THE SMILE THAT SHATTERED -PART 2
His voice was low, almost tender.
> "Don't smile at me like you've forgotten."
Serene's fingers froze mid-brush.
She stared at him through the mirror — at the man whose darkness had built her cage and whispered love into its bars.
She swallowed. "I haven't forgotten anything."
Roman moved closer, step by step.
Like a tide. Like a storm.
Like a man who had waited long enough.
> "You're wearing the same sweater," he murmured, reaching out, brushing the hem where it clung to her hips. "The one you wore the first time I saw you in the café."
Serene stepped back.
He followed.
"Roman, don't—"
His hand cupped her jaw.
And the kiss that followed wasn't violent.
No. That would have been easier.
It was slow.
Intentional.
A claiming.
Her lips parted out of instinct — shock — and his tongue slipped past them like a secret, tasting the fear she tried to swallow.
---
She tried to speak again, but his mouth was already at her neck.
> "Do you know how long I've waited?" he breathed against her skin. "How many nights I stood outside your door just… listening to you breathe?"
His hand moved lower — under her sweater now — fingertips brushing her bare waist, her ribs, the soft curve beneath her breast.
She shivered.
Not from cold.
From being touched for the first time — from the helplessness of unfamiliar heat pooling low in her belly.
---
He lifted her sweater with one fluid motion, exposing her chest to the moonlight pouring in from the window. Her nipples peaked instantly, and he bent without hesitation, catching one between his lips, tongue circling slowly as his hand explored her back.
Serene gasped — not in protest, not anymore.
Roman groaned softly, like the taste of her undid something inside him.
> "You're mine," he whispered, voice rough. "Say it."
She shook her head, trembling.
"No."
His hand slid between her thighs — through the thin fabric of her shorts.
One firm stroke.
She bit her lip.
> "Say it, angel."
"No," she whispered again, weaker this time.
He kissed her again — deeper — and then picked her up effortlessly, laying her on the bed like she was made of glass and blood.
He removed the last of her clothing slowly, watching her the entire time.
When he entered her, it was with one slow, measured thrust — careful but final.
She cried out.
He stilled, brushing hair from her face.
> "Breathe."
She did.
Only because he told her to.
---
The rhythm was cruel in how gentle it felt.
He moved inside her like he had all the time in the world.
Like she would never leave.
Like this was the beginning of forever.
And maybe it was.
Her legs wrapped around his hips before she realized.
Her nails marked his shoulders.
And when he came — groaning her name into her neck — he stayed there, heavy and warm, lips pressed to her shoulder like a vow.
---
Serene didn't speak.
She couldn't.
Her body felt foreign.
Owned.
He brushed a kiss across her forehead.
> "Now," he whispered, "you understand."
And she did.
Not what love was.
But what it meant to be taken.
---