“Roman, please stop torturing me,” she whimpers.
In response, I bite into the side of her neck, giving her a sting of pain. I can feel her pussy quivering against my hand as even more moisture floods onto my fingers. I know that in one more thrust, one more bite, she’s mine. She’ll come so hard, she’ll scream my name, not caring who can hear her. I’m a bastard enough to want that and I’d give it to her.
One thing holds me back. She disobeyed me. With that in mind, I stop completely. I pull my hand out from her warm depths with regret. I step back so she can watch me as I suck her sweet juice from my fingers. Fuck. Nothing in the world tastes like my Ana.
“Roman?” Her voice is confused and full of need.
I button her pants, leaning in at her ear so that only she can hear me. Fuckers are already trying to get closer to us, to get in on the show. “You don’t get to come, pet. Maybe after we get home and you suck my cock and beg, maybe then. But if you want to defy me when I ask you for something, then that means you still need to learn who is in charge of your body.” I pull away at her gasp, my hand going to her back to steer her back toward the crowd. She walks a step or two but resists me after a minute.
“But, Roman…”
“And Ana, if you even think of going to the restroom and making that sweet little pussy come, you won’t sit still for a fucking week. Are we clear?”
Her eyes go round, her hand coming up to rub nervously against her throat. She nods her head once, watching me the entire time.
We’re clear.
With every mile that brings us closer to downtown Miami, my heart hurts. The ride has been quiet, each of us in our own thoughts. We came home from the party last night and I thought everything was great. Roman pushed me up against the wall and buried his face between my legs, making me come twice before making slow love to me on the floor in front of the fireplace. We’ve made love a lot of ways, but none have been as sweet and slow as last night’s had been.
I came so close to telling him I loved him. What would his reaction have been? The unknown of how he would react when he found out all my secrets was the only thing that held me back.
I was on the verge of my confession when we got the call. Someone had killed Big Joe. His body was thrown out in front of Roman’s expensive club. His men called him the moment the body was discovered. I’m still in shock. I loved Big Joe. He was a mountain of a man with a soft side that he showed the women he protected. Roman held me while I cried, but since the call, I’ve seen the change in him. He’s a man bent on revenge now. Completely business and cold in his demeanor. I understand it, even though I wish he could come back to me and be the man who made me feel alive last night.
“Did Joe have family?” I wonder aloud, not really asking Roman. I suppose I’m not even fully aware that I asked the question out loud. I just keep thinking what a shame it is that this world is robbed of such a good person.
“No one.”
“That’s sad. No one behind to mourn your passing,” I whisper. Roman doesn’t respond. I didn’t really expect him to. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going to drop you off at the apartment and then I have to go to the morgue to identify the body.”
“I could go with you, Roman,” I tell him, not wanting him to be without me—in the city, especially, as I’m more aware that Paul could try to set Roman up at any moment.
“No, Ana. I don’t want you around any of this. I’ll get it handled and check on your brother and then meet you back at the apartment.”
“Maybe I should see my brother?” I suggest, not completely sure I want to at this point.
“He’s getting better, Ana, but I don’t want him around you. Not yet.”
“Roman, you can’t protect me from the world,” I complain as we pull into the parking garage of Roman’s apartment complex.
“I can try,” he says with a ghost of a smile.
His face looks so tired. My hand reaches up to brush away the wrinkles that are gathered around his eyes. “I love you, Roman.” My heart pounds in my chest. I didn’t mean to say the words. They slipped out and now they’re just hanging between us. I can’t call them back and I can’t make them unheard.
“Ana,” he says, and I can read the regret there. You don’t have to be a detective or a beat cop to see the writing on the wall.
“Shh… I didn’t tell you because I expected anything back. I just wanted you to know.” I’m half lying. I didn’t tell him on purpose, but still it would have been nice to hear something back. Instead, I get a Roman who looks uncomfortable, a Roman who is rubbing the tension out of the back of his neck—tension my big mouth probably put there. The car comes to a stop and I turn the handle quickly, intent on getting out. Roman’s hand on my arm stops me.