by Alexis James
Roman glances over my shoulder. “Did I wake you or Em?”
Waving him inside, I shake my head. “Emmy’s at a sleepover, and I was trying real hard to watch a movie.”
He glances at my smorgasbord of goodies and grins. “Big evening huh? Wine, chips and…” his eyes narrow as he starts to laugh “…is that the Hallmark Channel?”
“Stop it.” Gesturing for him to take a seat, I ask, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thanks. I’m still full from dinner.”
Settling on one end of the couch with plenty of space between us, I look him over. This is the first time in two weeks that we’ve been close, close enough to see that he looks just as tired as I feel. None of that deters from the fact that the man is dripping with sex appeal every time I look at him. He makes casual look classy with his dark jeans and gray button-up, though honestly I fully believe he looks good no matter what. His hair is wildly tousled, like he’s spent a whole lot of time running his hands through it. My own fingers clench, wishing he and I were in a good enough place where doing something like that would not only feel natural, it would feel right.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have called.”
He glances over at me and rests one arm along the back of the couch. “I’m glad you did.”
“Was the dinner nice?”
Grinning, he rubs his stomach. “Oh yeah. Mama made paella, my favorite. I think I had three or four helpings.” He groans and stretches his legs out in front of him. “I think I overdid it.”
Oh good lord … give me one hot, relaxed, satisfied male, and I’m practically itching to get my hands on him. “That good, huh?”
He groans again and this time my entire body breaks out in shivers. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Our eyes meet, hold, linger. That one connection tells me everything I need to know. He is who I want, who I will exit my comfort zone for, who I want to grow old with. He is who I see myself with, who I see helping me raise Emmy, who I’d love to build a family with. Sure, this is partly due to the wine and partly due to the fact that he showed up here out of the blue, but the truth is I’ve missed him. I’ve missed our talks, regardless of how brief. I’ve missed our Saturdays at the office. I’ve missed the gentle way he holds my hand, the sweet and sensual way he kisses me. And even though I know myself, and I’ll continue to have fears about where this is all going, I’m fully certain that he is the one I want to go there with.
In a flurry of motion, I straddle his waist and sink my hands into his hair, smiling at the shocked expression on his face. “Can I kiss you?”
Roman smiles and slides his hands up my thighs and around to grip my butt. “I thought you’d never ask.”
My lips come down on his gently at first, a few nibbles here and there, a sweep of my tongue in search of his. Then his hand slides up to the back of my head, gripping tighter as I melt into his touch and kiss him like I’ve been wanting to for weeks now. My heart is instantly racing as our tongues duel, as he tightens his hold around my waist and presses our bodies closer together. And like that day in my office, I seek pleasure from him as my hips start to move and he hardens considerably between my legs.
Then I’m being dipped backwards, onto my back, and he settles between my legs like that’s the only place he wants to be. One large hand remains on my butt, gently guiding our movements and thrusts against one another while the other slides up my waist to settle just under my breast. I’m surrounded by his warmth, his body enveloping mine in only the sweetest of ways as I’m pressed fully into the couch cushion.
The kiss changes, intensifies, and as it does, he growls out a groan and slowly slides his hand up, cupping my breast in his palm and brushing his thumb across my nipple. Braless, I feel that touch almost as if his hands were directly on my skin, a touch that instantly floods my panties with wetness.
Lifting his mouth from mine, he kisses his way over my jawline, down my neck and across my collarbone, whispering, “I need to see you.” Gently, he pinches my nipple between two fingers. “Fuck … I want to taste you.”
Head spinning, body humming with denied release, I reach down for the edge of my tank and peel it off, sending it flying. He sits back just enough to look at me, eyes coal black with need as both hands reach for me. His wicked thumbs glide over my pebbled skin, diligently watching my reaction, taking stock of my level of fear. I can only lie there loose-limbed and panting, drifting my fingers up and down his forearms.
His hands leave me only long enough to rip his own shirt off. Then we’re touching, kissing once more, a mess of tongues and teeth and lips and hips seeking relief from one another. My nails rake down the skin of his back, up over his wide, muscled shoulders, then slide slowly over his chest.
Roman lifts his mouth from mine once again, only this time it’s to watch as my hands touch him. It’s a lesson in patience, a frustratingly slow trip to the Promised Land. As I skim my fingers over his abs and they jump in response, I know without a doubt that this—that he—is worth every bit.
Bending over once more, he gently takes my lips, nibbling at the lower one while his tongue teases the other. “Can I touch you? Make you come?”
My face flushes as I recall the last few orgasms I’ve had, courtesy of the hand-powered boyfriend in my nightstand drawer. “Pretty sure you can do that by just kissing me.”
He chuckles and slides his hand between my legs, the smile fading as quickly as it appeared. Then he mutters a curse, groans, and sets his eyes on mine. “Tell me to stop and I will. But knowing how wet you are right now is really doing a number on my restraint.”
Boldly, I reach out and drag my nails across his very impressive arousal. “You’re doing a number on mine as well.”
His head falls to my chest, and I hear a mumbled “oh fuck” between my breasts. Then his mouth and tongue are on my skin, and he’s tugging one nipple with his teeth and that oh so curious hand of his is diving underneath my yoga pants and finds the edge of my lace panties.
Our eyes meet. “Please tell me you’ve at least gotten off these past years.”
Averting my eyes, I murmur, “Uh … yeah.”
Chuckling at my reaction, he kisses his way up my neck to my ear and whispers, “Tell me.”
Given that my one and only sexual partner was a jerk who barely knew where all the pertinent parts were, this is the last thing I expected. I suppose if I was like all other regular people, I’d have been having a lot of sex during my adult life and expanded not only my horizons but learned how not to blush at every word out of his mouth.
Roman’s fingers slide into my panties but refrain from going any lower while he repeats, “Tell me.”
“The usual way, I guess. Jack gave me a…” I roll my eyes at myself and squirm “…you know, he gave me a … well … a vibrator.”
His face does this fairly odd color change then his jaw hardens and so does pretty much everything south of the equator. Though, to be honest, I don’t think the man could get any harder. “Jesus. Please tell me it’s readily available so I can watch you use it.” His eyes widen at what must be a completely shocked expression on my face. “Not now … Christ … I can only take so much.”
“I don’t want to use it. I want you.” Those are the boldest, most honest words I’ve ever said to him and its clear by the almost reverent way he’s looking at me that he knows it to be true. Keeping our gazes locked, he dips his fingers lower, trailing them slowly over my folds. His thumb starts a mind-numbing circular pattern over my clit then slowly one and then another finger slides knuckle-deep inside of me. Moaning, my hips start to move with the motion of his fingers, seeking relief in the most basic, human way possible. My hands grip his back as our mouths settle on one another’s in a kiss that is reminiscent of the frustration we both feel. His teeth nip at my lips, suck on my tongue, make love to my mouth in every way possible as his fingers work me higher and higher and higher until I’m clinging right on that precipice and straining
to take that last leap. Then he groans, growls, grinding his hips against my thigh as I start to fly off into oblivion, arms cast wide as I start to moan and let pleasure be my guide.
The waves of orgasm roll over me again and again and just when I think it’s starting to fade, he rolls his thumb and I start to shake once more. I hear his muttered curse against my breast, welcome his hand guiding mine to his cock. I start to stroke and grip and work him just as hard as he’s worked me, but it’s not enough. Nothing is at this point, but what I need more than anything is to keep shamelessly riding his fingers as my own reach for the button and zipper on his jeans.
“Babe …”
Ignoring the warning, I inch the zipper down and shove my hands into his pants. “I need to touch you too.”
His eyes roll when I shove his boxers aside just enough to take in the view of his cock. Then I wrap my hand around the shaft and rub my thumb over the glistening end.
“Fuck. Keep touching me like that and it won’t take me long.”
Continuing my torture, I can feel my body respond to the sight of him in my hand, sighing with approval when he adds another finger and stretches me fully. Our eyes meet again as we work one another over, occasionally drifting our gazes down to watch our hands in motion. Then he leans down and takes my mouth with his, telling me without words that this right here is more than enough. Pleasure is pleasure and while it’s more juvenile than the obvious path toward completion, I wouldn’t change one moment.
I step off that precipice once more, moaning out my release into his mouth. A few more fast, hard strokes and he groans out a curse, spilling all over my fingers and stomach. He comes again and again, shaking through his release while helping mine to continue. And this time when our mouths meet, the gentleness is so heartbreaking tears fill my eyes and trail slowly down my face.
When our breathing begins to settle once more, Roman lifts his head to look at me, his voice ragged as he asks, “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?”
Shaking my head, I whisper, “No, not at all. It was beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” With his free hand he glides his fingertips over my cheek, slowly caressing my lips with his thumb. “So damn beautiful.”
Releasing the hold I have on him, I grip his back with my messy hand and urge his weight down on top of me, closing my eyes. “We should fall asleep just like this.” My entire body is weary, boneless from the repeated orgasms, sweaty and sticky and fully satisfied.
Roman chuckles. “You say that now, but in an hour or so when you can’t breathe you’ll be singing a different tune.”
I lift my brow. “If I can’t breathe, how am I supposed to sing?”
Shaking his head, he starts to laugh then takes one nipple between his teeth and tugs playfully. “Better quit with the sass, my beauty.”
“Or what?”
He sobers and speaks against my lips. “Or I’m sliding those panties of yours down and making you come repeatedly on my tongue.”
My mouth drops open at his frankness, which secretly turns me on a lot. I’m flummoxed. What does one say to something like that … Yes please? How fast can you slide my panties off? Exactly how many times is repeatedly?
Grinning at me, he rakes his gaze down my bare body and whispers, “I take it that’s a yes.”
Nodding without hesitation, I smile. “Uh, correct. That is a yes.”
“Fuck, Sabrina, you’re killing me. Let an old man recover.”
Since I can already feel him hardening against my stomach, I give him an exaggerated eye roll. “Old man? Somehow I doubt it.”
The ringing of my cell shocks us both back to reality. He lifts up enough to give me room to reach for it then settles once again fully on my body. My stomach jumps when I see Emmy’s name. It’s late, which can only mean one thing: bad news.
“Hi, baby. Everything okay?”
“Mom, Mo is sick and her mom says we should probably leave.”
“All right, sweetie. I’ll be there soon.” The moment I end the call I lift my disappointed expression to his. “I’m sorry, but Emmy is coming home.”
“Don’t apologize. Can I go with you to pick her up?” Sitting back on his heels, he glances first at me and then himself. “After we clean up, that is.”
Glancing at the evidence of … well, him … all over both of us … my lips split into a wide grin. Weirdo that I am, I’m once again completely turned on just looking at our bodies and what we’ve done. “Good idea.”
He helps me to my feet, tucks himself in, then takes my hand and pulls me toward the bathroom. His idea of cleanup only serves to remind me that even after full-body and rather intense orgasms I’m completely on board for more. Gently, he swipes the warm wet rag over my torso, dropping a kiss or two and a swipe of his tongue over each nipple. I’m still floundering off in happyland, and I all can do is stand there and sigh.
When it’s my turn, he spends the entire time looking away, one hand gripping the bathroom counter, visibly hardening once again under my all too knowing eyes. “That is not helping.”
“And your little mouth inspection was?” Tossing the rag aside, I step into his embrace, smiling when I feel his kiss on the top of my head.
“I love the feel of your skin on mine,” he whispers into my hair.
“So do I.”
The hug is too short lived and five minutes later, we’re fully dressed and he’s leading me by the hand out to the truck. Sure, this may not be a typical romance, complete with hours upon hours of lovemaking and long, blissful post-coital conversations, but I’ll take whatever I can get. For now he seems just as content as I am to live minute by minute, precious hour by precious hour.
We’ve all heard the term “stuff dreams are made of.” During my thirty years I’ve experienced a few things that would qualify as dream makers. Petty things, really, like buying my truck and paying cash for it. My first skateboard when I was eight. Dumb, tangible things that at the time felt to me as if life couldn’t get any better. Well let me tell you, everything pales in comparison to getting my hands on Sabrina’s skin and watching her come alive under my touch. That, my friends, is the real stuff that dreams are made of … and not just the wet kind either.
Since dropping her and Emmy off last night and sneaking in a tender and too brief goodnight kiss, I’ve been rock friggin’ hard. It probably doesn’t help that my skin still smells like her or that the visions in my head are still in full, vivid, high-definition color. Lying in bed with only my erection to keep me company, I can’t even drum up the energy to go make coffee. I need one thing and one thing only … Sabrina, wet and eager and wanting me as desperately as she did the night before.
My hand snakes under the sheet and wraps around my cock and for a brief moment, I imagine it’s her hand stroking me. For someone who’s been out of commission for a good long time, she blossomed fully to my touch, generously giving as well as receiving. Pulling from me a need I haven’t felt in … well, forever. This is not just a physical thing, though I admit I want her in every way possible. I want her splayed out across my sheets, begging for me to take her. I want her on her hands and knees, that perfectly rounded ass displayed and ready to receive the bite of my palm. I want her dripping, desperate, and willing to do whatever I want.
I want her to scream for me.
“Fuck,” I growl, working my cock in hard, fast strokes, just as she did the night before. Her name is on my lips as I come, once more spilling my seed over my fingers and onto my stomach. The fall is brief, the release even more so, which leaves me believing she has somehow bewitched my body as well as my heart.
Panting, I glance down at myself and shake my head. For Christ’s sake, I’m not some teenager having to resort to jerking off as my only form of pleasure. I’m a grown man with grown-up needs, one who happens to have a long address book filled with phone numbers of ladies who’d be more than willing to help me with my predicament. The thought of being with someone other than Sabrina, though, su
re as hell takes the wind out of my sail so to speak.
Tossing off the sheet, I head into the bathroom to shower and ten minutes later I’m standing in my kitchen watching the coffee percolate. I’m just debating going to the gym when my phone rings, Sabrina’s number lighting up the screen.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Well? That’s debatable. “I did. And you?”
There’s a long, lengthy pause, then she whispers, “Um, not really.”
Dropping down onto the couch, I prop my feet on the coffee table. “Regrets?”
She laughs. “No. Not at all.”
Sighing with relief, I can feel my treacherous body reawakening. “Good, I’m glad.”
“We got so … uh … distracted last night that I forgot to ask you if you’d like to come to Emmy’s birthday party next Saturday.”
“Distracted huh? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”
Sabrina laughs and I hear what sounds like a door closing. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s pretty hard to forget.” Glancing down, I state, “Pretty hard in general.”
“I’ll say,” she whispers.
Interesting. Sounds to me like my reserved, businesslike beauty wants to play dirty. “Where are you right now?”
“In my bedroom. Why?”
“Go get your vibrator. I want to stay on the phone while you use it.”
She gasps and her voice lowers. “I can’t do that, Roman. Emmy is awake and in the other room.”
I find myself grinning wildly, contemplating the fact that her only protest is because she isn’t alone. “So if she weren’t there, would you?” I hear only the sound of breathing. “Tell me. Would you?”
“Yes.”
And I’m fully erect again. “Fuck. I’m never going to be able to leave my apartment.”
“What? Why not?”
Closing my eyes, I will my body under control. “Because walking around in public with a hard-on will get me arrested, that’s why.”