Series: The Rossi Crime Family Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Chapter Five
Roman
She’s trying to fucking kill me. I know it. I can feel it with every pump of my heart. Against my better judgement, I’ve allowed her to sleep in my bed the last two nights. Watching her fall apart in that fucking dressing room broke me. It cracked me straight down the middle, and every time I close my eyes, I see her tear-stricken face. The fear flickering in her eyes rattles me to the core, making it hard for me to say no to her. Every bone and muscle in my body tells me to protect her, to worship her body and save her from this evil fucking world.
But I can’t. I’ve never settled down with a woman before, and I won’t now. When she finds out the kind of sick, twisted fuck I am tonight, maybe she won’t beg to sleep in my bed anymore. Maybe she’ll seek comfort somewhere else.
The thought tears me up inside, but it’s the right thing to think. I have a fight tonight, and I need to remain focused on that. I can’t lose my edge, not because of this tiny little thing in my bed. And yet, I feel it slipping—at least when it comes to her.
The urge to shove the stupid pills down my throat and let them calm the heated blood pumping through my veins grabs hold of me. I grit my teeth, then let my eyes drift closed for a moment, taking calming breaths. I feel Sophie snuggle deeper into my side, her little leg flopping over my thigh, brushing against my hard cock.
Not good. Fuck. So much for taking calming breaths. I’m already tempting myself by having her in my bed and not under me. Neither my cock nor body can ignore that she’s all fucking female or the little whimpers she makes in her sleep.
She’s perfect, and everything about her entices me. Lifting a hand, I pluck a strand of her dark brown hair off her shoulder. It feels soft, and I have this strange urge to sniff it. Since the night in the dressing room, I’ve thought about our kiss a million and one times.
I’ve thought about her reaction to my touch and how she told me she felt safe in my arms. It’s not something anyone’s ever said to me before and it sparked some protective instinct inside me. I don’t want to feel compelled to protect her, but I can’t help it—and that pisses me off more.
I hold back a groan by biting my lip when I feel her heated pussy against my thigh as she moves her leg once more. Fuck. It’s right there. Begging and pleading to be tasted and taken. I can’t fucking do it. I fucking can’t.
Exhaling harshly, I force myself from the bed. I need to punch something, get this pent up need and aggression out of me before I wake her up, press her face into the mattress, and fuck her like a savage fucking beast.
Forcing my legs to move, I walk toward the bathroom door. I contemplate going to the gym, but push the thought away. I can’t risk leaving Sophie here alone. The last thing I want is for her to go into a full on panic attack again. Gritting my teeth and feeling the burning need for my pills, I leave her sleeping in my bed and walk down to the basement where I have a small workout room set up. I start on the punching bag right away, a familiar burn tingles in my muscles as they flex with each punch I land. My knuckles ache, but I continue as a sheen of sweat forms against my skin. The droplets glide down my chest and over my abdomen. I stay on the punching bag for a long time, jabbing at the thing, envisioning it as tonight’s opponent’s head.
I’m not sure how long I pound on the fucking thing before a creaking on the stairs behind me draws my attention. I whirl around, feeling more out of control than when I first came down here. I clench my fists and prepare myself for a fight when I spot Sophie’s tiny body on the last step.
Her big blue eyes are wide with worry as her gaze roams over my body. I don’t need to look in a mirror to know my eyes are most likely black and my face a mask of fury. I’m this way before every fight: unhinged and ready to destroy.
“You should go back upstairs,” I growl, turning back around, scoring a hard punch against the punching bag. The force sends the damn thing flying, and a soft gasp fills the air. I’m not capable of conversation today, and the thought of hurting or lashing out at her bothers me…so fucking much.
“I want to stay with you,” she mumbles. I turn back around to look at her again, even though I know in this state of mind I shouldn’t.