Chapter 145 Like Home? Roman There are a thousand ways I imagined our reconciliation would happen. Maybe I’d slip her a dinner date through the crack of the door. Maybe I’d flood her workplace and our home with flowers until the scent became unbearable. Maybe I’d buy her a signed album from that artist she loved so much—the one whose songs she used to hum absentmindedly while brushing her hair. Or maybe I’d hand her a key. To a car. To a house. To whatever version of peace she wanted from me. But never—not in all the sleepless nights I replayed us—did I imagine it would happen like this. Not with her leg draped over my shoulder, her voice breaking into small, pleading sounds as I moved inside her. Not with her mouth doing the things it did earlier—pulling every rational thought out of my head until there was nothing left but the ache of her name in my mind. God, that felt good. The memory of her lips on me still burned through my nerves like wildfire. The heat, the glide, the soft suck of her mouth—each motion deliberate, reverent, devastating. I’d never felt worshiped like that. And I’d never wanted to worship her more than I did now. I drove into her harder, unable to help myself. Her back arched, her body a beautiful, shaking contradiction of need and surrender. She reached for me—one hand over my heart, fingers tracing the edge of my chest where her name now lived. Her gaze flickered between the tattoo and my face, confusion swimming in those soft brown eyes. Her fingertips trembled as she touched it. “You—Roman, why?” I slowed my rhythm, my breath catching as I watched her eyes shine. “Do you like it?” I asked, my voice rough from everything I wasn’t saying. She blinked rapidly, her voice barely a whisper. “Why would you do that? You hated tattoos. You said they ruined the body.” “I said they ruined me,” I corrected softly. “But this—this isn’t ruin, Sav. This is redemption.” Her brows pinched. I cupped her face, needing her to understand. “I couldn’t breathe. Not really. Every day without you, I felt like I was drowning. And then I thought—maybe if I bled for you, if I carved your name into me, I’d finally feel alive again. Like I’d earned my air back. And I did.” Her lips parted, trembling. Then she reached up, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her breath hitched against my skin. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, the words quivering with disbelief. “It’s so beautiful, Roman.” Relief spread through me so fast it almost hurt. I pressed my forehead to hers, laughing softly. “I thought you’d hate it. Feared it might be a little too gangster for your taste.” She smiled through the wet shimmer in her eyes, wiping at them with the back of her hand. “Of course not. No one’s ever loved me enough to do something like that.” I kissed her cheek. “I’d do it again. I’d do it a hundred times if it pleased you.” She laughed quietly, brushing her thumb along my jaw. “You’re crazy.” “I know,” I murmured, kissing her hand. “Crazy about you.” Her lips curved softly before she whispered, “Roman?”“Hm?” Her gaze flicked toward my mouth, and she swallowed hard. “Please… fuck me.” The air stilled between us. Her tone wasn’t desperate—it was reverent. Pleading, but certain. I felt my entire body tighten at the sound of her voice saying please. “Turn over,” I said quietly. Her breath caught, but she obeyed without a word, turning onto her stomach like it was instinct. Her hair spilled across the pillow, one leg sliding out just enough to bare the curve of her hip. I trailed my hand down her spine, deliberately, memorizing the tremors under my palm. “Beautiful,” I murmured, my voice nearly breaking. I kissed the small of her back, feeling her body quiver beneath me. My fingers gripped her hips, pulling her gently toward the edge of the bed until her breath came in tiny, shaky bursts. I could feel her heartbeat through her skin. When I pressed against her, the warmth of her body made my chest ache. She wiggled slightly, trying to pull me closer, and I smiled darkly. “You looked so fucking perfect earlier,” I whispered against her skin. “On your knees. Taking me like you owned me.” “I do own you,” she breathed out, the words trembling but true. I laughed softly. “You think so?” “I know so,” she whispered back. I leaned down, kissing her shoulder, my stubble scraping her skin. “Then show me.” She gasped as I slid into her—slow, deep, taking my time. Every inch felt like coming home. Her body clenched around me, welcoming me in, as if we’d been waiting lifetimes for this one moment to fit perfectly again. Her fingers clutched the sheets. Her voice broke on my name. I stilled inside her, just for a breath. Long enough to feel her heartbeat sync with mine. Then I pulled back and thrust forward again, harder this time. The sound that tore from her throat sent a tremor through me. “Oh my God!” “Still so tight,” I groaned. “Like your body remembers everything we ever did.” She whimpered, muffling the sound in the pillow. I grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head up just enough to whisper into her ear. “Don’t hide from me. I want to hear you.” Her moan filled the room—soft at first, then wild and broken. I set a relentless rhythm, my body taking over where words failed. My hand slid up to her throat, not squeezing roughly, just gently applying pressure—a reminder of control and trust. My other hand slipped beneath her, fingers finding that sensitive spot that made her shake violently beneath me. “I love this,” I rasped. “I love seeing you like this. Owned like this. Mine like this.” “Fuck. Keep talking.” She demanded as her entire body trembled. “Yes, Roman—” “Say it,” I ordered softly, my mouth against her ear. “Say who you belong to.” “You,” she gasped, voice raw. “You, Roman. Always you. It'll always be you.” That broke me. Whatever restraint I had left shattered. I drove into her harder, faster, my name falling from her lips over and over until it didn’t sound like language anymore—just need, just pleading. When she came, it wasn’t soft or quiet. Her whole body seized around me, her voice catching in her throat as she gasped my name loudly. I didn’t stop. I held her through it, fucking her through the tremors, refusing to let the connection break even as her muscles quivered and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. I followed a heartbeat later, the release ripping through me like a storm I couldn’t contain. I buried myself deep, groaning her name against her shoulder until the room stilled again—until there was nothing left but the sound of our breathing tangled together. We collapsed, still connected, my arms automatically wrapping around her from behind. Her skin was slick with sweat, hot and soft against me. I pressed my lips to her temple, tasting salt and her. She exhaled shakily. “You feel…” she trailed off, unable to finish. “Like home?” I whispered. She nodded, a faint sound of agreement slipping from her lips. We lay there for a long time, neither of us speaking. I could feel the rise and fall of her chest against my arm, the tiny aftershocks still twitching through her. I traced slow circles over her hip, memorizing every inch like it was temporary.For the first time in days, my chest didn’t ache. There was no anger, no bitterness, no uncertainty. Just her. The woman who’d somehow become my oxygen and my undoing all at once. She turned her head slightly, looking back at me. Her eyes were red, her lashes wet, but she smiled faintly. “You’re insane,” she whispered, voice hoarse. I grinned lazily, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “You say that like it’s news.” She giggled softly, and I swore it was the most beautiful sound I’d heard in so long. Her fingers brushed the tattoo again, gentle and curious. “It’s still a little red,” she murmured. “I got it done two days ago,” I said quietly. “Didn’t even predict I would. Just walked into the shop, handed the guy a photo of your handwriting, and said ‘this.’” Her breath hitched. “My handwriting?” “Yeah,” I nodded. “The note you left me after I let you rip me off with truths or transfer. The one that said ‘if you stop playing this game with me, I'll probably seek shelter on the streets.’ I traced your name from it.” She looked like she might cry again. “Roman…”I cupped her cheek, pressing my forehead against hers. “I meant it when I said I’d never stop.” She closed her eyes, and a tear slipped down. I kissed it away before it fell. “Don’t cry,” I murmured. “Not this morning.” Her lips quivered into a small smile. “I’m not sad. I just… I didn’t think we’d ever find our way back here.” “Me neither,” I confessed. “But somehow we did.” She reached for my hand, entwining our fingers. “Promise me something?” “Anything.” “If we ever lose this again… promise you’ll fight for me. Not with anger. Not with walls. Not with silence. Just fight—with love.” I swallowed hard, tightening my hold on her hand. “You have my word.” We lay there until her breathing slowed, her body melting completely against mine. I watched her fall asleep—peaceful, trusting, safe—and for the first time in forever, I allowed myself to believe in us again. The morning light spilled across her bare shoulder, highlighting the strands of her hair. I brushed a kiss there and whispered, “You’ll never have to beg me to love you, Sav. I’ll always be right here.” Her lips parted in her sleep, and a soft hum escaped. I smiled, holding her closer, closing my eyes. And for the first time in days, I truly slept. With her heartbeat against mine. With her name under my skin. And peace finally filling the cracks I thought would never heal.