Prologue
Have you ever wanted to have sex with someone so bad that it felt like your body was literally screaming their name? Like its intense desire. That’s what happens when I see Romulus. It’s dirty and it’s wrong, but I want him, I want to have him so bad. I could feel his warm breath hitting my neck. I watched the dress inching up my legs with every pull of his hand, baring more and more of me.
“Mr. Vi-Villin, Please,” I tried hard to tell him to stop, but the word ‘stop’ wouldn’t come out of my mouth.
He went still.
Just like that, he released my dress, and the fabric fell back to cover most of my thighs. Disappointment soured my stomach, but he was not moving back. He skated his hand up my side, barely brushing the curve of my breast before he gripped my chin just tightly enough to hurt.
“Is that what you want, Lydia?”
He pressed two fingers to my bottom lip, and I opened it for him.
He slipped his fingers into my mouth, in and out, in and out, miming fucking. I watched him with wide eyes, but I didn’t get a chance to decide if I liked it or not before he clamped his remaining fingers tightly around my chin, his fingers almost deep enough to gag me.
“Call me by my name while I do filthy things to you... You’ve only fantasised about.”
I want to tell him to stop, that this is wrong, but I can’t deny the fact that every filthy sentence that came out of his mouth made the heat in my blood pulse hotter.
Romulus leaned down and held my gaze as his fingers stroked my tongue.
“You want me to stop while I slip my hand up your skirt and find out what you have waiting for me or while I bend you over this desk and eat your cunt until you come?”
It’s almost too much; I can’t quite catch my breath, I’m really going to gag, but he gave me no relief.
I made a panicked sound and he released me, sliding his fingers from my mouth. It feels dirty and wrong and I’m shaking with need.
Before I could say anything, he grabbed my hips and lifted me up. He placed me over the desk, moved in between my legs and then nudged my legs wider.
He grabbed my skirt and inched it up over my ass, baring me from the waist down. His hand shifted higher and cupped my pussy. We both exhaled shakily. I expected him to jump me, to rip off my clothes and fuck me against the nearest available surface.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” He murmured and pushed two broad fingers into me.
I writhed back against his touch, trying to take him deeper. I felt like I’m on fire, wanton and dirty and unable to stop,
“You are mine, Lydia Miller,”
That’s when I realised that I’m doomed.
This isn’t a romance. It’s a dark and twisted obsession.
