Breaking Bro Code

Chapter 11

The air in the bedroom was thick, charged with a friction that had been building for months. Roman didn’t just crowd me; he invaded my space, his chest pressed firmly against mine, forcing me down until I collapsed onto the edge of the sprawling bed.

He didn't wait for an invitation. He leaned over, his hands gripping the mattress on either side of my hips, effectively trapping me.

"You think this is a game?" he rasped, his eyes dark, unreadable, and pulsing with a dangerous energy. "You think you can dig through my phone, look at my private life, and then stand here in my bedroom and act like you have the right to call me out?"

"I’m not calling you out, Roman, I’m seeing you for what you are," I said, my pulse thrumming in my ears. "You’re always running. Always looking for a distraction to keep things from getting real."

He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, his face inches from mine. "Distractions? You think I enjoy having a string of women waiting at the bar? It’s part of the life. It’s what I have to do to keep the press from focusing on anything else."

"That’s a convenient excuse," I countered, my hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy beat of his heart. "You keep them around because it’s easy. Because they don't ask for anything real."

"And you think you're any different?" he snapped. "You’re here, in my space, pushing buttons that are going to get us both burned. I have things to attend to—people I've been seeing for weeks just to keep my name out of the headlines. They don't expect anything but a few hours, and that's exactly what I give them."

"So go," I whispered, challenging him. "If that’s what you need to keep your image, go. I’m done being the one you come back to when you want a break from the noise."

He surged forward, his mouth finding mine with a ferocity that was less of a kiss and more of a fight. It was a collision of tempers, his hands sliding into my hair to hold me in place while his lips worked against mine with a rough, impatient hunger. He wasn't trying to be gentle; he was trying to shake me, to prove he was in control.

He pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching mine with a mix of frustration and raw desire. He didn't move to take it further; instead, he shifted, his hands moving to the silk of my robe. He didn't push it off—he just toyed with the belt, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.

"You want to see how I handle the noise?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly promise.

He didn't make a move to strip me; he simply pulled me closer, his lips grazing my neck, his hands roaming over the silk in a way that made my skin flush. It was a tease—a chaotic, frustrating, and incredibly intense series of touches that left me breathless. He was giving me exactly what he gave those other women: the physical attention, the proximity, the thrill—but stopping just short of the ultimate act. He wanted me to feel the hunger, to feel the same desperate frustration he felt every time he had to walk out that door to maintain his "playboy" facade.

He pulled back just as I was losing my mind, his eyes dark with a cruel, satisfied amusement. "That’s what I give them, Allie. Just enough to keep them wanting. Just enough to keep them silent."

The bluntness of it hit me harder than any lie. He wasn't promising a future; he was showing me exactly how he kept his world in balance, and he was using me to do it.

But just as he lowered his head to mine again, a sudden, sharp pounding on the front door echoed through the penthouse.

Roman went still, his muscles turning to stone.

"Roman! Open up! I know she's in there!"

My blood turned to ice. It was Nolan. And he didn't sound like he was there for a friendly check-in anymore.