The Right Direction

by Kathy Coopmans

  I want the complicated Roman Nixon in a way I’ve never wanted another man. I yelled at him about a lot of things today out of frustration. One of them insinuating his complex life could ruin me. People can’t ruin, hurt, or hold control over another unless you allow them to, and that scares the ever-living shit out of me because he already captured control of my heart a long time ago. To this day it’s still fragile sitting there in the palm of his hand.

  “I thought I’d come in here and hold you in my arms before I told you. You know already, don’t you? About your brother, I mean. The rest of it is malicious talk. You ignore it,” he speaks gently. A lot of those words are hidden behind us sharing with one another. Pain so excruciating it was hard for both of us to talk about. Two abandoned children who were trying to find their place in the world.

  I’m afraid to say this news is far from being the end of what’s happening. It’s enough to crush my life if I let it. I’m stronger than the people who have kept this from me. I have my strength provider permanently etched on my skin, another one giving me courage just by knowing when to say the right thing, and I have a brother I want to meet. But first, I need to breathe this all in. Figure out the right thing to do about everything.

  “Yes. I could always tell when something bothered you, Roman, saw right through you more clearly than anyone. You were the same way with me. That hasn’t changed. Somewhere along the way, we both learned to accept our parents for the people they really are long before I read this brief article about mine. It’s sad to say that their death doesn’t bother me. What they did can never be forgiven, not by me anyway. It used to hurt thinking they never came back for me; it breaks my soul thinking they could have found me and told me I had a brother. What did I ever do to them to make them not want me?” I sigh, take a deep breath, and remind myself I’m letting my past get to me. Eating my own words and feelings. “They are nothing to me; on the other hand, you, you’ve always been everything to me. Shown me what being loved unconditionally means. Held my hand, wiped away my tears. I will never forgive myself if the media find out about him. It could cause more anguish for you and a lot of heartache for him.”

  I’d turned to Roman many times when I first moved in with our foster parents. This man holding my hand mentally instead of physically right now had been with our foster parents with no one his age for more than a year before I came along. Once I got past the shock, we talked while we played. All the while trying to figure out in our too young little heads what Ruthy meant when she said our families not wanting us wasn’t our fault, yet old enough to know that having the necessities out of life we needed to survive was much better than living with people we missed without really missing them at all. We had each other, and all through our childhood that was enough.

  “Joslyn, we all have secrets. Some choose to talk about them. Some don’t. Others stretch stories to feed the assholes of this world more shit. The band's true fans aren’t going anywhere. If the hideous people who feed off the bullshit want to believe whatever is being said, then they can fuck off with the rest of them. I told you how rotten these people are. They are always trying to knock people down. Their morals and ethics are shoved so far up their ass they stink. Trust me when I say that the people who matter to me, the people who matter to you know who we are. You have to believe your brother thinks the same.” I want to laugh with how blatantly outspoken he is. I smile tightly. After all, this is Roman Nixon. The man who can filter his mouth when he has to but otherwise lets it fly.

  We fall silent as I listen to the soothing sounds of his heavy breathing. Sitting my phone on the bedside table and turning off the light, I snuggle close to his warm body, resting my head on his chest and closing my eyes as I lie peacefully listening to his beating heart. I feel the same sense of ease I did when he came into my room one night a long time ago after he heard me crying. We silently held each other along the same way we are now.

  Except back then it was innocent when his hands rubbed my back in a soothing gesture. Whereas now, one roams down to grab hold of my ass, while the other spreads across my stomach as he rolls me on top of him.

  “Look at me, Joslyn,” he commands in a deep tone that makes my stomach flutter. I open my eyes. What I see gazing back at me sucks the air out of my lungs.

  Whispering wordlessly for the strength I’ve built up over the years to come out and guide me, I give in and focus on what has to be an image mirroring back at him. My core pulses from the melting chocolates of all the pure raw emotions I see. It’s as if he’s milking them into me. “Good news came out of all of this. You have a sibling who looks like you. He’s a hero. A soldier. Did you read up on him?” I smile. My brother, an American hero.

  “I read what I could find. I can’t believe this. I’m shocked, sad, happy, and anxious. I’m going to the office in a couple of days. I’ll pull out all my resources and search for him then. I’ve had enough news for today. The last thing in this world I want to think about is them giving me up and keeping him. It hurts, but knowing he didn’t have to go through his life feeling rejected takes most of my pain away. They may have given me life, but you breathed it into me, Roman. The moment I met you, you took my hatred and replaced it with something else. Gratitude and unconditional love, and I broke us. If it weren’t for them, I would have never met Roman Nixon. He would have never become the man who every day gave me a little glimpse of my someday.” I gaze into the same kind of depth that only we share as silence takes up our surroundings. There’s much to be said about a man who can accept what I did and still look at me the way he is. There might be a lot of ground between us, but love is still there. A love that could be built back up stronger than it was before if we gave it a try. That’s what I see when I search behind his eyes.

  “I’m going to ignore the part of you blaming yourself again, for now. Not sure how I’ve managed to live this long without you. I’ve been going out of my head trying to come up with a way to save you from being hurt, and here you are proving me wrong by saying things that make my dick hard. Did you know I sat in the courtroom today with a hard-on aching so badly from listening to you throw yourself under the bus, not realizing you would be taking this ride with me regardless of what you said? You're so much stronger than either one of us gives you credit for.” His confession makes me want him all the more. His erection has my mind shifting gears to reach down and tug off his sweats, yank down my shorts, and place his dick into drive. Final destination, right between my legs.

  I open my mouth to answer him when he lifts my arm to read my tattoo. His fingers trace across the script the way I’ve done many times since I got it. Back and forth he goes, eyes traveling from the tattoo to my bracelet he gave me when I turned sixteen. A simple silver cuff with the words ‘me and you’ etched across the front. I feel the warmth from his touch penetrating my skin and boiling me into a gooey, wet mess. I feel his caress all over.

  “My someday has yet to come. Until then, strength will hold it all inside,” he quotes, voice cracking and wavering on shedding tears.

  Roman was always the most influential man in my life. A difficult, powerful person to challenge. He always saw the better side of everything. Always picked me up when I was sad and turned my frown into a smile with a wisecrack coming out of his smart mouth. He taught me to never take things for granted. Spoke the word ‘someday’ all the time. Someday this, someday that. At first, I didn’t understand. I figured he dreamed of a better life, of a place far away. I would lie in my bed at night and picture the sun and the beach with our kids running around, constantly looking over their shoulder to make sure Roman and I were watching them. Then smiling so bright when they saw the love, the joy we had for them when they realized we were. Them, us, our family was all I could see. Those typical girly teenage dreams of finding the one. Those dreams would have come true, and I lost them along with myself in one day.

  It wasn’t until after he left that I truly got the meaning of what he meant. I expressed it on the phone t
o him one night before I found out I was pregnant. I mean, I knew we were a big part of one another’s someday. I just didn’t know we would both have to go through a long stretch of misery before our someday would come.

  Someday means content. It means true happiness that can’t be bought no matter how much money you have or how many impressive degrees you’ve collected to hang on your wall. It has nothing to do with fancy homes and expensive cars. It’s finding the inner peace inside yourself that gives you the strength to realize that not one thing, one person is more important than you. It’s the calmness you have that when your someday arrives, you’ll be able to share it with those you love.

  “Your someday is almost here, baby. Hold on just a little longer. After it arrives, I promise the only thing you’ll be wanting inside of you will be me.”

  “You’re persistent, mister,” I mumble, internally rolling my eyes.

  “And you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Standard pickup line, Roman.”

  “I don’t need to pick you up when I already did the day you fell for me.” Good Lord. He’s cheeky and quick with his tongue.

  All my fear from today is bounding out of me in one giant leap of fate when he slides his hand up my arm and through my hair to grip a handful. He has complete and utter control. He takes what he wants. I give in freely when his mouth collides with mine. Everything about this seductive kiss feels right. Roman isn’t gentle either. He never was. He fucks my mouth with rapid thrusts of his tongue, the same way he would if he was driving his cock inside of me. Wild and frenzied. Out of control to give as good as he takes. God, I want him entirely too much. I can’t submit my body to him yet. In his eyes, I might be strong, but having him inside of me again without both of us thinking it through is something my mind won’t allow.

  I need to stop thinking and enjoy this moment. So I do. I place my hands in his hair, tug the short strands to pull him as close to me as he can get. Run my tongue across his bottom lip and nip. I moan when he lifts his hips and his dick presses into me.

  He releases his hold on my hair, runs his hands down my sides, grabs hold of my ass, and rocks me into him. I gasp. Tingles spread far and wide. Undeniable pleasure leaves his body and escapes in a groan from his mouth. There’s no denying the strange way fate brought us back together. Everything happens for a reason. The good, the bad, and the ugly will eventually turn into the most beautiful thing my heart will ever hold on to. This is what I know, what I feel from this kiss.

  Our erratic breathing falters when he pulls away and rolls me off him, all the while still holding me hostage in his arms.

  “Get some sleep, beautiful. Tomorrow will be here before we know it.”

  Sleep has never been this serene in all of my life.

  Chapter 8

  Roman

  “I‘m going home, Roman. You need to stop trying to convince me to stay.” We’ve been arguing about this for the past half hour. I can’t change her mind any more than I wished the morning hadn’t come. Fuck, she is stubborn when she puts her mind to something.

  “It’s not a good idea, Joslyn.” I’ve got all kinds of ways strumming through my mind to coax her into submitting to me. But it’s pointless to try when she tilts her head and narrows her eyes, warning me to challenge her. Should take the challenge. Bait the hell out of her. Might do it if she’d let me turn this fucking television off. I’m this close to busting the thing just to get the people yacking to shut the hell up.

  “Woman, I might not be able to stop you from leaving, but don’t think for one second I’m happy about it. Not about to let you control a damn thing here. Tuck those defying eyes back in your pretty little head and listen to me. You go home, go to work, and that’s it.” Why the hell is it when we want time to be on our side, it’s like watching it dissolve as quickly as the sun going down? Stifles me to think that whenever she leaves, it’s going to feel as if it will take forever for tomorrow to come.

  “Arguing with me isn’t going to do you any good. I’m a lawyer, remember? I won’t back down. I’m leaving. Deal with it.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly before turning her sharp eyes back to the television. While me, I’m over here ready to blow up from the anger boiling in my veins. I’ll be calling on someone to protect her ass, too. What sucks is it’ll take a day or two for the only man I trust to keep her safe to get here.

  “We’re only delaying the inevitable if I continue to stay, Roman. I’ve learned how to grow a very thick skin. I can handle them,” she says softly behind me.

  The foreseeable future with them is what I’m worried about. They are as unpredictable as the weather.

  “Your decision. You positive you want to continue to listen to this bullshit?” I’m giving up, not giving in, and only because it won’t take long for me to get to her if something does happen. Christ, the idea of anything happening to her about wrecks me. I’ll end up sending someone to their early grave and spend my life behind bars.

  Watching her is causing all kinds of ruckus in my body, too. It seems every time I look at her, I find some new spot on her sexy-as-fuck figure I want to bite. Her neck, ass, tits. Everywhere. She seems to be unruffled this morning about any of this, while I sit here with the taste of bullshit in my mouth from listening to these people on the television analyze our lives when I’d much rather be tasting her.

  I’ve never been a hard sleeper, always tossed and turned, worrying about one thing or another. Slept better than I have in a long time last night. Part of it due to being awake for well over twenty-four hours, another due to the woman who now has her hip propped against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee with an amused look on her face. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s enjoying pissing me off as much as she is listening to the news.

  Knew she couldn’t keep her nose out of what was happening outside of here once we talked a little bit more and the initial shock of being locked away in my home together took root. Not to mention I was a little distant and she picked up on it. All I see now is a woman I crave to have. Sooner rather than later.

  The need to check on her last night, plus wanting to be by her side had me climbing out of bed, crossing the hall, and once again watching her. Seems to be a habit when it comes to the disbelief she’s even here. All I want is to shelter her from the outside world. Don’t like to admit she’s grown in all kinds of ways that time stole from me. Strong and courageous. Listening while turning a blind eye to everything they are saying.

  Eyeing her in my bed last night, those long legs stretched out underneath the covers, back against the headboard, that head of blond hair teasing me from where it rested just above her breasts had me itching to slide the straps of her top down her arms and run my tongue right up the center of them. Take them in my mouth and drive her out of her head with want.

  Most importantly, though, I needed to know she was okay. Her reaction to her parents, the news about her brother, and her wanting to listen to the morning news after I received a call from Marcus letting me know that Gwen’s dozens of tweets in the middle of the night started a battle of the fans on Twitter is showing me how strong Joslyn really is.

  The good thing is, no one has mentioned her brother or another man. Not yet anyway. Hopefully, they don’t.

  I’m afraid to ask her about someone else. Afraid I’ll go animalistic when I haven't the right to.

  Her eyes shine with laughter as she stands in my kitchen rubbing her tattoo. I love that she found something to remind her of how strong she is. Wish it would have been me, but as they say, can’t change the past, but you can do something about the future.

  Her ability to wake up with an I-don’t-give-a-shit-anymore attitude has me harder than I was sitting in the courtroom, which says a lot being that I was harder than a fucking lead pipe while caught up in the invisible spell she had me under.

  Heat flows through the veins in my dick; my fists clench as I envision her on her knees, mouth wide open as she takes my c
ock. God, I’m all twisted up with desire for her. It’s aggravating as hell.

  Resistance is a bitch when you crave something so badly knowing you have to wait for the right time to have it. Shit fucking sucks. This is why I’m two seconds away from laying her on my kitchen table, pulling down those white shorts, yanking her gray tank top off, and fucking her while watching her come all over my cock.

  “I’m positive. As long as I don’t have to say a word to any of them, they can carry on. It’s quite fascinating if you think about it.” I’m not thinking about them. I’m thinking about spreading you wide and fucking you with my tongue and my cock. Listening to the sound of your voice as you beg for more instead of these crazy fucks.

  She focuses her attention back on the television when the hosts return from commercial while me, I listen to them, but my eyes trail up her bare legs, my mouth waters just thinking about sinking my tongue into her pussy and fucking her into staying. Goddamn, why does life have to throw me a curveball all the time? Why can’t it toss me a slider to where I can sink right between those tan thighs?

  “Well, Rob, there are several marriages in Hollywood where infidelity seems to be the cause of divorce. It wasn’t until a few months ago we learned there was trouble in paradise between Trained in Black’s frontman Roman Nixon and his lovely wife, former makeup artist Gwen Nelson. Southern California has an eighty-percent rate, and it’s climbing. Several marry three or four times. Needless to say, not all of them are celebrities, but statistics show that the majority of them end up where one or the other has cheated. What I find ironic is why all of a sudden Gwen has gone on a tweeting rampage about knowing her husband was cheating with Miss Reynolds all along? Why did she wait until word got out that Miss Reynolds not only lost their child but she represented him for punching a paparazzo reporter in the face?”