Masterson

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  My eyes grow wide. Damn Juliette.

  "Who said I'm meeting anyone? I'm here with Sloan."

  "I'm not stupid little cousin. You'd rather be in bed and have your head inside that laptop than drinking some damn latte on a Saturday morning. Who are you meeting?"

  Fuck it. "Jagger."

  "Is this a date?" he asks snidely. "The Lotus wasn't enough for the week?"

  "It's just coffee, Roman."

  "Then I can stay."

  "What?"

  "You have a problem with your cousin getting to know your friends? He's a good friend of yours right?"

  I turn to Sloan. "Can you excuse us a minute Sloan?"

  "Absolutely,” she grins.

  After Sloan is out of earshot, I give Roman a piece of my mind.

  "Whatever this big brother, kissing cousin thing you're doing is getting tired. I know Jagger better than I know you. Hell, I know the girl who made my coffee just now better than I know you! You don't speak to me all frackin' week, and then you waltz in here asking me questions about who I'm meeting? How dare you."

  Roman leans in much closer to me, and I grip the sides of my chair to hold myself steady. Anytime there's close proximity between us, I feel like I'm going to self combust.

  "Did you miss me, Duchess?" He asks in the low gritty voice that I'm beginning to desperately crave. "Is that why you're so pissed? Because I ain't going to lie, I missed the shit out of you too."

  Don't ask him. Don't ask him.

  "So why the silent treatment all week?"

  Weakling!

  "You told me you couldn't. You asked me to stop this. I'm trying to stop."

  "So coming to Java to spy on me. This is you stopping?"

  My phone vibrates.

  Jagger: I'm around the corner.

  I pause to look up at Roman for a moment and then start typing. It's not a group text this time, so I know I have to respond. He's definitely coming to meet me.

  Me: Only been here ten minutes. See you when you get here:)

  "Was that him?" Roman asks gruffly.

  "Yes." I say while scanning the room for Sloan and keeping a close eye on the door.

  "Why are you so nervous?" he asks tightly.

  "I'm not. I just don't think it's a good idea if you're here when he arrives."

  "And why the fuck is that?"

  "You know why."

  "Did you know that my apartment is close by?"

  "Really?" I thought he actually lived closer to City Hall.

  "You want to see it?"

  No, Elizabeth.

  "When?"

  "Now."

  "Roman, you know I'm waiting for Jagger."

  "Have coffee with him, then meet me at my place in an hour. I want you to take a look at my desktop. I think I have a virus or something."

  "I'm not a computer expert. I hire people for that."

  "You know more about that shit than me. Just take a look. If I have to hire someone then I will."

  This is SO not a good idea.

  Correction. I know that this is a really bad idea, but I need Roman to leave right now, and saying yes will probably be the only thing that will get him to leave. Plus I have to admit that I'm curious. I'd love to see his place. It's probably frackin' inspirational. So I start to rationalize.

  I'm just going by his apartment.

  It's not a date or a booty call.

  It's just me helping him out with his computer. I'd do it for anyone else. I'd do it for a stranger. So why not him?

  You know why, Elizabeth.

  22

  Elizabeth

  ROMAN IS JUST A MAN. Flesh. Bones. Beauty. That's the mantra I've been repeating to myself in order to mentally prepare for entering his building. For daring to be alone with him in his uber-masculine presence. You would imagine that I could control my internal systems when I am in front of this man, but my circulatory system has a mind of it's own.

  My blood is racing.

  My pulse pounding.

  And there's a scary ass Alaskan Malamute named Mr. Tibbs staring me down like I'm a piece of chicken (and not in the good way!), while I am sitting in Roman's living room with my mouth closed, my knees shut, and my eyes completely mesmerized by his inked back. This is not the first time that I have seen him without a shirt on, but to say that Roman's body is a feast for the eyes is an understatement. I love looking at him every single time. He's like a Christmas present that has been carefully unwrapped for my viewing pleasure. A treat for the eyes.

  Roman was distracted with something when he answered the door in nothing but a pair of snug fitting, worn jeans that hung low on his waist and a cell phone in his hand. That's probably why he didn't notice how I practically lost my breath, when I took a look at how his chiseled pecs flexed as he motioned for me to come in.

  But there's something about a man's back, especially this man's back. A broad, strong one with sloped shoulders that looks and probably feels as if it could carry the weight of the world across it. Magnificently adorned with an intricate and patterned tattoo that covers the entire span of it. I've never seen anything like it in my life, and it is on full display as he moves his way around his professionally designed stainless steel kitchen, brewing some sort of latte concoction. Something with chocolate, espresso, milk and a dash of rum or some sort of alcohol. Something which is probably going to taste just as delicious as he looks.

  From what I know about Roman so far, I realize that with certain things, he goes about them with a great deal of calculation. He wouldn't be making this drink if he hadn't perfected the recipe. He wouldn't have asked me come here if he didn't have a very specific reason, and it's certainly not to take a look at his computer.

  Like I told myself earlier, this is a really bad idea. I'm not sure why I still decided to come here. I ended up having a good time chatting with Jagger earlier at Java. It was easy. He doesn't intimidate me the way Roman does. He doesn't challenge every frackin' thing I say the way that Roman does. Our conversation wasn't filled with uncomfortable sexual tension or him dragging me to the back and shoving his fingers in my vagina.

  We talked about his upcoming swim trials, my app, his little sister, and my cat back home. I only asked him one thing about Ethan, even though I promised Sloan I wouldn't. I just couldn't help it. Although it's obvious that we are definitely done, I'll always be curious about just how deep Ethan was into drugs and exactly what kind of trouble he brought upon my doorstep that night. I also wanted to get an idea of just how completely far my head was buried underneath the sand.

  "I don't know much, Elizabeth. I just know that he's been doing drugs and was selling drugs on campus for at least a year. His parents knew about it, at least about the using, but they didn't want to wreck his swimming eligibility by putting him in rehab in the middle of the season."

  "Did you know about any of this before the assault at my place, Jagger?"

  He sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you. I knew a little about what Ethan was into. Everybody did, but I had no idea he was involved with dealers like that."

  When I thought back to certain conversations between Ethan and I, certain nights out, there were definitely red flags. Every time I thought something was off between us, it was probably because he was high, and I just didn't know what being high looked like. I didn't even start really drinking wine until well after I turned twenty-one.

  "Do you think they'll come after me again ... those men?"

  Jagger picked up one of my hands gently. "No. They weren't after you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They followed him to your house, but they didn't target you specifically. Plus they got their pound of flesh already. They wanted to teach Ethan a lesson and they did. It's over. Don't worry,” he said sweetly.

  A soft ballad starts playing through a Bluetooth speaker in Roman's living room which snaps me back to reality.

  "I think you'll like this, Duchess."

  Roman turns and hands me a cream colored mug with gold ar
ound the rim. It's hot to the touch. I sip it carefully, so I won't burn my tongue. It's absolutely delicious like I knew it would be. I still don't say much of anything, because there's a heart wrenching song playing through his sound system that I find myself listening attentively to. I'm not familiar with the group, but they are provocatively singing of seduction, passion, and pain.

  "How is it?" Roman asks as he sits down carefully next to me with a matching mug of his own. "As good as Java's?"

  When he relaxes on the couch next to me, Mr. Tibbs finally relaxes and goes to lie down in what seems to be his special corner of the room. Thank God.

  "Better. It's delicious."

  He nods with satisfaction, takes a sip from his mug, then carefully places it down on the coffee table. I can't help but stare at his hands when he does. They're big and strong like the rest of Roman, and they're very close to the hem of my flouncy skirt. So I press my knees together even tighter. He's being too polite. Too nice. I don't trust it. I don't trust myself.

  "I want to know something, Duchess." he holds my eyes steady with his own.

  I swallow hard. "What is it?"

  "This."

  He takes his hand and glides it slowly under my skirt and between my legs while never taking his eyes off of me.

  "Open,” he commands softly, and I obey.

  His fingers gently rub across the seam of the lace trim of my bikini panties several times and then as my eyelids grow heavy, they carefully slide the crotch of my panties to the side. By this point my eyes are closed for probably several reasons. One being that I can't believe that I'm allowing him to do this ... again. Another being that it feels so good that I wish he'd never stop.

  Suddenly his fingers stop moving and like a switch my lids flick open.

  "First, I need you to hand me the mug," he instructs me in a very thick voice. So I place it on the side table as he nods in approval.

  "Second, I need you to keep your eyes wide open and on me."

  I swallow slowly as if there's a thick piece of caramel candy sliding down my throat.

  "Third–" Then his fingers start methodically moving again up and around but never directly against my clit. "You're soaking wet."

  I instinctively clamp my legs shut. He stops moving his fingers again and smiles.

  "It's ok. I was just checking, Duchess."

  The smug bastard slides the crotch of my panties back in its rightful position and gives the top of my pussy two soft pats before sliding my skirt back in place. If it's even humanly possible, I got even wetter and my throat tighter.

  He stands up and holds his hand out to mine.

  "Let's dance."

  What. The. Frack.

  I don't even know how I can possibly dance to an emotionally charged song like this after what just happened. He's playing head games with me. I may not be the most experienced player on the block, but I know when I'm outmatched.

  "I don't dance." I keep my arms tightly to my sides.

  "We danced at my father's party."

  "That was different."

  "You swayed those hips like a pro in The Lotus before everything went down."

  It just dawns on me. "Was that you in the corner?" I ask in a whisper. "Watching me that night?"

  He smiles and grabs my hand to pull me up.

  "This is one of my favorite songs." Is all he says in response. "Come on."

  "Well was it you?"

  He exhales slowly in frustration with me. "I told you I spotted you the moment you entered the club did I not?"

  When he grabs my waist and stares down at me, I reluctantly raise my arms and stretch them around his neck. Clasping my hands together. He pulls me in a little further to him and I smell chocolate, coffee and him. So I do the only thing a girl could do in this position who's losing herself to distraction. I rest the side of my face against his naked chest and sway to the hypnotic melody of the song and the singer.

  I've never felt so warm and so wanted. Like I'm exactly in the place where I'm suppose to be.

  Actually, I'm in a shit load of trouble.

  When the song ends, Roman takes a seat on his sofa and pulls me down next to him. With one arm around my shoulder he uses the other to pick up the remote and turn the flat screen on.

  "Not much on in the middle of a Saturday. Want to order a movie?"

  He's fingering some of my hair with his free hand.

  "I'm supposed to be taking a look at your desktop remember?"

  "We've got plenty of time for that. Finish your latte."

  He leans across me and hands me my mug. The maneuver is obvious. The entire span of his bare torso is in front of my face. If his objective is to tempt me enough to want to lick his chest, he's damn close to mission accomplished.

  "Thanks,” I say sarcastically.

  He chuckles.

  "Pick a movie or else we'll do an activity of my choosing."

  "I want to talk instead,” I say.

  "About?"

  "I need some dating advice."

  Roman unwraps his arm from around my shoulder and lifts my chin up to look directly in his eyes.

  "For dating who?"

  I nervously clear my throat. "After coffee today, Jagger asked me out on a date. I said yes, but then he said he'd call me to firm up an exact date and time."

  "You said yes,” he repeats in an icy tone. "Elizabeth, I just had my hand in between your legs not longer than five minutes ago."

  "I like him. He's ... easy."

  "And what am I, Elizabeth?"

  "You're my cousin."

  "I'm your what?"

  Roman starts to slide his hand back underneath my skirt and along the inside of my thigh.

  "Your what?" he asks again.

  His fingers skillfully slide under the side of my panties and then he rips them apart with a single firm tug.

  "Roman, please." I beg prayerfully.

  "Your. What.” He repeats again in a husky voice that's filled with promise of more to come.

  He slides one of his fingers inside me, and I inhale harshly from the sudden but welcome intrusion.

  I hate how wet I am.

  I hate that he knows how my body responds so willingly to his voice and his touch.

  There is no hiding between us. I'm unable to feign discomfort at the fact that we're cousins, because my body betrays me every frackin' time. My body is doing all the talking, and it's saying, "who gives a shit."

  "What's my name, Duchess?"

  "Roman, I–"

  "Uh-uh. That's not what you call me."

  I think for a minute. Oh...

  "Masterson."

  "That's right baby. My dick gets so hard when you call me Masterson. When you start calling out my name in a few minutes, that's the name I better hear."

  I close my eyes as he gives me that visual. Me calling out his name. And I get even wetter.

  "Open those beautiful fucking eyes, Duchess. I want them on me. I want to watch them tear up when I make you fall apart for me again. Eyes. On. Me."

  He slides a second finger in. Pumping them rhythmically in and out of my core with the deep precision of a pro. How he talks to me, what he's doing to me, it's all so ridiculously addictive. I want more. I need more.

  "Please–"

  "Shhh, Duchess. When it's time for you to beg, I'll tell you baby."

  Then he stops completely.

  I watch him with bated breath as he gets down on the floor on his knees directly in front of me and stares at me with great intensity before he speaks again. I can feel my heartbeat all the way up in the middle of my throat.

  "Ask me what I plan on doing with your body, Duchess."

  My breaths are shallow. "What do you mean–"

  "I gave you clear direction. Take it. I said to ask me what I plan on doing with your body."

  Oh God.

  "Whaaa ... what do you plan on doing with my body, Masterson?"

  He smiles wickedly.

  "I'm going to have you lift up t
his pretty skirt all the way to your waist, and you're lucky I don't tear this fucking thing to shreds, because I know you wore it specifically for the swimmer. Nevertheless, you're going to lift that skirt up high for me. Then ask me what comes next, Duchess."

  Both of his hands are under my skirt now. Kneading my thighs and the crease of where my thighs meet my hips. Thumbs rubbing all around the outside of my labia. It feels a little bit like torture and a lot like heaven. When I open my mouth to respond, nothing but soft moans escape.

  "Ask me, Duchess." He says again as my massage becomes firmer and deeper just like the bass in his voice.

  "What are you going to do next?" I manage to get out.

  "I'm going to spread your legs wide while you stretch your arms across the back of the sofa and you're going to keep them there. Now ask me what's next, Masterson."

  "What's next?" I gasp as my head falls back as he starts to softly kiss the inside of my knees. I know it's just a matter of time before he starts working his way up. Roman seems to really enjoy being between my legs, but not more than I like him being there. I'm aching for him. I need to come.

  He stops all movement again, and I would yell out of utter aggravation if I didn't think it would inspire him to do something far worse. I think he's taking great pleasure in this game of denying me.

  "You forgot the last part of that question, Duchess."

  Wait what?! Oh...

  "Masterson." I smile. Of course. He loves it when I call him by his last name.

  "You're fucking up, Duchess. Start over from the beginning."

  This time he grabs both of my nipples through my shirt and begins to roll them tightly between his thumbs and pointer fingers. A most delicious distraction that takes the orgasm that was already slowly building and rolling it straight front and center. I'm about to come hard.

  That's when his hands and body back completely away from me.

  I want to cry and then kick him straight in the gut for stopping.

  "I have one rule, Duchess. Your orgasms belong to me. You'll come when I tell you to come."

  I take a second to get control of my breathing as the immediate need to come subsides.

  "Lets try this shit again. What do I want to hear?"

  "What are you going to do next with my body, Masterson?" I ask in the most business-like tone I can muster.