by M. C. Cerny
“I’m really, really sorry about that day.” Abby scores a checkmate. I can’t take it any longer, so I take a step forward and she takes a step backward. The dynamics flip and I walk her back up to the wall against painted gray clapboard in the shade of the building. “Counsel would like to approach the bench, please.” As she whispers her request, our eyes meet and flicker between lips and eyes.
I cup her cheek in my palm and breathe her in, speaking slowly so she hears me. “I’d like to put you over my bench and spank you.” I watch her eyes go owlish and pink flushes her face. I think it’s funny how I’ve missed the scent of vanilla and oranges so quickly. “Lucky for you, I accept apologies in the form of kisses.” I give her a second to back out before I put my lips over hers, gently at first. It’s a tentative kiss, learning the feel of each other’s lips, slipping over soft, plump skin, regaining the trust. Stepping between her legs, I lift her against the wall as her hands claw up my shoulders. I take advantage of the position to grind myself against her. I’m sure it’s torture for both of us—it damn well better be, because I want her badly and the idea of her laying over my lap for a spanking makes my dick pulse in anticipation.
“Roman,” she moans, and I slip my tongue between her lips and into the sweetness of her mouth. We stroke softly back and forth, sliding tongues and sucking. “Roman.” My name is muffled on her lips because I’m filling her mouth with my tongue again and again with hungry building strokes. She pulls my hair to get my attention, and I can’t help but wonder what this woman wants from me.
“Just shut up, Abigail,” I murmur playfully and continue kissing her, except I feel her body go rigid in my arms as she pulls back. Lovely. God only knows what transgression she’s recalling this time because she looks like she want to hit me and she’s shaking her head no and pushes back, fire in her eyes. Again. What the ever loving fuck have I done wrong now?
ABIGAIL
“What did you just say to me?” High-pitched, the words are forced. I’m more upset with myself than him for even thinking this could be anything worth involving myself in after Lucas stomped all over any dreams I might have had. Love wasn’t a factor, because I know now what we had wasn’t love—just Lucas using me and me maybe using him.
“I said shut up. You’re utterly infuriating, and I’d much prefer your mouth on other things.” Smiling, he tries to regain the space I’ve put between us. Getting closer to me, his voice drops, making me feel that shivery feeling between my legs, which zings right up my abdomen pleasantly. If he hadn’t used that triggering phrase, I might have been okay, but now the doubts keep rushing forward.
“Well, you can go f-fuck yourself then.” Wobbling, I stumble over my words. I lack the ability to make them sound cold and harsh when he’s looking at me with his eyes hooded and piercing, so I try pushing out of his grasp.
“Whoa, Hollywood, take it easy there. I’m not trying to be disrespectful.” Roman holds up his hands defensively and now I’m making it worse. We’ve just spent the last week apart and here I’m pulling out the PMS migraine card because he doesn’t realize I hate being told to ‘shut up.’
“I know. I just, God… Roman, is this even a good idea?” Pleadingly, I want to push him away and hug him at the same time. I’m upset again and he looks surprised but doesn’t push me. I see the slight dilation in his pupils in the sunlight and the snarky smile edges his full lips. My mouth goes dry just thinking about how full and soft they are for a man. I swallow slowly, trying to wet my throat and clear my head.
“See, now why did you have to take it there, counselor? All I meant was I wanted to be pulling your tongue in my mouth and tasting that bitter fruit you must have been sucking on before I met you.” He takes another step toward me, which forces me to back up against the building in this tango we keep doing. He touches my bare arms, lightly brushing down the sides of my body before coming up to the shell of my ear easily and tracing it down my cheek and to my collarbone.
“Arrrgh,” I grumble in frustration from the joy of feelings vibrating through my body.
“Exactly. I don’t get our attraction either.” Roman grabs me and hauls me up against the café slash dock house, effectively shutting down my rational thoughts. He was right to tell me to shut up; my mouth and brain need to stop connecting so much sometimes and just go with the feelings. His hand cradles my head gently as he pushes the rest of my body against the clapboard building a second delightful time. Grinding his hips into mine feels more arousing than the plush bed of eight hundred count satin sheets that await me back home in California, unbearably alone.
“Why do you p-push me so hard?” Breathlessly, I know he captivates me unlike any other guy I’ve met.
“Because I love breaking you out of your spoiled little shell. Once you figure out who you are, and I don’t mean the straight-laced little lawyer back home, then life won’t be this boring set of rules everyone has established for you, sweetheart. Life is full of change, fire and ice just waiting to interact with each other.”
“That sounds messy.”
“I love messy.” Roman slips a lock of loose hair behind my ear and a sigh escapes me as he smiles.
“I don’t even know if I like you.” I’m pouting and muttering. He laughs out loud, hugging me close to his rumbling chest.
“That’s fine. I don’t know if I like you either, Hollywood.”
“LA, Roman. I live in LA.” He squeezes me and I can barely get the words out, grumbling.
“Whatever, princess. Come with me to Seattle for the weekend and find out.” He twirls me around, picking me up off the ground, and in my dizziness, I give him the only answer possible.
“Yes.”
Chapter Eight
ROMAN
Nervous as hell doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about bringing Abby home. She twists me up in knots no sailor could untangle, but to cut her out guts me even more. I don’t even know where the ‘invite Abigail Holliday to your personal sanctum’ came from. Not because I’m ashamed of it or anything, far from it, but I’d never brought a woman here before—and not one I’d met in Gold Beach. I have my dad’s house for sleepovers there, if I really wanted too, not that I’ve done so, because I’ve always gone elsewhere first. I spent my days tomcatting, but Seattle has plenty of nice hotel suites for that. Gold Beach is sacred in a way, like a twilight zone of happiness and childhood memories mixed with the burn of losing my parents at separate times in my life. Somehow, Abby infiltrates that mix and makes an annoying place for herself. I’ve yet to figure out how that makes me feel.
My loft apartment in Seattle is where I pay homage to my parents and my dream of building boats. Pictures of growing up in Gold Beach fill the walls, and despite the tragedy of losing them, I know I was lucky to have known them for as long as I did. I own the building I converted into my living quarters upstairs, and my handcrafted boat is downstairs in my open-air workshop. Abby will be the first to see this boat that consumed the prior six months of my life. Hand-sanded and painted, crafted with my own hands—hands that itch to get on Abby once I get her there.
My less than vanilla fantasies of spanking her over my wood sanding bench are interrupted when Abby speaks. “Roman?” Taking off her little gold flip-flops, she rests her feet against the dashboard of my truck. I’d given her permission to relax and put her feet up, but only now hours outside of Gold Beach is she actually doing it. I’m driving up scenic Highway 101, and while the view is incredible, I want to stop and glance over to the woman sitting next to me more than drive—her little pink toenails crest the top of the dash as sunlight filters through and bounces off the pale painted shells. Cute. Adorable. Mine. Or she will be soon.
“Yeah, Abs?” I look over briefly, wondering what she wants to talk about now. We stopped for coffee and doughnuts earlier at a local bakery. Watching her eat the fresh sticky doughnut, licking the icing off her little fingers really did a number on me. Again. I’m pretty sure she knows what she is doing, taking her time w
ith her tongue rolling up and down her shiny wet fingers to get that icing off. Damn brat.
“I hate that nickname, you know.” She looks at me sideways from over the top of her new sunglasses, which ride the bridge of her pert little nose, and I just smile. I notice they definitely aren’t the expensive ones she lost in the ocean and these fit her better. Our teasing is a light banter, and there’s no way I want to set the banshee free on a long drive like this.
I nudge her gently from my seat. “Yeah, but you hate me less today, so you’ll tolerate it.” I wink, and she says nothing, so I know she isn’t really mad. Gauging her moods is difficult at best.
“I’ve never been to Seattle before, so tell me what you like best about it. I’ve been an LA girl my whole life.” Abby goes back to looking at the road and I figure I should concentrate on driving while I answer her questions.
Clearing my throat, I begin feeling my excitement build. “Well, I might have mentioned I like boats and work for a company that builds them.” All right, I didn’t mention I own the company, but whatever. As I have said before, its semantics, folks.
“So it’s like any other city except it focuses on boats? Okay, that sounds stupid—I just mean is that like the main economy here?” She wrinkles her nose, waiting for me to say something, and I wait out her nervous energy. “Come on, Roman, LA is known for celebrities and St. Louis is known for its barbeque. What’s Seattle all about?”
“St. Louis? Really? That’s random. What’s a girl got against St. Louis?” She rolls her eyes at me—or at least I’m sure she does under her sunglasses, and I have to wonder why poor St. Louis was dragged into this in the first place.
“I’m not a Cardinals fan that’s all.” Slim shoulders shrug and I’m shocked. A baseball girl, huh, who knew? I better not tell her I have Mariners season tickets right now. She could be a jumper, and I’m driving the truck just a hair over the speed limit on the coastal highway.
Feigning shock, she nudges me back. “Gasp!”
“Whatever, Roman.” She taps her feet on the dash with that nervous energy I want soothe.
My own fingers tap the steering wheel and I jump into telling her all about my home away from Gold Beach. “I don’t think you’ll suffer culture shock or anything like that. Seattle is pretty much like any other city except we’ve got kick-ass sushi. I mean tons of Asian food if you love that. I hope you love that.”
“Roman?”
“The fish market is the best you’ll ever see. Actually, when we go, I’ll have to introduce you to the fish toss.” Getting to show her around reminds me of some of the fun things I’ve yet to do myself.
“The what?” She leans closer to me, and I’m excited to get there, pressing the truck peddle a little faster.
“It’s where you pay the fishmonger like ten bucks to toss and catch fish.” Her mouth is gaped open, unbelieving. “Or flies with your mouth open.” Grabbing her by the neck, I pull her close and peck her lips quickly, earning a blush before I ramble on. “Coffee on every corner, the Space Needle, which we are totally going in, so don’t even give me any crap about being afraid of heights.” I turn and point my finger at her, and she’s smiling a beautiful smile that lights up her entire face. I realize I’m eager to tell her about my home city and can’t shut up.
“Roman?” she says again, but I steamroll right over her interruptions.
“Oh and a Mariners game—we’ll have to catch one of those too. I’ve got box seats, which is fine if it rains, and it usually does, so I must have like thirty umbrellas at home in the closet. I’m not an umbrella freak, I swear.” Shit, I just dropped the baseball bomb and uncertainty stirs. I grab her hand closest to me and squeeze it tenderly.
“Hey, shut up already! I get it, you love Seattle.” Abby sits up, retrieving her hand back while moving closer to me, pulling me down to her by my shirt. I’m watching the road but turn enough, knowing she’s going to kiss me on the cheek. I move my face and she catches my lips instead. Hey, I’m not one to miss an opportunity here. I see her eyes go wide and she backs away quickly just when I want to scoop her up into my lap in the driver’s seat. “Drive the car, Roman,” she articulates sharply while smiling shyly and big this time. I put my focus back on the road. “Umbrella freak,” she mutters under her breath, beaming from cheek to cheek.
God, what is it about this woman that makes me warm from the inside out? I’m literally a sappy goober, hoping this all works out. My thoughts of the last few weeks distract me and the time we wasted being hardheaded and difficult. Focusing on the road, I turn the radio on and we continue driving along the coast.
“Hmm, good song.” Murmuring, I grab the dial and turn it up a hair to hear it better. The beat catches me and I’m transfixed. I’ve got the girl I want sitting next to me and life feels good for the first time in a long time. Abby looks over from the view out her window to catch me tapping my hands on the steering wheel. Normally, I might feel embarrassed, but she might as well get to know the real me. I’m an eighties song nerd and it will either break us or make us stronger.
“What are you doing?” I catch her smirk from the corner of my eye. Rolling my shoulders, I wait for the chorus to come through the radio. I sing about being unable to fight how I feel about her anymore.
“Are you singing REO Speedwagon?” I shake my head and keep going, letting my voice get braver and louder. “Holy shit, you are singing. Okay, we did not start out as friends; I want you remember that.” Abby points her finger at me and the desire to grab her and pull over the truck is overwhelming.
I sing about following her and I’m reminded of all of our calculated run-ins in Gold Beach. She made me crazy, and every morning I woke up wanting her more and more.
Mumbling, she responds to each chorus with a snarky answer. “Like a stalker maybe.” She pushes her sunglasses back to look at me. Her nose must be continually scrunched and I laugh mid-chorus. She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up, and now it’s either keep going or pull over. Sorry, my band forces me to keep at it shamelessly. I sing about ships and oars, and she sits back shaking her head, laughing. The song ends and I catch her hand on the seat of the truck. I mean every word of the song, but I don’t think I’m ready to tell her that just yet.
“You are such a dork, you know that?” If eyes could twinkle, hers fucking sparkled, and I couldn’t wait to see her laid out in my bed focused only on me.
“Yeah, but you like that about me. Admit it, counselor, you just can’t fight it anymore.” A heavy sigh settles inside the truck and I squeeze her hand. She grabs mine back and it’s all I need.
* * * * *
Pulling up to my parking garage a few hours later, Abby is passed out in the truck, her head in my lap again. It feels good having her here. I ease the truck into park and she stirs in her sleep.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, and I don’t have it in me to wake her. Sue me for contemplating anti-claw regulations for feisty women.
“We’re home, Abby girl.” I get out, letting her head gently slide to the seat, and go to the other side of the truck. Opening the door, I slip my arms around her and carry her up to my elevator gate. I leave our stuff in the truck, taking her inside to get her settled first. The elevator opens up to the top of the loft and I step out, walking over to my king-sized bed. Pulling the sheets back, I place her down on the cool sheets. She doesn’t even stir once as I pull off her sandals and peel her shorts off to make her more comfortable. Unlike the last time, I think we know each other well enough to make this move. She doesn’t move at all as I climb in. Spooning her, I put my arm around her.
“Roman…mmm…” Abby moans in her sleep. My body stills. The sound of my name on her lips makes me rock hard.
“I’m here, Abby. Sleep, sweetheart.” I snuggle her hard against my chest, breathing in her sweet scent. That increasingly familiar orange vanilla reminds me of orange cream pops slowly melting in sunshine. I close my eyes, tired from the drive back, elation filling me that Abby is here exactly wher
e I want her to be.
Chapter Nine
ABIGAIL
I wake up to pleasant warmth covering me, steady and calm. A safe cocoon I am reluctant to leave. It’s devoid of the sticky sweat that reminds me of Lucas. I shudder recalling my time with him—so wasted. Pushing the negative thoughts of the past away, I relish in the newness of what I have now. Stretching, I feel more than hear the grumble behind me along with a thick hard member nestled against my ass.
“Roman…” A smile washes over me as I say his name. He squeezes me harder, pushing against me to let me feel every ridge and angle of his body against my smaller frame.
“Abby…” Roman growls my name, his voice gruff from sleep. Burying his nose deep in my tangled hair, his breath is hot against my neck.
The heat makes me giddy. “What are you doing?” I giggle.
“I’m hoping you’ll roll over, if you don’t try escaping this bed first,” Roman rumbles, tugging me deeper underneath him, pushing his legs between mine, and gently opening a vulnerable door between us.
I’m feeling shy as Roman’s cock presses against me, and I realize how little remains between us. Rolling over under him, I ask. “Um, where are my shorts?”
“Don’t need ‘em right now, do ya?” Roman sleepily asks with a husky tone.
“No, not right now, but I was just wondering.” I let my legs fold around his hips as he settles down on top of me, just holding me.
Roman’s hands cradle my face and fingers brush my hair back. “First time I had you in a bed, I was being a gentleman.” Leaning down, he rubs his nose against my neck and the touch feels so good I shiver when he darts his tongue out to lick the sensitive skin.
I can’t help the moan that sneaks past my lips. “And now?” I ask him, feeling his heat between my thighs, hot and pulsing against me.