Page 7 of Don't Look Away

What just happened between Roman and me was twisted, and toxic. But I’ve never come so hard in my entire life, and that’s confusing the hell out of me right now.

Roman is on top of my chest, his cock still buried inside me. After both our orgasms faded, he just kind of collapsed on top of me, and that’s where he's been for several minutes. It’s actually kind of nice, the two of us connected, just soaking each other in, but his weight on my chest is making it hard to breathe.

“I can’t breathe,” I choke out, trying to wedge my arms between our bodies. “You’re too heavy.”

He rises up onto his arms, mercifully lifting the bulk of his weight off my chest. I pull in a lungful of air. “Ugh, that’s better,” I cough.

He rolls off me, finally separating us, but his gaze is strange, like he’s studying me, or seeing me for the first time, or something.

“What?” He looks so serious, and it’s kinda freaking me out. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He reaches over and brushes a strand of sweat-drenched hair off my cheek. “Do you remember what you promised?”

I look away, swallowing at the reminder. I hadn’t wanted to swear to anything, because who knows where this will ultimately lead. Roman is dangerous, and a part of me knows it’s only a matter of time before this thing between us explodes. Our relationship has been drenched in gasoline since the beginning. One spark and it all goes up in flames.

But when the words finally left my mouth, it felt good to say it, to give myself to him like that. Maybe it’s because I’ve never really belonged to anyone. Or maybe it was just the heat of passion that made it feel so magical. Either way, I know, over time, that feeling will fade for both of us. And that’s what I’m bracing myself for, the realization that this was all just a hormone-induced fantasy.

I glance back at him and shrug one shoulder. “I remember.”

With a deep growl, he wraps me up in his arms and pulls me against him. After a few minutes of silence, I broach the subject that’s been weighing on me for days.

“What happened with Tyler?” I ask.

A couple of days ago, I saw a notice go out from the University to all of the students, notifying everyone about his death. No details were given, but contact information for a suicide hotline was included at the end of the message.

Releasing me, he rolls over onto his back with a sigh. “The rumor is that he threw himself off a cliff, into the ocean.” He shrugs. “It’s a shame, but you never really know what people are dealing with privately.”

I prop myself up onto one arm, resting my head in the palm of my hand. I probably look casual on the outside, but my insides are a riot of anxiety. If I could ignore this whole thing with Tyler, I would. The last thing I want to do is confront the fact that the guy I’m fucking actuallykilledsomeone. But I have to. Something like that is too big to ignore.

“Tell me what happened,” I say evenly, despite the fear buzzing in my veins. Images of him beating the shit out of Tyler will forever be branded in my mind, and I don’t know, I guess I just want him to give me a reason to excuse it.

He turns his head to look at me, his eyes searching my face, like he’s trying to decide how to make his case. “It had to be done, Lux.”

“No, it didn’t,” I say, my gaze never leaving his. “Let’s at least be honest about that.”

“He wanted to hurt you,” he says evenly like that’s justification enough for murdering someone.

My gaze flicks over his face. He’s so fucking beautiful that sometimes, it’s uncomfortable to look at him. It’s still hard to believe someone like him is into someone like me. Not that I’munattractive, per se, but definitely not his caliber.

“I saw what you did to him,” I say, remembering the pool of blood that was gathered on the basement floor. “You tortured him.”

He pushes out a breath and stares up at the ceiling. “He was working with someone. I had to find out who that was.”

“And did you?”

His jaw works as he continues staring up at the ceiling. “We will.”

I nod, and fall back onto the feather pillows, staring up at the same ceiling. “You enjoyed it…” I whisper.

From the corner of my eye, I can see him turn his head abruptly to look at me. “Why would you say that?”

I turn my head to look at him. “Because I saw it in your eyes.”

In that flutter of a moment between him looking at me when I walked in and right before he realized it was me, I saw it; that glint of joy in his eyes. Blood dripped from his fists, and he looked relaxed, and comfortable, like he enjoyed the violence.

He just stares at me, like he doesn’t know what to say. But he doesn’t deny it, and that’s more telling than anything he could have said.

After a couple of long minutes, he finally speaks. “Tell me about your mother.”

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