Chapter 103 We Can't Keep Doing This The silence after our fight didn’t last. It couldn’t. The air between us was combustible, every breath another spark. I was still trembling, still hearing the echo of my own slap against his face, still reeling from the venom in his voice when everything inside me snapped. Not in fear. Not in flight. But in raw hunger. I hated him. I wanted him. I wanted him like oxygen, like the only thing that could stop me from drowning. Or combustion. Or going insane. Roman must’ve seen it in my eyes, because the moment I took one step toward him, he was on me. Literally. His mouth crushed mine, savage and rough, all raw passion and heat. There was nothing sweet, nothing tender — just raw possession, just anger twisted into lust. My body arched into his before I could stop it, fingers clawing at his shirt, ripping buttons loose like they were shackles I needed gone.“Fuck,” I gasped against his lips, because that was all I could manage before he spun me, caging me against the floor-to-ceiling glass. The city sprawled out beneath us, glittering, oblivious. My palms slapped the cold glass as he wrenched my skirt up, baring me to the city and to him. “Say it,” he growled at my ear, his breath a hot lash down my spine. “Yes.” The word tore out of me, desperate and shameless. “Yes, Roman. Do it. Hard.” And he did. The first thrust had me crying out, my breath fogging up the glass. He gripped my hips like he’d snap them in half if I dared to move. The glass chilled my skin, the city lights smeared into streaks of color as my body jolted forward with every brutal push. It wasn’t love at this point. It wasn’t even lust. It was war. My body meeting his like we were enemies locked in combat, using sex as the only language we both understood. “Filthy,” I moaned, my forehead pressed to the glass as he drove deeper, harder. My voice cracked, needy, ruined. “So fucking filthy.” “You want it filthy,” he rasped, pulling me back by my hair until my neck arched, until my reflection met my own glazed eyes in the glass. “You beg for it filthy. You fucking belong to it.” I sobbed out a broken sound — not sadness, not pain, just the unbearable truth of what I wanted. “Yes! God, yes!” The impact of his body against mine echoed in the office like gunfire. The glass trembled beneath my hands. My knees shook, my skin stung from the way he held me, but I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. When my body gave out, he wasn’t done. He dragged me away from the window and bent me over his desk in one fluid, merciless motion. My chest smacked the polished wood, scattering papers, pens, the forgotten tub of melting ice cream. He shoved them aside like nothing existed but me. “Roman—” But the rest of his name broke into a moan as he thrust again, rougher this time, his pace punishing. My nails raked the surface, leaving crescents in the glossy finish, my body bowing with every sharp slap of his hips. The desk creaked beneath us, ice cream dripping to the floor in sticky rivers, but all I could hear was his breath tearing out of him and my own strangled moans.He fucked me like survival. Like we’d die if we stopped. And maybe we would have. The pleasure was vicious, jagged, blinding — and when release slammed through me, it shattered me in two. My voice broke on a sob as my body convulsed, my thighs quaking, my chest pressed to the cool wood as he drove me through it, refusing to let me go. Roman followed with a guttural groan, his body stiffening above mine, his grip so fierce I knew I’d bear his fingerprints for days. He collapsed against my back, both of us gasping, drowning in the aftermath. For a few wild, broken heartbeats, all I felt was the echo of it. The rawness. The relief. The ache that spread through me like fire licking the edges of my skin. And then the disgust set in. My stomach twisted. My throat closed. The air I sucked in tasted like ash, like guilt. I pushed him off me, scrambling upright, tugging my skirt down with shaking hands. My reflection glared back at me from the thick glass — hair tangled, lipstick smeared, skin bruised from his grip. “What have I done…” I whispered, voice so small I barely recognized it. Roman just leaned back against his desk, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his temples. He looked at me like I’d just given him oxygen. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. But nothing about this was natural. Nothing about this was right. “I can’t…” My hand flew to my mouth as bile burned my throat. “I feel sick.” “Savannah—” He moved toward me, but I flinched back. “No. Don’t. Don’t touch me.” His jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing with something dark, something possessive. But I couldn’t let him close. Not now. Not when the aftertaste of what we’d just done was poisoning me from the inside out. “You wanted this, Sav.” He reminded me. “I wanted it,” I said hoarsely, the confession dragging blood out of me. “God help me, I wanted it. But now? Now I’m afraid.” He stilled, eyes sharp on me. “Afraid of me? We're at that point now?” “Yes,” I breathed. Then added, breaking, “Afraid of both of us.” The truth cracked me open. I was terrified of him, of the way he could dominate every part of me with nothing more than a look. But worse — I was terrified of myself, of how badly I wanted it, how deeply I craved the filth of what he gave me. I clapped both hands over my mouth for a second, as if to hold in the sound of something I would later deny. Tears burned hot at the corners of my eyes. My palms were damp where they’d clawed at my own skin. Tears burned hot in my eyes. “We… we can’t keep doing this, Roman. We shouldn’t see each other for a while. This is madness.” His face hardened, like I’d slapped him again. “The fuck we won’t.” “Please.” My voice broke. I’d never begged before, not like this. “Please respect me on this. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I need space. Just a little.” He shook his head, stepping closer, his voice a low growl. “You think I’ll let you walk out after this? After the way you screamed my name while this city listened? No. I won’t give you space, Savannah. I'll keep you close to me because the moment I let you go, I'll lose you forever.” “Roman—” My throat closed around his name, tears slipping hot down my cheeks. “I’m begging you.” The word hung in the air, heavy and humiliating. For a long moment, he just looked at me — wild, dangerous, his chest rising and falling like he was still holding himself back from devouring me again. Then, finally, he let out a harsh breath and turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fuck.” I stood trembling, every nerve screaming, torn between relief and despair. Because I knew this wasn’t over. Roman didn’t let go. Roman never respected boundaries when it came to me. And worse — part of me didn’t want him to. That was the sickness. That was the rot. And it was already inside me.