The master suite of the Thorne Villa felt different tonight. The air was charged with a heavy, magnetic tension that had been building since the moment Tish had stepped out of the shadows at the fair. The house was silent, the thick stone walls insulating them from the world, and Adam was tucked safely away in his room, dreaming of goats and Ferris wheels. But for Roman, the silence was a vacuum that only Skye could fill.
Roman didn't wait for her to even reach the center of the room. As soon as the heavy oak doors clicked shut and the deadbolt slid home, he was on her.
He didn't move with his usual calculated grace. This was primal. This was a man reclaiming his territory after a threat had dared to breathe on his borders. He caught her waist and backed her into the solid wood of the door, his large frame caging her in. The impact wasn't jarring, but it was firm, a physical declaration of his presence.
"Roman," Skye gasped, her breath hitching as her hands flew to his broad shoulders. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his navy shirt, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath.
He didn't speak. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin with a delicious friction. He inhaled her scent- strawberries, sunblock, and the clean, sweet essence that was uniquely Skye, as if he were trying to drown out the lingering, floral perfume of the woman he had spoken to earlier.
"She is nothing," Roman growled against her skin, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that she felt in her very bones. "Do you hear me? She is a ghost. A mistake. You are the only reality I care about."
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. His blue gaze was stormy, dark with a possessive intensity that made Skye's knees feel like they were made of wax. He wasn't the billionaire tonight; he wasn't the protector. He was a man who was desperately, violently in love, trying to bridge the gap that jealousy and history had tried to create.
"I saw the way you looked at her," Roman whispered, his thumb catching her lower lip and pulling it down, exposing the damp pink of her inner lip. "I saw the doubt. Don't you ever doubt me, Skye. Don't you ever think for a second that I would trade a second of what we have for a lifetime of that woman."
"I was just... she's his mother, Roman," Skye whispered, her voice trembling. "She has his curly hair. She has a history with you that I can never touch. I felt like an intruder today."
Roman's jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and lifted her off her feet. Skye let out a soft cry of surprise, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He walked her across the room, his strides long and purposeful, and pinned her against the edge of the obsidian desk.
"You are not an intruder," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "You are the center. You are the one who healed the boy she broke. You are the one who woke me up. She's a biological fact. You're my soul."
He kissed her then, and it was a collision. It was deep, hungry, and desperate. He tasted of the scotch he'd poured himself in the car and the raw, unadulterated need that had been simmering for hours. Skye met him with equal fervor, her hands sliding into his dark hair, pulling him closer, her tongue dancing with his in a frantic, beautiful struggle for dominance.
Roman's hands were everywhere, marking her, reminding her. He made quick work of the zipper on her peach sundress, the fabric falling to the floor in a soft heap. He didn't stop there. He shed his own clothes with a frantic energy, his eyes never leaving hers, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he blinked.
When his skin finally met hers, the contact was electric. The cool air of the room stood no chance against the heat radiating between them. He lifted her onto the desk, the polished black surface cool against her skin, and pushed her legs wide.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a dark, rough velvet.
Skye looked. She saw the scars on his chest, the ink on his arms, and the sheer, overwhelming devotion in his eyes. He reached out, his hand cupping her center, his fingers finding her already slick and aching for him.
"You're so ready for me," he groaned, his voice cracking. "Even when you're scared, your body knows you're mine."
"I've been wanting you since we left the fair," she confessed, her voice a ragged breath. "I wanted to erase her. I wanted to feel you until I forgot she even existed."
"Then let me erase her," Roman said.
He entered her in one heavy, possessive thrust that forced a long, shuddering moan from Skye's lungs. He was large, filling her to the point of delicious pain, his weight a grounding force that finally silenced the spinning thoughts in her head. He didn't move for a moment, simply holding her, his forehead resting against hers, their hearts drumming a frantic, synchronized beat.
"You're my Skye," he whispered into the small space between them. "Always. Only."
Then, the rhythm began.
It wasn't the gentle, romantic swaying of the island. This was intense. This was a man staking a claim. He moved with a powerful, rhythmic force, his thrusts deep and unrelenting. Every time his hips collided with hers, it was a physical vow. You. You. You.
Skye arched her back, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of his forearms. She was lost in it- the friction, the heat, the way he seemed to know exactly how to drive her to the edge of madness. She saw the shadows of the room dancing on the walls, heard the rhythmic thud of the desk against the floor, but all she could really feel was Roman.
"Roman, please," she gasped, her head tossing back as the tension built to an unbearable pitch. "I can't... I'm going to break."
"Break for me," he growled, his pace quickening, his hands gripping her thighs until his knuckles were white. "I'll catch you. I've always got you."
The pleasure hit her like a tidal wave- a violent, convulsive explosion that made her entire world go white. She screamed his name into the quiet of the night, her body racking with a series of long, deep tremors.
Roman followed her a heartbeat later. He let out a primal, guttural roar, his body tensing as he emptied himself into her with a force that felt like he was pouring his very life into her veins. He collapsed against her, his head buried in her shoulder, his breathing jagged and loud in the silent room.
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the ticking of the clock and the receding storm of their pulses. The obsidian desk was cool, but the heat between them remained, a steady, glowing coal.
Roman eventually pulled back, his eyes soft now, the storm replaced by a deep, soul-shaking peace. He leaned down and pressed a lingering, tender kiss to her forehead, then her nose, and finally, her lips.
"She has nothing on you, Skye," he whispered, his hand tracing the line of the blue diamond necklace that still hung around her neck. "She's a memory. You're my forever. If I have to tell you that every night for the next fifty years, I will."
Skye smiled, a real, genuine smile that finally reached her eyes. She reached up and stroked his jaw, the stubble rough against her palm. "I think I might hold you to that, Mr. Thorne."
Roman let out a soft chuckle, lifting her off the desk and carrying her toward the bed. He tucked her under the covers, pulling her back against his chest so they were a tangle of limbs and warmth.
"Good," he said, his arm locking around her waist in a final, possessive embrace. "Because I'm not done proving it yet. Not by a long shot."
As Skye drifted off to sleep, the weight of Roman's arm around her and the steady beat of his heart against her back, she realized the chair wasn't being taken away. It was being reinforced. Tish might have the past, but Skye had the man. And in the dark of the Thorne villa, the Dragon had finally found his home.