Page 25 of Lust

“You’re looking a bit pale, Sydney. Are you okay?” someone asks, Roman, I think, but it’s muffled. Chairs scrape against the stone floor, clothing rustles and voices chatter somewhere as blackness claims me.

Consciousness seepsback in one molecule at a time. As I become more aware of my surroundings, I hear faint voices in another room. Peeling my eyes open, I roll my head to the side to take in the room, wincing when a dull thud takes up residence inside my skull. Recognition registers as I see my bedside table and the bible I keep there. My eyes scan the room, as much as possible without moving my head, and I see my dressing gown hanging on the back of door, which is ajar.

Taking a deep breath, I prepare for pain as I shuffle into a seated position, resting my head against my headboard. The pain lessens with each breath until I can finally move without feeling like it’s about to crack open.

Spilling all your sins.

I bat the thought away and ease my legs over the side of the bed, pausing as nausea roils in my stomach. Once it’s passed, I push to my feet and amble toward the slightly open door and the voices I hear when I first woke. The voices become clearer the closer I get, and the nausea returns. Panic assaults me but it’s soon overridden by an emotion I’m not used to and have no real clue how to deal with it. It’s this emotion that drives me forward and propels me into my living room where I explode.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SYDNEY

“What the hell are you doing in my house? Get out!” I screech as I burst into the living room where Blake and Roman startle and turn toward me. I throw a hand out to the wall to steady myself as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I see the concern on their faces as I continue into the room, but it doesn’t quell the anger raging inside me.

“Sydney—”

“Do. Not. Come. Near. Me.” I take a steady breath. “What are you doing here?”

Roman and Blake share a look, then Roman takes a tentative step toward me with his hands raised, palms out. “You fainted, and I brought you home.”

I frown. Not at the fainting part because the brass band and lump on the back of my head attest to that fact. But Roman bringing me home?

“Where’s Pa? Why didn’t he bring me home?” My eyes flick between them and the seemingly smaller room with these two imposing men filling the space.

“He’s at the church. He had a meeting, and I have a car,” Roman says, taking another step toward me.

“We didn’t want to leave you alone in case you had a concussion, which I’m guessing you do given how unsteady you are,” Blake chimes in, but unlike Roman he remains where he is.

I avoid looking at him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he kissed me in the alley, and I don’t know what to think or do or say.

“Well, thanks, but you can go now,” I state, raising my head and looking straight at Roman, who has managed to move even closer to me.

“You don’t sound very grateful, Sydney,” Roman says, his tone rough and the words layered with dangerous meaning.

My mind fills with images from the numerous dreams I’ve had of the two of them over the last few days, and I struggle not to react. But as Roman invades my personal space, it becomes a battle of wills.

These men are servants of the devil sent here to tempt me beyond redemption. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep resisting them. Why are they doing this? I need to get them out of my house and stay far away from them. But how when they keep showing up in my life, finding ways to be alone with me.

In the few seconds I’m distracted by my thoughts, Roman hasn’t just invaded my personal space, he’s obliterated it beyond repair.

I gasp as he takes hold of my wrists, thumbs pressing firmly against the pulse there. It’s racing. I can feel it.

“Something the matter, Sydney?” he asks, caressing the spot in a circle.

“W-wh-what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t fall over and injury yourself more,” Roman replies, but something in his words gives me pause.

Maybe it’s not his words and more the small, soothing caress of his fingers against the inside of my wrist, or the way he’s watching my face—for what I don’t know. Or perhaps it’s thevery real and terrifying reality that Roman is looking at me like he wants to devour me and some inner and innate part of me is almost wishing for it.

How far have I fallen that I would be looking at this man and his friend to defile me in such a way?

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to leave. This is not right,” I say, my voice timid and unsure.

Roman, still holding my wrists, steps closer, crowding me and forcing me to take a step back. I don’t have anywhere to go and end up pressed against the back of the sofa.

“I think you’re lying, Sydney. I think you know exactly what we are doing. But more importantly, I think you like it, want it,” he whispers against my cheek.

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