Savage Remains: What Remains Between Us
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Kristen Mullings
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12
Roman’s lips hovered over mine, so close it hurt, his voice rough as gravel.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “You’ll break for me in the next breath.”
Sage swore she was done with Roman—the lies, the heartbreak, the fire that never really went out. But when fate pulls them back together, the tension between them is electric, dangerous, impossible to ignore. Roman wants redemption; Sage wants the truth. Every touch feels like a promise, every argument like a dare. He’s determined to prove he’s changed, but old wounds don’t heal easily, and temptation has a way of blurring the lines between forgiveness and surrender. Between tense dinners, sharp words, and stolen kisses, they find themselves asking the one question neither can escape—can you ever really love someone who once broke you?
Chapter 1
Sage
“Sage! You can’t—”
I slammed the door in his face so hard that the frame vibrated. My chest heaved as I backed away slowly, staring in anticipation of some kind of reaction to my outburst.
I thought Roman might phase through it—he always had a way of pushing through boundaries, especially the ones I tried hardest to set. My jaw clenched.
The silence swallowed me whole. I was trying and failing miserably to control my emotions. And then the tears came.
I wanted to scream, instead I threw myself on the bed, grabbed a pillow to muffle my cries and wipe the tears away as they escaped.
God, I hated this.
I wasn’t supposed to miss him. I wasn’t supposed to still want him.
“Kätzchen,” came his voice—muffled through the door, low and aching. The nickname cut through me like it always did. “You can’t keep avoiding me.”
My hands clenched the pillow tighter.
Avoiding him? He disappeared for weeks. No call. No text. Just a generic-ass message saying he was off on “family business.” Again! Like I hadn’t been burning in silence every day.
Like I hadn’t felt his ghost in every room I walked into.
I sat up, wiping my cheeks roughly. “And you can’t just walk back in like nothing happened!”
I couldn’t stop my voice from rising into a shout—and it cracked, right in the middle.
A pause. Then his voice, lower now. “Please…open the door.”
I stared at it. My fingers twitched at my sides.
Don’t do it, Sage.
But the thing about Roman Heinrich was—he didn’t beg.
And now he was.
My legs moved before I could stop them. There was an ache driving me—I felt hot all over, mean as hell, and that undeniable ache Roman ignited that lived just beneath my skin, always wanting him. Feel him on me, in me.
My fingers carefully closed around the knob, and I graciously opened the door.
Roman didn’t flinch. He stood tall and still in the hallway, looking like regret dressed in a tailored black suit. No tie. His collar was undone. Throat exposed.
He knew what he was doing.
His ice-blue eyes dragged over me, slow and unapologetic, like he had every right to look. His gaze landed on the tear streaks down my face and softened for a breath. Then that familiar darkness slid back into place.
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, even as my pulse jumped. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
He stepped forward. I stepped back. A dance we both knew too well.
“But you are, aren’t you?” he murmured, closing the door behind him with one hand. The click of it echoed through the apartment like a sealed fate. “Mine.”
“No, Roman,” I hissed, voice shaking. “You don’t get to disappear and come back pretending I’m yours.”
“You were always mine.” His tone dipped low, gravel thick with intent. “You just like pretending you’re not.”
My breath hitched, and he noticed.
His lips curled, not into a smile, but something deeper. Hungrier.
Roman stalked forward, slow and deliberate, backing me toward the bed like a predator does prey. The room shrank with every step he took.
“Say the word, and I’ll leave,” he murmured. “But we both know you don’t want that.”
“Fuck you,” I whispered, even as my thighs clenched beneath the silk of my robe. “You don’t get to play games with me.”
He moved so fast I barely had time to breathe.
One hand fisted the back of my hair, yanking my head back just enough to bare my throat. The other clamped around my jaw, firm but careful, possessive. His body pressed into mine, all heat and muscle and masculine tension.
“You think this is a game?” he growled, voice hot against my mouth. “Then tell me to stop. Right now. Say no, and I walk out that door.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. My heart pounded so loud I felt it in my teeth.
“Still mine,” he whispered, brushing his lips over my cheek without kissing me. “Still wet for me, even when you’re angry.”
“You’re such an arrogant—”
His grip tightened, just enough to silence me. Not enough to hurt. Not really.
“Strip,” he ordered.
I froze. His voice was a trigger I hated loving—the way he spoke like I was his to command, like I’d kneel if he crooked his finger. And fuck, maybe I would.
“Roman, don’t—”
“Strip. Or I’ll do it for you.”
And I knew what that meant.
My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him, defiant and trembling, before I slowly let the robe slip from my shoulders.
He watched every inch I revealed as if it already belonged to him. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths—but his eyes burned with pure possession.
I stood naked before him, chin high, nipples tight from both the air and the tension between us. I refused to look away.
“Good girl,” he said.
God, that praise. I hated that it still made my thighs press together.
He stepped behind me, trailing his fingertips down my spine, slow and reverent, until his hands gripped my hips.
“I missed this,” he murmured against my ear. “The way you shiver when I don’t even touch you properly.”
I clenched my teeth. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, biting my shoulder. “You want to. But your body still answers to me.”
He spun me around, pushing me gently but firmly onto the bed. Before I could catch my breath, his hand wrapped around my throat—firm, measured pressure, just the way he knew I liked it. Just enough to make my breath catch.
“Safe word still the same?” he asked, voice like smoke and sin.
“Yes,” I rasped.
“Then let me remind you what you’ve been missing.”
Roman’s hand stayed firm on my throat, not hurting, just holding me in place, holding me like a claim.
My legs trembled under me. “You don’t get to do this,” I whispered, even as my hips rocked up against his thigh. “You don’t just show up, call me Kätzchen, and think I’ll fall apart for you.”
“You’re already falling,” he growled.
His lips were inches from mine, his breath fanning against my mouth. He leaned down until the heat of his body pinned me to the bed. My pulse skittered like a trapped bird in my chest.
I felt it—the moment just before he kissed me—and something inside me screamed yes.
But instead—I turned my face away.
He froze.
“I can’t,” I said breathlessly.
A pause.
“I have to go.”
Roman pulled back just enough to look at me, not confused, not angry, but watching. Measuring.
“I got a new job,” I said, trying to catch my breath and calm my racing body. “And I’m already late. My new friend Erin is waiting for me. She’s the only one who’s looked out for me since I left…everything.”
I sat up, grabbing for my robe, wrapping it around myself like armor.
His eyes darkened. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yes,” I said, even though it physically hurt to say it. “I worked too hard to start over, Roman. I’m not going to risk it just because you showed up with that voice and those hands and that…smell.”
A flicker of a smile. “So you do still want me.”
“I never said I didn’t.” I stepped past him, brushing his chest with my shoulder. “But I’m not giving in to a man who can disappear without a word and then expect my bed to be warm when he comes back.”
He turned, following me with his gaze. “It wasn’t just about me. You needed space.”
“You took the space,” I snapped. “You took everything.”
Silence.
Then his voice, low and lethal: “And yet you’re still mine.”
I whirled around. “Roman—”
“Go,” he said, cutting me off. “Be professional. Be responsible. Be the version of yourself you’re trying so hard to be without me.”
I blinked, stunned at his sudden coldness.
“But when you’re done pretending this doesn’t matter…”
His eyes burned into mine. “You know where to find me.”
I didn’t respond. I just watched him walk out the door. My heart still pounding, thighs still aching, and Roman’s scent clinging to my skin like sin I hadn’t washed off yet.
