Roman - Lane Hart Page 0,6
over the stripper’s nipple, and I feel a sting of…jealousy. I wish I could let go of emotion and finally just sleep with another man. Adam was my first, though, so getting naked with anyone else just seems strange. Awkward. I’m not ready to put myself out there like that, even though I occasionally find myself hornier than hell. Like right now.
Chapter Three
Roman
After I’ve been groped and licked by multiple women while mostly naked for what felt like hours, when in reality it was probably only about thirty minutes, I turn the music off for Ernie’s benefit next door and tell the women, “It’s been a pleasure. Take care, ladies, and congrats again on the wedding.”
“Thank you!” they all call out.
I search for Charlotte, the gorgeous blonde, as I pull my jeans back on to get one last look at her up close before I leave, but she’s not in the living room or holding up the wall near the door.
After slipping on my shoes, I grab my t-shirt from the floor and my cut from the back of the chair to head into the kitchen to see if she’s there.
I find her standing in front of the sink, splashing water on her face.
“I’m all finished,” I say, startling her based on the way her shoulders tense.
“Oh. Okay,” she replies when she grabs for a paper towel from the roll to blot her face dry before turning to face me. “Th-thanks for coming, even though you got the days mixed up.”
“My bad,” I tell her as I waste time to drink her in. From head to toe, the woman is a flawless work of art, otherworldly in her beauty, like the rare Helen of Troy, launching a thousand ships kind. With her ivory face rosy and flushed from alcohol or arousal, she looks sweet and sexy all at the same time, a nearly irresistible combination.
“Sorry about all the, um,” she waves her hand toward the living room. “Licking and inappropriate touching.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, a little bummed that she didn’t do either. I’ve never wanted a woman’s hands on me as much as I want hers to touch, and grope, and fuck…now I’m getting hard. At least I have my jeans on. “Although, I usually prefer to be the one doing the licking and touching.”
Charlotte, no shit, shivers. “Ah, yeah. Whatever you say.”
“Is there a reason you didn’t touch me?” I ask her.
“No. Nope,” she answers while staring at my bare chest. “I’m just not the type to touch strangers or whatever, and I guess I didn’t drink as much as the rest of the ladies.”
“That’s too bad,” I tell her. For a split second, her jaw drops before she recovers and responds with the last thing I expected.
“I’m a widow.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say, rather than admit that I already know. “Recently?” I ask, even though it’s been years.
“Why? Does that really matter? Is a longer amount of time supposed to somehow magically erase the fact that my husband, the love of my life, is dead?”
So not only is she bossy, but she’s got a backbone too, as well as a hell of a temper when she gets defensive. I think I would enjoy arguing with her on a regular basis and then fucking her silly when it’s over and I win.
“Guess not,” I answer. “And I imagine it can’t be easy being here, celebrating another woman’s wedding as a sad, lonely widow.”
“Who said I was sad? Or lonely?”
There it is again. Her hackles are raised. The woman really needs a few good orgasms to calm her ass down. I’d be happy to report for that duty.
“So, you’re not sad or lonely about being a widow for some unknown length of time, but you haven’t moved on either?” I ask.
“That…I…” she tries to figure out a way to argue that point, but I’ve backed her into a corner. Giving up on how to respond, she scrubs her hands over her face and brushes her hair behind both of her ears. “Let me, ah, just get that check for you so you can get going.”
“You don’t owe me a thing, lady,” I call out, but she’s already left the kitchen in a hurry.
When she comes back, there’s a piece of paper in her hand that she holds out to me. It could be a grocery list for all I care. “Here,” she says when I don’t take it.
“Fold it up,” I instruct her.
“Huh?”
“Fold it up,” I repeat.
She looks at