Carbon: Devil's Rose #8

Chapter 2: Roman Grant

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She's way too fucking beautiful. God, how good her skin felt against my hands. Her hand in my hair. Her cute little lips. That dress, that body in that dress. 

I roll my head back, moving my hand down my face as I try to not think about what she would be like in my bed. Her golden-brown hair spread on the pillow, her pink blush flushed down her body, and those pink, puffy lips with my name falling out of them. Her supple breasts touching my chest, her bare legs open to me, showing her beautiful pussy to me. 

Fuck, I bet she's so fucking good, so fucking perfect. What it would be like to wrap my hand around that pretty little throat as I slam deep into her. To watch her become putty in my hands, her gaze only locked on me. To hear her sweet moans as I make her cum, over and over again.

A rumbling, tortured groan makes its way out of my mouth. I bite my bottom lip, glancing at her still sleeping on my couch. She's been sleeping soundly since last night. 

When I saw her on the camera, getting tossed left and right by the crowd, tears streaming down her face, and then her falling on the pavement, I knew that I couldn't let her go when she was harmed like that. She looked so terrified, her whole body shaking even while Rubble (who used to be Nick) was trying to calm her down. 

My heart clenches at the idea of having her hurt in any way, especially when I can prevent it. 

I squeeze the edge of the desk, veins popping out of my arms as I go to control my anger. I've always had a hard time not lashing out, and I wouldn't mind having one of the Old Ladies teach the girls that were with Gabriella last night a lesson.

I hear a soft whimper, and I instantly make my way to Gabriella's side. I couldn't help myself, I had to find out her name. When Rubble told it to me, I couldn't help but smile at the pure beauty of the name and how much it fits her. 

I kneel beside her, lacing my fingers through hers, coaxing her slowly awake. Her brown eyes meet mine, a beautiful smile gracing her face with a luminous glow. I lick my bottom lip, watching her eyes flicker over my face, but just when I think they are going to linger on my ugly, terrifying scars, she stares into my eyes. 

Her fingers trace up the side of my face, over the scars, and down my nose. Suddenly, I don't feel so disgusting anymore. No one has ever touched me so softly before, not that I allow many people to touch me. 

It's been a long time since I felt comfortable enough to show my flaws to someone for healing rather than to scare them away. Even most of the women I sleep with are turned off by the scars that I gained as an eighteen-year-old boy. 

I wouldn't want someone to romanticize them, but I don't want to turn anyone away because of them.

"You're a very beautiful man."

My chest throbs at the words of praise that come out of her mouth, and I feel completely and utterly lost in her.

"Thank you. You are a gorgeous woman."

That adorable blush travels down her neck, over the tops of her breasts, and the ache in me only gains momentum as I know it travels down further. I lift my hand, which causes her to flinch slightly, and I move the tendrils of her hair away from her eye. 

I try to push away the flinch, but I can't. I know better than to ask, understanding that getting help and someone else knowing can be the scariest part. As a stranger, I figure that I would be the last person she would tell. 

I brush my lips against the back of her hand before standing to my height. I see her breath quicken, and I immediately take a step back from her. It pains me to think that she would ever be scared of me. Drops of tears fill her special eyes, and my fists clench at the sight.