Page 8 of Desecrated Reign

This is how it has to be.

There’s a fine line between love and hate, and right now, I’m unbalanced as I walk it. As much as I love Rohan, the hate building for everything that’s happened is winning. For now, I’ll surrender to the anger coursing through my veins and prepare to become the storm instead of submitting to it. Like Liam suggested.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and gaze at my reflection in the steam-covered mirror. My eyes meet those of a girl who walked to hell and never came back. Blinking away that thought, I busy myself with combing through my dark hair to remove the knots before plaiting it into two boxer braids. I apply a light layer of makeup to cover the carnage left behind from another sleepless night. Finally, I spritz myself with perfume, allowing the heart-note fragrances of hellebore rose and black violet to envelop me like a shield.

No more procrastinating.

I square my shoulders and draw in a deep breath. Wrapped in a towel, I pull open the bathroom door and come to a halt. I should have known better because, as twisted as he can be, Rohan never makes promises he can’t keep.

He said my time is up. He said I couldn’t avoid him forever. And now, sitting on the edge of my bed with his head in his hands… is my fiancé.

Uncurling my backbone, I raise my chin and tighten my hold on the towel. Careful not to make eye contact with him, I stride towards my dresser, putting my back to him as I pull out some clothes. From behind me, I hear him push from the bed. My heart pounds and my breath quickens with every slow and precise step he takes. Closing the distance between us, he circles his arm around my waist and splays his hand beneath my breasts.

The heat of his body wraps around me like a security blanket, and then, on instinct, my head falls back, resting on his shoulder. My eyelids tremble, but I force myself to keep them pinned shut. The intoxicating scent of his Creed Aventus aftershave is a balm to my aching soul, a delicious blend of masculinity and power wrapped up in nicotine and heartache. An aroma that is unique to Rohan.

Everything he always made me feel rips towards the surface, and it takes everything in me to keep it at bay. My teeth chatter with a shaky breath, and my buried emotions fight against the mask I’m wearing. “What are you doing here, Rohan?”

He lowers his head to the exposed length of my neck. The tip of his nose trails from behind my ear to my collarbone, his breath dancing across my skin, forcing a shiver to erupt throughout my body. “I’d say I’m right where I need to be, love. Wouldn’t you?”

The clothes I pulled from the dresser fall to the floor. Drawing my shoulders up, I roll them back, shrugging him off, but it doesn’t work. Not when his grip on my centre tightens as he pulls my body closer.

“Mo bhanríon, when will you realise running from me never works? I’ll always be behind you, ensuring you remember how good it feels to be mine.” His fingers curl around the cotton towel, and he tugs. The damp cloth hits the hardwood with a frump. “Tá tú mo tóir is fearr leat.” You are my favourite chase.

His movement is so quick I don’t register his hand replacing the towel. Rohan glides his fingertips up my thigh, over my hip and rib cage, until they’re brushing across the side of my left breast.

Using his other hand to trail across my stomach, the metal on his ring-clad fingers brushes against my belly, slowly descending with his sensual movements and making me clench. My thighs shake as a tremble rushes through me, and I hate that I love it.

“Rohan, please don’t.”

“Don’t what, love?” His teeth sink into my shoulder, then he eases the sting by running his tongue over the mark he left. “Don’t remind my fiancée how much she loves my hands on her?”

His hand slips between my thighs and the pads of his fingers explore my opening. My breath hitches once more, and I struggle to hide behind how vulnerable he makes me. “I thought we were done with the lies, love.” He draws his finger through my slit, circling the swollen bud that’s aching for his touch.

My whole body locks, bowing for him as he proves a point by slipping two fingers inside me, curling towards where I need him most. “Your body speaks louder than your words. Admit it. No matter how far you push me away, it will never be far enough.”

I hate the way my body reacts to him, bending too easily. I shouldn’t want this.

Him.

Us.

Together.

Not when I’m barely treading the deep, cold waters of grief.

“I can’t.”

Suddenly, Rohan rips his hand away, leaving me colder than I was before. I’m thankful he’s still behind me, unable to see the look on my face, but it doesn’t last long when his rough command demands I do the one thing I’ve been avoiding since I saw him sitting on the edge of my bed.

“Turn around, Saoirse.”

I don’t move, afraid of what I might find written on his devastatingly beautiful face. It’s been too long since I truly looked at him, and I know that if I do, the one string keeping me together will snap.

A part of me knows I need him, that Rohan is good for me. I feel protected from the world burning down around me when I’m in his arms. But there’s still that gnawing doubt that being with Rohan disrespects Liam’s memory.

How is it fair that we get to live for each other when Liam died for us both?

“Saoirse! Turn. Around.”