Page 131 of Only for Him
She nods, remembering.
"Your anger. Your hatred." I smile at the memory. "Your need to make vile men hurt. And I knew then that I had to choose you."
I take a breathe and let it settle. “That you belong tome.”
"You thought you knew me from two seconds of watching from a distance?" They’re angry words, but she’s not angry. She’s probing and looking for me to explain what’s happening to her, tous,because she doesn’t want to believe it’s fucking destiny.
"I did," I say, feeling her pulse against my palms, how the cells in my body shift to match it. "But I also needed to show you who you really are. What you're capable of. Because I saw the samedarkness in you that lives in me. And I wanted you to embrace it, not run from it."
"You killed people. Left their bodies for me to find. Made me your puppet." Her voice rises, but she doesn't pull away.
“I killed men who preyed on girls like your sister. Like Rosa. Like Dakota,” I say, stepping closer, crowding her space. “And I left them for you because Iknewyou’d follow the blood. That it would sing to you like it sings to me.”
“To what end?” she pleads, almost whimpering.
I press my forehead to hers, my breath ragged now. Need growing fiercer with each second. My cock is twitching to life, responding to her nearness, to the clarity of the steam surrounding us, to the cleanness our two ruined souls make when they’re together.
“To this,” I say simply. “To us. Standing here, washed in the blood of a man who sold your sister like she was nothing. To you finally embracing what you are.”
"And what am I, Roman?" I feel her desire growing in the shift of her body against me.
"Mine," I say, and the word hangs between us, heavy with promise and threat. “You want someone who knows the detective and the killer. The savior and the sinner. And wants every inch."
“Stop,” she whimpers, like it’s too much for her—but it’s not. She can take it. I know she can. She can take every fucking inch of me, and give me everything in return.
“I'd die for you,” I promise, grabbing at her hair and tugging her head back so she is looking up at me. “Kill for you. Bleed for you."
"And Rosa?" she asks, her voice tight. I almost let her go and a laughter starts rumbling its way up from the depth of my lungs. Of course my little viper is still hung up on that.
I would be, too, in her place.
"I found her in a shipping container at the docks. Half-dead, but still fighting. I killed the men who were holding her. She's been with me ever since."
"As what?" Giselle presses, and I hear the edge in her voice.
"As family," I say firmly.
Her eyes search mine, looking for the lie, but there is none. "You say she's like a sister. But does she know that? Does she accept that?"
I sigh. "She knows. She accepts it."
"And if she tried to come between us?" Giselle's eyes narrow.
"She wouldn't," I say firmly. "But if she did, I'd choose you. Every fucking time."
Her hands rise to my face, framing it. Her thumbs skim my cheekbones, tender and deliberate, like she’s memorizing the shape of what I am.
Her neck is long and bare, the bite I left on her shoulder gleaming like a claim. The sight of it—my mark—makes my blood burn.
She’s so close, I can feel the heat of her cunt against my thigh. Not being inside her yet is exquisite torment. But I savor the ache, let it build so I can give her everything I’ve been holding back.
The devouring she deserves.
"I can't be what you want," she says softly. "I can't be a killer."
"But you already are," I remind her. "The man downstairs didn't die of natural causes."
She flinches, but doesn't look away. "That was different."
