Page 20 of Ruthless Reign

Get a grip, girl.

I had things to tell him, deals to make. I wanted to give him the information I’d learned, but only if he came to a compromise with my place in his life. I wouldn’t be the princess in the tower ever again. When Hugo died, I swore to do whatever I needed to bring Gabriella down. Roman would have to give me a spot at his table. He didn’t have another choice. Leo didn’t have the sources I did, and until Roman conceded that fact, I had to remain resolute.

I couldn’t let my silly sexual frustration get the best of me.

Yes, that’s all this is.

It had been so long since I’d been intimate with anyone in any real way, and now that I was in a confined space with a man who drove me to my wit’s end, my hormones were taking over.

Enough,I told them.We need to be smart about this.

I walked up the stairs to head to my bedroom, but as I passed Roman’s room, I noticed the door was cracked. The sound of running water muffled his voice, but I could have sworn I heard a soft,“Mia cara,”come from inside.

Curious, I stopped and peered in. From this vantage point, I had a direct line of sight to the primary bathroom on the other side of the room, where that door had been left completely open. Through the mirror above the sink, I saw Roman in the shower. He’d thrown his head back, his long, muscular throat on tantalizing display as water dripped down his defined chest and over his corded abs that ended in a V, as if pointing to the best part of him. One hand braced his upper body against the tile wall, the other disappeared down his body, out of view.

But judging by the quick jerking motion, it was obvious what he was doing.

Heat flooded my body, my cheeks burned, and I clenched my fingers into fists as I stood there and watched with rapt attention. I couldn’t look away. I should have gone to my room. I should have let him have his privacy. But he was so glorious in all his naked splendor that the very feminine parts of me responded.

My lower stomach tightened, my thighs automatically pinching together to ease the ache. Without thinking about it, I tucked my right hand between them, rubbing my fingers over my most sensitive part.

I couldn’t help the moan that tripped out of my mouth, and at the sound, he opened his eyes, his gaze connecting with mine through the mirror. Humiliated that I’d been caught spying on him, I expected him to stop…to confront me…to degrade me for having the audacity to enjoy watching my enemy masturbate.

But instead, he kept going. He held my stare, his lips twisting into a smirk as he jerked himself faster. I gasped and held my breath, pressing my clit harder as he licked his lips. The connection overwhelmed me, bringing me back to reality—one where I hated him and everything he stood for. It didn’t matter if he was beautiful. Even if, logically, I knew I would eventually have to get over this animosity and indulge myself, that day had yet to come.

This is wrong. This is so wrong.

But that didn’t stop me. No, if anything, it spurned me on. If he thought he could mess with me, I wanted to show him I could give as good as I got. I worked my fingers faster, harder, holding his stare, and just as he groaned with his release, mine crashed over me. I moaned and shivered with the weight of my ecstasy, and when I was done, I brought my fingers to my lips to lick them clean, raising an eyebrow to dare him to do anythingabout it. He smiled as I backed away and headed toward my room. Once I was alone, I took a deep breath and ran my hands through my hair, wondering if I’d completely lost my ever-loving mind.

6

JULIA

Roman didn’t mention my little voyeuristic breach of privacy, and when I asked him the next morning if he enjoyed the show, he only smirked and winked in response. Then, I spent the next two hours analyzing the whole situation. Did he want me to see him? Did he want me to hear him call out for me?

I decided I didn’t want to know.

Days passed. Every morning, I woke up to breakfast and coffee. Roman updated me on his day before leaving to go to work. I passed the time plotting against my aunt and compiling as much information as I could about her. I wanted to ensure I had a compelling case before I went to Roman with my plan.

When that was done, I gathered ideas for the wedding. Roman said it needed to be at the clubhouse, but if we did what I wanted, it would have to be somewhere more private, somewhere no one would stumble upon us unexpectedly. When I lost interest in that, I demanded my bodyguards take me out shopping for decorations for the proverbial bachelor pad, small accent pieces to make it feel more like a home. If Roman noticed,he didn’t say anything, not even when I replaced a cheap broken lamp with a frilly vintage one Leo would certainly label as garish.

In the afternoons, before Roman came home, I experimented in the kitchen, telling myself it had nothing to do withhim,only that I wanted to learn for myself. I tried to make steak, but they ended up tasting like concrete (literally), so I threw it away before he got home and retreated to my room. He must have sensed I was trying, especially as the things he’d wanted to cook for himself disappeared. But like the decorations, he didn’t say anything about it.

He only showered, made himself dinner, and retreated to his room. I didn’t want to impose, and selfishly, I didn’t want to owe him more than I already did, so I existed off whatever I could find ready-made.

If there was church at the SRMC, he dragged me along, insisting we put on the good show. I watched from my perch with the MC princesses while hang-arounds flirted with him, that filthy brunette ceaselessly flaunting herassetsin his face. He never indulged her though, despite the smirk on his lips. And he never invited me into the sessions with the club. Nor did he ask my opinion about whatever they discussed.

I made nice faces with the other women and did my best to get along with them, knowing they only tolerated me so much as I did them. None of us asked for this, but after awhile, I’d gotten lonely. I was woman enough to admit I needed friends, and theyweretrying. At the end of every night, Roman politely collected me, drove me home, and disappeared into his room. I did the same.

We lived around each other like magnets with matching polarities. He went right, I went left. He stepped forward, I stepped back.

One day, he didn’t have anyone to guard me, so he demanded I accompany him to the shop.

“Why can’t I stay here?” I asked, crossing my arms as I raised an eyebrow. The idea of spending an entire eight hours at that filthy, disgusting rathole made my stomach churn.

“Because I promised your safety, and I need my prospects elsewhere.” He nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

I glanced down at my Prada dress, my Jimmy Choo heels, and my diamond necklace, deciding I would ultimately sit in a corner anyway, so what did it matter? I reluctantly followed him out.

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