin. But this doesn’t feel like ruin. It feels like the tired, weary pieces that were trying so hard to stay together are now relieved of that burden.
“Remember how nobody can make you shatter like I can. On my tongue, my fingers, my cock. Even on my fucking gun.”
He fucks like he fights—for something past the point of brutality or victory.
“When do you feel safest?” “Never. But being able to keep you safe makes it all worth it. The paranoia, constantly being on edge, never letting my guard down. I might never feel safe because of all the ways I’m fucked in the head, but I can sleep at night knowing you are.”
“A little kissing? No. But kissing you?” My body feels light, my head feels high, and my heart… “I feel like I could float away. I’m fucking untethered.”
Three fucking days of following her around, crawling out of my skin with the need to know that she’s safe when she isn’t in my bed.
“This hope is eating me alive, Cortez. So please,”—he drags his hand over his mouth, nervous in a way I’ve never seen before—“please don’t invite me in unless you’re planning on keeping me.”
“I’m yours now, you understand?” he says between grunts and deep thrusts. “Yes, yes,” I cry as he hits a spot inside me that makes light burst behind my eyelids and my clit throb from the inside out. “Say it,” he bites out, jaw tight and sweat sliding down his temple. “You’re mine,” I gasp. “Mine.” “Fuck, I don’t want to be anything else,”
“Wake up, please, I need you. If you wake up for me I swear I’ll fucking marry you. I’ll take you skydiving. I’ll love you with every breath I breathe, every second of my life. Please, just come back to me—
“You’re mine, Reggie, and I’m never losing you again.” “You didn’t lose me,” she says softly into my shirt. “I thought I did, and that was enough.”
I tuck my gun away and pull her into me. “I’ll always be your monster, you only have to be my light.”
Roan may fuck like he fights, but what drives him to fight is also what drives him to fuck.
She brushes an eyelash off my cheek with her thumb and holds it out for me. I blow it away with a silent wish. A wish for the strength to face my demons and a prayer of gratitude that I have her by my side while I do it.