of freedom, and he stole it from me.
When Roman’s arms release me, I move to stand, my legs shaky, and my entire body throbbing from the aftermath of my mental breakdown. He does the same and comes to stand at his full height beside me. I look up at him, unsure of how I’ll ever thank him for pulling me out of my head.
I lick my lips, thinking of our kiss once more.
“Thank you, Roman,” I finally whisper as he guides us out of the dressing room, a hand on the small of my back. Violet is waiting for us as we round the corner, the worry easing from her face. Eyes burn into my skin with each step we take. I can practically hear their whispers, and yet, nothing they could ever say would hurt me anymore than I’ve already been.
“Are you okay?” Violet asks, hugging me. She gives me a concerned look when she pulls back, and I nod, because for once, I feel okay. Roman speaks to the general manager of the store and pays for the damages with his credit card. The entire time he does, he doesn’t speak to me, and I wonder if it’s because he also doesn’t know how to feel about the moment we just shared.
All I know is that when I’m with him, I feel whole, like I’m a new person. Like no one, not even my father, can touch me. And like a drug addict awaiting their next fix, I’ll do whatever I can to keep that feeling intact.
Roman is my fix, my hero, the glue that holds me together.
27
Roman
She’s trying to fucking kill me. I know it. I can feel it with every pump of my heart. Against my better judgement, I’ve allowed her to sleep in my bed the last two nights. Watching her fall apart in that fucking dressing room broke me. It cracked me straight down the middle, and every time I close my eyes, I see her tear-stricken face. The fear flickering in her eyes rattles me to the core, making it hard for me to say no to her. Every bone and muscle in my body tells me to protect her, to worship her body and save her from this evil fucking world.
But I can’t. I’ve never settled down with a woman before, and I won’t now. When she finds out the kind of sick, twisted fuck I am tonight, maybe she won’t beg to sleep in my bed anymore. Maybe she’ll seek comfort somewhere else.
The thought tears me up inside, but it’s the right thing to think. I have a fight tonight, and I need to remain focused on that. I can’t lose my edge, not because of this tiny little thing in my bed. And yet, I feel it slipping—at least when it comes to her.
The urge to shove the stupid pills down my throat and let them calm the heated blood pumping through my veins grabs hold of me. I grit my teeth, then let my eyes drift closed for a moment, taking calming breaths. I feel Sophie snuggle deeper into my side, her little leg flopping over my thigh, brushing against my hard cock.
Not good. Fuck. So much for taking calming breaths. I’m already tempting myself by having her in my bed and not under me. Neither my cock nor body can ignore that she’s all fucking female or the little whimpers she makes in her sleep.
She’s perfect, and everything about her entices me. Lifting a hand, I pluck a strand of her dark brown hair off her shoulder. It feels soft, and I have this strange urge to sniff it. Since the night in the dressing room, I’ve thought about our kiss a million and one times.
I’ve thought about her reaction to my touch and how she told me she felt safe in my arms. It’s not something anyone’s ever said to me before and it sparked some protective instinct inside me. I don’t want to feel compelled to protect her, but I can’t help it—and that pisses me off more.
I hold back a groan by biting my lip when I feel her heated pussy against my thigh as she moves her leg once more. Fuck. It’s right there. Begging and pleading to be tasted and taken. I can’t fucking do it. I fucking can’t.
Exhaling harshly, I force myself from the bed. I need to punch something, get this pent up need and aggression out of me before I