“Please, Jack,” I plead.
He glares at me. “What the hell do you hope to accomplish by going over there?”
I shrug. It’s not like he’s asking me something I haven’t asked myself a billion times since I got this wild idea. But after the texts Roman and I exchanged earlier today, I can’t just leave things hanging in the air. Sure, I was interrupted—again—by another call from Will, this one asking if he could borrow some money. This is the third time he’s given me some sob story and asked for a handout, though this time the amount is quite higher than anything I’ve given him before. I agreed, only because I was in a hurry to get back to texting with Roman. But then my mom called and the next thing I knew hours have passed.
So while I was shoving cash into Will’s outstretched, greedy little palm, refusing to allow him to see Emmy and simultaneously putting together some type of holiday meal for her, Jack, and myself, I got the wild idea to go to Roman’s apartment. All I want is to look him in the eye and tell him that I haven’t given up on us.
Like that does me any good now. Jack is outright refusing to hang out with Emmy while I go, and he’s the only one I trust to stay with her, knowing Will is circling in the wind. He’s such a big jerk, threatening to turn the tables on me and call the cops if I don’t agree to dinner sometime this week. And even though spending an evening with him is the very last thing I want, I’ll do whatever I have to until Cruz’s PI says otherwise.
“Is this because you wanna get laid?”
My attention is focused back on my best friend, who is currently looming above me with his arms pulled tight across his broad chest. He’s been so good to me throughout all this, giving me the time I need to work through the range of emotions and listening when I needed to rant about my situation. Holiday time has never been easy for him, this sweet man who was rejected by his own parents for simply being true to who he is. He’s been nothing but supportive and kind to me these past weeks, ignoring his own heartache in the process. The little he’s shared about his family life has left me with a bad taste in my mouth, the only exception being his twin brother, Jace, who he tries to stay in regular contact with.
Jack rolls his eyes at my silence and smirks. “You totally just want to get laid.”
“What? No. It’s not about that at all.” Not that I wouldn’t mind if things went there, but Roman and I have bigger issues to deal with, like the fact that I pushed him out of my life and cut all ties between us.
Jack scoffs. “Uh huh. You’re full of shit.” Propping his hip against the kitchen counter, his blue eyes harden. “Look, I love you, but you’ve been a complete and total ass about this whole thing. Roman doesn’t deserve any of this. He sure as hell didn’t deserve to have you break up with him because that slug Will decided to make an appearance in your life.” He takes my hand and softens his voice. “I know you thought you were doing the right thing by sparing him all this crap with Will, but, beautiful, you’ve hurt him so damn much. All he ever wanted to do was love and support you.”
“I know! You don’t think I know all this. You don’t think I haven’t told myself this same exact thing over and over again. I panicked. I did want to spare him all the unnecessary stress of Will being around. I thought I was protecting him.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Oh, sister, you’ve got a screw loose. That beautiful hunk of a man doesn’t need your protection. He needs you. Only you.”
I give him a hard look, one brow raised. “Do you have a crush on Roman?”
He grins broadly. “I adore that man. And yes, if he was gay, I’d have him naked in a hot minute and never let him out of my bed…” his hands grip my shoulders as he leans down close to my face “…but as damn fabulous as I am, the man only wants you. And for that, he will always have my undying love.” He smacks my butt hard, reminding me of a certain other man whose spanking turns me on. My face burns hot just thinking about it. “Go. I’ll take care of your girl and if you’re having a sleepover just text me.”
“I love you, Jack. You know that?”
“Yes I do. Now go.”
Twenty minutes later I’m pulling into the visitor space in Roman’s lot. My hands are shaking and I’m slightly nauseous with nerves, but I’m determined to show him that I never intended to hurt him. With that in mind, I move with a purpose into the building, up the elevator, and down the hall toward his door.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. With a deep breath for courage, I rap twice with my knuckles and take a small step back to wait. I’m just about to knock again when the door is yanked open and suddenly he’s standing right there in front of me—all six-foot-something, muscles for days, too-long wavy hair spilling down across his forehead and neck. A thick scruff covers his jaw and the eyes I once considered warm and loving are now black and filled with anger. Anger directed right at me.
He eyes me up and down, not the least bit shy about his gaze lingering on my breasts, before he turns his gaze upward. “Sabrina. This is a surprise.” He takes a step back and waves me inside then steps back to lean casually against the wall. “Why are you here?”
“Are you in the middle of something?”
He shrugs. “Getting ready to head out. What do you need?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him where but by his demeanor, I can only presume he’s going out to get a drink or party with friends. Female friends, I bet, I think as my stomach rolls. “Um, I was hoping we could talk. But it can wait.” I turn to grip the doorknob, ready to pull it open and take off running down the hall, but he has other ideas.
His hands grip my shoulders tightly as he steps right up behind me and barricades my body between his and the door. “You wanna talk? Why, so you can feed me some crap about loving me then blow me off again? No thanks. I may not be a very intelligent guy, but even I know when enough is enough.”
“This was a mistake.” My heart is racing, partially in fear—not of him really but of who I’ve pushed him to become—but the pulse jumping reaction I’m having is also partially due to the feel of him surrounding me, his hot whiskey-coated breath on my neck, the feel of his fingers as they slide down to grasp mine. “I’ll go.”
He sweeps my hair to the side and touches his lips to my neck. “Not yet, you won’t.” Inching closer, I can feel every hard line of his body nestled up against mine, particularly the erection that he presses against my lower back. “Not until we sort a few things out.”
“Um … okay … w-what t-things?”
His hand slides under my shirt, up over one lace-covered breast, gently pinching my nipple between thumb and forefinger. “All kinds of things.” He spends a few moments teasing me until everything that’s lay dormant for weeks is now suddenly firing to life. Blood pools between my legs and I can feel my panties dampen with each stroke of his fingertips. While I’m thrilled to feel this heady reaction again, I do question why. This man whose body holds mine hostage is not at all the same man I once shared hours making love with. This man is cold, direct, and intent on destroying me as easily as I’ve destroyed him. I hate to admit it, but this side of his personality turns me on as much as his sweet, caring side.
“Let me turn around,” I whimper. “I want to look at you.”
“No.”
“I want to kiss you.”
“No.” Without preamble, he pulls my shirt over my head, undoes my bra, and sends both to the floor. Then his hands are on the waistband of my pants, as well as the satin panties beneath, and he pauses just long enough for me to kick off my sandals then quickly lowers the garments until I can step out and kick them aside. His body is immediately plastered to mine once again, and I can feel the cold metal from his belt buckle digging painfully into my skin, a stark reminder that he is fully and completely in control and I’m nothing more than his eager submissive.
“Take your clothes off,” I beg, hating myself for being so weak, yet loving every touch.
He steps back just enough to undo his belt, growling, “No.” He skims his hands over the surface of my body, over my shoulders, down my back, until both large palms cup my ass. Then his fingers walk around my hips, one hand sliding down between my legs, the other moving up to once again work my nipple. His fingers tease and taunt and torment, until I’m panting with need, dripping over his hand, and outright begging for him to take me.
When he drops to his knees and turns me to face him all I can do is sigh with relief. The sight of his head buried between my thighs is something I never thought I’d see again, just like I never believed I’d feel his hands on my body or his tongue stroking the most intimate part of me. He pushes my legs apart then goes in for the kill, mouth and fingers working me over and bringing me right to that blissful edge before pulling away and leaving me there dangling. I protest, but he’s diligent, intent on not giving me what I need most, but rather set on dragging out the agony.
He waits until I’m starting to come down, then goes right back in, sliding two fingers in deep and tonguing my clit until I’m gripping his head and rotating my hips against his mouth. And just like before, he pulls away right when I’m ready to spiral over into oblivion, leaving me frustrated and angry and more needy than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
“Stop it,” I snap, trying to shove him aside.
Rising, he glares down at me, lips glistening with the evidence of my need. “What’s the matter? You don’t like when I fuck with your head? Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”
I hate seeing this side of him, the angry man I created. This is not the man I fell in love with, not the man who loved me and cared for me. This man standing before me wants me as shattered as he is. “Please stop.”
The clench of his jaw is the only telltale sign that he’s heard me. After a brief pause, he snarls, “Turn around and bend over.”
His command leaves me little choice, but the stubborn woman in me loathes the fact that he can demand such things and I’ll willingly comply simply because I can’t imagine not doing so. With a lift of my chin, I reach forward, grasp his cock in my hand, and give it a hard, fast stroke. “No. I want you to look at me when you make love to me.”
His eyes darken with something I’d call hatred. “This isn’t making love, Sabrina. We’re gonna fuck. Don’t confuse the two, because this has nothing to do with love. This is only about me needing to get off.”
My breath hitches at his raw vulgarity, but I stand my ground and state, “Then you are looking me in the eye while you do it.”
Growling out a curse, he grabs me tight and whirls me around, bends me just a bit and slams in hard. Our mutual groans fill the silent room and right in that minute nothing else matters, not his anger for me, not my neediness, not all the hurt we’ve both experienced during our separation. Nothing matters but the two of us and this connection. Making love … fucking … I couldn’t care less what we’re calling it. It may only be a physical release, but it’s better than nothing.
It is better than everything.
He thrusts once, twice, then mutters sometime unintelligible and slides all the way out, turning me around and lifting me off my feet. Our lips meet as he walks us down the hall, then they separate when he lowers me gently to the mattress. He’s silent while he strips off his clothes, eyes locked on mine the entire time. And when he finally kneels between my legs and kisses me once more, I see the anger dissipate and nothing but pain take its place. With a shudder, he slides in deep once again, and I wrap my legs around his hips as he slowly, lovingly starts to move.
Unlike all our other times together, we’re both silent, seeking only communication from each other’s bodies and from our eyes. He may have said he was going to fuck me, but this is a man driven to show me how much he loves me. Each dip of his hips is measured with intention, each touch of his hand gentle and adoring. I’ve been teetering on the edge for so long now I easily fall over, but I do so silently, mouth gasping, eyes welling with tears as the orgasm rolls over my body.
Roman frowns, seeing something on my face and in my eyes that gives him pause. He halts all movement then slowly pulls all the way out and rolls to the side, flopping down on the mattress and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Fucking hell. What are we doing?” His voice is ragged, heavy with emotion, thick with unrestrained hate for himself. And for me too, I suppose.
I can’t speak, not through the ball of tears that are closing off my windpipe, not through the pain of seeing him so unhinged. I’ve wrecked this man in every single way possible—this lovable, kind, too good for me man who I’ve shattered beyond belief. I’ve damaged him in ways I’ll probably never understand, damaged him so deeply I’m beginning to believe he’ll never recover.
Sitting upright, feet on the floor, he tears his fingers through his hair and mutters, “This was a mistake.”
Do something! My brain screams at me. The longer I allow this to go on, the further away he’s going to get, until eventually we might as well be strangers. The thought of never seeing him again, never feeling the soft touch of his hand, the sweetness of his kiss or seeing his beautiful smile terrifies me in a way it never has before.
Scurrying off the bed, I move directly up to him, standing between his legs and grasping his head in my hands, forcing him to look at me. All the anger from earlier is now gone, that stranger who met me at the door no longer present either. Roman looks at me with a tormented expression, silently apologetic. We’re both raw, as naked on the inside as we are on the outside, and maybe that’s a good thing. There’s no hiding now, only the truth, which hangs like an intrusive other lover over us both.
“God, Roman, I thought what I was doing was for the best. I thought … well, I thought I was protecting you.”
“I don’t need protection, Sabrina. I need you. Only you.” His hands come up, gripping my hips. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to handle Emmy’s real dad suddenly being a part of the picture? Did you really think I was so shallow that I couldn’t share her, and you, with someone else?”
Tears fill my eyes. “I don’t know what I thought. I was scared and I had to give my child every opportunity to have a relationship with her father.” Trailing my knuckles down his rough cheek, I whisper, “She tells me you’re her father.”
“Damn straight. And I’m never letting her go, so you need to accept that.” His warning is clear and only makes me love him more. He has such a fierce love for my child, a love only a real father could understand. He doesn’t need to be biologically related to her. He’s bound to her by intention, by commitment, by a promise he’s never wavered from.
“I do. And I’m so grateful.”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t want your gratitude. I want you. I want all the good stuff and the not so good stuff too. I want the better or worse, the richer or poor, the sickness and the health.”
With a frown, I whisper, “What are you saying?”
A slow, satisfied smile lights his face, dimples teasing me as they always do. “I’m saying I want you to marry me. I want us to be a family. I want it all.” Scooting me aside, he reaches into the nightstand drawer and extracts a small box then once more pulls me between his legs. “I bought this after Thanksgiving and figured I’d just hold onto it in case we should ever find a way back together again.”
My stomach flutters around nervously but questions and worries take center stage over the fact that the man I love is presenting me with a ring. “But what about all the stuff with Will? What about …”
His finger comes down over my lips. “All that stuff will still be there. Only now you’ll be mine, I’ll be yours, and together we’ll be a family.” Lifting the lid, he holds the box up. “Come on, babe, take a chance. Jump in with both feet and say yes. I promise you there will never be a day that you’ll regret it.”
My heart is pounding happily in my chest as I pause a moment to take it all in. I’ve never been proposed to before, but I have a hunch this is not the usual way these things are done. We’ll never be able to share this story with anyone. We’ll both know that we came to this decision by way of scraping and clawing and bleeding our way to one another. This man who sits before me now, his beautiful body on display for me and me only, bares his soul as well. He’s never been afraid to show me affection, care or love. Never once hesitated to enfold my daughter into his life and call her his own. There’ve been no doubts that I know of, except the ones I placed there weeks ago when I sent him away. He’s been everything I could ask for and more, the perfect prince charming, someone I could only ever dream about calling mine.
His smile widens as he watches me process it all, bastard that he is. He knows that I intend on saying yes, and he’s just patiently allowing me the time to say the word out loud.
“Where will we live?”
Roman shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I think we should buy a house, though. Both of our places are too small for the three of us.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m not quitting my job.”
He chuckles and rolls his eyes at me. “I’d never ask you to. But if you decide you don’t want to work, want to take some classes or volunteer or whatever, go for it. I’m happy to have you waiting at home when I walk through the door each night.”
“What about kids?”
His hands blanket my waist and he presses his lips to my stomach. “I’d love to you see pregnant with my child but if all we ever have is Emmy, I’ll be a happy man.” His grip tightens as he grasps my butt and pulls me closer. “Now will you please let me slide that ring on your finger so we can get back to the good stuff?”
I glance down at his still semi-hard cock. “Depends. You gonna bring the good stuff this time, Moran, or try to pacify me with vanilla sex?”
He throws me a confused look. “Not sure what vanilla is, baby, but I can promise you I’m bringing my A game.”
Ready to explode with happiness, I take the ring from the box and hand it to him. “Ask me.”
With a grin he bends to one knee and takes my left hand in his. “Sabrina Morris, will you do me the honor of agreeing to be my wife? Will you love me forever and let me be a father to your amazing girl? And will you promise, that when anyone asks how I proposed to you, you’ll say it was with a full heart and a hard cock?”
Laughing, I shake my head at this crazy, amazing, loving man that will soon officially become mine. “You can’t use words like proposed and cock in the same sentence.”
He chuckles, sliding the enormous diamond ring onto my finger, then presses his lips down on top of it. “Oh yes I can.”
I barely have a moment to enjoy the sight of his ring on my finger before he’s standing upright and easing me back onto the mattress. His lips come down over mine the moment he enters me, sealing our promise in every way that matters. This time when he loves me, he really loves me, with every inch of his body, every ounce of his soul.
I’m well aware that there will be challenges to face up ahead. Who knows what Will is going to say or how he’s going to react, but you know what … I don’t care. He made his choice many, many years ago. I owe him nothing. Emmy owes him nothing. Her father, her real father, would die for her. And I hope one day she can take his name as legally as I will be doing very, very soon. I’m done waiting, done worrying, done feeling guilty. I’ve found my happiness and I’m never, ever letting go.