Page 26 of Frozen Obsession

Xena

Iwake up to sunlight on my face, warm and almost comforting. Blinking against the brightness, I realize Roman isn’t next to me. And for once, I’m not tied up. My whole-body aches like hell, sore in all the familiar places, with cuts where the Christmas lights wrapped around me, but… I’m free. My mind feels clearer and less foggy. A small smile creeps onto my lips—this is the longest I’ve gone without popping any pills.

"Damn bastard was right," I mutter, rubbing my sore wrists, bruised and marked up from last night. Roman never goes easy, but he always makes up for it in other ways.

I take a deep breath, letting the morning air fill my lungs. That’s when I catch the smell of coffee—and something else. "Bacon?" I mumble, feeling my stomach grumble. And the urge to pee hits me hard.

Rolling out of bed, I feel every bruise and cut as I shuffle toward the bathroom. Still naked, I glance at myself in the mirror. My skin is marked with bruises, red welts, and small cuts. And damn, if it didn’t feel good while Roman was doing it. After a moment of staring, I do my business, brush my teeth, and grab the Batman robe hanging behind the door, wrapping it around me. That’s when I notice the shock collar still around my neck. I’ve gotten so used to the damn thing that I barely even register it anymore. My fingers trace the leather, the small prongs pressing againstmy skin.

Hair? Whatever. Roman’s been keeping it braided and out of my face this whole time, so it’s not my problem. I head out of the bedroom, following the smell of coffee and bacon down the hall. When I get there, it’s just a cracked Hello Kitty mug and a plate of bacon and eggs waiting for me. Not Roman.

"Bummer," I whisper, sitting down at the small kitchen table. The mug feels warm in my hands, and I blow on the coffee before taking a sip. Roman’s many things, but a bad cook isn’t one of them. But who am I kidding. Even if this was cardboard, I’d still eat it—my stomach’s growling way too loud to care.

I scarf down the bacon and eggs, clean up my plate, and then notice—it snowed even more overnight. The woods outside are covered in a thick, white blanket. I stare out the window for a minute, wondering where the hell Roman is. After a few minutes of zoning out, I wander into the living room. The Christmas jazz station is still playing softly in the background, the same low melodies we used to listen to when we were teens. The melodies I still listen to thanks to him.

Curling up in the lazy boy by the window, I pull my knees to my chest and just stare at the snow. My mind starts racing, dragging me back to the past—always the fucking past. Being alone like this? It’s the worst thing for someone like me.

A memory of Roman floods back. It’s Christmas.

He’s standing across the room, leaning against the doorframe, glaring at me like always. He’s wearing nothing but black sweats and a black long-sleeve henley that hugs every muscle. There’s a mistletoe hanging above his head, but he hasn’t noticed. I do, though. A smirk spreads across my lips.

"You act like you hate me, big brother," I tease, walking toward him. His hazel eyes burn into mine, but he doesn’t say a word. Fuck, he’s devastating. That golden skin, those eyes, the tattoos covering his muscles… and the mohawk-mullet thing he’s rocking just works.

But he is my stepbrother.

My obsession.

I stop right in front of him, looking up into that stupid scowl of his. "What the fuck doyou want, Xena?" His voice is low and dangerous, but it just makes me want him more.

"Why?" I ask, moving closer, forcing him to step away from the doorframe—right under the mistletoe. "Why do you hate me big brother?"

"Why?" he mimics, clicking his tongue, his rough, tattooed hand suddenly gripping my chin. "Stop playing games. I don’t hate you and you know it. If I give in, I’ll break you, Xena Bean."

His words send a pulse straight between my legs, and I swear I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. "Kiss me," I whisper, pointing up at the mistletoe. He glances up, and when his eyes come back down, I surprise him by pressing my lips to his.

That night? Let’s just say Roman claimed more than just my lips. The lines blurred. He was my first.

The sound of a box dropping snaps me back to reality. I turn slowly and immediately regret it. Roman stands there, looking sexier than he has any right to in that damn red flannel, blue jeans, and scuffed-up work boots. Without the fog of withdrawal clouding my mind, I can appreciate him fully.

"You’re up early," he says, his voice low and rough, like he hasn’t quite woken up yet.

"The smell of food woke me up," I reply, trying to play it cool.

Roman crouches down, digging through the box he dropped. "I was hoping it would," he says, flashing a devilish grin as he pulls out a Santa hat from the box—the same one from years ago. He plops it on his head, looking like a mischievous Christmas elf.

"What’s with the box?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He gives me a dumbfounded "are you serious?" look. "Christmas decorations. I thought the words ‘Christmas decorations’ on the box might clue you in." He shrugs. "But I guess, besides being a junkie, you’re illiterate too?"

My eyes narrow at him. "I decorated already. Considering you used my own Christmas lights to tie me up, I figured you’d notice." I click my tongue. "Felonand blind, Mr. Delgado."

Roman flares his nose, a groan escaping his lips as he gestures around the room, his gaze landing on the decorations I half-heartedly put up with Jimmy and Marcos. He shakes his head, smirking. "You call this decorating?"

I cross my arms over my chest, rolling my eyes. "Asshole," I mutter under my breath.

His expression darkens, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Careful, sweetheart." He steps closer, eyes flicking to the collar still snug around my neck. "Keep talking like that, and I might just shock you again."

I swallow, my breath hitching at the heat in his gaze. "Maybe I want you to," I reply, my voice steady, though my heart is racing.

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