When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1)

by Natalie Gayle

  “Give me your hand, Carlene.” She does as I ask, and I guide her hand down to my cock. “Do you know how sexy it was when you told me to go down on you, baby? Fucking sexy. Feel how hard I am, that’s all for you. Just a look in your eyes and a few words and here I am, so damn hot for you”

  I kiss her, a demanding kiss. One where I push straight into her mouth and start stroking at her tongue with mine. Her body nudges at me, wanting to be closer. I slide my hand down over her and pull her knee up and over my hip. It’s a position I love.

  From here, I can kiss her on the mouth, her neck, her breasts, all the while having her feeling safe and connected to me. I can also use my hand to play with her pussy until I decide when I’ll let her orgasm.

  “That better, Oz?” Her eyes look a little dazed, and I kiss a trail across her jaw and down her neck to where our bodies touch. I trail a hand over her waist and trace my way to the crack of her ass which causes her to shiver in my arms but not retreat.

  I use movements very similar to what I did when massaging her before. She instinctively pulls her arm back to give me access to her lush breast, which I immediately read as an invitation to suck on her hard nipple.

  Her breath hitches as I suck, and I get a little bolder with my fingers, this time stroking through the slickness of her pussy a few times before tracing around her pronounced clit. She’s turned on and feeling it all in a good way.

  “Baby, you’re so wet for me, and I’m going to love licking all that up. It’s going to taste so good.” I slip a finger inside, and she immediately locks down on me. This pussy is going to feel incredible when I finally get there. I add another finger gently and start to slowly move them in and out of her, hitting all the spots I know will send her wild for me.

  “You love my fingers, don’t you?” I lightly flick her clit with my thumb a couple of times. “Imagine how good it’s going to feel when it’s my tongue on your clit.”

  She sucks a breath between her teeth and locks her arms around me harder. I use my chest to push her to her back, then suck more deeply on her nipple. She’s getting wetter and wetter under my hand.

  I want her almost to the point of orgasm when I first put my mouth on her. That way, she won’t panic about taking too long to build. She’ll be too gone with reaching for her orgasm to be self-conscious.

  “That’s it baby, you’re so wet, and I love it. Tell me how it feels Oz, I need to know.”

  A garbled ”so good,” comes forth from her throat and I start a line of kisses down her belly south to meet my hand. I keep my strokes inside her slow and consistent, and her hips are seeking more from me by the second.

  Not yet, baby, not yet.

  I dip my tongue into her belly button, and she squeals at the surprise.

  “That’s it, Oz, let me hear what you like.”

  As my mouth travels lower, I can feel her stiffening under me more, and her breathing has changed to audible pants. Music to my ears. Close, very close.

  I nudge at her thigh with my shoulder, and like magic, she drops her thighs to open right up for me, not an ounce of resistance to be seen. There’s no fancy grooming down here, just a patch of tight light brown curls—so no fuss and Carlene. I place a series of kisses that drop me lower, and her hips rock up to meet my mouth in a move I’m sure she has no idea she’s executing.

  The first touch of my tongue against her clit has her slamming her hips swiftly up to my face, and I take advantage by holding her to me with some gentle suction.

  “Ahhhh…Rome.”

  I gently brush my tongue against the stiff little nub a few more times, and just like magic, her whole body stiffens before plunging into the rolling waves of orgasm. Her tight pussy locking hard on my fingers with each spasm and a high pitched squeal transitions into a groan as I back off for a couple of seconds before repeating over and over.

  “Please, Rome. I can’t take any more.” She pants and pushes at my head with her hand and tries to pull her hips from my grasp.

  I give her one last kiss to her mound and slide back up to join her. She immediately rolls into me and snuggles her head against my chest.

  “I hope you liked that Oz, because next time, I’m going to spend a lot more time down there. I’ll build it from the beginning, give you a proper full pussy worshipping.”

  She doesn’t say anything at first, just shivers at my words which I interpret as a good sign. Then she lifts her head and looks me directly in the eye.

  “You were right, Rome. I don’t like it, I love it, and you can do that to me anytime you want.” She’s so open and honest, it strikes a pang in the middle of my heart.

  And right there is why I love my job. I also know this woman is one hell of a walking contradiction. This is a woman who’s had a life worth of heartache and disappointment she needs to unload.

  Some people are psychologists, others are psychics, and some are just damned intuitive. Me, my skill is reading people through sex and touch. And Carlene is a woman who is so bottled up sexually and emotionally, she just needs someone to let the genie out—release the pressure and let her be true to herself.

  And I’m pretty sure I know exactly how to do just that.

  Chapter 8

  Carlene

  Last night was so different than anything I’ve ever experienced. Never has a man given me a massage, let alone one like that, and never have I been so incredibly hot for a man. Nor has a man done that!

  It’s a whole new world for me, being with a man who wants to talk about sex. No, a man who essentially demands I tell him what I want. It’s so different but also disconcerting and exciting all at once. Rome is offering me a chance to take a walk on the wild side with him. All I have to do is go with it. And that, right there, excites me and terrifies me in equal doses.

  Today, we’ve veered from the coast for something different. The endless small crop fields flash by as we drive up through Center Valley. We could have stuck to the coast, but I decided I wanted to experience a few of the less popular cities and towns as well. Rome ever understanding and accommodating, happily made the detour from Highway 1.

  Memories of the sensual massage Rome gave me last night are never far from my mind as we head north. Lush green dairy pastures are interspersed with crop farming. Herds of fat black and white dairy cattle graze on the rich pastures.

  “This remind you of home?” Rome asks, cutting into my wandering thoughts

  “Sort of. I’m realizing this county is pretty much like the Lockyer Valley at home. It’s a combination of dairy and crop farming, too. I never lived there, but if you drive to Brisbane or the Gold or Sunshine Coasts, you invariably have to go through it to get to there, or vice versa if we were heading to Colanara. There’s a city called Toowoomba at the top of the Great Dividing Range.” And suddenly, I realize I’m rambling about shit he probably has nil interest in. “I’m probably boring you to tears. Just tell me to shut up.”

  Rome chuckles. “Actually, I enjoy listening to you talk about your life and home. I was about to ask what the Great Dividing Range is before you decided to cut short your story telling.”

  “Are you sure I’m not rambling?”

  “Maybe a little, but it’s cute, and I’m enjoying listening to you. Now tell me about the Great Dividing Range, woman.”

  How is it Rome always makes me feel totally at ease and not stupid?

  “The Great Dividing Range is a mountain range that runs down the majority of the east coast of Australia. Just a sec and I’ll give you the specifics.” I grab my phone from the centre console and start tapping into Google.

  With a chuckle Rome asks, “okay, what’s Wikipedia have to say on this one, oh Google Master?”

  Without missing a beat, I rattle off the stats. “It’s more than 3,500 kilometers or 2175 miles in your measurements and is between 160 and 300 kilometers wide.”

  I put down my phone. “Basically, think of it this way. The good land is on the east of the range and the difficult, dry and barren l
and is on the west, and it gets worse and worse the further west you go. We were about eight hours west of the range to give you some perspective.”

  “I love how you measure distance in hours. But why?”

  I had to think on his question for a moment. “Most country towns are about 100 kilometers apart or sixty miles as I’m learning in your terms. Roughly an hour’s driving depending on the road conditions.”

  “Isn’t Australia about the same size as us?”

  “Yeah, the major difference is you’ve got about 380 million people and we have twenty-four million. Not very many for a country this size.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” he concedes.

  “No-one does.”

  We drive in silence for a few moments then, I do a double take at a tractor crawling by in the crop field beside us. Did I see that right? The tractor is creeping along at walking pace but the driver is collapsed over the wheel and appears to be unconscious. To make matters worse, there’s a wide irrigation channel at the end of the field, right in the tractor’s path.

  “Pull over, Rome,” I demand, pointing to the road shoulder. “That guy’s in trouble.” He glances briefly at me, clearly with no clue what I’m on about, but fortunately complies. Before he even has the Mustang fully stopped, I’ve got the door open.

  “Grab my purse, Rome,” I order, and I start running toward the wire fence separating the crop field from the road. If I’m quick, hopefully I can get to the man before he drops headlong into the irrigation channel.

  I duck through the wires of the fence, thankful I decided to wear shorts today, and barely break stride until I hit the thick ploughed earth. The rich, heavy soil, makes it hard to keep pace as I run toward the tractor.

  “Hey, mister?” I yell out and wave my arms. The man doesn’t move.

  “Carlene!” Rome screams at me, and I glance back briefly to see him traversing the fence.

  I stride on, in a course set to intersect with the tractor. This tractor isn’t going to stop unless I can make it happen. As I get beside it, I realize there’s no way I can safely climb on to the tractor from the side—one slip and I’d end up under the nobble tread of the back wheel.

  I drop back, let it roll on past me, and grab the outer support bar of the spray unit on the back instead. I use the bar to swing up onto the back platform and manage to get a foot onto the housing of the spray unit.

  From here, I can see the man is definitely unconscious and cardiac arrest is the first thing that enters my mind. But before I can tend to him, I have to shut down this tractor.

  The irrigation trench is coming up quicker by the moment and I know I’ll have to jump clear if I can’t shut it down because otherwise, we’re sure to be crushed when it flips, and I have no intention of dying today.

  I climb up onto the hard plastic tank of the spray unit, using the steel frame as footholds. Carefully, I get my balance before leaning forward and grabbing hold of the rollbars supporting the canopy over the driver’s seat.

  Fortunately, it’s a sun shade canopy and not fully enclosed. I step a foot forward onto the steel of the wheel arch and straddle the distance.

  I stretch forward, and I’m just able to reach the throttle leaver beside the steering wheel and haul it back, cutting the engine revs. The tractor slows, and I grab the wheel and move to perch in the foot well, placing my sandaled feet beside the big boot of the farmer.

  With a practiced eye, I quickly figure out where the PTO mechanism for driving the implements is, and where the brakes are located on the unfamiliar machine. I push down on the brakes and bring it to a shuddering halt. As an added precaution, I pull up on the lever to lower the spray unit on the back and push the starter in to cut the engine and finally engage the park brakes using the nob beside the gear shifts. This tractor is going nowhere.

  “Carlene!” Rome yells as he comes up alongside the tractor. “What…”

  “Help me get him off here.” As I press my fingers into the man’s neck, searching for a pulse. My adrenaline spikes higher.

  He’s not breathing.

  I drop to the ground between the front and rear wheels of the tractor. Rome pushes in beside me and drags the man’s substantial form over his shoulder in a fireman carry.

  “Put him on the ground, Rome. We need to start CPR.”

  Rome places the man on the ground as gently as possible and I get to work positioning his body in a way that will allow me to commence CPR.

  “Rome, grab the CPR mask from the first aid kit in my purse,” I say as I’m checking for a pulse once again. After finding none, plus seeing no obvious signs of breathing, I grab both sides of his buttoned shirt and rip it open to expose a chest covered in thick greying hair. I guess the man to be in his late fifties. I interlink my hands and start compressions over the center of the man’s chest and begin counting.

  “One and two and three and four and five and six.”

  “Is this it?” I glance up from my ministrations.

  “Yes, open it…ten and eleven…” Rome places the mask beside me. “Call an ambulance,” I demand, keeping count in my head. “Eighteen and nineteen.”

  I maintain the quick tempo, making sure I keep the compressions strong and deep until I reach thirty.

  Rome is giving directions to the emergency operator as I tilt the man’s head back to open his airways and secure the mask over his ears. I lean into him and breathe out deeply into the valve of the mask and watch his chest rise. Then I repeat the process before moving back to start more chest compressions.

  “One and two and three and four and five and six.”

  “What can I do to help? Ambulance is probably ten or twelve minutes out.”

  “Fourteen and fifteen. Be ready in case I need you to relieve me. Twenty and twenty-one.”

  I’m on my fourth cycle, and I’m thinking of getting Rome to takeover for a cycle or two when the man suddenly gasps and lurches beneath my clenched hands.

  I pull back from him as his eyelids rise and he groans. “Just lie still, mate. Everything’s going to be fine. You’ve had a bit of a turn, and the ambulance will be here in just a minute.”

  “Whaa…” he stammers and tries to grasp for his chest. I grab his hand and squeeze it hard.

  “Don’t try and talk. I know you’re hurting. Just try to breathe with me. In and out. In and out. Nice and steady.” I can hear the sirens wailing in the distance. “Ambulance is almost here. Stay with me. Keep breathing in and out, in and out.”

  Over and over, I repeat the same words, trying to keep him calm and focused on breathing. I glance over my shoulder and see Rome with a set of bolt cutters he must have got from the paramedics, attacking the wire of the fence so they can make their way through.

  A few seconds later, they arrive beside me, and I shuffle back on my knees to let them do their thing.

  “What’s happened ma’am?”

  “We were driving along and found him unresponsive on the tractor. We got him off and started CPR. He started breathing on the fourteen compression of the fourth cycle. He’s been responsive since but in pain. I’ve just focused on trying to keep his breathing regular.”

  “Good job. We’ll take it from here.”

  Rome helps me to my feet as the paramedics check the man’s vitals and starts an IV. A few minutes later, once they have the man stable enough to move, we help them get him onto the stretcher and carry him across the distance to the ambulance. Once there, the paramedics secure the stretcher in the body of the vehicle.

  Just as the ambulance is preparing to pull out, a blue F150 jerks to a halt beside us.

  “That’s my husband. Earl!” the woman screams as she scrambles from the vehicle and a younger man gets out from the driver’s side.

  “Ma’am, we’re about to transport the patient to the hospital. You’ll need to meet us there. We have to go.” He looks to us to explain.

  “What happened?” The younger man looks shaken but is keeping it together enough to wrap an
arm around the older woman and haul her to him.

  Rome quickly explains what happened as the ambulance pulls out. The younger man bundles what must be his mother into the truck.

  “Thanks, man,” he says as he rounds the front of the truck to the driver’s side.

  “Are you okay to drive?” I ask.

  “Yes ma’am. Thanks again.”

  “Wait.” He’s just about to pull onto the road when Rome passes what I assume is a business card through the window to him. “Can you give us a call and let us know how he is? Carlene got him breathing again, and she’ll want to know.”

  With a nod, they’re gone.

  I walk over to the car on shaky legs, open the door, and plonk my backside on the seat, with my elbows resting on my knees and feet still in the gravel. I’m feeling the effects of coming down from an adrenaline rush. Seems I’m out of practice managing farm crises.

  Did something like this happen to Phillip, but without someone being there to play good Samaritan? It was yet another possible scenario I wrestled with regularly.

  As much as what I just did feels totally second nature to me, I realize I don’t miss it. I’m just glad I was around and could help when someone needed to step up.

  Rome

  Carlene looks exhausted after what just happened—with good reason. I bundle her into the car and head straight to a local diner for a cold drink and something to eat. Although she’s done nothing but pick at the nachos in front of her at least she’s almost finished her juice.

  I’m floored by how composed and cool in a crisis she was. I doubt too many people could have pulled off what she just did and have the presence of mind to think through all the outcomes and anticipate every detail and action that would be needed to save the man’s life.