Page 22 of Stolen By the Don

It never escapes.

Because it’s not Polina.

And I didn’t walk into any random room. I walked intohisroom. There’s a naked Roman standing in the middle of the room, his back turned…but naked anyway.

My jaw drops while my eyes greedily wander from his broad, carved shoulders like stone slabs to his back muscles, movingwith casual grace.Grace?More like power. Because it shouldn’t look so…intimidating.

A slew of silver scars of various lengths cover his back, like battle souvenirs. My fingers trace lines on my thigh as I imagine running them over his back, across the lines.

Isabella.

A part of my brain, probably the one I should listen to, reminds me that I’m standing in his room. I should get out. Turn around and leave before he either notices my intrusive presence or turns and does something I won’t escape from.

It’s a valid warning, yet my gaze wanders even lower to his thick, corded arms flexing as he rakes a hand through his damp, dark hair. He’s oblivious, or maybe indifferent to my presence, but I can’t stop staring. Not when his back trails off into a well-toned waistline and two—I shudder. Stiff hips, narrow waist, and a backside so criminally perfect it could start wars.

I see everything. And I meaneverything.

“You should know it’s rude to stare,” he says in a low, measured voice that scratches the back of my head as he turns. “And more rude to walk into a person’s room without knocking first.”

Knocking?

My brain can barely comprehend his words. They sound like words, but I can’t hear them. My eyes are bulging out of my head, glued down.

Down there.

Down…where it jerks. His dick.

Heavens.I’ve seen a handful in my time, but this—it’s big. Veiny. And it goes on and on like it’s incapable of fitting anywhere.

Is this what he wanted…when he said we were going to start sleeping in the same bed? A slow burn spreads from my chest, melting down my spine, coiling low in my belly like a match to gasoline. My thighs press together without permission, a futile, desperate reaction to a hunger I never agreed to feel.

“Bella,” Roman says. “Bella?”

I don’t blink until he crosses the room, grabs a towel, and wraps it around his waist. Then, like a flipped switch, my thoughts return to the present. To find him staring at me with a knowing, proud smirk on his face.

Shit.

Shit.

My face floods faster than I can stop it, heating up so quickly I can feel it through my palms that I slap against my cheeks.

“Have you seen enough?” he asks with amusement in his voice.

I was staring. Shamelessly.At his penis.

“I—” I stammer, but no excuse will bring back the minutes of my life I just lost. “I?—”

“You what?” he asks calmly, making his way toward me. A lump lodges in my throat, and my gaze darts again like a magnet. Even with the towel, I can still see the outline.

“Is that how much you want me?” He’s beside me before I can blink, his larger figure towering over mine. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as Roman’s thumb glides across my mouth, pressing at the seam of my lips. His head lowers, and ashiver runs through my body when I feel his breath against my neck.

No.

Yes.

This shouldn’t be happening!

“Why do I have a sneaky feeling that if I touched you, you’d—” His voice is low and amused. And too freaking close. “Melt in my hands? If I slipped my hand—” His hand slips into my comfy shorts, and I let out a shaky breath. “You’d be wet? Aroused? Needy?”

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