Page 19 of Destined for the Devil
Hesitantly, I reached out my hand and slid it into his. Without missing a beat, he firmly grabbed it and gently pulled me to standing right in front of him—so close, his eyes were eating me alive.
This was too much. I felt it everywhere—the heat of his body transferring to me, toallof me. God, he smelled so delicious, his body was so big and strong, and fuck, his eyes! I completely drowned in them every time I caught a glimpse.
Roman didn’t back away. I was trapped in front of him, looking anywhere but up into his eyes. And I could barely breathe. Tiny shallow breaths left my lungs as the filthy thoughts amplified in my mind.
He took a tiny step closer, and I shuddered, realizing he was an inch away from pressing his body to mine. Slowly, as if it was his God-givenright, he looked all over me, taking even breaths in and out.
"Did you like the view from down there?" His deep voice pronounced the words, and understanding slowly seeped into me. Was he being fucking serious? Did he actually just ask that?
Lost for words, I stood planted to the floor, my eyes on his, my mouth slightly open from the surprise of his question. But then he fucking repeated it!
“Did you like…the view from your knees?” His voice dropped lower, and he spoke slowly, making sure I heard every word. He took another step closer, his hips making slight contact with mine.
Holy shit. My brain was melting out of me at this interaction. I leaned back into the countertop, and quickly looked away, desperately trying to catch my breath from whatever was happening between us. Was it that obvious that I fucking wanted him?
"I don't know what you're talking about." I finally managed to lie.
"Yes, you do. Did you like standing on your knees...and looking up at me?"
My jaw physically dropped at his words, and I finally glanced up into his eyes. He looked straight-up dangerous, like he was about to kill his prey or something. But then Roman asked a question that ripped my little heart right out of me.
"When was the last time you had sex?"
I stared up at him, shocked to my very core that he would ask that.Whythe hell was he asking that?! "W-what?" I managed to stutter.
"When was the last time you had sex, Isla?" he questioned again as if he was asking me what time it was. What the fuck was he doing?
"Why…why are you asking me that?" I looked away—his eyes felt like acid on my skin.
"Why did you move here?" His tone was dead serious, and he tilted his head to the side, trying to catch my gaze.
My mind was mush. Why was he asking all these questions? Did…did he somehow know my past?!
"Roman...what are you doing?" I had no idea what to say, what to think, where to look, or how to breathe.
"You dropped out of med school not because it didn't work out, but because you had to, didn't you?"
Another wild statement made my blood run cold. I just stared right at his fucking perfect face and eyes, not knowing what to make of anything. How onearthdid he know that? He didn't even know my last name!
Something sizzled on the stove at that moment—the tomato sauce. Using the opportunity, I lightly pushed him off and removed the burned pot from the stove flame. But I remained there, right in front of the stove, not daring to turn around and face him.
"Why are you so suddenly interested in my past sexual history? Didn't you say I was not your type?" I gathered the courage to ask. Facing away was much safer than seeing those demon blue eyes again.
"You're not," he responded bitterly behind me. "You're really fucking not.” Was he fucking angry at that? "Am I your type?" he suddenly added, and my eyes almost fell out of my sockets from that question.
I took a deep breath in, steadying the little tremble inside me. I had no idea what to tell him. No, obviously not, but Jesus Christ, he was all I fucking thought about. I only allowed myself to fantasize about him right before falling asleep; that way, I could justify it—maybe it was a dream.
My legs were made of jello, but I managed to turn around and face him once more. He was waiting for an answer, his eyes narrowed on me.
"You mean is a guy who’s all tatted up with what looks like gang or prison tattoos, has a fuck ton of money that he obviously didn't earn in construction, and lives a life I know nothing about…my type? No." I spoke coldly more for my own sake, to help myself wake up.
Roman straightened out and took one step forward, pressing me against the counter once more. It got darker, hotter, and suffocating when he came so close. He blocked all light and oxygen.
"Aren't you curious? What a guy who's not your type...would feel like?” he murmured, tilting his head, as if enjoying how I held my breath in front of him, melting from this conversation.
I tried to chuckle, but it came out as a nervous laugh instead. I told him exactly what was on my mind. "You know, I was naïve enough to think that you wouldn't take advantage of me while I lived here." A bitter smile graced my lips at the realization of how wrong I was.
But Roman had an answer ready. "Oh, Isla. You really are so naïve. So pure, so…innocent. If I wanted to take advantage of you, I would have done it a very long time ago. This conversation is aboutyou, not me." He paused and watched that information overtake me but then added, "Looks like you fucked up the pasta sauce. Let's go out for dinner. It's hot outside so…get changed."
