by R. C. Martin
The point is, he picked a fight! I arranged this whole night, he knows that, and yet he decided to ruin it by yelling at me for no good reason just minutes before we’re supposed to leave! I don’t know what crawled up his ass, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Now, as I stand here, hot and irritated, the heat from my hairdryer only making it worse, all I can think about is that moment. It hasn’t hit yet. It will. It always does. Tonight was supposed to be fun and now I have to spend it pretending I’m not pissed at my husband while I wait for the moment.
I cut off my blow-dryer, my hair still a little wet, and decide to just pull it back. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth when I remember how much Roman loves my hair in a ponytail.
If he’s going to be an ass—I’m going to look hot as shit while he’s doing it.
I pin the front of my hair into a bump and then pull the rest into ponytail in the middle of my head. I adorn my ears with earrings and then tug a little at my V-neck sweater, exposing just enough boob for him to notice. I’m wearing a new bra and the demi-cut does wonders for my cleavage.
I’m just finishing up with my makeup when there’s a knock at the door. “Babe,” Roman mutters. “We’ve got to go.” I stare at the door for a minute, waiting to see if he’s ready to apologize, but he doesn’t say another peep before I hear his footsteps leave the room. I huff out a sigh, my frustration reignited as I leave the bathroom and head straight for the walk-in closet. I don’t even have to pause and think before I pull out my tan, knee-high, wedged boots. When I’ve got them zipped up, I reach for my peacoat and slip it on before grabbing my purse from off of the bed.
I spot the Victoria Secret bag full of goodies and roll my eyes. Maybe that I’ll take back. I’m not sure he deserves them anymore.
It’s freezing outside. Now that the sun has gone down, the chill from before has escalated to downright frigid. When the wind blows, it feels as though I’m not wearing a coat—or a sweater—or skin, the air cutting straight to the bone. Instinct beckons me to huddle up with my hubby as we make our way from the car to the restaurant; but after our silent car ride over, I absolutely refuse.
I’m relieved when we walk into the Pub and spot Trisha and Ryan right away. Trisha smiles and waves us over and I try my best to look excited to be here. Just as Roman and I shed our coats, Ashton walks in with his date. Trisha gasps and I whip my head around to look at her. We share a smile, our wordless exchange of appreciation for this profound moment—Ashton with a girl on his arm instead of a book in his hands.
At the same time, we both look back at the beautiful, curvy figure who looks nervous and shy. Ashton is practically beaming, though I’m sure he’d deny it if we mentioned it. “Hey, everyone,” he says in greeting. “This is Gabby. Gabby—this is everyone.”
Trisha scoffs and rolls her eyes before she reaches across the table to shake Gabby’s hand. “I’m Trisha,” she says before nodding to the man beside her. “This is my husband, Ryan.” He reaches his hand out to shake hers, too; then Roman introduces us.
I’m still mad at him—not feeling an ounce more forgiving than when we left home—but hearing him introduce me as his wife…I’m sure I’ll never tire of it.
We order our first round of drinks and I opt for a Cosmo. This evening calls for something stronger than beer. I barely get my food menu open before Roman leans toward me and asks, “What are you getting for dinner?”
“Why?” I mutter, not bothering to look at him. “Afraid I’ll overspend?” The words are out faster than I can stop to think about them. Before I can decide whether or not I want to take them back, Roman has my chin between his fingers, turning my face so that I have no place to look other than into his irritatingly gorgeous brown eyes.
“Don’t,” he grinds out.
It hits me all at once.
My anguish.
My anger.
My tears.
The moment always arrives with a bit of fanfare.
I stand abruptly, excusing myself awkwardly, and hurry toward the restrooms.
It hurts. Every time.
I love him. I despised him for years. I hated the way he looked at me. The way he spoke to me—always condescending and never without judgment. But I wasn’t any better. I never turned the other cheek—never. I always had a smart-ass remark to throw back at him. We fought like cats and dogs, not thinking about each other’s feelings, as if we forgot that they even existed. And now—now I love him! Fighting with him…it makes us act like them; it makes us act like the Roman and Logan of old, only every word hits harder.
I don’t want to be her. I don’t want to disrespect my husband, I don’t—but he makes me so irritated sometimes. Reeling in my temper isn’t always easy. And I get it. Relationships are hard and people fight, but it doesn’t feel that simple with us. It never has and I’m convinced it never will. So, when the moment hits, all I can do is surrender.
I burst through the bathroom door, my vision blurred by my tears as I push my way into the first stall. I don’t notice that I'm being followed until I meet resistance when I try shutting myself in. I gasp, my eyes growing wide with shock when I see Roman forcing his way into the small space with me.
“What are you—? Get out! What are you doing?” I screech as he slides the lock in place.
“My wife gets up and leaves the table in tears and I’m supposed to stay behind? I don’t think so.”
“Oh, so, you’re trying to save face?” I ask, not bothering to reach up to dry my cheeks. “Well, you’ve done your duty. You can leave now. Tell them whatever you want.”
“Stop it. Just—stop it,” he insists, cupping his hands around my face. His expression is hard but his touch is gentle, and I don’t know whether to shake him off or bury myself in his chest. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, babe.”
“You started it,” I argue, pulling his hands away from me. “You’re the one who decided to come home and yell at me for no reason.”
“First of all, we’re not playing the blame game, Logan. Maybe I lost my temper, but you aren’t without fault. You shouldn’t have spent all that money without talking to me first.”
“Since when do I have to ask permission to spend my money?”
“Not your money,” he bites, caging me between his arms as he presses his hands against the wall behind me. “Our money, Logan. Ours.”
“But—”
“We agreed. One pot. One name. Holloway. Our money. I get it—you’re the breadwinner right now, but this isn’t me taking advantage of that. It’s not always going to be like this. One more semester and I’ll be working full time—but that won’t change anything. One pot. One name. Our money.”
“I know, okay? I know! But—still! I didn’t break the bank!”
“Babe!” He pulls away from me, rubbing his hands up and down his face. He draws in a deep breath and then puffs out a sigh before looking at me once more. “It’s not even about the money. We had the money, I understand that—but we need to be in communication about these things. What if I had plans for that money?”
I narrow my eyes at him, folding my arms across my chest. “I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that you somehow have more right to the money than I do?”
“You are infuriating,” he growls, shaking his head at me.
“Me?!” I gasp.
“When you come to me and tell me that you want to drop a few hundred dollars, when you warn me that you feel like going on a shopping spree, it enables me to adjust our travel budget—it gives me a chance to make a compromise with you.”
“Travel budget? What travel budget?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out a few things. I was planning on surprising my wife with a trip for our one year anniversary after I graduate. These things require a budget—something you need to work on.”
In an instant, my anger vanishes, as if it never existed. I gape at Roman, my mind trying to process what he’s just said. “You’re—you’re already planning our anniversary?” I mu
rmur with a sniff.
He nods, reaching up to dry my cheeks before he says, “Don’t ask me where we’re going, because I won’t tell you.”
“Rome…” I push myself up onto my tiptoes, circling my arms around his neck.
He kisses that spot just behind my ear as he wraps his arms around me tightly. “I’m sorry I picked a fight,” he whispers.
“I hate it when we fight, baby. I really, really hate it.”
“Me, too.” When he reaches up and pulls my ponytail through one of his hands, I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips. “I love you,” he says softly.
“I love you, too.”
“We should probably be getting back.”
“Yeah,” I agree, pulling away from him. “Is my face all blotchy?”
He smirks at me before pressing a kiss against my lips. “You look beautiful.”
I shake my head and giggle, knowing his opinion can’t be trusted. “Get out of here before someone catches you. I just need a second.”
“I’ll wait right outside.” He kisses me once more and then makes his exit.
Only my husband would follow me into a stall in the women’s restroom, completely unfazed. God—I love that man.
One shared pizza, two beers, and four Cosmos later, Logan clings to me as we make our way through the cold to the Jeep. It’s snowing and, by the looks of it, it’s been accumulating for a couple of hours. I’m anxious to get us home, out of this weather and into bed. Logan feels the same way—though, by the way she’s pawing at me, I’m not so certain she can even tell it’s snowing.
We’re on the road for two seconds before my girl slides her hand over my thigh and reaches for my junk. Even through my jeans, her touch ignites my need and I’m hard in an instant. She giggles as she tries to unbutton my pants, and I place my hand over hers, ceasing her efforts.
“Babe, wait. We’ll be home in a minute.”
“I want you now,” she hums unabashedly. “My cock, my mouth—right now.”
I groan as my dick throbs, my head filling with images of Logan taking me into her hot, wet mouth right here, right now. There's no way, with the weather in this state, that I would allow the distraction. Fighting the desire as I clamp my fingers around hers, stopping her relentless efforts, is the smartest and hardest thing I've done all day.
“Logan—let me get you home, babe.”
She whines, pulling away from me defiantly. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth when I look over and see her pouting, her arms folded across her chest.
Damn. Love those lips. Especially when she pouts.
Knowing she’s upset because she wishes her lips were wrapped around my cock makes our fifteen minute ride home the longest fifteen minutes ever. When I finally pull into the lot and put the Jeep in park, she’s out the door without a moment’s delay. By the time I’ve gotten out, she’s right by my side, tugging on my hand with a huge grin lighting up her gorgeous face.
“We’re home,” she sings, leading me to our destination.
As soon as we’re inside, she pins me to the front door, kissing me fervently as she pushes my coat off of my shoulders. It falls to the floor seconds before hers does—and then she’s on her knees. This time, when she reaches to unfasten my jeans, I don’t stop her. With my pants and my boxers around my ankles, she whimpers at the sight of my hard dick standing to attention in front of her face.
“My cock…my big dick. Mine.” She strokes me with her hand as she says the words. I watch her without comment, not wishing to disturb her drunken moment with her cock. Then, without warning, she takes me into her mouth—all the way in. She grips the base of my shaft, taking hold of what she can't contain, and then begins to work her way up and down my length—sucking and humming with pleasure.
My head falls back against the door as I watch her through hooded eyes. She feels so damn incredible. “Yes, babe, just like that,” I mumble.
Her gaze shifts up to meet mine and she smiles around my cock before she pulls back—her teeth gently grazing over my skin.
“Shit, babe, you’re going to make me come.”
She kisses the tip of my head and then slides her hands up my thighs and around my ass. “Fuck my mouth, baby,” she insists. “I want to taste you. I want to feel your hot cum hit the back of my throat. Roman, baby—fuck me.”
She opens her mouth wide and I can hardly breathe as I look down at her in admiration. So fucking beautiful. So fucking mine. When she digs her fingers into my ass and whines with her impatience, I shove my cock all the way into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. She closes her eyes and moans—the vibration of her voice spurring me on. I wrap my hand around the base of her ponytail, giving her what she wants. As I pump in and out of her, she licks and sucks. I groan as I climb closer and closer to my climax, freeing a loud growl when I come. She swallows every bit of my release before she pulls away with a satisfied smile on her face.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she stands and then reaches up to kiss my lips. “My turn,” she whispers.
I reach for her, but she begins to back away from me, a wicked grin on her face. She takes two steps before she removes one boot, then the other. I watch as one item of clothing after another is shed as she continues to walk backwards towards the kitchen. When she’s completely naked, she giggles and then scurries out of sight, returning a moment later with a bottle of honey.
My mouth waters when she crawls up onto the dining room table and sits facing me. I know the only reason she’s up there is because she’s drunk. Tomorrow morning, she’ll be appalled that I let her put her naked ass in the middle of our dining room table—but I don’t care. She spreads her legs, hooking her toes around the edge of the table as she begins to drizzle honey over her glistening pussy. She then creates a trail that zigzags across her abdomen, and I feel myself growing hard again already.
She sets the bottle aside and leans back, propping herself up on her hands. “Look, baby—I made you dessert.”
With labored breaths, I start to make my way toward her. I take two steps and then remember my pants are still around my ankles. I kick off my shoes and socks and step out of my pants, yanking my shirt over my head before I hurry across the room. I don’t stop until my lips are crushed against hers. She thrusts her tongue into my mouth and we both moan.
I linger only for a moment and then I begin to kiss and nibble my way along her neck, around both of her breasts, slowing down when I get my first taste of honey in the middle of her torso. I lick up every little bit of the sticky sweetness that coats her skin, taking my time—teasing her as I prolong my descent to where she wants me the most.
“Roman…Roman, please!” she begs.
I lower to my knees, my face directly in line with her center. She’s so wet, her arousal making her lips swell. I stick my tongue out and lazily drag it up the length of her slit. Her deep, sexy groan makes my dick jerk and I know I can’t tease her any longer. I want her to come all over my tongue, and then I’m going to take her with my cock—her cock. Her big dick.
I savor her, my tongue flicking her clit before I plunge it into her heat over and over again. She grabs a fistful of my hair, keeping me close, begging for more. I dip two fingers inside of her, curling them as I thrust. I suck hard on her sensitive nub until she unravels, calling out my name.
I’m on my feet, my cock buried deep before she has a chance to come down from her orgasm. “Roman!” she mewls, throwing her head back as she continues to pant.
I wrap my hands around her hips, holding her still as I pound in and out of her in desperation. “Shit, Logan—I can’t get enough of you,” I grunt.
She brings her head up, her eyes staring into mine as she lowers herself onto her back. “Never,” she whispers, reaching for my hands. “I’ll never stop giving myself to you.” Wrapping her fingers around my wrists, she beckons me to let go of her hips, bringing my hands up around her tits. I squeeze and she arches her back, bucking her hips, making me wil
d. I thrust harder, faster—chasing my climax, needing hers.
When her pussy tightens around me, her lips open in a perfect O as she moans in ecstasy, I fall over the edge right along with her. Once I’m empty, my cock milked dry, I collapse on top of her. She wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my shoulders, holding me as we both work to catch our breath.
“I think we need a shower, baby,” she murmurs suggestively, her fingers finding their way into my hair.
I prop myself up just enough to look into her eyes, a smirk tugging at my lips. “You’re insatiable tonight.”
“Love my big dick,” she says with a grin.
I press a kiss against her mouth with a chuckle. “Love my pussy,” I reply, pulling out of her. She pouts and I kiss her again before lifting her from off of the table. She squeals and giggles, clinging to me as I carry her to the shower.
Love those sexy lips. Especially when she pouts.
AFTER THE SUNDAY I had, I’m reluctant to open my eyes Monday morning.
Roman and I stayed up all night Saturday, loving each other and adoring one another’s bodies. When morning came, I didn’t want to get out of bed—I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving my man’s arms. Roman felt the same way, insisting that it was too cold outside to leave the bed, so we played hooky and skipped church. We laid around, talking and dozing until we got hungry. Roman let me stay in bed while he got up to make us coffee and toast a couple bagels.
In the afternoon, we decided to go through my purchases from the day before. I agreed to take some of the items back. But after I tried everything on for him, he told me to keep it all. My ridiculously silly man.
Now, as Roman covers my shoulder with sweet kisses, I wonder how Monday morning got here so quickly; I wonder if it’s completely necessary that I wake. Without opening my eyes, I turn to face my husband and he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my chin—then his lips touch my nose and I smell it. His toothpaste. When his lips meet mine, I can’t help but laugh.
