Page 86 of Beautifully Damned
A soft, ridiculous giggle escapes me. His mouth quirks, but his eyes stay solemn.
“I missed you, angel,” he murmurs.
“I missed you too,” I confess.
We both inch forward, and his gaze drops to my lips.
“I’m not good with words,” he says roughly, “but I know this. Without you, I’m nothing. Before you, my heart is just muscle. Now it has a purpose. That purpose is you.”
The last time he touched me without permission, I drove a knife into his flesh. He hasn’t forgotten. Neither have I. If I let him touch me now, it won’t just be his hands on me—it will be me handing him my pride, my trust, my last defense.
His breath brushes my lips. “Can I touch you, Ayla? Can I worship you? Can I show you with my body what words can’t reach?”
“I’m scared, Roman,” I admit.
He pulls his hand back as if burned. “Of me?”
“Of what happens after this,” I force out.
His brow furrows. “What do you think will happen?”
“A trap. You’ll leave. You’ll break me.”
In an instant, he cages me beneath him.
“Without you, I rot. I wither. I unravel into pieces. If I ever leave you, Ayla, it will be because I’m in the ground. And even then, I’ll haunt you until your last breath. I’m begging you—let me rebuild it. Let me prove I can.”
I don’t answer him with words. I reach up, grab his face in both hands, and kiss him. I can taste the desperation on his tongue.
“I swear, Ayla,” he breathes after breaking the kiss. “I’ll never hurt you again.”
He strips his shirt off, and my breath catches at the sight of him—every scar, every muscle, and every reminder of the violence he’s endured and inflicted.
His rough fingertips brush my ribs, up, up, until he palms my breast. “Fuck, Ayla… you’re so perfect.”
He tears my shirt over my head, his hungry eyes drinking me in like I’m his last salvation.
“Beautiful,” he mutters, taking my nipple into the heat of his mouth. My cry fills the room as his teeth graze it. He switches to the other, giving it the same reverence.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he admits between kisses, trailing down my stomach. “Every night without you was hell.”
When he reaches the waistband of my pants, he pauses, his eyes lifting to mine. “Say the word, Angel. Say stop if you want me to, and I’ll walk away before I ruin this.”
I shake my head, breathless. He rips my pants down, dragging my underwear with them. Then his tongue parts me, making me lose my mind with pleasure. My thighs clamp around his head, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ayla…” he gasps, pulling back only for a second, his lips wet with me. “Come for me. Please. I need to feel you break on my tongue.”
He goes back to sucking on my clit, drawing figure eights on the bundle of nerves. My body convulses, release flooding me. Roman holds me through it.
After I catch my breath, his mouth crashes against mine, forcing me to taste myself on his lips.
“I want to be inside you,” he pants against my mouth. “Tell me I can have you, Angel. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’ve always been yours.”
He frees himself from his boxers, but he doesn’t rush—he just presses himself against me.
I lift my hips. “Roman. Please.”
