Free Roman: Book 1 by Kimber S. Dawn

salt being ground into a fresh wound.
    Tears slip from my eyes and slide down the sides of my face to run along my scalp as sobs are wrenched from my throat while Roman simply stares down at my battered and bloody abused body.
    Why did I let myself think even for a moment this man wasn’t the monster everyone says he is? And what gave me the idea I was different…that I was the one who could save him?
    Roman will break me.
    He will let me down.
    He will make me hurt.
    Roman will make me bleed, over and over until I am no longer able to keep him amused or entertained.
    Looking up at him through my tear blurred vision as his flaccid cock slips from me I watch as concern flashes across his facial features.
    However it’s the look of disbelief that cripples any hatred I felt for him only moments ago when I see how starkly it contrasts against his beautiful evilness.
    “It wasn’t… the wetness, you weren’t soaking me in your cum, it was your blood. “ His crystalline blue eyes clash with mine, “I couldn’t feel the difference between the slick wetness of cum and tacky stickiness of blood.”
    My hands run over his arms and shoulders, brushing over the tattoo ink staining his skin and nervously whisper, “Roman, can you and I have a conversation. Please?”
    He nods before handing me a linen napkin. After I’ve somewhat cleaned myself up I slip my dress over my head and remain sitting on top of the table, afraid of the pain moving may cause.
    I admire Roman’s magnificent naked form as he moves with the lithe grace of a big cat to the opposite end of the long dark dining table. I can’t take my eyes off his olive complected skin moving like satin over his sinewy muscles if I wanted to. By the time he takes his place at the head of the table I’m almost mesmerized. Still perched on my spot, I silently wait for his cue for me to begin. Anxiety is coursing through my veins making my body tremble and confusion trips my thoughts, jumbling them all together making it impossible to discern if I’m terrified or fascinated by Roman. Before I’m able to study that thought too closely I realize he’s watching me over his steepled fingers and waiting for me to begin.
    My heart practically leaps from my chest when his stern voice barks, “Begin!”
    I flinch and have to swallow three times before I can speak.
    “My name is Heather Mackenzie. My friends and family call me Mac. I… I-I I’m a detective for the Washington State police.  My father was Heath Mackenzie, the detective assigned to build a case against you for your involvement with eleven missing women. My father spent the last months of his life investigating you, Roman.  He was convinced you were directly responsible for not only Ms. Robbins death but eleven other young woman as far back as the disappearance of Brittany Sloan. My father died of a heart attack eight months after Ms. Robbins suicide and was never able to find any more evidence against you besides Amanda’s suicide note and eleven pictures he received of you with each of the eleven women around the time they went missing. After his death two years ago I stepped in and took over his investigation. And now, I guess I’m just lucky number thirteen.”
    After I’ve finished speaking that I notice Andrew must have come in and served our dinner while my eyes were glued to Roman’s and my mind was lost in my past.
    Roman wipes his mouth with his linen napkin then looks down the expanse of the table to where I sit and chuckles.
    “Ahh Little mouse, I will enjoy demonstrating just how lucky the number thirteen truly is.”
    I feel a blush creep up my face and instantly look down to my fidgeting hands before asking in a shaky voice, “So… the twelve? How many did you directly kill Roman?”
    “You are as captivating, little mouse as you are beautiful. I can’t help but continue being intrigued by you. As for the ‘twelve’, they are no longer your concern as you will not be resuming your