Ashley's POV:
We clung together, the comfort profound, the reconciliation a deep, soul-shaking tremor. The immediate danger had passed, replaced by a tense, fragile peace.
He finally pulled back, resting his forehead against mine, but a slow, dark, wicked smile began to stretch across his lips. His eyes, now clear of fury, glittered with a predatory amusement that sent a delicious, sharp shiver down my spine. "But," he announced, his voice dropping into a guttural command that brooked no argument, "doubt is treachery. And you are still going to be punished."
I couldn't form a coherent response, the words catching in my throat. He rose abruptly, effortlessly hoisting me over his shoulder as if I were weightless, and strode forcefully toward our bedroom. The heavy oak door sealed us in with a definitive, chilling thud that echoed the finality of the situation.
Roman's intensity was a terrifying, magnetic force, drawing every particle of my attention. He drove me against the closed door, his body a solid, scorching wall of muscle. I let out a sharp, breathless gasp, recognizing the electric danger that always signaled the shift into his dark, dominant persona. He was no longer just Roman; he was the King staking his claim.
"Punishment," he growled against my ear, the word dark with a possessive threat that coiled low in my belly. His rough hand slid down the curve of my waist, hooking my hip and grinding me firmly against the hard, demanding ridge of his arousal. "You questioned my loyalty, Ashley. Now, you will learn the cost of that doubt, body and soul. Every pulse of your attention belongs to me."
He tore his mouth away, his breath coming hot and ragged. With one savage pull, he stripped away my shirt and bra, the fabric tearing slightly at the lace. My breasts were instantly exposed, swelling and aching against the heat of his skin.
He tossed me onto the luxurious expanse of the bed, and his gaze, dark and consuming, pinned me there. The sharp clang of his belt buckle hitting the floor, the rasping sound of his zipper—every small noise felt deafening as he stripped his clothes, unveiling the thick, heavy, absolutely commanding presence of him. The sight stole my breath.
"Naked," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly order. He tore my pajama shorts away, leaving me trembling, exposed, and waiting beneath his merciless gaze.
He delayed the final claim. Instead, he flipped me onto my stomach, planting a massive, anchoring hand on my lower back. "First, we address the weakness of your faith," he growled, his breath hot on my spine. "You need to feel who owns your attention, Sunbeam."
Then, his other hand descended. It was sharp—not agonizing, but a shocking, stinging smack against my bare skin, igniting a hot, shameful flush across my bottom. I gasped, a strangled cry torn between surprise and a sudden, sharp spike of heat. He delivered three more firm, rhythmic smacks, each one tracing a trail of fire across my soft skin.
"Four strikes for four agonizing hours of doubt," he stated, his voice low and intensely possessive as he pulled me back to face him. My cheeks were crimson, a stark contrast to the welt forming on my bottom. He looked utterly consumed by the sight of my flushed submission. "You are mine, Ashley. Every beautiful, disobedient inch of you. Don't you ever forget it."
He lowered his head, a burning trace of his mouth demanding surrender. "I can't breathe," I whimpered, already arching off the bed in frantic need. He descended, his tongue swirling fiercely in my belly button, and the molten heat pooling between my legs became unbearable, twisting into a painful knot of need. "Please, stop. Or don't. I don't know what I want! Roman, please."
He secured my hands gently above my head. "You claimed you love me," he stated, his voice a profound, carnal challenge. "Prove it. You need to beg for it."
Then, his mouth took possession. The wet, deep pressure was an overwhelming shock that made the room swim. He began to devour me with a primal, focused hunger. I was straining, desperately close to release, but every time I approached the terrifying edge, he would abruptly slow, drawing the pleasure out until I was writhing in agonizing frustration. "Please, Roman, please! Let me come!" I screamed, gripping the sheets, tears of sheer desperation stinging my eyes. "I need it now! Please!"
"Say you are mine, Ashley," he demanded, his voice a deep, vibrating growl of power, demanding the final, total surrender of my will.
"I am all yours! I am yours, Roman! Please!" I choked out, the words tasting like absolute, rapturous devotion.
"Good girl," he muttered, then his pace accelerated into a merciless, swift assault. He drove me over the final precipice until I shattered, convulsing violently. "Cum, my beautiful lady," he commanded with a final, deep, possessive surge of his tongue. The world went white with ecstasy. "Too much... it's too much..." I panted, shaking uncontrollably from the force of the climax.
He finally lifted his head, his face damp, his eyes blazing with dark, utter satisfaction.
I finally managed to gasp the words. "I am tired, Roman, let's continue later."
He shifted his weight, moving up my body until he was positioned between my legs, the hard, unforgiving column of him pressing insistently against my core.
He looked down at me, his eyes dark with raw, consuming need. "You are mine," he stated, his voice a deep, absolute rumble.
The demanding presence of him brought a sudden, beautiful terror. "Roman, wait! Please be slow." I whispered, my eyes wide with panic. The reality of this moment hit me, cold and clear. "I... I haven't done this. I'm a virgin."
Roman's motion ceased instantly. His powerful body went rigid above me, but his intense stare softened. The predatory fire gave way to a profound, almost reverent awe. He slowly lowered his head, pressing his temple against mine, breathing deeply, as if anchoring himself to this monumental moment.
"My Sunbeam," he murmured, his voice now thick with tender awe, tracing a delicate line on my cheekbone. "I know. If anyone else had claimed this, that person would have never seen the sun again. You are the end of the line for me. The beginning and the end. We can go how much slower you want, but I bet you will be screaming and telling me to go faster."
He nudged my knees apart and then, with agonizing, measured slowness, he began his possession.
It was a sharp, burning pain—a moment of true demarcation. I cried out, but Roman kept his mouth close to mine, swallowing the sound with deep, reassuring kisses, moving only a fraction of an inch at a time. He kissed my neck, my chin, my eyelids, giving my body the agonizing, precious time it needed to stretch and accept him. When he was finally, completely buried, he paused, his muscles trembling, his length filling me entirely, irrevocably.
He bit gently on my earlobe, his voice dark and possessive, sinking into the quiet shock of my body. "This was supposed to be a punishment, sunbeam, but I couldn't control myself. You are mine, only mine. I wonder sometimes when you will breastfeed our babies would I be able to control my jealousy."
I managed to whisper, "I don't know, Roman."
He replied with an edge of fierce enthusiasm, "Then let's find out."
Then, he began to move. Hard. Fast. He drove his hips with a relentless, powerful force, plunging into me over and over again. The burning pain was swiftly replaced by pure, white-hot sensation. I was utterly lost in the pounding rhythm, my hands raking down his back, urging him faster. "Faster, Roman! Please, don't stop!"
The tension coiled tighter and tighter in my core until, with a final, primal scream of his name, I shattered, convulsing violently around him. Roman gave a deep, guttural roar as he emptied himself into me, his body going slack and heavy on top of mine.
He collapsed, breathless, resting his heavy forehead on my shoulder. The room spun, silent save for our ragged, synchronized breaths. He shifted, pulling himself onto his elbow just enough to look at me, his dark eyes filled with a love so fierce it was almost frightening.
"Ty vsya moya (You are entirely mine)," he said immediately, his voice thick, decisive, and cutting through the silence of the aftermath. "Let's marry."
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Authors Note:
Phew! 😅 Look, I know this chapter was short, but can we blame Roman?
He had a lot of pent-up anger to resolve, and once he got Ashley alone, things escalated from 'punishment' to 'proposal' real fast.
I mean, who has time for word counts when there's ground to be claimed? (Ty vsya moya, remember? 😈)
I'm just saying, Roman gets what he wants, when he wants it.
Doubt is treachery, after all.
Now, let's see how they explain this proposal to their families. A wedding planner is going to have a lot of questions. Or maybe another twist comes up. (Hint: Maybe that photo was not AI generated, just saying you never know...)💍🤫
Thanks for reading! ❤️
-Vaanni🖤