Текст книги "Skin of a sinner"

Автор книги: Avina St. Graves

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

And I realize in an instant, as I avert my gaze from the fight, the Bratva aren’t the only ones who are pissed.

Ares is a nobody around here, and he just proved everyone wrong.

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Chapter 25

ISABELLA

My stomach knots as I watch Copper drop onto the floor. Another man falling unconscious inside the ring.

A quarter of the crowd roars with victory. The brothers beside me join in, but I can’t bring myself to do the same. The people who’ve bet on the underdog are few and far between. Only a handful of the men’s eyes are burning with excitement, their lips pulled into smiles stretching from ear to ear.

I’m frozen in my spot as Roman winks at me and slinks back into the darkness, leaving behind the crowd to collect their winnings or mull over their losses, and for the very pissed-off Bratva to drag their fallen man out of the ring in shame.

A prickle of awareness heats the side of my face, but I can’t spot anyone looking at me when I turn.

I’m running on an adrenaline high like some junkie. My veins are buzzing from the fight, turning my blood both hot and cold. The brawl was vicious, but it doesn’t feel like it’s close to being over.

Rico’s arm curls around my shoulders, crushing me against him as he leads us to the same door Roman went through. “How good was that, aye? You know, I was thinking, if you want a tattoo too, just give me a call. Imma set you up with a real good deal.”

He slips a piece of paper into the pocket of my hoodie, and his older brother mutters, “Fucking idiot.”

Rico smiles stupidly and continues, “Promise I’ll be gentle with you, chica. I have what some people call magic hands.” He winks as he rakes his gaze up and down my body.

“Because one day they’ll disappear.” I force a chuckle at Damien’s response.

“I’m too fast for that.”

I roll my eyes without meaning to.

Rico scratches my head like I’m a dog. “What? You don’t believe me? Come to one of my matches and you’ll see your pretty boy ain’t shit. I’ll win every match just for you, bella.”

It’s odd, but I kinda like it. The only person I’ve had this dynamic with is Mickey, which makes me feel compelled to say, “I don’t know how you’re going to fight if Roman cuts off your hands.”

He smirks as he pushes the door open. “I can take Riviera. How does the saying go? Win the fight, win the girl?”

“I’m not an object.”

“Don’t need to be an object to be a prize, muñeca.”

The idiot with the death wish doesn’t let go of me as we round a corner into the room where Mickey is wiping his body with a damp towel. His eyes brighten when they find mine, only to turn pitch black when they go to the arm wrapped around my shoulders.

The smile he draws on his lips is easy, but there’s no mistaking the deadly intent radiating from him in suffocating waves.

“Bella and I have been getting real close.” Rico curls his arm so I’m pressed even closer to his body.

He’s going to die today.

Roman’s lips peel into a smile that’s all teeth as I try to wiggle away. “Do you know what’s going to happen in ten seconds?”

Rico leans his head against mine. Surely there are easier ways for this idiot to die—ones not involving me.

“Enlighten me, hermano.”

I look at Damien, hoping—praying—he’ll step in. But apparently, his phone is more interesting.

“You have four more to get your hands off my girl, or I break them,” Roman says with deadly calm.

Rico—oh, Lord, help me—shoots me a lopsided grin and lifts his hands. “These magic hands? My Bella over here was just learning about how good they are.”

My Bella.

Oh no.

I shriek as Roman snaps, lunging across the room faster than lightning. Rico rips away from my side just as quickly. Neither lands a hit because Damien is there in a flash, throwing his brother through the open doors like a rag doll.

I press myself against the wall, trying to blend in with my surroundings—not like it does anything.

Rico, the fucking lunatic, laughs as Roman roars, “I’m going to fucking kill you, somaro.”

Donkey.

His limited vocabulary would be laughable if he didn’t look like he was possessed by a demon, held back only by Damien’s hand wrapped around his throat.

“You should ask Bella what’s in her pocket,” Rico goads.

“Shut the fuck up, Rico,” Damien growls and turns his attention to Roman. “Chill. You’re scaring your girl.”

I’m not scared. Not of Roman, at least.

Of the conflict? Yes.

Of accidentally being caught in the center of it? Yes.

Am I still on my adrenaline buzz? Yes.

Roman’s piercing eyes turn on me, and I try to melt into the wall to escape it. He holds his hand up in surrender and ignores Rico when he says, “We’re going to share a seat tomorrow.”

Mickey winds me when he practically slams my chest against his. Strong arms encircle my rigid body, and he flattens his palm against the small of my back so there isn’t an inch of space between us.

The room is quiet, filled only by the sound of my racing heart and Roman’s rough breaths against my hair as he desperately gasps in my scent as if I were a drug.

“Did you doubt me?”

I peer up at Roman through my lashes. Splaying my fingers over his damp skin, I lightly trace the hard ridges of his muscles.

He shudders slightly. “I told you I’d do anything for you. Don’t you ever doubt when I say I’ll win for you.”

Rico wolf whistles behind me. “I’d win for you too, chica,” he pipes.

“Shut the fuck up,” both Damien and Roman bark.

Rico scoffs. “Anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole, Riviera?”

“All the time.”

Mickey lets me pull away from his hardened body, but he doesn’t let me get far, slipping in front of me to act as a makeshift barrier between me and the guy he called donkey. Out of nowhere, three near-naked girls and a man wearing a cheap suit pour into the room.

“What a fight, am I right?” the lanky guy bellows, waving several wads of cash in the air.

The girls giggle in unison as the guy throws a couple wads at each man in the room, all catching it with practiced ease.

“Good show, good show. Let’s aim for double tomorrow, aight boy?” The man throws Mickey the remaining bills. “Same time tomorrow. More blood. Make it messy. People eat that shit up, eh?” He tilts his chin at Roman with a shit-eating smile. “I’m headin’ off. Gonna go make some more people rich.”

Then the man exits the room, winking at a blonde as he leaves the women behind. Rico snags one of the girls before she sets her sights on the reigning champion. The other girl latches onto Damien, but he couldn’t look more disinterested.

The last girl has the most stunning golden hair I’ve ever seen, trailing down her back in big, luscious waves, which pair perfectly with her glittery, backless cami. Her bright blue eyes train on Roman, and she stands straighter, pushing out her breasts and elongating her neck like an animalistic mating ritual.

She’s a breathtaking peacock or a flamingo with her long legs and delicate curves proudly on display. In comparison, I’m a common, everyday, trash-living pigeon; loose-fitting jeans, an oversized hoodie, and red chucks.

My insecurities fly out the window when a red-tinted film drops over my eyes. The blonde bombshell sidles up to Roman’s side and feels up his abs, completely ignoring my existence.

But I say nothing.

Do nothing. I bite my tongue and watch. She doesn’t owe me anything. It’s not my job to stop her.

“Need a hand taking the edge off, handsome?” She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Roman’s hand is on her forehead, pushing her back until she’s a full arm's length away.

“Not interested.” A missing blotch of makeup the size of Mickey’s thumb marks the middle of her forehead. She blinks up at him in shock, but I have to hand it to her, she recovers quickly, plastering a saccharine smile on her irritatingly pretty face. Whether desperate or stupid, the woman reaches for Roman’s arm again.

This time, his lips crash into mine instead of moving her away. Like always, there’s nothing gentle about his kiss. It feels less like a claim and more like he’s making a pledge. He isn’t just declaring that I’m his, but he’s also mine.

Roman abruptly pulls away, leaving me breathless and my lips bruised. “Don’t touch me again. This is your only warning.” He levels her with a blistering glare that makes her rock back a step.

The blonde gasps before tucking tail and scurrying away to leave me with an amped-up Roman. Rico’s tongue is too preoccupied to notice the turn of events. As for Damien… well, he checked out the second he got paid.

“You can’t hurt her.” My voice is a combination of a plea, order, and scolding.

“I wasn’t,” Mickey says, offended. “If she tries anything stupid again, I’ll dump water on her head or something.” He angles my chin so his lips brush against my cheek. “We better get your sexy ass out of here before I fuck you while everyone watches.”

My eyes widen as heat instantly unfolds low in my belly.

“What? You think I wouldn’t have the energy to make you scream after I almost kill someone? Baby, that was an appetizer. You’re my whole meal.”

I breathe in short bursts against his face. “But…” I gulp. “I’m still sore.”

He rakes his teeth along my jaw. “Who said I need to fuck you to make you come?” He chuckles darkly and grabs a handful of my ass. “If only you knew about all the depraved things I’ve been dreaming about doing to you.”

I bite my tongue when he pulls away with a devilish smirk. It’s impossible not to let his hungry eyes affect me. Especially when said eyes are paired with a bare chest, deep V, and a bulge tenting his boxing shorts.

Really, I’m fighting a losing battle over here.

He adjusts himself and throws on a top and jacket. None of the men acknowledge each other’s departure as Roman pulls me in the opposite direction of the arena to a set of stairs leading to a fire exit.

Before I realize what’s happening, he throws me over his shoulder. “You’re not walking fast enough.”

I shriek, but I don’t fight him. I can’t believe he’s real and this is happening. This man has survived prison, worked for a cartel, walked into a ring to fight the best, and came out victorious. He killed the people abusing me, took me away from a life that wasn’t leading anywhere, and set up a house just for us, all so we could have our own slice of paradise. Above all of that, he chose me.

Every single time, he chose me. He does it all for me. How many times has he risked his life, just to spend the money on something that would put a smile on my face?

He’s real, and he wants me—not my flesh, me. He could have anyone and anything, and he still chose me.

I’m breathless with the weight of the knowledge when he buckles me into my seat. Mickey goes on, recounting the fight and reliving every moment of it, but I’m still stewing in my disbelief.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to win again,” he says with confidence I don’t feel. “And when I do, I’m dedicating my victory to you.”

Tomorrow.

Another day, another match.

I don’t need him to fight for me or for us. Not if it means that I could lose him.

“It’s not just a fight, Mickey.”

He squeezes my thigh. “It’s business, Princess. Those men walk into the room knowing they could lose money. I’ll be okay.” He bites the inside of his lip, smiling to himself. “I like it when you worry about me.”

I sigh. “There has to be another way to make money without putting a target on your back.”

“Didn’t I promise you this will be the last one? I’m going clean after this.”

“You have an itch that always needs to be scratched.”

He can dream all he wants about keeping his fists to himself, but the liquid pumping through his veins is ninety percent bloodlust. He can’t just quit. Because then he’ll realize that a starved lion will eat anything. Someone will set him off, and we’ll end up in the same place, amongst the same crowd. And maybe he’ll end up in prison again, and I’ll be alone. Again.

“How will you stop it from festering?” I add.

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as tension gathers in the air. “Do you know what happens when you fight in prison?”

I shake my head.

“They put you in a box,” he starts. “Four walls. Six feet wide, twelve feet long. One bed, one toilet, one sink. There’s a blurred window the size of my hand, so I can’t see out of it. You don’t talk to anyone, don’t see anyone, don’t have anything in there to make the time go by. You just sit there. Sometimes it’s cold, and sometimes the air conditioning is conveniently broken. Then the lights go out.” He laughs half-heartedly to himself. “What do you do when you have nothing to do all day? You sleep. What do you do when the lights go off and there’s nothing but silence and you can’t sleep anymore?”

My fingers tremble as I wrap them around his hand.

“I thought at twenty years old, a basement would be nothing more than a room. But some basements are rooms, and some are prisons. The only difference between the two is what I bring inside.”

Tears gather on my lower lashes. Squeezing his hand, I bring it to my lips and press a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

“I went in the box once, then never again. Any fight I got into, I didn’t start. Any energy I needed to burn found an outlet that didn’t involve anyone else. Flat hands, my shrink called it.” He turns to me so his silver eyes can sear into mine. “I won’t go back into the box, Isabella. I stopped once; I can stop again.”

“I believe you,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the top of his knuckles.

“I’m not leaving you again. I promise you. This is it. Tomorrow’s win will set us up for the whole year. Just trust me, okay?”

“I do.”

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Chapter 26

ISABELLA

Heat licks at the base of my spine, seeping desire into my bloodstream. An ache grows slow and needy in my core, building faster with every second and spreading along my every inch like wildfire. It’s a blinding spotlight within the darkness, calling me closer.

I’m chasing it, but it’s not enough.

More.

I need more.

My body moves, searching for release while debauched noises escape past my lips. I’m too delirious to figure out what sound I made or to be embarrassed.

I know it’s cold—the type of cold that makes my nipples hurt. But it’s confusing. I don’t know how or why, but the bottom half of my body is warm, and my blood is on fire. I can’t stop moving. It feels too good to stop. The light is right there. It’s so close. Just a little more and I can reach it. I have to reach it.

My body takes over, attempting to move my hands to my center and take what I need. Yet, I… I don’t move. I try again, but my hands, they’re… stuck?

Pleasure curls through me, forcing me to shiver, even though my hands are still fixed together.

Frowning, I twist my wrist to try to get free. But the more I twist my wrists, the more they burn. Not the pleasant kind of burn. It’s more like the pain that came from the ropes Mickey tied around my—

My eyes snap open. I try to sit forward, but I’m yanked back in place by my wrists. With labored breaths, I blink back the lust-filled haze over my vision, focusing on the shapes hidden within the darkness. Out of pure reflex, I start tugging at the ropes, pulling this way and that, but my hands are still fastened to the wooden headboard.

“Don’t bother,” a gravelly voice rumbles from the shadows. It’s the type of sound I’d imagine coming from the monster hidden in the corner of the room. “You’re not getting away from me now, Bella. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

I gasp, whipping my head toward the sound, blinking once, twice, three times. It doesn’t matter how long I stare; the sight in front of me doesn’t change, but my body does. The rose-tinted film falls back into place and my veins thrum with desire because it isn’t just any monster waiting to devour me whole. It’s my monster.

I’m completely bare from the neck down, covered only by the arms curled around my thighs and the head nestled between them. His tongue circles my clit, and I can’t help the guttural moan that leaves me as euphoria edges closer. “Mickey, what are you doing?” I pant into the darkness.

“I couldn’t wait anymore. I’m starving.” The sound of Roman’s strained voice sends a jolt of electricity to each atom of my being.

Light streams through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over his deadly features, highlighting his strong nose and glistening eyes. Light catches on his stubble and the wet glaze covering his chin and mouth.

Ares, Roman, Mickey, whatever he wants to be called, is absolutely stunning.

“You’re my pretty little toy, aren’t you?”

“What?” I gasp. The degradation should be upsetting, not making me wetter with each word that comes out of his mouth.

A shiver rolls through me when his tongue descends upon my entrance. I arch into his touch, my body set on chasing the high.

“I could do whatever I want to you, and you’ll be soaking wet, begging for it. Do you know why?”

Shadows fall across his face, accentuating the lethal edge of his sharp cheekbones. My hips chase after him when he tugs my soft flesh between his teeth. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, a whisper of pain, followed by a flicker of pleasure. His tongue plunges into my entrance with so much brutality that I feel the splinters of his sadistic movements all the way to the back of my throat. Then on the cusps of his torment, when I think I can’t take anymore, he kisses me like I am the most delicate thing on earth. As if I’m something to be cherished, but broken. Loved, but hate fucked. Pretty, but ruined.

“Because you’re mine, Bella. Perfectly made for me. My personal little princess to fill, to fuck, and to… eat.” He drags his tongue along my center, forcing me to shudder. “This pretty pussy of yours belongs to me.”

If he keeps going, I won’t have control over the sounds I make. My inner thighs are begging me to close them for a reprieve from Roman’s relentless attack. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to wiggle my hips away or move my legs to lessen the pain. He has me in an iron grip. Even if he didn’t, I’d still be stuck, legs spread wide and at his mercy. A pair of silken ropes wind around my ankles and the bedposts, baring my pussy to him and the cold air at all times.

The scene before me is concerning on so many different levels. The first is how he managed not to wake me while arranging me like a rag doll. The second is how hot my blood runs at the thought of him tying me up like an object designed to fulfill his desires, then eating me like I’m a delicacy to be savored. The third concern? The fact that I want none of this to stop, even though every part of my rational brain is telling me to say the word that will end this.

Even more messed up is that I might start getting excited for bed because of what might happen while I sleep. I’m his for the taking. He knows it, my body knows it, and it’s just my mind that hasn’t gotten with the program.

For years, he lived another life while I was fast asleep and oblivious. Whether it’s his intention or not, it feels like he’s telling me that he’ll always keep my bed warm. He’s shared the other side of him with me, and it’s as if he’s promising that we’ll do everything together. Maybe it’s all wishful thinking, but I truly believe that promise is our new reality.

Mickey’s hot breath fans my center as he groans, “Fuck, you taste so good.” I yelp when he bites the inside of my thigh. “I told you I’d make you scream again.”

“I’m sore,” I whimper as he continues lapping at me. It’s nothing more than a dull ache, but if he fucks me, the pain will outweigh pleasure.

“I’ll make you feel good, baby,” he mumbles against my wet heat, peppering soft kisses that are so unlike the vicious way his tongue moves. “Tell me what you like.”

I don’t need to say a thing because he figures it out himself, throwing me into a world of bliss. He doesn’t just lick me. It isn’t just foreplay. This is a ritual. He’s a god demanding servitude from his loyal subjects. He’s a puppeteer, pulling all the right strings to make me dance beneath him. And I am a willing victim caught in his net.

It’s not rough or gentle, but it’s consuming. My breathing labors, hiccupping and moaning in time to each flick of his tongue. He works his tongue in and against my pussy like I’m his death row meal; like he’s been starved his whole life. Mickey’s hands leave my hips, groping and searching my tender flesh until he finds purchase on the oversensitive tips of my nipples. I moan at the slightest touch to them, feeling the pleasure zip down to every corner of my body.

Then he perfects his rhythm.

And I’m a goner.

If I was in heaven before, the plane I’m descending to is a place no god or man could survive. There isn’t a higher being that could save me from falling from grace and into Mickey’s grasp. I scream while pressure blooms at the pit of my stomach until colors explode in the backs of my eyes. The sensations keep blossoming and erupting until it’s too much for me to handle. “Mickey, please!” I cry, pulling at the ropes.

“Again,” he grunts. “You’re going to come on my mouth again. And this time, when you scream, you’ll scream my name. If you don’t, we’ll start all over again. Do you understand?”

A muffled sound leaves my throat in answer, unable to form a coherent thought because his thumb takes over from his devilish tongue.

My entire body seizes when he slides a finger inside me. “Good little fuck toys answer questions.”

“Yes,” I sob as his fingers slide in and out of me. It isn’t as painful as I thought it would be, but it aches unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s the hungry type of need that could never be sated.

“Has my girl been good?” He drags his teeth along the inside of my thigh.

“I’ve been good, I swear, Mickey.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. It’s like he’s dragging the answers out of me with his fingers.

“Oh.” Delight wraps around the single word. “I know you have. That’s why you get to come again.”

I nod my head and wiggle in the bindings holding me in place.

His tongue resumes its tortuous rhythm, circling the part of me that begs for friction. Only this time, he’s giving me what I was missing from before: being filled.

The single finger is enough to have me panting and moaning like I have never been touched before, and I never want it to stop. I scream his name and dig my nails into the ropes like it might keep me from crashing into a blubbering mess of moans and curses.

“Again.”

“What?” I say on an inhale.

“Say my name again.”

He isn’t asking me. He’s telling me. He’s making me with the curve of his fingers. The light comes closer with each push of his fingers on my G-spot. I cry out his name over and over when I reach my peak, legs spasming and back arched. He keeps pumping into me, dragging out my orgasm for longer than I thought was humanly possible. Even though I’m completely spent, and my entire body is overstimulated from his greedy touches, my attention fixates on each of his miniscule movements as he rises to his feet. The light casts dark shadows across his abdomen, highlighting every inch of hard muscle and deadly grace. I’m drunk at the sight of him.

He climbs up my body with slow, predatory movements, trailing a path of mind-numbing bliss with the kisses he leaves behind. My body arches against his lips and he doesn’t hesitate to pounce onto my waiting flesh to leave his mark on me. And just like he did when he was on his knees before me, he latches onto my skin ruthlessly before planting a tender kiss in its place. Then finally, his lips meet mine and our tongues move against each other as if we were long-lost lovers reuniting under a starless night.

Suddenly, he pulls away and I stare at his retreating frame. The glow from the window catches the rough skin on his chest where the scar sits. He looks every bit the danger that he is. Perfect muscle formed in the darkest pits of hell, with eyes that could rival a siren’s luring stare. I can still picture how hypnotically he moved in the arena and how the sweat dripped from his body.

“It’s my turn now.”

My trance fractures. “What do you mean?”

Mickey’s fingers move to undo the ropes around my ankles. “I can do whatever I want to you, Princess. If I want to fuck your face, I will.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. I don’t know how to do what he’s asking.

Mickey climbs on top of me in all his naked glory, and my gaze hooks on his hard length that’s grazing against the hard pane of his stomach. “I’ve wanted your pretty pink lips around my cock for years.” He brings my face to his. “You came on my tongue, so it’s my turn to coat yours.”

I try to squeeze my legs together. I don’t know how my body thinks it could handle another orgasm, and I’m pretty sure I would die if I tried to find out. The muscles in my arms sigh when I’m freed from the headboard, but my wrists are still being held hostage by the silk ropes.

“I don’t…” I start, unsure how to say the words, as he leads me off the bed, using the ropes like a leash.

Roman lowers me onto my knees, holding onto the length of the rope as if I might try to run. “You don’t what, baby? Know how to suck cock? If you did, we would have a big fucking problem because someone else would need to die.”

My breath hitches. “What if I’m not good at it?” Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m meant to be over my self-doubt.

“Open your mouth,” he orders.

My eyes widen at the monster in front of my face, standing big and proud, pointing right at me. There’s no way that’s going to fit in my mouth. I know from experience he barely fits between my legs.

Still, I comply hesitantly. He fists himself a couple of times before a shiver runs through him the instant his pre-come slick head brushes against my parted lips. He curses. “Wider.”

I swallow, then open my mouth as wide as I can, gaze glued on his to take my mind off the sheer size of him. He slides into me before I can take another breath, completely filling my mouth. There isn’t enough room to move my tongue or breathe.

My throat contracts with a gag as he hits the back, and it takes every bit of my focus not to move my jaw as I push against his thighs. His sharp hiss reaches my ear just as his hand clamps into my hair to keep me in place. Heat spreads from my chest as my burning lungs beg for a whisper of air.

“Fuck,” he groans and withdraws suddenly so I can breathe. “There’s nothing you could do that wouldn’t feel good.”

The power in his stance as he towers over me could end a lesser woman. Shadows flicker across his abs while the image of pure bliss takes over his face. Heavy lids and parted lips. The rapid rise and fall of his taut chest.

I did that.

I made Roman look like he was about to crumble to his knees.

I shouldn’t be as wet as I am by seeing him like this, but I want to commit it to memory.

He rams his hips forward with his fist still in my hair, not letting me escape. My hands move each time to try to push him away when he breaches the back of my throat.

“That’s my girl,” he moans.

There’s no stopping the tears streaming down my face, or the soft moans that fall from my mouth as I lick him tentatively when he pulls away long enough for me to do anything.

Letting go of my hair, he says, “Hold it.”

He grunts when my bound hands wrap around his girth. Carefully, I move my hands up and down his length like I saw him do moments ago. I flick my tongue out to lick his head before wrapping my lips around it, and he snarls like he’s holding back a beast. Somehow, Mickey keeps his hands to himself as I explore him; licking the contours beneath his head, and using my tongue to follow the veins on his cock. The sharp breaths he takes only fuel my exploration. When I scrape my teeth along the underside, he cracks.

His fists descend into my hair, and he moves his hips like a maniac. I can barely keep up. There’s spit everywhere, and my lungs are close to giving out. I can’t even see him through the tears blurring my eyes.

“Look at you taking me like a good girl.” He forcefully stops my attempts at a moan with another savage thrust down the back of my throat. “Are you my good girl?” The way he delicately cups my cheek is at odds with the vicious way he moves. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” I choke, even though I can’t make out the word.

“Say, yes, Mickey, I’m your good girl.” He doesn’t let up. His grip on my hair keeps me from pulling away to say the words he wants to hear. All of my attempts come out as a jumbled mess of mumbling and gagging that makes him grunt up at the ceiling. “You feel so fucking good.”

He keeps going until he hisses out a curse. The muscles beneath my hands stiffen before he pulls out of my mouth. The cords in his neck strain as the room fills with the sound of his guttural groan. White hot ropes of come hit my cheek and blanket my tongue.

He came.

He came because of me.

He’s marked me because of what I’ve done to him.

Roman pants as he lets go of his cock and grips my face between his thumb and forefinger. “Show me. Stick your tongue out.”

I do as he says, feeling the creamy texture roll around my tongue and drip down the sides of my lips.

He hums in approval. “You look so beautiful with me all over you, Princess.” He caresses my cheek.

My skin reddens at his approval.

“Swallow. You’re not allowed to miss a single drop.”

It’s so salty, but I’m committed to pleasing him. Despite its strong taste, I would do it again in a heartbeat. It’s intimate in a way I didn’t expect. Mickey seeing a part of him on me is like laying claim to me without any words or more action on his part. For me, it’s like owning a part of him.

With my bound hands, I make a show of using my fingers to wipe the come from my face and into my mouth, licking each drop clean.

Mickey curses and helps me to my feet. “You make me crazy, Bella.”

I stagger forward, but his hands are there to catch me. He carries me into the bathroom, wipes my face and the inside of my legs clean with a wet cloth, and brushes my hair before braiding it, all while humming an unknown tune, slowly lulling me back to sleep. I’m physically and mentally exhausted, but I force my eyes to stay open to track Mickey and the upward slant of his lips as he takes care of me.

“I think the neighbors know my name now.” Mickey winks.