When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1)

by Natalie Gayle

  Now I can’t help myself. “I love it when you talk dirty to me. So, tell me more about your pussy, is it as smooth and soft as I’m imagining?”

  “Rome,” she shrieks in a hushed whisper.

  I stroke her hair back from where it’s fallen on her cheek. “Come on, Oz, we both know that if I slip my hand between your thighs and touch your pussy, it will be wet with need for me, which is perfect because I’m hard for you right now.”

  To prove the point, I guide her hand a little further north to where my cock is valiantly attempting to seek freedom outside the trousers of my suit.

  “And what exactly am I supposed to do with all that?”

  Unable to resist, I lean in and brush my lips lightly over hers. “Nothing right now. I just want you to know what you do to me.” I want her to be open about sex, and the best way I know how is to be open with her about how I feel. If I talk about what I need and want, then Carlene’s more likely to reciprocate. “Now I want to hear more about how mortified you were.”

  “You really want to hear about the mortification of Carlene Davis?”

  “That could be the title for a book. But sure. That way, I can say how brave you were for going through with it. I must confess, I had my doubts you would. But I’m really pleased you did. And I promise you, when I go down on you later, you’ll realize a few minutes of embarrassment is well worth the price.”

  She wriggles beside me. “You really are the devil, aren’t you?”

  “You think?” I give her a little wink.

  “I know. I can’t believe the stuff you get me to do and say as if it’s no big deal.”

  “Fun though, isn’t it?” I drop another little kiss to her lips. Damn her lipstick to hell.

  As I move back away from her, I notice the waiter standing a discrete distance away, waiting for the right time to approach. Yeah, he’s getting a big tip tonight.

  I give him a slight nod, and he approaches.

  “Oz, how do you feel about letting me order for you tonight? I’ve got a couple of dishes in mind I’d like you to try.”

  “Sure, I don’t mind at all. Besides, you ordering solves the problem for me of having to decide.”

  The waiter looks at me expectantly. “Go with what I selected earlier, please.”

  He nods. “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.” The waiter slips away, and we’re alone once again.

  I pick up my champagne flute and motion for her to do the same.

  “I think we need a toast, Carlene.”

  “Okay.” Her expression turns curious.

  There’s a lot I want to say, but can’t. I’m so sick of keeping everything in the moment and impersonal, other than with my body.

  It’s such a paradox.

  My job means I can give her every part of my body but nothing in my life or my heart. Finally, I choose a few words I hope will work. I want to convey the sentiment my heart is feeling but isn’t allowed to openly express.

  “To new experiences and new friends. They both mean everything to me and may both continue for years to come.”

  We clink glasses and Carlene looks a little surprised as we both sip the perfectly chilled champagne. “I can certainly drink to that.”

  She raises her eyebrows a little and studies my face. What is she looking for? What does she see when she looks at me? And suddenly, I’m a little uncomfortable.

  “What are you trying to say, Rome?”

  What am I really angling for?

  It’s time for me to recognize the truth, at least to myself. I don’t want the two weeks to be all we have together. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, somewhere along the way, Carlene, you’ve become more than a client, and I can’t ignore this any longer. Anymore, than I can ignore the fact this is my life. What I’m trying to say, and not very well, is I’ve come to think of you as a friend, and I’d like that to continue after our time together is up.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and a pleased smile tickles her lips. “I’m glad you said that, Rome, I feel the same, but I didn’t really think it was my place to suggest any sort of contact after here. I’m not familiar with the protocol.”

  The word protocol makes me laugh. “You really don’t like to break the rules, do you?”

  She shakes her head no. “Although, I seem to have developed quite a naughty streak of late, thanks to you.”

  “Yes, you have. And on the rule part, there really are no rules. It’s up to us how we handle things after our time comes to an end.”

  I can see her kicking it around in her head. Something is still bothering her.

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss. I thought all communication has to go through him?”

  Well, she has me there.

  I glance down and suppress a chuckle. I can trust Carlene, I’m almost sure of it.

  “What if I told you I am the boss? Would that make you feel better?”

  Surprise shoots across her face. “What do you mean?”

  I’m about to take a big risk. One I may well come to regret, but I’m going to do it anyway. I’m breaking all my own rules.

  “I own Perfect Gentlemen. I started the service about ten years ago.”

  Her jaw drops slack, and her mouth forms a perfect O. I like surprising Carlene.

  It’s almost as good as teasing an orgasm out of her.

  Chapter 17

  Carlene

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He shakes his head no. “It actually feels really good to tell you the truth. I guess it’s the friends thing. You’re the first client I’ve ever told in ten years of having the business.”

  Wow!

  I don’t quite know how to feel about Rome’s admission. I really like Rome. He’s so easy to be around, and he makes me feel good about myself—positive and more confident. Something I’ve never really had in my life before.

  “Why did you tell me? I’m honored you feel you can tell me, when you haven’t before, but I’m curious as to why you chose me to tell.”

  He looks at me with such intensity in those dark brown eyes of his. “You’ve got integrity, Carlene. It’s a quality I don’t find often in the people I come into contact with. I feel as if I can trust you with it. I know you’ll always respect my position, just as I respect you for who you are.”

  A lot more things make sense now. He always seems very confident in a lot of ways and no doubt a large part of it is due to the fact he’s created and now runs a very successful business.

  The waiter arrives at the table to deliver our entrees to us.

  I look skeptically at my plate. Am I really looking at what I think I’m looking at?

  When I turn my attention back to Rome from the plate, I have my answer. “These are snails, aren’t they?”

  “Good pick up—they are.”

  “What, you didn’t think the little round shells would be a giveaway? So, this is why you asked to order for me?”

  “Correct, I wanted to give you some food experiences. Most people get a little apprehensive about stepping this far out of their culinary comfort zone.”

  Yeah, I can certainly understand why.

  They sure smelled good, and I’m confident if I don’t think too long about what I’m going to eat, I’ll be fine. But there’s another problem.

  “Rome, slight problem.”

  He looks at me curiously. “What?”

  “I have no idea how to eat them. Snails are not a common dish on any menus in outback Australia. About the closest we get is some of the tribal Aboriginals eating witchety grubs.”

  “I’ve seen those on documentaries. They’re kind of white and fat, and wriggle around a lot. What do they taste like?”

  I start to laugh. “You really think I’ve eaten them? Sorry to disappoint you, Rome, but no, just no.”

  “Okay, but getting back to the problem at hand.” He picks up the strange looking plier/tong things and takes hold of a snail shell. The
n uses a delicate little fork to pry the snail from its shell. “And that’s how it’s done.”

  “Well, at least it’s not wriggling. That’s something, I guess.”

  Then he lifts the fork to my mouth, and I open automatically, albeit with a little trepidation.

  I chew slowly, and I’m pleasantly surprised.

  “They’re actually quite good.”

  He nods in agreement and shucks another snail. This time, for himself. I watch him chew and swallow. There’s something very sensuous about watching Rome eat, rather, watching Rome do anything. The man is pure masculine grace.

  “They’re very good.” His eyebrows rise as he nods his head enthusiastically.

  He shucks another and offers it to me, and I wrap my lips around the fork as elegantly as I can and accept the delicacy.

  “That’s incredibly sexy, Oz.” His eyes are dancing with fire as they focus on my lips.

  “And here I am just trying to eat the little sucker without getting snail butter all down my front.”

  “Snail butter or a snail trail?”

  He’s teasing, I know this, but what he’s getting at doesn’t immediately come to me, until I think about it a little more.

  I throw my hands up in defeat.

  “I’ve no idea how to even respond to that one, Rome.”

  “I should apologize. It was probably a bit crude for here.”

  “Now you decide it’s crude. What about before?”

  Rome shrugs. “Foreplay.”

  “Do you ever think about anything except sex?” I tease him.

  “Not really, it is kind of my business.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  And he is. I get the impression he’s never told me a lie. He might not have revealed the full truth for obvious reasons, but I get the feeling he hasn’t lied to me. For that, I’m thankful. I hate being lied to.

  We eat the rest of the snails and drink more Champagne. Or rather Rome, feeds me snails and I eat them.

  Then the waiter brings out our main course.

  “Ever eaten venison?”

  “That’s deer, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t say I have. I have eaten crocodile, though. We used to get them on the property from time to time. Particularly in the wet season, when we’d get floods. It’s a different type of delicacy. Tastes like chicken.”

  There Rome! My culinary experiences aren’t quite as limited as he might have thought.

  “If my memory serves correctly, that’s a line from Crocodile Dundee or something?”

  “I don’t think so. Or maybe it is. Anyway, crocodile tastes like chicken, only a little gamier.”

  “I’ll give you a point for the crocodile, Oz. You’ve got me there, I haven’t eaten crocodile.”

  The venison is surprisingly good once I mentally switch my brain off from what I’m eating. It doesn’t hurt to have Rome periodically stroke my thigh, sending little shivers of need through me. Finally, I lay my knife and fork perfectly parallel on my cleaned plate

  “This is going to sound weird, but I love the way you eat. You’re so elegant and precise. The way you cut things, knife in your right hand, fork in your left always. You’re also doing really well at being very adventurous, Oz. I’m impressed.”

  This amuses me. “Well, it’s the way I was taught. It’s not like I know any other way. That’s how we eat in Australia. You do know Australia was a British convict settlement, don’t you? And the Queen is still our Head of State. The British influence is still strong in some areas.”

  “I can’t say Australian history is really my strong suit, but yeah, I did know Australia was settled by the British. Much the same as us only we’ve got about two hundred more years history on you.”

  I move my hand over to his thigh and give it a little squeeze. “As for being adventurous, I can mentally turn my mind off to the original being I’m eating.”

  He looks puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “What I mean is, I learned early on to disassociate my mind from what I’m eating. It’s the only way I could eat beef, pork, lamb or chicken that we raised. When you kill your own livestock you have to. You can’t be thinking, I’m eating Daisy.”

  He gives a little chuckle and nods. “I never thought of it like that. But now you’ve explained it makes total sense.”

  By the time dessert comes and goes in a halo of chocolate goodness, I can’t tell you what we had, only it was damned good! I’m just about ready to self-combust with wanting him. All the little touches, the long lingering looks, the whispered words against my throat, have been driving me crazy.

  “Would you like coffee or something else?” he asks the emphasis very heavily on the something else.

  “Or something else sounds good to me.”

  He takes my hand and brushes it against the bulge in his pants, which I haven’t failed to notice. His erection is hard and twitching beneath my hand and the fabric separating it from me.

  “Excellent choice,” he murmurs into my ear and nips lightly at my lobe. The waiter discretely delivers the bill, and Rome signs for it. All the while not letting go of my hand.

  We stand and move out from the booth. “I think you might need to walk in front of me to hide the obvious evidence.”

  I step in front of him, our hands still joined. It’s some kind of heady and so good for my confidence as a woman to know I can do this to a man like Rome.

  The walk back to our suite is thankfully short. A new tension and electricity surrounds us. Both of us can feel it, and we both know if we linger for a kiss, it will turn into so much more.

  Rome opens the door to the suite and my hands fly to my mouth as I step into the room and look around.

  Incredible.

  The suite is immersed in vanilla scented candles, there’s a crackling fire in the stone fireplace, and red rose petals are scattered over the white sheets of the bed.

  A silver ice bucket holds a bottle of chilled Champagne and there are two crystal flutes beside it, plus a couple of other dishes on the coffee table. One of the dishes has chocolate coated strawberries, the other chocolates wrapped in shiny foil.

  I’ve never seen a room look more romantic and set for seduction—somehow, it’s ours. And I thought things like this only happen in fairytales.

  I guess, I just hadn’t met Rome.

  Rome

  I watch the enchanted look on Carlene’s face, and I’m so pleased I went to the effort to make the evening perfect for her. It’s taken a little organizing, but so worth it.

  She spins around just as I’m about to step up and hug her to me. Regardless, the result is the same. Carlene in my arms.

  “You did all this for me?”

  “Of course. I hope you like it.”

  “Like it? I love it. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before, Rome. Thank you.”

  Then the look in her eyes turns hungry, needy, and more than a little wild. Her hands come to my shoulders before sliding up the sides of my neck to cup my face and tilt my head down toward her swollen lips.

  “Kiss me, Rome.”

  Hearing her ask me to kiss her sends a fresh wave of need zooming through me. My cock becomes even more painfully hard as I slide my arms around her waist and haul her back tight to my body. Her lips are pillowy soft but demanding as they meet mine.

  Her tongue slashes at my lips, insisting I follow her lead, and damned if it doesn’t turn me on even more. The feel and taste of her tongue stroking against mine, teasing me, is better than the smoothest aged whiskey.

  We kiss and kiss, for timeless moments. It could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes. Time has lost any meaning. It’s about being connected to Carlene and taking this ride with her.

  I let her dictate terms, and finally, she eases from the kiss and steps away from me reluctantly. Her breasts are heaving, and her eyes are a little glazed. The hard peaks of her nipples are clearly visible through the clingy material of the sexy red dre
ss.

  With a shrug, the now too warm jacket I’m wearing falls away from my shoulders, and I move to start on my shirt.

  “Wait. I want to do it.”

  I hold up my hands and in surrender and wink at her. “Be my guest.”

  Without a moment of hesitation, she crosses the distance, and her fingers go to work on the buttons of my shirt. She pushes it back from my shoulders, only to realize that the cufflinks are limiting her plans. Her fingers fumble with the little silver and onyx clips.

  “Here, let me. I think I’ve had a bit more practice at these little devils.”

  “Just like those snails.”

  While I’m wrestling with the cufflinks, her lips trail hot kisses from the point of my shoulder to my neck. It’s all I can do not to just rip the fabric.

  I need her as much as she seems to need me, but this is her show.

  It’s what I’ve been waiting for.

  Where I’ve hoped to get her to.

  Uninhibited, base, wild.

  The shirt comes free of my arms, right about the same time her hands free my belt buckle, then the fastener and the zip of the suit pants.

  My fists clench, and I tense every muscle in my body as her hands delve into my underwear, in search of my excruciatingly hard cock.

  Control is something I never normally struggle with, but when she drops to her knees and peels back the fabric of my boxer briefs and all but attacks my cock with her mouth…

  Oh Fuck! I’m just about done for.

  So good! So, fucking good!

  The feel of her velvety tongue as she swirls it around the head before sucking me deep.

  Mind-blowing.

  Fourth of July, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve, all rolled into one.

  It’s Heaven from the sheer bliss and Hell because I have no idea how I’m going to hang on.

  Hang on I will somehow, because I want her astride me and riding my cock to paradise more than my next breath.

  Gently, I tug on the silky strands of her hair. I don’t remember feeding my hands into.

  How can that be?

  Doesn’t matter. I just need her naked and riding me.

  “Baby, you need to back off for a moment. I’m on the edge.”