My breath comes out in short pants, living the fantasy of a life I lost as I move my hips to the rhythm of his fingers. He chokes me a little tighter to remind me who is in command.

Knowing how much death he's caused with his bare hands and that I could be his next victim with nothing more than a squeeze is frightening. But the thought only adds to the symphony. The crescendo is in sight, and my hips jerk, chasing the high. Just as I’m about to reach the peak, Roman’s touch disappears, and a needy whimper falls from my bitten lip before I can stop myself.

“You’re so breakable like this.” The smirk is evident in his voice. He wants me to know that only he can bring me pleasure, and he can just as easily take it away. “Completely at my mercy.”

His warmth returns. The swirl of his fingers is agonizingly slow, like he has all the time in the world. I know better. Roman is never lazy when it comes to me. It takes every bit of energy I have not to groan and buckle in frustration, so he goes back to the blissful pace he’s set.

“Tell me you want me.”

“Go to Hell.”

His laugh is pure mirth and carnal sin. “You’ll be right there with me. You’re my favorite sin.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I bite out while straining my muscles to stop them from moving with his motions.

“Hmm,” he muses. “So feisty tonight.”

He flicks my clit, and I jump in his hold from the sparks rushing through my veins, making him laugh like the demon he is.

“You seem to have forgotten our promise.”

He drags the neckline of my shirt down my shoulder with his teeth, kissing the exposed skin. I keep blinking, trying to remain focused as his thumb rubs against my clit, and he dips his finger inside me. Just the tip. Just enough to send me reeling for more.

I’ve dreamed about feeling him back inside me for the longest time. I always imagined he would watch me with hooded eyes, a hand gripped in my hair while his expert fingers stole my climax.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. In everything outside of our bubble, Roman is a conqueror, true to his name. He’d take without asking, and any scraps left behind would be a mercy.

“I’ll forgive you for forgetting.” His gruff voice curls around me. “I’ll just have to remind you who you’ve always belonged to. Let me make it up to you.”

I cry from the stretch of my pussy, taking the brutal thrust from two of his thick fingers. Stars dance behind my eyes as I grip his arms tighter to keep upright. The added friction from his thumb on my clit makes any attempts at keeping my mouth shut nearly impossible.

Nothing about this is loving or gentle. This is pure possession, just as he said. He’s commanding my body to give him exactly what he wants, and I have no say in the matter. He can have my climax and the knowledge he is the cause for the heat dripping down my legs. But I’m keeping my voice—he can’t have everything he wants.

The hold around my throat is replaced by his lips as he sucks the soft skin into his mouth, bordering on pain and falling onto the side of pleasure. He yanks my shirt up, exposing my breasts to him. I've never been well endowed in that area, but he still treats them like they’re the definition of perfection, kneading them and twirling the hard buds between his fingers.

I don’t see the climax before it hits. The force of my orgasm has me arching back into his body, opening my mouth to a silent scream. He continues to take from me, plunging his fingers in and out of me until I slap his hand to stop.

The chill of the night air against my nipples lessens with my lowering shirt. I’m struck with a feeling of profound emptiness when my panties become free from his intrusion.

“Better than I remember,” he mutters against my neck. “You’ll regret letting me feel your cunt coming all over my fingers. I promise you, next time, I’m breaking you on my cock.”

Then the lust-filled haze over my vision fades away, and my mind suddenly remembers what I was doing before my long-forgotten libido replaced my brain.

“There won’t be a next time,” I say between pants.

“Don’t doubt me. We need to go,” he says dismissively.

My muscles wind tighter, walking the thin line of falling from the adrenaline high. As soon as I’m completely free from his hold, my animalistic instinct takes over once more, and I bolt for the door, swinging it open. I can hear Roman cursing under his breath before I break into a run.

I just need to scream.

I just need to open my mouth and call for help.

But neither of those two things happens because I can’t bring myself to make a single sound, not even when he catches me. I kick and thrash, and I’m unsure if it’s just for show. I’m telling myself the only reason for giving up on my freedom so easily is because I don’t want him to get in trouble.

“You’re being a very naughty girl, Bella.”

The ominous tone of his voice sends a shudder down my spine as he drags me back inside with nothing but the flickering streetlight to guide the way. As soon as the front door shuts, he’s caging me against the wood with his body, pinning my arms above my head with a single hand.

“It’s like you’re begging to be punished.” The sentence is laced with hope that I’ll fight him again, letting me know how serious he is by pushing his bulge against my stomach.

“What—" My eyes widen when his free hand joins his other, and something soft wraps around my wrists. The door groans as I shift to glance at the black rope Roman is binding my wrists with.

Mouth hanging open, I notice he's not using just any rope. It's not the kind found in a department store, and it's certainly nothing like the abrasive hemp rope he used on Marcus. The realization that he's using silk rope kicks me in the gut.

Roman knew I would fight him, knew I would try to run. He planned it all. The mask, the method of torture and death, the different ropes, the message he left when I arrived home yesterday.

I don’t know who this man is. Roman never planned ahead when spilling blood was involved. He was impulsive—acting first, avoiding consequences later. Which begs the question, what else does he have planned?

“Don’t do this,” I beg.

I can see the concentration in his pinched brows as he works to tie my wrists firmly, but not to the point of pain, as I thrash.

“I don’t want to do this, Bella. Do you think I want to hurt you?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

The muscle in his cheek pulses as he pauses and looks down at me. “Never.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He tenses, and something flashes in his eyes too quickly for me to figure out what it is.

I look behind him toward the kitchen, where two dead bodies remain. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur.

He tilts his head, raking his gaze over my face as the corner of his lips curves upward. “You could have stopped me.”

“How?”

His eyes soften, and I see the man I used to know for the first time tonight. The one who reserved all his genuine smiles for me and would only truly laugh if it was just the two of us alone.

Roman’s voice is dangerously low. “I would do anything you tell me to.”

I swallow and hold his stare, hoping he will see whatever I’m feeling so I don’t need to admit it to myself. “Let me go.”

“Anything but that.”

“Roman,” I plead.

Any evidence of the man I knew slips away with a flash of hurt, quickly replaced by his menacing grin. “Come on. It’s just you and me from now on.”

He throws me over his shoulder, knocking the wind from me before I can say anything else.

“Put me down,” I hiss, hitting his toned back with my bound wrists.

He chuckles, and I yelp when he slaps my ass. “Fuck, I missed you.”

My legs flop against his chest, and my dark hair sways with his movements. What’s worse is that I miss him too. I miss his voice, the nicknames, the constant entertainment, and the way he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.