Page 57 of Thorns from the Fall

Because how am I any different than what he suggests if I want him to fuck me in this dirty bathroom? If the goal is to avoid emotion, Roman is the worst person for the job. With him, there isn’t a choice but to feel. Even before he came into this room, each of my senses knew the exact shape and weight of him. Roman has ownership over far too much already, like a terminal illness when I’ve exhausted every treatment.

It’d be better to just give into my inevitable death. Take me off life support and call it quits.

And still, my thighs are slick with want.

I swallow before lifting my chin in defiance. “A woman has needs,” I say, weakly.

Roman’s answering grin is sharp, a razor-toothed predator that has scented blood in the water. He stalks closer, and there’s barely room to breathe between us. He grabs my chin, his large thumb rubbing over my lower lip.

“So soft,” he whispers, frowning at my mouth. “But we both know you need it rough. You need the pain, don’t you?” Despite myself, I nod. “Did you really think a stranger could give you that, sweetheart?”

“What’s the harm in trying?” I ask, spectacularly aware of the way our bodies align. It would be too fucking easy for him to pick up where Adam had left off.

“I’ll go get him for you, if you want to risk disappointment.”

“No,” I blurt, and he strikes the moment he confirms my weakness.

“Beg me, then.”

My mouth goes dry. “Fuck you.”

“You can’t hide how needy you are right now.”

“I’m not going to beg.”

“Lie to me then, for old time’s sake. Tell me he touched you better than I can. Tell me he filled you up just like you need.”

It doesn’t matter what he thinks he witnessed because I did almost fuck that man, fully intended to, and yet Roman stands here, clearly wanting what he shouldn’t have. I’m panting, unable to speak, and his hand brushes over exposed skin where my shirt has ridden up. I take a deep breath, hoping to find some clarity, but it’s all mint and leather and smoke.

Maybe I should just pull the fucking plug.

“Lie, and tell me you don’t need me.”

“Please,” I whisper, and the corner of his mouth lifts as I admit my defeat. His large hand wraps around my throat, and he tilts my chin up. Eye to eye, I can’t breathe. I’m like putty in his hands, wanting to lie just because he told me to.

But I refuse because there’s no use in pretending.

“You can’t, can you? This is the line you won’t cross, huh? Dirty, little slut can’t lie about how bad she really needs me?”

“Would you just shut up and?—”

He pulls my shirt over my head, throwing it at the sink across the room. The ruby fabric puddles in the bowl like blood. I stare at it as Roman dips lower, cupping my breast in one hand as his fangs trace threateningly over touch-deprived skin. I groan as he slips my bra down and tongues one sensitive peak.

“Seems like you need me too,” I say, and he bites down. I hiss, closing my eyes and arching my back. My flesh presses against his sharp teeth, and I need more. He’s gripping my waist, squeezing handfuls of skin and soft flesh, but I relish the pain.

“Need to get inside,” he says, desperate, before he straightens. When he bites my neck, my body moves on its own, hips rolling against him as I search for friction. He drinks deeply before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the wound he created. I’m not sure if it’s my blood or my assertion that he needs me too, but he’s lost all constraint. His hands palm me and grab me and squeeze and pinch and it’s all I can do to stand still.

Because I love it.

I match his frenzy as I tug at his t-shirt. He swats me away, and a growl tears up my throat. I want his skin on mine, but he spins me away from him. He flips my skirt up over my ass, and the clink of his belt buckle makes me clench.

But at the last second, when he’s rubbing that thick cock down my opening, I turn around.

“We’re not gonna pretend this never happened,” I say. “Look me in the eye while you toss aside your hatred just to fuck me.”

His chest heaves for just a moment, indecision warring on his terrifyingly beautiful face, but then he’s bending his knees and aligning his length once more. He grips my thigh, pulling it up high on his waist to get the right angle. And then he’s sliding into me—with force.

There’s only a bit of resistance, and he doesn’t hesitate to push his way through it. It’s perfect and it’s everything, and I could die like this. I scream as he thrusts, and he leans forward to bite my lip. It feels nearly as intimate as a kiss.

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