When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1)

by Natalie Gayle

  “Yes,” I whisper, the gravity of my realization still weighs heavily on me. His fingers continue to trail up and down the tender skin of my inner arm. Mesmerizing me.

  “What has you so worked up about what happened? Was it the way you got a little wild? Or was it the chance of getting caught?”

  It’s both of those and more.

  “Talk to me, Carlene, tell me about what you’re feeling.” His fingers are still working their magic on my arm, and my body is tingling in response.

  I inhale a deep breath.

  “I’ve just never done anything like that before. I’ve never been in a store like that, I’ve never worn lingerie like that, I’ve never done anything like that, and I sure as hell have never orgasmed like that. I came from rubbing myself all over you! I’ve never…so embarrassing!” As hard as I try, I can’t keep the shrillness out of my voice with the last disclosure.

  He looks at me solemnly, taking it all in. I half expect him to joke it off. It really is stupid.

  Then the left side of his mouth turns up in a grin, and he gives me a devilish wink. “Would I sound totally arrogant if I told you, I’m just that good?”

  I reward him a playful swat on the thigh. “Yes! But I think I can vouch for your prowess.”

  He lets out a good-humored snort.

  “It’s okay, you know. There’s nothing to feel embarrassed or ashamed about.”

  “I’m not ashamed, am I? It was just so out of character for me. That’s what’s sort of embarrassingly shocking for me.”

  His eyes bore into me, assessing me, and the playful Rome turns into a tender seriousness.

  “I understand. Pushing past the norm, trying new things in the bedroom can be very daunting. Particularly, if you’ve not been very adventurous before. There’s these limits people set up when it comes to sex, and they don’t even realize they’re doing it until it becomes a pattern. Then the pattern becomes the norm and they can’t or won’t ask for what they really want.”

  Rome has just described my sex life with Phillip to a tee, and as much as it’s the truth, it’s also like a knife of betrayal to my gut. “The thing with these limits though, is that they only really exist in our own minds. People stick with what they know or what works, rather than push through the boundaries and see what else is out there. More often than not, because they don’t know how to ask for or talk about sex. It’s this taboo topic, which is really stupid when you think about it.”

  I soak in his words and the feel of his touch against my arm. He’s right. Boundaries, taboo, the feeling of wanting but not knowing how to start the conversation so just letting it slide by. I know exactly what he’s talking about.

  I know where my boundaries were before my time with him, and, he’s right, they were a product of my own making. Or at least, the dynamic of Phillip and me as a couple, because we had never talked about sex. Now I’m also starting to see what’s possible. It’s exciting, and I’m becoming a little addicted to the new.

  And it’s most definitely making me feel uncomfortable, but nowhere near enough to want to stop.

  “While you’re kicking all that around in that pretty head of yours, know this—I’ll never judge you, or anyone else for that matter, on what you like or want to do sexually. My thoughts on sex are pretty simple. As long as it’s between consenting adults, then what they do is their business, their imagination and not for me or anyone else to judge.”

  He must have seen so much, I can only imagine, and I’m sure it’s so far off the mark. What does he like? What are his preferences? So far, he’s catered to me the whole time. But what about him? This has me curious.

  “What’s your fantasy, Rome?”

  His body stiffens, and then a smile slips across his face. “Why do you ask?”

  Why do I want to know? I know so little about the man who has filled my world for the last week. I shouldn’t, reason cautions me, but I want more. He excites me, fascinates me, and I realize I want to know everything about him.

  “I guess I’d like to know.”

  He nods slowly, his face unreadable.

  “Come take a walk in the woods with me, and we can talk about fantasies.”

  Rome

  We select the hour loop trail, and fortunately, the park is all but deserted this early. It’s perfect. There’s nothing quite like walking into Muir Woods. The power of the place is undeniable. It’s an energy which immediately engulfs you and makes anything seem possible, magical.

  “You’re feeling it too, right?” Carlene squeezes my hand a little tighter.

  “Sure am, beautiful. This place is like no other on Earth. The power just surrounds you. It’s something you can’t explain; you have to experience it to believe and understand the feeling.”

  We walk in silence for a few minutes, just absorbing and assimilating to the breathtaking beauty, connected only by our linked fingers.

  Her senses are opening up, but she’s yet to learn to trust them. I’ve been purposely giving her experiences focused on getting her to feel. To allow herself to be exposed to situations that are likely to evoke emotion. Trusting and hoping those feelings will develop and evolve within her.

  No sooner does the thought form in my mind, than I feel the pull of regret in my heart. A regret, as I’ll likely never fully see the woman she will hopefully become at the end of her journey. I’ll have to satisfy myself with knowing I helped and encouraged her along the away, and, for at least part of it, I was her guide.

  It will have to be enough.

  “So you were going to tell me about your fantasies, Rome?” There’s a devilish little look on her face. The look is younger and playful—happy.

  And I have a decision to make. Just how honest do I want to be with Carlene? I can make up some crazy, kinky fantasy, and it will be a lie, or I can go with what I never do with a client—the whole truth and not a side step.

  My lack of an immediate answer has her retreating. “You don’t have to tell me.” She almost apologizes, and I can’t mistake the defensiveness in her, ready to launch in.

  “I’ll tell you. I’m actually having to search for what my fantasy is. I guess it’s not something I’ve thought about in a long while. At least, not sexual fantasies, anyway.”

  “Is that because you’ve already done them all?”

  Fuck it! I want to be honest. What does it matter? The hourglass of our time together is running faster and faster.

  “I haven’t had a sexual fantasy in so long, I can barely remember what I craved before I started on this road. When you enter this world, the whole concept of fantasy kind of gets blurred or blown away. It’s my role to make sure I make someone else’s fantasies come true, and I guess in the process, all of mine have been fulfilled a time or two.”

  I chance a glance sideways as we walk on, wondering how she’s reacting to that.

  “What were your fantasies before?” There’s a hint of sadness in her voice.

  I shrug, hoping to put her off, which is ironic since I’m the one pushing her to open up about her sexuality. Here I’m trying to avoid talking about pieces of my own.

  She cocks her brow at me, and I know I have to answer.

  “You know, all the normal guy fantasies, oral, threesome, anal, exhibition, submission, that sort of thing.” I list the first things that come to mind. They’ve all been on my fantasy list at one time. Color seeps up her cheeks as she considers what I said.

  “That’s what guys really want? What you want?”

  “Pretty much, variations on all of these, of course—that broadly covers it, but I’m not sure I’d say they are my fantasies anymore.”

  I watch her mind spinning the new information around and around.

  “Before, you said—what about now?” she pushes a little.

  And I laugh and laugh, more at my own predicament. It’s crazy. How did I get myself backed into such a corner?

  “What?” Her question ends on a laugh.

  “I just realized over t
ime, my fantasies have sort of taken a decided turn to the tame. Please don’t tell anyone or they’ll be asking for my escort card.” I try to make light of my unease.

  My response has only made her more curious. I can see it in her eyes before she even opens her mouth.

  “Okay, now I’m intrigued, what’s this new tame fantasy of yours?”

  A long sigh rips from my abdomen, and again, I wonder about the merit of telling the truth to a client. But why does she feel like more of a friend than a client with each passing minute?

  “Connection. I want to make love to a woman and for it to be real. I want to feel and know she’s the only woman I’m ever going to be with again. I want it to be so special, everything else, and everyone else, are just distant memories.”

  Shadows fall over her eyes, and the woods seem to go silent as the enormity of what I said rattle around us before settling. Carlene is pondering my words, including the slap in the face I’ve inadvertently given her.

  Immediately, I regret being honest. I’ve broken the fundamental rules of the game again. If I were one of my guys, I would kick his ass for breaking the mood.

  I’m such a fool. Maybe I’m too old and jaded for this game anymore? I’ve gone with honesty, and I should have been more savvy in my answer. No woman likes to be told she’s going to be placed in a category of memories a man wants to forget.

  My thoughts have moved on to salvage—more specifically, how can I salvage this situation?

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

  She holds up her hand.

  “Don’t apologize, I asked for the truth, and you gave it. I value the truth much more than you trying to appease my feelings by recanting or lying about how you feel. I know how this ends for us, Rome, and it’s right. You’ve said all along we need to stay in the moment. We drifted off track for a moment, and the truth caught up to us. I don’t regret that one little bit, because regardless of what you think when this ends, I’ll always look on this time with you as something precious and special. I’ll look back on you as a friend who was so much more to me, even if it was just for a little while.”

  Never, in all the time I’ve been doing this, have I been so floored, so wrecked by the words of someone who shouldn’t have had the power to do so.

  It’s her forthrightness, sincerity, and honesty. No tantrums, no bullshit games—just the truth, delivered with maturity and grace.

  I do the only thing that feels right—connecting with her.

  I close my arms around her as we stand in a little grove surrounded by trees with hundreds of years of wisdom and weathered experience. My cheek brushes against her silky hair, and I nuzzle my face into her more. I want to absorb her, suck her in, just like I’ve been pulling in the energy from the woods.

  Finally, the lump in my throat clears enough for me to speak. “Thank you. It means a lot you’d think of me as a friend.”

  She squeezes her arms tighter around my back, and I soak in the moment and commit it to my memory. Regardless what I’ve said, I know Carlene will never be a woman I want to forget.

  In fact, I’m fast realizing I’m going to suffer the opposite problem. The memories we’re making have the power to haunt me with longing for something I shouldn’t and couldn’t have.

  I’ve spent more than my share of time with rich women. Some are nice, some are insecure, many are self-centered and entitled. Rarely, strike that, never are they like Carlene.

  “You’re welcome.” She pulls back a little from me. Enough for me to lower my lips to capture hers in a soft, reverent kiss. And right from the moment my lips meet hers, I realize the difference. Something has clicked in my brain. This kiss is different, it goes so much deeper than anything I’ve ever experienced

  Then I realize.

  It’s as if my heart has woken up from a very long slumber.

  What I’m feeling is a soul deep connection. This is what people write songs about, went to war over. It doesn’t get any truer or real than this. Two hearts connecting.

  Maybe it’s the power of the woods playing with my mind and senses? Every pore in my skin is alive and vibrating with energy.

  This kiss isn’t about a sexual connection. Yes, those desires are there, but rather than at the front, they’re very firmly in the background. What I feel is something else taking front and center stage—something far more powerful.

  A soft moan escapes her throat as I change the angle of my head, my lips searching for more of whatever I’m feeling. My tongue lazily strokes against hers with a new sense of discovery and purpose.

  Carlene is feeling it too, I can tell.

  And too soon, it’s over, the moment broken by a high pitched squeal of a female coming from behind us.

  We break apart a fraction. Both of us visibly moved by the power of the kiss we just shared.

  A warm smile frames her face, and somehow, she looks even more beautiful to me. More mine. “Unfortunate timing,” she jokes.

  “Mmm, certainly is.”

  I thread her fingers through mine, and we resume our walk through the woods, allowing the couple who have broken the spell to move on ahead.

  We watch their retreating forms for a little longer, both digesting what just happened. Long seconds pass as we glance at each other, both clearly off balance from the words and the power of the kiss we shared.

  “So anal, hey. That’s what men want? Is it really that great?”

  I burst out laughing. Only Carlene.

  “I’m not sure I want to answer that one. Do you really want to know?”

  “Spoil sport.”

  “How about I just say it can be amazing with the right person, done right.”

  She digs her elbow into my side playfully, her face flushed. “Don’t get any ideas about it. I’m not sure I’m ready to go there yet.”

  “Fair enough, it is very intense, but if you change your mind, I can make it really good for you.”

  “I believe you, it just seems a bit too out there for me yet.”

  I understand that. Anal isn’t for everyone. Although the popularity of the “taboo” seems to have been on trend for the last few years. It’s something we get asked for a lot.

  Taboo.

  The word bounces around in my head. It describes exactly where my feelings for Carlene are at and that’s wrong. Client Rome, client…

  Chapter 15

  Carlene

  I have thirty minutes “reflection time” before the spa treatments Rome has booked for me start. I’m dressed in a thick, fluffy white robe and sipping some sort of herbal tea. True to form, this spa is like none I’ve ever seen.

  Not that I’m an expert or anything, just…this place is impressive. It looks like something straight out of Tuscany. Apparently, the reflection time is all part of the experience. Supposedly designed to get me in the right frame of mind for relaxation before the treatments begin.

  When we arrived in Napa Valley, after the drive up from San Francisco, Rome promptly got us settled in our suite then brought me here. All he told me is he had the rest of the day all planned out, and I’m to relax and enjoy being pampered. Then we’re having dinner at a highly acclaimed restaurant before doing a day of wine tasting tomorrow. I sense tonight is going to be special. I have a feeling Rome’s planning a romantic evening, and the thought alone is sending little butterflies dancing around my belly.

  After our walk in the woods, I feel a lot better. Better because Rome has unearthed for me why I probably have been so closed off to acts of intimacy in the past.

  As a couple, Phillip and I were guilty of everything he’d suggested. It made such sense when he explained it. I’d just never realized what we’d been doing.

  Although even now, I still have no idea if I’d known this, whether I could have talked to Phillip. He was the most closed-off man at times. So very different from Rome, who has no issue talking about anything.

  It’s quite a revelation for me.

  “Miss Davis, Sharla is ready for you
now.” I’m pulled from my thoughts by one of the day spa staff members.

  I rise from the soft leather of the buff-colored sofa and follow her. She leads me to a treatment room decorated in cool and inviting tones. The lighting is low, and there’s some soothing music playing.

  “Miss Davis, why don’t you slip off your robe and slippers and get yourself comfortable on the bed. Sharla will be with you in just a moment.”

  As instructed, I’m naked under the robe. Fortunately, there are a couple of large bath sheets and a waffle blanket neatly folded on the end of the treatment bed. The woman closed the door, and I immediately see the hooks behind it for the robe and a little spot for the slippers. Fearing the early entrance of Sharla before I have myself respectably covered on the bed, I hurry to lose the robe and get myself organized.

  No more than a few seconds after I settle, I hear the soft knock on the door before it’s discretely cracked open.

  “Come in,” I call, trying to sound relaxed. I’ve been to the day spa a few times since I left the property, but I’m still very much a novice when it comes to these sort of things. I still feel a little weird about being pampered. It’s not something I grew up with, and my brain’s still wrestling with it being unnecessary and a waste of money. I can hear Phillip’s voice in my head.

  “Hello, Miss Davis, I’m Sharla.”

  Sharla turns out to be a curvy woman in her early thirties, if I’m to guess. She has a pleasant face, a warm smile, and a mop of red hair, her hair tie lost the battle about four hours ago.

  I immediately feel better.

  She isn’t the snooty, perfect type who always make me feel uneasy and inadequate when it come to this “woman’s stuff.” What I wouldn’t give to be shopping for a new tractor some days. Tractors I understand!

  “Hi Sharla, please call me Carlene.”

  “Thanks, and do I hear an accent there?”

  “You sure do. I’m an Aussie.”

  “Awesome. I love Aussies,” Sharla squeals, it’s a constant source of fascination for me how American women can squeal like that. “You guys are so much fun.”