by Katie May
“I meant what I said earlier,” he tells me. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Not again.” He glances over his shoulder towards Roman before turning back to me. “I’ll let you be. Sleep well, Angel. And know that I’m only a few feet away. The second you scream, I’ll come running.” He presses a chaste kiss to my head, and I can’t help but stand on my tiptoes, leaning into him like a sunflower reaching for the sun.
And then he’s gone, and it’s just me and Roman. My law professor has forgone his trademark leather jacket, wearing a grey cotton shirt and blue-jeans.
Does it make me a horrible person that I want to kiss him, even after what Phillip and Byron both admitted to? Even after Byron has been carted off for a crime he didn’t commit?
“I need to brush my teeth,” I whisper, stealthily moving around him and padding on barefeet to the bathroom. Once inside, I press my face against the door and release a heavy sigh.
I need to stop crying. I need to stop crying and do something. Anything.
Prove Byron’s innocent.
Find the real murderer.
My list is simple, but it gives me the courage and determination I previously lacked. This newfound purpose will save me from my wallowing and pity-party, at least for now. Maybe when this is over, I’ll see about psychological help.
I’m not stupid. I know I’m depressed. I know it everytime I look in the mirror and wince at my reflection. I know it when my own self-loathing makes it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. I know it when the sharp edge of a razor blade sounds more appealing than facing reality.
Hell, I was ready to take my own life because I couldn’t deal with what fate threw at me.
Because I hated myself more than I loved the men in my life.
It’s not a conscious decision. I don’t just wake up and say to myself, “It sounds like so much fun to be depressed and suicidal.”
I don’t want to be. I know I need to work on myself—love myself—before I can forge meaningful and lasting relationships. I read the damn brochure.
But maybe justice, vengeance, whatever you want to call it, will help me. Propel me one step closer to my end goal.
I just want to be fucking happy. Is that too much to ask for?
I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a long moment after I brush my teeth. My silky black hair. Snow white skin. The black tattoo on my bicep.
Happy.
Isn’t that everyone’s goal?
My hands grip the countertop, and I take a deep, calming breath. No more tears. No more anger.
I’ll find who killed Jared and who’s threatening me. I’ll save Byron and even Aurora.
And then? I’ll get my happily ever after.
Move over, bitch. You have a new game master.
And I am no one’s pawn.
Chapter 18
Roman is perched on my bed when I emerge from the bathroom. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes, shadows I’ve never seen on him before.
For a moment, I remain in the doorway, unsure of what to do. What to say. My feelings about Roman are complicated, to say the least. There’s a lot I still don’t know about my stoic law professor with the sharp face juxtaposed by luscious lips and kind eyes.
When I enter the room fully, his face contours with unbridled rage. I know in my heart that the rage isn’t directed at me but at the man or woman taunting me, yet I can’t stop my sharp intake of breath or the way my steps falter. The anger dissipates quickly to be replaced by horror. He jumps to his feet and starts towards me, pausing when I flinch.
“Mallie, I would never hurt you,” he whispers fiercely, eyes haunted.
“I know,” I reply, voice and breathing uneven. And I do know. Roman can be cold and demanding, but he would never lay a hand on me. The reaction is ingrained within me, a product of my harsh and unforgiving upbringing. Too many times have I seen similar rage on Jared’s face seconds before he hit me.
Too many fucking times.
“I’m sorry,” I continue. His eyes search my face—making sure that I’m actually okay—before he deflates and sits once more on the bed.
“You don’t need to apologize. What that bastard did to you…” He trails off venomously, and I move to sit beside him on the bed, my feet dangling.
“I wasn’t always the victim,” I feel the need to point out. A sly smile twists up my lips at some of my favorite memories. “I once kicked Jared so hard in the balls he couldn’t walk for days. Asshole was too stubborn to go to the hospital. Ever since then, it didn’t quite work right. Can you break a cock? Sprain one? Hmmm. Questions to ponder.”
Roman’s lips try to twitch, try to form some resemblance of a smile, but his eyes remain dark.
“I was a victim, yes, but I did what I could to fight back. Jared was a lot of things, but he taught me that I’m stronger than anyone gives me credit for.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “After all, you can’t tame a dragon.”
His brows pucker, deep lines forming, but he doesn’t comment on my strange wording. Maybe one day I will tell him all about my past. I know he’s suspicious—I can see the way his eyes fix on my tattoo with horror. But not yet. My past is a burden, and I’m not quite sure if I’m ready to share it.
Silence spreads between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just being beside him, our shoulders and thighs touching, calms me. It’s the balm I need for my tired body and mind.
“I never said thank you,” I whisper after a long moment. “For believing me. Defending me. Being here for me.” I turn slightly to observe his profile. “You didn’t have to. I know I’m just a student.”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and finally, he turns his face completely towards mine.
“Mallie, you have never been just a student.” My heart races at his whispered confession, my lungs simultaneously trying to refill. Roman looks like a chiseled piece of art in the dim lighting. The butterflies in my stomach continue their assault, pushing away the horrors of the day. Another silence stretches between us, but this one is different. This one is a rubber band pulled tautly, seconds from snapping.
“Roman—”
“Phillip told me about the bridge. About what happened.” His voice is quiet. Unreadable. “Did you…? Did you really try to take your own life?”
I don’t want to lie to him, but I’m afraid of what the truth will do. I don’t want him looking at me with pity or anger. I couldn’t bear it if he shuddered away. But I nod anyway.
There’s a lot of stigma about depression. Most people can’t quite understand the silent killer. They look at us as weak and pathetic, as whiny. They don’t see the way we constantly struggle through simple things such as eating and bathing. They don’t see the victory we feel when we get out of bed in the morning. They see our painted on smiles and deem them as truth. It’s hard to understand that those smiles are faked, that the battle warring inside of us sometimes is too much to handle. It’s difficult to fight a monster inside our heads, a monster invisible to the public eye, a monster some people believe is a “choice.”
What will Roman say?
I both dread and wait for his answer with bated, stilted breath.
He surprises me by sighing, the noise resigned and almost forlorn.
“I understand,” he admits at last.
I tense, searching his face for any clues to his meaning. He refuses to meet my inquiring gaze.
“You do?”
“I lost my little sister when I was younger. Ali.” He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasping together. “She’s what inspired me to go into law. But she was...she was murdered.”
There’s such raw agony in his voice, such pain, that I instinctively place my hand on his shoulder and rub soothing circles through the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m sorry.”
I wonder, vaguely, if Ali is the woman from those drawings I found in his office. The girl with the haunted eyes and laugh lines. The more I think about it, the more I come t
o the conclusion that she must be. The similarities are uncanny—I’m surprised I didn’t notice it when I first set eyes upon the art piece.
“They found the guy,” Roman says at last. “It was a boy from her chemistry class who was apparently obsessed with her. He’s in prison to this day.” He takes another deep breath, muscles tensing. “The weeks after she died...I was a completely different person. I wanted to die too. I just couldn’t comprehend it, you know? I didn’t see the point of living in a world where she didn’t exist anymore.”
I can see the remnants of past pain in his shadowed eyes, in the tightening of his shoulders, in the firm line of his lips. Roman is haunted by her death. We both have our own ghosts, our own demons, and they’re destroying us to this day.
“I’m sorry.” The words seem insignificant. They fail to encompass all I actually mean: I understand you. I see you. You’re not alone.
“I still struggle sometimes,” Roman admits, eyes lowering to his hands. “And I know you do too. I recognized that in you the very first day you arrived in my class. But, Mallie, you don’t need to suffer alone anymore. I can help you, Baby, if you’ll let me.”
My heart thumps at the endearing nickname. He leans towards me at the same time I lean towards him. His lips meet mine in a feverish, passionate kiss.
I’m kissing my professor.
That thought resonates somewhere in my mind, but it’s drowned out by the white hot desire cascading through my veins. Everything about Roman is controlled and calculated. Even his kisses—though heated—are careful.
I want to see him lose control.
I move to straddle him, my fingers dancing under his soft shirt, memorizing the dips of his abs. His own hands move to my ass, kneading the globes through my skirt. As if he’s on the same wavelength as I am—or he’s consumed by an insatiable hunger—he pushes up my skirt, his hand cupping my ass through my panties.
“You’re so perfect,” Roman says against my mouth. “So beautiful. So strong. So fucking fierce.”
His words fill me with fire, with heat, until I want to combust.
Our rough kisses force him onto his back on the bed, my knees on either side of his hips. I use the position to lift his shirt up, revealing his glorious tanned abs and the splatter of dark hair leading down to the waistband of his pants.
He allows me to pull the shirt off over his head before stopping me, large hands encircling my tiny waist.
“Mallie, are you sure?”
I don’t want him to see me as weak. I don’t want him to pity me or pull away.
I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. I fought against my own mind, and miraculously, I won. Today proved to me that I can survive this. I can survive anything.
I tug at my wrists, and he immediately releases them. Without preamble, I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, revealing my cotton green bra with black polka dots.
His breath hitches, cock hardening underneath me.
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers reverently. His hands move to cup my breasts before he pauses, one eyebrow quirked in question.
While some girls might be put off by his constant pauses and questioning looks, I can appreciate it immensely. As someone who has experienced sexual assault, it’s empowering to know I have an option. I can say no, and Roman will stop, no questions asked.
It’s that thought alone that gives me the confidence to place his hands on my heaving mounds. He cups me through the fabric before he lifts his head up to take one in his mouth. I groan, arching my back to allow him easier access. His saliva leaves a wet stain on my bra before he moves to my second aching breast. This time, he pulls the fabric down and licks a heated trail around my nipple.
“Roman,” I moan, pulling at his dark hair. He chuckles, the noise vibrating through me, and his stubble prickles my nipple in a flurry of sensation. Finally, he takes my aching nub into his mouth and pulls. His hands move to my back to unhook my bra, and I allow it to slide down my arms, soon joining my shirt on the ground.
While he devours my breasts, I push off my skirt and panties, my wet cunt riding against his cock still confined in his jeans. As I gyrate my hips, Roman curses around my beaded nipple.
“Roman,” I whisper, pulling his head back to stare into his eyes.
He gazes back at me with wonderment and awe. Joy. Worship.
Love.
Overcome by the pure emotion in his heated gaze, I pull his lips back to mine in a searing kiss. The tenderness of it brands my very soul.
It claims me.
“Do you know how many times I pictured doing this to you?” Roman rasps in my ear. I’m thrilled to hear his breathing as unsteady as my own. “I lost count of how many times I imagined taking you on my desk. Destroying that sweet, slick pussy of yours.” One of his fingers lower to my slit and moves around my wetness. “You’re so wet for me, Babygirl. So perfect. Did you think about it too? My big cock filling you? Your pussy clenching around me? Did you think about my mouth on your sweet cunt?”
His dirty words shouldn’t turn me on as much as they do. In my years as a Dragon’s Girl, I’ve heard a lot of them.
But, fuck. I can’t stop the moan from escaping my lips at the vivid picture Roman paints. He’s an artist in words too, apparently.
“Fuck me,” I whimper needily. “Fuck me, professor.”
He growls, the sound almost carnal, at my words. His thin control snaps completely, and he pulls his lips back to mine in a rough kiss, flipping our bodies so he’s on top.
I can feel his hands move above me—pulling down his own pants—a second before lining up his twitching cock at my entrance. I dare to look down our bodies.
And pause.
As I said before, I always remember a man by his dick. And Roman’s? It’s the longest, thickest cock I have ever seen. When he talked about filling me up with his fat cock, he wasn’t just playing. The man has a right to brag.
“Will it even fit?” I whisper, staring down at that monstrosity. He chuckles darkly, eyes shining with smug male satisfaction. Typical male.
Want to boost one's ego? Comment on his massive cock (even if it’s the size of a mini corndog). Guarantee you he’ll be swaggering down the halls for weeks. Puffing out his chest. Peeing on fire hydrants. Marking his fucking territory.
“We can go slowly,” he says, the tip still hovering over my wet cunt, collecting my juices.
I nod, pulling his lips back to mine. As he kisses me, he begins to push in, inch by slow, excruciating inch. I think the wait is almost worse than the final destination. I want him to impale me.
When he’s finally in me fully, he waits, allowing me to adjust to his girth. My breath catches at how full I feel with him inside me. How complete. The rest of the world can burn in hell, but here and now, with him, I’m in my own version of heaven.
I lift my hips, indicating for him to move. His hips thrust downwards, his balls slapping against my ass. His movements are as erratic as his heartbeat. I lift my hips up to match his thrusts.
I can feel myself on the precipice, and I brace myself for the impending explosion. It does not disappoint.
The second Roman’s hand lowers between our connected bodies, flicking at my clit, I explode around him, clenching his cock and milking him for all he’s worth. His breathing speeds up as his movements turn jerky. He roars his own release, hips continuing to thrust against me.
When he’s done, he pulls himself off of me and grabs his shirt off the floor. Movements tender, loving, he cleans first me and then himself, before crawling back in bed.
Completely sated, I collapse on his sweat-soaked, naked chest.
“That was amazing,” I murmur, pressing a kiss onto his chest, directly below his nipple. Goosebumps ripple on his skin.
He holds me close, wrapping his arms around me. I’ve never felt so small before, so safe.
“Mallie…” He clears his throat, arms tightening almost imperceptibly around me. “I’ve come to care about you very
much.”
“Well I would hope so,” I say dryly. “Because you just fucked me to oblivion.”
His lips vibrate against my hair with his chuckle before he’s serious once more.
“I know,” he begins, “that the others have feelings for you. Strong feelings. My cousin is in jail now because of those feelings.” Another deep breath. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know what’s going on between you and the other guys, but I know I’ve never felt this strongly for anyone in my life. Your strength. Your honesty. Your pain. It calls to me. At first, I tried to ignore it. You were my student, for fuck’s sake, and married. But I couldn’t resist you and the connection I felt. I hadn’t even realized how strongly I cared for you—how my feelings had transcended from lust—until I saw you on the school bench that morning.”
A rattling breath leaves my own lips as I hold on to his words for what they are: a lifeline.
“What are you saying?” I ask at last.
“I’m saying that somewhere along the way, you became more than just a student. And then more than just a friend. I’m saying I’m in love with you.”
I feel like I’m floating. Happiness engulfs me like a warm blanket.
He loves me.
But…
“Phillip and Byron,” I whisper, and I can feel him stiffen underneath me.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he admits after a long moment of silence. “I don’t know if you’re going to choose one of us at the end or none of us. I know that they make you happy, and you make them happy beyond belief. I know that Byron’s in love with you, and from the way Phillip stares at you, I have no doubt he loves you too.”
“I can’t choose,” I whisper against his skin. “I can’t choose between you guys.” The mere thought of it sends terror coursing through me and causes my chest to tighten. It’s not just because I’m selfish. It’s the honest truth.
I love Byron’s joking personality and how safe he makes me feel. I love the passion Phillip displays when he cares for someone truly and deeply. I love Roman’s steadfast loyalty.
