He does it again, and again, and again, until it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
“Fuck, I need to kiss you.”
First, he pulls off the smiling mask. Then, with one hand, his shirt lands next to my clothes, and my breath catches in my throat. My eyes widen as I see the bare skin of his chest and arms for the first time in three years.
Almost every inch of him is covered in tattoos. Different animals and designs were painted on his figure in dark ink, some that looked like he had drawn them. But that’s not what my attention is fixed on.
It’s the only one I can see where the black has turned gray with age.
A single word is at the center of his chest, just above his heart.
Bella.
His lips meet mine before I can process the tattoo.
“You’re mine.” Thrust. “Fucking mine.” Thrust. “You’re not getting away from me.” Thrust. “You’re not going anywhere.”
With each thrust, he’s marking another part of my soul. And it frightens me. I’m unsure if I can give myself to him in the way he wants—the way he is to me.
I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until he stops.
“Scream if you want me to keep going. Tell me you love me if you want me to stop.” The muscles in his arms flex like he’s trying to hold himself back.
My eyelashes flutter as I try to get my bearings and ignore how his cock is twitching inside me. “That—that doesn’t make any sense.”
He lowers himself so his lips brush mine. “If you can still speak while I fuck you, I don’t deserve to have you.”
I stare up at him, unable to do anything but glance at the tattoo and then back at his face. I could call him Roman. He’s given me an out.
Mickey allows me precisely three seconds, then pounds into me, savage and merciless, squeezing my flesh in his hands. This isn’t love-making or sex. He’s fucking me. And it’s perfect.
Roman might be his name, and that will forever be a part of him. But buried deep down in the softest part of my mind, I know he’ll always be my Mickey. They’re the same person, but completely different at the same time.
It’s brutal, yet tender. Claiming and commanding. His mouth latches onto one of my nipples, and he sucks, lathers, and bites. But he doesn’t stop there.
He keeps trying to ruin me.
His fingers strum against my sensitive skin, sending electricity to every atom that makes up my being. The stimulation is almost too much, and I can barely make out the top of his head from the haze over my vision.
I pant and screech and beg, but he doesn’t give up. My body cannot fend him off as pleasure explodes in my core, wild and unbridled. It sweeps through my bones and sends my mind into a faraway plane.
Shoulders tense, jaw tight, and abs rippling, he never once looks away from me. He never once stops touching me. Whether it’s my ass, my breasts, or fisting my hair, every bit of his attention is given to me.
Silver catches my attention, but it isn’t his eyes. A coin-shaped pendant swings and hits his chest in time with his movements. I try to make out the writing on the necklace, but I’m struggling to even make out my name on his skin from the mind-bending sensations he’s bringing me.
“You’re fucking addictive. Do you feel your cunt milking my cock?” he pushes out between pants as he continues his pace, stealing more pleasure from me than I can give. “I’m going to fill this little pussy of yours, and you’ll feel me dripping out of you all fucking day. And you know what’s going to happen tomorrow? I’m going to fill you all over again.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he slams into me more forcefully than before. Warmth pools inside me as he empties himself, eyes squeezed shut before he collapses on top of me, more relaxed than I’ve ever felt him.
My body is slack and sore. I need a shower. What I wouldn’t give to be in bed right now, so I could nurse my aching muscles instead of needing to trek all the way back to the house.
Vibrations rumble through his chest as he chuckles against my skin. “You were perfect, Bella. Like I said, you were made for me.”
Chapter 21
ROMAN
I still count.
1,096.
That’s how many days I’ve been waiting for this. Bella curled up in my arms as I carry her to my—our—house.
The memory of being inside her plays on repeat. I’m pretty sure the first wet dream I had was about her. Thirteen-year-old me would be high-fiving myself and patting my back. Shit, I’m even walking with my chest puffed out.