Salvation (Without You Book 2), page 5
“I just haven't been feeling well.”
It’s not the entire truth, but it’s a start.
“What’s wrong, angel?” I ask, pushing myself off the door to pull her into my arms.
My hands run down her back, brushing over each notch in her spine until I reach the slight dip above her ass. There is where I rest my palms, hoping my warmth drives away the chill I feel pebbling on her skin.
The minute my muscles bunch around her waist, she tenses in my hold. Never once has she ever locked up in my embrace, but as I feel her straining muscles and the faint hiccups in her breathing. I can’t ignore the signs of her discomfort.
My stomach drops at the realization, knots twisting painfully in my throat as I release her. But when I see her feet take a few stumbled steps back from me, that’s when I feel my heart officially crack.
“Angel?”
“I think I’m just tired. I’m going to try to go back to sleep.”
I stand there, stunned, while I watch her slowly turn her back on me and slip into bed, her petite body disappearing under the heavy comforter as she faces the wall opposite of me.
I stare at her for a moment before reaching my hand behind me, fumbling with the knob before finally getting it open. Then, giving the lump in the bed one last look, I step from the room and close the door.
Standing outside of the room for I don’t know how many moments, I try to work up the strength to walk away and let her sleep, but I can’t.
My mind lingers on the unease I felt tainting our hug, and I feel myself crumble, knees buckling, forcing me to sink to the floor as my back rests against the wall.
Laying my head against the edging of the doorway, I close my eyes and try to breathe through the fucking python around my trachea.
I think over everything I could have done wrong in the past two days, but I come up blank.
We’ve been fine.
Maybe I’m just overthinking shit.
I don’t fucking know why my emotions are all over the place, but I need to get that shit in check because this stress is bound to fucking kill me.
Running my hand down my face, I let out a forced chuckle, feeling so much better now that I’ve blamed everything on hormones.
Jumping up from the floor, I strut to the living room, ready to down both of our coffees and attempt to cook us an edible breakfast, now that my stomach is no longer in knots.
When Amira wakes up, I promise myself that I will apologize for acting like a paranoid dick.
She’s fine.
We’re fine.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AMIRA
I didn’t expect to fall asleep.
I just said that to make Roman leave so I could have some time to compose myself before breaking down.
The minute I heard the door click shut, I let the waterworks flow, flooding my pillow until my eyes were too swollen to keep open. But not once did I think I would sleep.
I thought for sure the nightmares would spring up again, regardless of the sunlight streaming through the window, but it was a pleasant surprise when they stayed hidden somewhere in the crevices of my mind.
I’m not fooled by their absence, though. They’ll come back because it would be too kind of them not to.
Turning from my back to lie on my side, I face the wooden bedside table, jerking back in shock when I see that I’ve slept for a little over seven hours.
“Well… there goes my sleep for the night,” I murmur when the clock hits four-thirty.
At least I slept, though. The last time I did feels like eons ago.
I should get out of bed, but I know the moment I do, and Roman sees me, he’s going to want to talk, and I don’t know if I have the mental energy for that conversation right now.
Deciding to remain in bed for a little longer, I settle in my spot and allow myself to enjoy this moment of solitude.
The quiet gives me room to think, to go over every second of my life and try to make sense of it. Things would be easier to digest and process if only I understood.
Those few moments I had with my mother weren’t enough. There’s still so much I don’t know...
I don’t want to waste this serenity on distressing thoughts, so I change focus and grab ahold of the other sensation creeping through my stomach.
Occasionally a tingle in my core develops, and on most days, I push the need away, but out of the blue, an idea springs to mind, and I can’t ignore it.
I jump out of bed and rush from the room, skidding to a stop when I collide with Roman, who is emerging from the bathroom.
“Woah, woah. Are you okay?” he asks, catching me by my biceps as I stumble backward.
I don’t have the voice to speak. The nerves that are coursing through my body are too powerful, rendering me silent.
Grabbing Roman by the hand, I drag him into the room with me and lock the door behind us, still without having said a word.
“Amira?” he asks again, confused when I throw Shadow’s pillow off the stool at the end of the bed and force him to sit.
I take a step back, shaking my hands at my sides as I prepare to explain why I have him here.
“I want to try something,” I say, taking deep breaths as I try to convey my thoughts into words.
Roman gives me a moment, but when I fail to speak again, he says, “Okay… what do you want to try?”
It’s okay.
You can do this.
“I want you to sit here and watch… and then maybe we can try more….”
I can see from the way he crooks his eyebrow that he doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say… so maybe showing him is my only option.
My feet feel like lead as I stroll back to the bed, the ends of my pants dragging along the carpeted floor as I shuffle my feet. Roman’s eyes are like a stroke along my neck as he watches me climb back into bed.
The warning bells that reside in my mind begin to chime, but I’m determined to see this through. So, I ignore the bells and kick the blankets to the other side of the bed.
I keep my gaze trained on him, watching his confusion transform into lust as I begin dragging the cotton pants down my thighs.
My fingers tremble as I grip the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head.
I sit bare to him, in only a pair of grey panties and a matching polyester bra.
It takes everything inside me not to rip the comforter from the bed and throw it over myself, as the heat in Roman’s eyes burns brighter.
The muscle in his jaw ticks while his eyes travel down my exposed skin. Knuckles turning an ashy shade of white as the blood draws away from his clenched fist to fill the member growing in his jeans, his leg shaking uncontrollably in an attempt to honor my request to remain seated.
With another bated breath, I lean back, resting my spine along the plush pillows as my head connects with the cold headboard.
Roman’s eyes travel back up my body, lingering on the quivering swells of my breasts before meeting my gaze once again.
Neither of us speaks as my hands leave the spot beside me to roll over my thighs, sitting in the break between my slightly parted knees.
The below forty temperature rises to dangerous levels as I drag my fingers up, lying on the thin fabric above my throbbing bundle of nerves.
Our breaths hitch in unison as I slip my finger under the band of my panties and touch my dripping core; his in excitement, mine in panic.
I want to stop rubbing my center as the heavy feeling of shame washes over me, drowning my vision in tears, but I don’t. So instead, I continue because this excites him and all I want to do is make Roman happy.
“Can I come over there?” Roman growls, barely containing the furious hunger consuming his every fiber.
I nod my head, trying to calm the anxiety that devours my mind in the few seconds it takes for him to reach his side of the bed.
The mattress dips under his weight as he works his way next to me. His blown pupils overpower the hazel pigment of his eyes, shading them with nothing but blackness.
For a moment, it isn’t Roman in front of me. It’s dad and Liam.
It’s McLaren and Fallon and Jimmy…
But only a split second later, the vision of them fades, and I’m once again in the presence of Roman, who is a hair’s inch away from my dewy face.
I don’t know when it happened, but Roman’s shirt lies in a heap at the end of the bed, his dozens of tattoos on display for me to see, but it’s only one that I focus on. The wings on his chest giving me that little bit of strength to hold on to.
“Can I…?” Roman asks with a bit of hesitancy in his question, eyes uncertain as he stares between me and my rotating finger.
My center weeps with arousal at the thought of his digits pleasuring me instead of my own, but the warning bells that were ringing softly in my mind turn into bellowing sirens, advising that this is a bad idea.
But for once, I don’t want to think.
I just want to feel.
“Yes.”
Slowly, I remove my damp finger from my body and lie in trepidation as he runs his knuckle leisurely up from my ankle to the tender skin between my thighs.
I can sense his eagerness in the way his breathing increases the closer he gets to my core, but he takes his time, exploring every inch of my legs before touching the seam of my bikini-cut underwear.
The quick inhale of my breath draws in his attention.
Instead of halting his movements, Roman leans in, a soft, boyish smile gracing his lips before capturing my lips between his teeth.
Pushing myself forward, I return his kiss, savoring the taste of his minty breath while he works my center into a needy frenzy.
He maneuvers our bodies so skillfully, barely breaking our connection as I somehow end up lying on the bed beneath him. And he doesn’t press himself into me, leaving enough room between us so I can slip out easily if I need to.
My skin sizzles as he presses his lips tenderly against the underside of my jaw. The moans slipping through my mouth when I feel his tongue dip into the crevice of my collarbone drown out my brain's shouts of caution. The agonizing pleasure of his calloused finger rubbing against my throbbing clit draws my eyes closed.
I forgot for a moment what the darkness brings, and now the only thing I feel between my legs are the rough, brutal pads of my father's fingers, and just like that, horror works its way back up my spine, reclaiming its residence in my mind.
For a second, when I open my eyes, I’m back in that forest, lying on the cold, dirt ground with twigs and rocks digging into my back as men abuse my body. Only this time, my brain fuses the memory with the present, and it isn’t my father or brother or anyone else using me.
It's Roman.
It’s not Roman! My mind tries to scream, but fear is a powerful emotion, and I don’t stand a chance against its savagery.
I feel the pressure of his muscular body press against me, and I can’t help the instinct but to try and get away.
Screams tear through my throat as I shove him away, crawling up the bed until I’m ramrod straight. Panting breaths and watery vision distorting the sight of Roman’s startled face in front of me.
“Shit! Amira! Fuck! I’m so sorry!” Roman stays on the other side of the bed, hands held out in front of him as he tries to calm me down. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to get closer to you! I fucking promise.”
I hold the pillow in front of my quaking chest, tears streaming down my face as I attempt to catch my breath.
I want to explain that I believe him and that he did nothing wrong. It was me. I ruined the moment, but I can’t speak to relieve him.
I can barely inhale any oxygen, the walls around me closing in as my panic attack takes hold.
A crack fissures in my chest when I watch him grab his shirt from the bed and slip it on. Then, taking himself as far away from me as he can, he begins pacing the space by the foot of the bed.
Every time I think I’m moving forward, Roman and I share a sexual moment, and all the progress I’ve made falls apart at my feet.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper in a choked exhale, hot tears dripping from the corners of my eyes as I squeeze the pillow in my fist.
Roman’s pacing ceases, and he raises his eyes to mine. Taking slow, measured steps, he stands beside me and pushes the hair away from my face, staring intensely into my gaze before drying my eyes and kissing me gently on the forehead.
It’s quick, no more than a second, before removing himself from me completely. “Don’t be sorry, angel. It’s okay.”
If it’s okay, why do I feel like someone just stomped a hole into my chest?
If Roman wasn’t angry or disappointed by my retreat, why won’t he look at me?
Why does it feel like I’m losing him?
“Roman,” I call out, but he ignores me and proceeds to leave the room, closing the door behind him.
It’s a troubling emotion when your body craves pleasure, but your mind just won’t let it happen.
It’s even worse when you watch the man you love the most walk away from you, despondency hanging on his shoulders.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ROMAN
I hear Amira calling for me as I swing the door closed, hinges rattling as I slam it a little too forcefully. My nerves are wound too tight for me to form coherent thoughts, let alone turn around and acknowledge her.
Right now, the only thing I can focus on is the raging hard-on pulsating in my jeans, crying out for a release.
Quickly, I lock myself in the bathroom and tear my dick out of my pants. Dropping my head back, I raise my eyes to the ceiling, yellow light glowing through my eyelids as I fist my dick fiercely until it screams in pleasure.
I fucking hate jacking off like this, knowing Amira is in the other room, most likely crying due to me walking away from her, but I can’t stop. The need to relieve the fucking pressure that dares to make my dick explode is too powerful to resist.
I can’t stop the images of Amira innocently undressing in front of me from playing behind my closed lids. Her petite body was on display as she sat in only a matching bra and panty set.
My cock was already hard when I caught a glimpse of her stiff nipple through the thin fabric of her bra, but when I watched her draw her slim finger up her thigh, teasing me with her gentle caresses before slipping underneath the thin fabric of her panties, I struggled to stay where she seated me as my dick engorged to a painful size.
I don’t think she realized what her doe eyes were doing to me.
How am I supposed to be a supportive, obedient man if she’s staring at me with fuck-me eyes as she rubs her pretty pussy?
I felt like ripping out of my skin while I watched Amira’s dainty finger begin swirling around her glistening clit, eyes fixed solely on me as she slowly penetrated her weeping center.
The replaying images are fuel for the raging inferno blazing through my veins, compelling me to drive my hand forward and take the base of my cock in my firm grip, tugging aggressively and squeezing my tip until I feel tears of elation collect in my eyes.
I don’t want Amira to hear what I’m doing if she decides to come looking for me, so I silence the moans of ecstasy that escape through my teeth and continue stroking my dick until I feel that smoldering tension at the root of my balls.
A slight tingle works its way up my shaft as my body prepares for the viciousness of my climax.
The dull throbbing that comes from within my cock increases, making it impossible for me to silence my groans of pleasure as I roll my thumb over my head, spreading my fluids around the hood until I’m slick.
Currents of electricity spread throughout my groin and up my spine as I wrench harder, losing myself as I remember the brief touch of her smooth nether lips against the tip of my finger.
I could still feel the heat wafting from her drenched pussy as I inhaled the scent of her smokey arousal.
The memory of our erotic moment sends bolts of lightning through my dick, almost knocking me on my ass when my violent burst of cum shoots out of me, marring the counter and cabinet in my juices as I attempt to keep myself upright
Using my left hand, I grip the marbled sink countertop and hold myself steady, ready to crumble from my sudden lack of energy.
“Shit,” I groan, dropping my head to watch the stream of my fluid taint the clean surface. Then, letting my hand fall from my now flaccid dick, I drop my head back and attempt to breathe through the tightening in my chest as the fan on the ceiling does a piss-poor job at cooling my feverish skin.
The sticky coating on the tip of my dick irritates me, so I kick off my jeans completely and reach behind me to tear my shirt off my back.
Do I want to burn or freeze? I ask myself as I hold the shower knob. The guilt from masturbating while Amira sits somewhere in suffering slivers around my heart, demanding penance with fire. So, turning the handle all the way to the right, I prepare my body for the blistering heat.
The first sting of scorching water is always the worst, but you’re made to adapt, and soon enough, that burning pain from before is no more, and all I feel is welcoming tranquility.
Now that the lust-filled fog has cleared from my mind, I allow myself to process what just happened between Amira and me.
Leaning my head against the slick shower wall, I let the pelting droplets shoot like bullets into my back as I go over every last detail in my mind.
One second, I’m coming out of the bathroom, ready to heat up my second cup of ramen, and the next, I’m in the bedroom, staring at the glistening juices of Amira’s pussy.
I can’t even fathom how that came to be since I can barely touch her without a panicked episode following.
I don’t understand what came over her at that moment, what made her attempt to move forward sexually with me, but whatever it was, it has hope swelling in my chest that maybe we can try again.
The only person I want, have ever wanted, to be with was Amira, and with the steps she has taken today, the everlasting longing inside me screams that this may just be the start of our new beginning.
