for breakfast?” If breakfast is even a term that can describe the current hour. Lunch is more accurate.
If we had to live off the land, we’d probably die of starvation from waking up too late. Neither Roman nor I have ever been morning people. We’re both night owls through and through. I guess prison didn’t change his habit of sleeping in, either.
Other than a muffled groan, followed by soft snoring, there is no answer, so I answer my question for him. It’s my apology-not-apology for making him sleep on the floor instead of in the bed with me. The silver lining is that he has no shortage of pillows to make himself comfortable.
Just as I’m about to move, my feet keep me in my spot. Silver reflects the faint light of the living room like a beacon.
Keys.
Car keys.
My ticket to freedom is right there on top of the fireplace, and he wouldn’t know until it’s too late. I could be all the way back at my old house by the time he wakes up. Hell, I could probably be in another state.
I told him I wanted to go back. I’ve been fighting him at almost every turn, but I can’t move, unable to bring myself to grab those keys and run from him. I can’t leave him behind.
What was the point in all that fighting, then? What was I trying to achieve? I wasn’t fighting for the sake of fighting, was I?
Roman’s muttering of nonsense spurs my body toward the kitchen, but my eyes are still glued to the keys. I thought everything I wanted would be mine if I could outrun him. I guess I was wrong.
The same thoughts repeat themselves as I make brunch. I believe Roman when he said Jeremy will be looked after, and he wasn’t lying when he said all my art supplies were in the bag.
“What are you thinking about?”
I jump out of my skin and slap my hand over my heart, sending little bits of omelet flying. “Crap, you scared me.”
Leaning a hip against the counter, wearing a cocky grin, he folds his arms over his chest, lifting his long-sleeve slightly so a sliver of olive skin peeks out above his sweatpants. The deep V of his hips points to the place I’ve only ever imagined—and bumped my head into far too many times. I look away before I get caught, but his face doesn’t make it any easier to handle his presence.
The closest word to describe Roman’s bedhead is drool-worthy. The bad-boy persona is in full swing; anyone can tell he’s trouble by just the twinkle of his silver eyes.
Seconds pass, and I still can’t get my eyes off him. More specifically, the way the veins in his hands move when he squeezes his bicep, like he’s trying to rein himself in. I still remember how those skilled fingers drew pleasure from me and made my body addicted with just one hit.
He pushes off the bench, and the distance—or lack thereof—between us becomes suffocating. Not because we’re touching, but because all he needs to do is reach for me, and I’d be at his mercy. “What’s that saying? Think of the devil and he will appear?”
I square my shoulders. “I wasn’t thinking about you.”
“Mmhmm, is that why you’re blushing now?”
“I’m not blushing.” I most definitely am.
“Right, and you aren’t distracted by me at all.”
“Not at all,” I say in agreement, fixated on the curve of his lips. I still remember how soft they were and how much he said against my mouth without needing to utter a word.
“Is that why you’re burning breakfast?”
“What?” I spin around and yank the pan off the hotplate.
Sure enough, the eggs are past well done. What do country people do with inedible food? Feed it to the pigs?
The reasons why we could never live here keep piling up. There’s absolutely no way I could kill any animals or even eat the eggs because they could hatch into cute little chicks.
He chuckles as he takes the handle from me and dumps the remains into a black bag. I blink quickly, unsure of what to do when Roman kisses my forehead before pushing me aside to start on another batch of eggs.
Neither of us mentions the wasted food as we eat, even though, with the way we grew up, wasting food is the most cardinal sin. Mickey blanches when he accidentally drags his fork along the porcelain, creating a high-pitched noise. He shudders, then goes on about everything he did around the house and how he’s mastered the art of Google. As he talks, my eyes drift to the keys on the fireplace mantle.
What is there left for me? It’s not like I have the money to afford a roof over my head and food in my stomach. I get a commission every few weeks, which is better than nothing. Millie probably wouldn’t want me working at the store after what’s happened, and it’s not like I’d want to.
“Do it,” he challenges me, gesturing to the keys. “But remember, there isn’t anywhere you could go where I won’t follow.” His promise sends my heart galloping, and fire ignites in my veins.
I open and close my mouth, willing words to come out, but I have nothing to say—No, not nothing. I don’t know what to say because the words on the tip of my tongue will seal my fate, and I’m not ready for that.
Silence reigns over us, making the tension between us electrify as the fireplace crackles. ‘Run.’ His chest rumbles while his deep, darkened gaze locks with mine, descending goosebumps along my skin. “I’ll give you a head start. But know, I will catch you. Every time. You’ll scream, beg, and fight, but there will be nothing stopping me from claiming you.” I draw in a shuddering breath when his lips brush the shell of my ear, his voice a silky whisper. “Run. I dare you.”
Then he gives me the look that tells me what time it is: Tag.
The chair tumbles back and clatters against the floor as sparks ignite through my blood, alighting my skin with a flush of fear and excitement. Thunder erupts through the house to the beat of my bounding steps as I bolt past the keys and for the door.
Fear and rapture flood my senses, making me lose all thought as I aim straight for the trees, not feeling nature’s assault on my feet. Cold air stings my face as I go bounding through the forest while I hear the door slam open.
“Oh, Bella,” he calls in a singsong voice.
As my heartbeat roars in my ears, I don’t dare look behind me to see how far away he is. His voice seems close and a world away at the same time.
My thundering steps sound too loud in my ears as pine needles stick to my clothes and branches tear at my skin. The pain doesn’t register beyond the need to keep running and the desire to meet the hunter when I’m caught.
It’s fucked up and thrilling. Pure exhilaration surges through me; feeling like I have injected some kind of drug straight into my veins.
Tag. It’s been years since we’ve played it; I’ve forgotten how the euphoria of that hunt feels.
He’ll trap me. His claws will sink into me, and he’ll claim his territory like a savage.
Even though I can’t see him, I can feel him and his scent everywhere, overpowering the smell of the fresh earth.
He starts whistling a cheery tune somewhere, as if the chase doesn’t tire him. The eerie melody spurs me on, heightening my sense of panic.
My muscles burn as I push myself to run faster, each unsteady step threatening to send me tumbling down. I glance around frantically, aiming for something that helps me hide my tracks. Luckily, it’s not long before I spot rock formations on the horizon, covering a good portion of the forest floor.
I didn’t expect Roman to give me so much time to run, but I know he’s playing with me, giving me the false sense of security that I might have some semblance of control in this situation.
Climbing onto one of the rocks, I jump to another, then another, finally sprinting for a low-hanging tree. I duck behind it, breath ragged and wheezing. Even as I try to muffle my greedy lungfuls of air as I move, I may as well be screaming for him to find me with how loud I’m breathing.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” His coo echoes through the forest, so I can’t pinpoint where he is.
Nature stills, and the birds’ and insects’ songs go quiet. I hold my breath. Waiting. Listening.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Nothing happens. No sound, no movement, nothing.
The cawing of a bird booms overhead, and I jump back, colliding with something solid before a hand clasp over my mouth.
“Tag. You’re it.”
I shriek against his hands, and he releases me. Spinning around, I stumble to the ground, before scrambling to escape him.
Roman’s laugh bounces through the forest as he stalks forward, never more than a couple of feet away. The wide red smile of the mask—the one he wore to murder my foster parents—glows tauntingly.
I would bet my life there’s an animalistic grin plastered over his face.
Every one of my senses screams at me to run away from this predator. I keep crawling away from him, slipping in the sodden earth.
He pauses, and I do too. A head tilt is the only warning I get before he lunges. A cry rips through my throat when he seizes my ankles with his strong hands and drags me back to him. I thrash around, clawing at the ground with all the strength I can muster up, but everything is in vain.
His hips press against mine, and I cry out again, switching tactics by unleashing my hands on him instead to find purchase with my nails. He’s quick to react, and my wrists are shackled above my head by his long fingers before I can do any damage.
“I told you I’d catch you.” His dark laugh sends a tingle down my spine, and he grinds our hips together. I want to squeeze my legs shut to stop the building ache that only grows damper with each second, now that the predator has trapped his prey, and all that’s left for him to do is play with his food. “I hope you’re ready to be devoured.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the moan wanting to break loose. “Please,” I whimper, wiggling around without actually trying to get away, but all it does is add friction to where our hips connect.
He pushes his hand down my panties, and I buckle beneath him, breath rasping and lids heavy. Rough fingers sink into my core and curl up. There’s no way to hide the evidence of what his words and commanding touches do to my body.
I don’t remember tag being like this. But I think it’s now my favorite kind. Nothing I do frees my hands. He isn’t going to let go, and I don’t want him to.
“God, you’re fucking wet. Does my girl like being chased?” He clicks his tongue tauntingly, making my breath hitch. “Dirty girl.”
His fingers move, and his palm digs against my center. With my nerves soaring and the anticipation of being caught rushing through me, his touch feels better than it did at the house.
I’m sure I’m possessed. I must be. That’s the only reason to explain why I start grinding my hips.
“Fuck. Your cunt is drenching my hand.”
I moan at the sensations unfurling low in my stomach, kindled by his sharp thrusts. I shouldn’t want him like this when I haven’t fully forgiven him for what he’s done. Especially not when my wounds are still fresh. But it feels so good to have him here, above me, like he was three years ago.
This is exactly how it should be, with both of us panting and sweating, so starved for each other that candles and refinery mean nothing. It’s always been raw and primal, so full of passion that it’s sometimes hard to breathe.
I never needed the grandeur of fairy lights and picnics. I love them, but as long as I had Mickey there, it could be a real haunted house and it wouldn’t matter.
I want him in his element, and now he’s here before me. This is who we are; predator and his prey; Mickey and his mouse.
“Roman,” I plead, staring into his gray eyes, hoping he can read my mind without me saying what I want. My blood grows hotter because I can’t see his face or how he’s reacting because of the mask.
My teeth sink into my lip as he works his fingers faster. Just like he said, I’m drenched. Some sick, depraved part of my mind begs for more when my body is already shuddering and stretching to accommodate the intrusion.
“Say ‘Roman’ if you want me to stop.” He doesn’t stop plunging his fingers into me as he says it, and there isn’t a single cell in me that wants to be left on edge.
His fingers slide out of me.
He’s giving me a chance to back away, but I can’t deny that I want him to keep going. I’m showing both of us that I want all of it—all of him.
“Please,” I beg again, shaking my head.
Thick fingers circle around my entrance, dipping in—just the tips—and pulling out. I lift my hips, trying to guide him where I need him to fill me.
Then he removes his skillful fingers. My eyes snap completely open, and I have to bite back the frustrated groan rising in my throat.
Roman lifts his hand to his mouth and licks me clean from his fingers, letting a heady noise reverberate from his chest. “I knew you’d be my favorite meal.”
His masked face lowers inches from mine as a strong hand digs into my waist, holding me steady. Air rushes into my lungs with a gasp when he rubs himself against me.
My eyes widen. The layers of fabric between us do nothing to disguise his size.
He grinds his hips again, pushing against the very part of me that his fingers abandoned. “Say my name.” The command reverberates through my body.
“Mickey,” I moan, moving my head from side to side against the fallen leaves. “Please…” I can’t find the words I want to say. I want him to take all of me, but I’m frightened to give him more than he’s already taken. My heart has already felt too much pain.
He shoves his hand under my shirt, grabs my breast like he owns it, and has the deeds to prove it. “I warned you, Isabella. I promised you,” he snarls. “I’ll be claiming you once I catch you. You ran, Princess. You. Ran. You thought you could leave me? You thought I wouldn’t hunt you down? Now, I’m going to claim my prize.”
I hesitate, then say, “But I’m a virgin.” It might just be a word, but I wish he could say the same.
A strained sound comes from his throat. “Good girl. You waited for me.”
I can’t help but blurt, “And you didn’t.” It’s not a question, but a statement. There’s no way he hasn’t gotten around.
“Who said that?” he hums, rolling his hips in slow, languid motions. “What? You think I’ve ever had eyes for anyone else?”
I gape up at him, breath ragged. He…He can’t be serious. Not when he looks like that.
“How many times do I need to tell you that you’re the only one for me?”
It’s a feat to believe he hasn’t been with anyone else when girls would bat their lashes and throw themselves at him.
“I don’t want this,” I mutter, acknowledging the lie in my own words. I’ve wanted this for longer than I could have realized.
He pinches my nipple, causing me to arch my back. “Liar.”
With one word, one name, I could end this game and save what’s left of my heart.
But just like the other night, I don’t make a sound.
He briefly lets go of my hands, but I’m too slow to react before the cold air kisses my bare skin. My top lands in a heap on the forest floor.
Goosebumps erupt all over my body. Before I know it, my hands are stuck again, and my pants join the pile, leaving me completely naked beneath him.
He hisses beneath the mask. My body heats, feeling him brand the sight of me into his memory, from my puckered nipples down to the wetness coating my inner thighs.
Red blossoms across my skin, and I wiggle around to try to cover myself. No one has ever seen me this vulnerable and bare. And he’s there, fully clothed and leaving everything to the imagination.
“Fucking hell,” he groans and releases my hands so that he can knead at my breasts like they’re the most precious things in the world. “Just look at you. Jesus—Fuck,” he mutters gruffly, shaking his head. “I can’t believe how stunning you are. Look at how perfectly your tits fit in my hands. Your pussy is going to be so fucking tight. I just know it.”
I whimper as the rough material of his jeans rubs against my clit as he continues exploring my body, slapping my hands away every time I attempt to hide from him.
He keeps me in place by holding his hands on my hips while pulling himself out of his pants and teasing at my entrance.
I squirm as more arousal pools between my legs. “Mickey,” I gasp.
He slides himself up and down my center, coating himself in my slick. I can’t look away as he does it over and over, the head hitting my clit each time.
“Beg me to fuck you,” he growls, pulling my head back by my hair. When I do nothing but squirm against him, he says, “That wasn’t a question, Isabella. It wasn’t a fucking suggestion, either. Beg me to fuck you until the only name you remember is mine.”
The air is so charged with angst and desire I can practically taste it. “Mickey.” I shiver from the cold and anticipation.
“Mickey, what? Leave you like this, alone in the woods, all horny and wet?” he muses, purposefully bumping my clit with the head of his dick.
“Please,” I whimper.
“Do you want me to shove my cock into you and fuck you hard like the dirty little girl you are? Huh, is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I pant.
My entire body buckles and spasms when he rams his fingers inside me, thrusting fast and hard. I scream, and my eyes roll to the back of my head until I see stars. My nails sink into his arms while my legs squeeze around him. Still, his vicious assaults don’t slow.
Pressure builds in my core, tightening my muscles. I writhe and chase the high, but he pulls his fingers out right before I find release.
I whimper, completely delirious, as he snarls, “Then fucking say it, Bella.”
I shake my head but cry, “Mickey, please fuck me.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before he drives his dick inside me until there’s nothing left to give. My whole body convulses from the intrusion, and I scream out. The stretch causes pain to thunder through me, followed by mind-numbing pleasure.
“Shh, you’re doing such a good job.” He gives me a second to breathe, then pulls back and sinks in fully.
Then, a second time.
Drawing himself out to the very tip, he slams into me. His hands stay on my hips to stop me from sliding on the soggy ground.
“That’s it. Take my cock,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “God, you’re bleeding all pretty, Princess.”
He does it again, and again, and again, until it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
“Fuck, I need to kiss you.”
First, he pulls off the smiling mask. Then, with one hand, his shirt lands next to my clothes, and my breath catches in my throat. My eyes widen as I see the bare skin of his chest and arms for the first time in three years.
Almost every inch of him is covered in tattoos. Different animals and designs were painted on his figure in dark ink, some that looked like he had drawn them. But that’s not what my attention is fixed on.
It’s the only one I can see where the black has turned gray with age.
A single word is at the center of his chest, just above his heart.
Bella.
His lips meet mine before I can process the tattoo.
“You’re mine.” Thrust. “Fucking mine.” Thrust. “You’re not getting away from me.” Thrust. “You’re not going anywhere.”
With each thrust, he’s marking another part of my soul. And it frightens me. I’m unsure if I can give myself to him in the way he wants—the way he is to me.
I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until he stops.
“Scream if you want me to keep going. Tell me you love me if you want me to stop.” The muscles in his arms flex like he’s trying to hold himself back.
My eyelashes flutter as I try to get my bearings and ignore how his cock is twitching inside me. “That—that doesn’t make any sense.”
He lowers himself so his lips brush mine. “If you can still speak while I fuck you, I don’t deserve to have you.”
I stare up at him, unable to do anything but glance at the tattoo and then back at his face. I could call him Roman. He’s given me an out.
Mickey allows me precisely three seconds, then pounds into me, savage and merciless, squeezing my flesh in his hands. This isn’t love-making or sex. He’s fucking me. And it’s perfect.
Roman might be his name, and that will forever be a part of him. But buried deep down in the softest part of my mind, I know he’ll always be my Mickey. They’re the same person, but completely different at the same time.
It’s brutal, yet tender. Claiming and commanding. His mouth latches onto one of my nipples, and he sucks, lathers, and bites. But he doesn’t stop there.
He keeps trying to ruin me.
His fingers strum against my sensitive skin, sending electricity to every atom that makes up my being. The stimulation is almost too much, and I can barely make out the top of his head from the haze over my vision.
I pant and screech and beg, but he doesn’t give up. My body cannot fend him off as pleasure explodes in my core, wild and unbridled. It sweeps through my bones and sends my mind into a faraway plane.
Shoulders tense, jaw tight, and abs rippling, he never once looks away from me. He never once stops touching me. Whether it’s my ass, my breasts, or fisting my hair, every bit of his attention is given to me.
Silver catches my attention, but it isn’t his eyes. A coin-shaped pendant swings and hits his chest in time with his movements. I try to make out the writing on the necklace, but I’m struggling to even make out my name on his skin from the mind-bending sensations he’s bringing me.
“You’re fucking addictive. Do you feel your cunt milking my cock?” he pushes out between pants as he continues his pace, stealing more pleasure from me than I can give. “I’m going to fill this little pussy of yours, and you’ll feel me dripping out of you all fucking day. And you know what’s going to happen tomorrow? I’m going to fill you all over again.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he slams into me more forcefully than before. Warmth pools inside me as he empties himself, eyes squeezed shut before he collapses on top of me, more relaxed than I’ve ever felt him.
My body is slack and sore. I need a shower. What I wouldn’t give to be in bed right now, so I could nurse my aching muscles instead of needing to trek all the way back to the house.
Vibrations rumble through his chest as he chuckles against my skin. “You were perfect, Bella. Like I said, you were made for me.”
