“Every time I close my eyes, I see you under me, on top of me, gasping my name,” he continued, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
His hand slid from my thigh to my throat, not squeezing-just holding, just reminding me of his power.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to slice through the haze of passion. “I want you to see who’s inside you. Who you belong to.”
I met his eyes, the raw heat there making my stomach clench with desire. He kissed me again-messy, hungry, bruising-never slowing his relentless rhythm.
“Don’t stop,” I pleaded, my voice a desperate whisper.
“I’m not stopping,” he promised against my mouth, his breath mingling with mine. “Not until you can’t think of anything but me. Not until you remember I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.”
Jesus Christ, Roman.
It felt like today might be the day I succumbed to the overwhelming intensity of this moment. My breath came in ragged gasps, moans escaping against my will.
“Harder,” I begged, my voice raw and trembling, filled with need.
He answered with a brutal surge, slamming into me deeper, his hands roaming possessively over my body, claiming me as his own.
The world shrank to nothing but heat and sensation-the slick press of skin against skin, the bruising grip of his hands, the frantic pounding of our hearts echoing in the silence.
His rhythm was relentless-hard, fast, unforgiving.
I was lost-utterly, completely-riding the wild edge of pleasure and pain, my body burning with an insatiable need.
My nails dragged across his clothed back, down to his ass, gripping him tightly as he drove into me, desperate to hold on as waves of ecstasy crashed over me.
“Roman,” I gasped, my voice breaking, “please-“
His lips found mine in a fierce, bruising kiss, swallowing my cries as we both spiraled over the edge together.
His release crashed into me with a guttural sound that echoed my name, his hand at my throat holding me steady through the intensity of it all. When I came apart, it felt like my very essence was being torn apart. I felt him spill his warmth deep inside me, thick and fulfilling, a sensation that left me breathless. A little trickled down my thighs, a reminder of how completely we had merged.
Even then, when my body felt entirely filled and my lungs burned for air, he didn’t let me go.
He stayed buried deep, breathing me in as if he could never get enough.
We clung together in the quiet aftermath, our chests heaving, bodies still humming from the intensity of our connection.
And when we finally pulled apart, our eyes met in the dim light of the room, a silent understanding passing between us. He brushed my hair away from my face, cupping my cheek gently-a sharp contrast to the fervor of moments before.
“I told you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple, “I’m not done with you, Saw. I never will be.”
The atmosphere around us still crackled with residual warmth, a lingering echo of the intensity that had just unfolded. The hallway felt alive, almost as if it were holding its breath, mirroring my own struggle to reclaim my composure.
I pressed my back against the cool wall, the chill biting into my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from the moments we had just shared. My dress clung awkwardly around my hips, bunched in a way that would have felt indecent under different circumstances-if either of us had cared about such things.
Roman’s presence loomed over me, his body a protective cage that enveloped mine. One arm was braced against the wall beside my head, while the other gripped the back of my thigh with an intensity that suggested the last few heated minutes hadn’t quite conveyed the message he intended.
We remained frozen in that moment, neither of us willing to break the spell that had been cast.
I fought to steady my breath, my lips still swollen from his kisses, the taste of him lingering like a sweet, intoxicating memory. My heart raced, pounding in my ears as he finally broke the silence.
“That’s twice,” he remarked quietly, his tone almost contemplative, as if he were cataloging our encounters. “And I’m done treating this like some… casual transaction.”
His words sliced through the fog that clouded my mind. His voice was low and gravelly, as if he had been swallowing stones. I couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh, desperately trying to lighten the tension that coiled tightly in my stomach.
“Are you keeping score now? Or do we need to recap the highlights?” I teased, trying to mask the seriousness of the moment.
Roman’s gaze lingered on my mouth, a beat too long, before finally rising to meet my eyes with a fierce intensity.
“No,” he replied, his voice firm and unyielding. “I’m drawing a line.”
My brows knitted together in confusion, my mind racing to comprehend his intentions. “A line?” I echoed, uncertainty creeping into my voice.
His hand slid higher along my thigh, fingers curling possessively as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “This-” he murmured, “doesn’t happen again unless it’s just you and me. No one else gets this. No one else gets to touch you.”
I let out a short, breathy laugh, but his expression remained serious, unwavering. He simply watched me, his dark eyes holding a promise that sent shivers down my spine.
“So, you’re saying you want me to be your GFE and PSES? Is that correct, Roman?” I asked, trying to gauge the seriousness of his intentions.
“No. Never.” His thumb brushed the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate, igniting a fire within me. “I’m putting terms on the table, Savannah.”
Terms. He spoke as if we were engaged in a business negotiation instead of tangled in the aftermath of something far more intimate. My brows arched in surprise, but I kept my voice steady.
“Terms?” I questioned, intrigued yet cautious.
A flicker of something passed across his face, but it wasn’t amusement; it was calculation.
“Exclusivity. No competitors. No open bids. You’re off the market.”
The weight of his words settled heavily in the air between us, my body going still while my pulse raced uncontrollably.
“Off the market, as in married?” I stammered, my heart skipping a beat. “You’re seriously asking me to marry you? Right now?”
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” he replied sharply, cutting through my surprise. “I’m asking you to be mine. Only.”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion creeping in. “Okay, hold on. I think I’m starting to understand what you’re getting at.” I paused, searching his face, “You want to… continue having sex with me?”
He didn’t even blink. “Yes.”
My eyebrows shot up, nearly reaching my hairline. Memories of his possessive, filthy words echoed in my mind, one after another, each one a reminder of the intensity that had just transpired.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.