The Cousins Series Boxed Set

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  "I was on a business run with Joseph. Puberty had given me a shot in my ass overnight, and I had grown practically three feet over a weekend. He decided it was time I start learning the family business, mostly because I looked the part. Not necessarily because I was ready.

  "Sometimes he'd go by someone's house for a game of cards and drinks to loosen some tongues, get some information, and it was my job to entertain whoever else was in the house and keep them out of the way. At my age, that meant help in the kitchen or play with the other kids that were already there. But at this one house in particular, where Joseph played poker every blue moon, the owner of the house had a seventeen-year-old daughter who was hot in the pants. She'd been fucking for years, according to her anyway, and she felt the need to pass her vast wealth of knowledge onto me. Needless to say, my thirteen year old horny ass was deeply grateful." He grins.

  I smack his chest.

  "She was gross," I say. "It was practically statutory rape her sleeping with you."

  "She was just a kid too."

  "Give me a break. She knew better."

  I know I shouldn't ask the question, but I do.

  "How many women do you think you've had sex with?"

  "Too many to count, Duchess. I lived a wild life for a long time, but just know that I never understood what sex could be like with someone you love until I met you. I've had good sex, and I've had great sex, but sex with you is fucking amazing. Every single time, all the time, and that's because you are made for me. We fit perfectly."

  I hate how he's been with so many other women, although I know that I'm not being fair, because on the other hand I love that he knows exactly how to give me what I need. And that only comes with experience right?

  "Why are you so quiet?" he asks.

  I hesitate to give a response.

  "You can tell me anything, Elizabeth, you know that right? There's nothing you can say that will seem stupid to me."

  "Well ... sometimes I wish you hadn't been with so many women. I can't help but compare myself to them."

  "There is no comparison."

  I'm still quiet.

  "I wish you never laid down with your ex," he says matter of factly. Filling the silence. "I should have been the first, because I'm sure as shit going to be the last."

  "That barely counts. I just laid there and then minutes later I was knocked out cold by a drug dealer. Trust me. I don't consider that my first sexual experience at all."

  His body tenses a bit from me mentioning that day. He hates talking about it, because he wasn't there to stop it. To save me. Of course we didn't know each other then, but that's just Roman. Always wanting to protect me in the past as well as in the present.

  My guardian.

  My champion.

  Talking about all of this, and listening to him say how we fit each other so perfectly, is starting to wear on my conscious. I'm keeping something from him, and I'm finding ways to justify why I'm doing it to myself. I don't want him to overreact. I don't want him to put me on lock down. I don't want him to get hurt. The email probably means nothing. He who will not be named is no longer a factor in my life. So why bring it up.

  I grab Roman's jaw roughly with my hand and pull him in for a kiss. I'm not usually this aggressive, and I can see a fire quickly build in his eyes by this uncharacteristic action on my part.

  "I love you, Masterson," I say, but the words are dripping in guilt.

  "You better," he growls.

  His hand reaches around me and he pulls half of the blanket over us so that no one can see as his hand snakes under my sweatshirt and wraps around one of my breasts. My eyes immediately close from the exquisite pressure of his fingers rolling my nipple through the cup of my bra.

  "Look at me," he orders. "You're under the blanket, baby. No one can see you. So I want you to slide your hand inside your panties, and let's do a quick check."

  I know what that means. I've done Roman's checks plenty of times before. I do as I'm told as he continues to roll and pinch my nipples with varied pressure. I pull out my fingers and slide them into his mouth.

  "Mmm," he says. "Tastes just like heaven. You've passed your inspection, Miss Hill. I think you're ready for a test drive. Let's get you home and fuck you properly."

  I'm aching for him now.

  My core dripping.

  My breathing heavy.

  Roman's a big tease, but then again he always delivers on everything he says. I just have to wait a little longer for it than I would like.

  "Yes, sir," I respond. "Let's go home, so you can fuck me properly."

  He raises his eyebrow at my use of the F word in mock appreciation.

  "Good girl." He grins from ear to ear. "You're definitely learning. Come on, Mr. Tibbs. Let's take our girl home. There's something I need to shove inside of her dirty mouth as soon as we get there."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ELIZABETH

  I've taken refuge behind a tall, cinder block pillar at the Penn-Washington train station in an effort to avoid the high winds picking up outside. The meteorologist predicted an incoming storm when I checked the weather during the morning news, but I ignored her warnings. It was more important for me to wear this outfit. Blush tank top, black jeggings, over the knee black suede boots, and my favorite cinched waist, blush colored, jacket.

  This certainly is not the most sensible fall outfit for a cold, blustery day like today, and I definitely don't have on the warmest coat I own, but I'd definitely rank the entire outfit high on the that outfit looks damn good on you scale. And right now, that's all that's important as I eagerly wait for the four thirty train to take me from my hometown, back to my place in downtown Philly.

  I'm cold, but I look damn cute. So cute that I'm not even bothered that my train is running twenty minutes late. So cute that I don't even care that there is a homeless man, periodically talking to himself, to me, and also to a third person who definitely isn't visible to the human eye.

  After two weeks of torture (I mean visiting) my parents, I'm finally going back home to my amazing apartment, my life in the city, and most of all to my boyfriend Roman. I missed him terribly.

  My visit home was only supposed to last one week, but due to circumstances beyond my control, it turned out to be a little over two weeks, and let's just say that Roman was not very happy about it. Luckily for the both of us, I have a thick skin, and I let a lot of his acidic comments slide right off of my back. Let's face it, if I were the super sensitive type, we'd have broken up a long time ago.

  I decided after the uncomfortable phone call between my father and I the last time I was at Java, that I would make my parents happy by paying them a visit. Especially since I decided that I wasn't going to be able to make it back during the holidays. If Roman wasn't invited for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, then neither was I.

  While Roman wasn't exactly jumping for joy about my last minute visit home, he wasn't mad either. He knows that I am my parents' only child, and that I want to make things right between us, even if they're acting like stubborn jackasses right now. So even though we both knew that we were going to miss each other like crazy (this is the first time we've been apart since becoming a couple), he made sure that it wasn't half as bad as it could have been by making sure that we shared a few racy, video phone chats.

  Roman: I'm about to Facetime you. Pick up.

  I locked my door and turned the TV on in my room for background noise, just in case my father decided to walk by my room.

  Me: Hello?

  Roman: Hey, Duchess.

  Me: Hi

  Roman: I feel like I haven't seen you for weeks.

  Me: I know. I miss you so much. It's so weird being away from you.

  Roman: Yeah, it is. Let me see your room real quickly.

  I walked around my old bedroom holding up my phone and showed Roman my canopy bed, the old pictures and mementos I've collected over the years on cork boards, my favorite stuffed panda bear, my weathered IKEA desk, and the
view outside of my window.

  Roman: Very sweet. Now put the camera back on you. What do you have on?

  Me: This? An old T-shirt. I'm getting ready for bed.

  Roman: I need to tuck you in first.

  Me: Okay.

  Roman: Lose the shirt.

  I took off my shirt and slipped under my covers with just my panties on.

  Roman: The panties too. I want to tuck you in properly. Don't put the phone down this time. I want to watch.

  I pulled down and wiggled out of my panties with my right hand while holding onto the phone with my left. I noticed that Roman was intensely watching me while licking his bottom lip, and I could feel myself becoming wet in between my legs. We were both growing hungrier for each other.

  Roman: Good girl, but wait, don't get under those covers; because I need you to go get my vibrator for me.

  Me: What vibra–

  Roman: Don't lie, Elizabeth. I know you took it out of my duffle and packed it in your suitcase.

  I was caught. I left for Penn-Washington from Roman's house and decided at the last minute to pack a vibrator. My personal one was home, so I made the decision to take the one he bought to play with on me. How I was supposed to know he checked his inventory regularly?

  Roman: That's right you're caught. Now go get it. I thought the two of us had an understanding, Elizabeth. I am in charge of and in command of every orgasm you have. No vibrators, no fingers, unless they're mine.

  I pulled it out the side pocket of my bag.

  Me: I've got it.

  Roman: Now get on the bed. No sheets, or I can't see shit. Hold the phone high up with one hand and turn the vibrator on with the other. Get comfortable though. It's going to take me a while to tuck you in properly.

  The verbal exchange between us, the tone of Roman's voice, and the sound of the vibrator already had me terribly needy. I was afraid that I'd come the second I touched myself with the silver bullet.

  Roman: Spread your legs wider.

  I did as I was told.

  Roman: Your slick little pussy couldn't wait to come home to get what it needed. You needed to take care of things yourself while you were away, huh?

  Me: Roman–

  Roman: Quiet. Don't touch yourself with the vibrator yet. Just keep it on and ready for when I say you can.

  Sometimes Roman liked to play with sound. Sometimes with silence. All I could hear was the motor of the vibrator and the sound of my heart thumping loudly. And that's all he wanted me to hear for a moment.

  Roman: Now I obviously would rather have your hair threaded between my fingers, my balls deep inside of your cunt, while you ride me reverse cowgirl style. You like that position right?

  Me: Yes.

  Roman: I know you do. I'd pull you hair a little harder as you diligently worked me, the perfectionist that you are. The muscles of your pussy squeezing me so tightly, that I'd run the risk of coming way too soon. Or maybe I'd spread your legs wide, tie your ankles to the corners of my bed, and tongue fuck you until you started speaking gibberish.

  A moan escaped from in between my lips.

  Roman: Is your pussy throbbing yet?

  Me: Yes

  Roman: You want some relief.

  Me: Yes.

  Roman: I bet you do.

  Me: Please

  I begged.

  Roman: Spread wider.

  He waited a few more moments.

  Roman: Vibrator. Now.

  I placed the bullet on the side of my slippery clit and immediately began clenching my teeth in pleasure. My hips bucking. My sex dripping. I was sweating so much that my sheets were going to be soaked.

  Roman: Come for me, Duchess.

  I wanted to scream like I normally do when an orgasm rocks me to the core, but I couldn't because my parents were literally a few feet away down the hall. So I arched my back, bit my lip, and damn near crushed my phone to smithereens from holding it too tightly.

  Roman: That's it, baby, it feels fucking fantastic to me too. I'm about to come in my hand. I wish it was all over your face.

  He grunted loudly to his own release, and after a minute or so of heavy breathing, he said the four words that informed me of just what my punishment would be for swiping his toy.

  Roman: Now let's start again.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  It was obvious that the slight tension caused by our separation had probably been exacerbated by two things: my anxiety over Ethan's email and the presence of my new employee, Blake.

  I've been on edge since I received that damn email and decided not to tell Roman about it. When I hold things in, such as anger or anxiety, I don't do well. I crave alcohol, carbs, tend to overwork myself, and sometimes I run for the hills.

  Of course I have my reasons for not talking. I haven't told Roman about the email for the same reason why I didn't tell him about seeing Shrek. There's no point in upsetting him about things that don't warrant a code red. The whole Java incident is over. Nothing happened. He didn't approach me. I'm not even sure those dead eyes of his recognized me. The email from Ethan only matters if I respond, and I haven't, so why can't I just pretend that I never received it? Why tell Roman and risk poking the sleeping bear? To make myself feel better? That wouldn't be right.

  The other issue I've been dealing with is the arrival of Blake. My new coder who was referred to me months ago by Jessica Miller. She's an old classmate from high school with curly red hair and a kind smile, but someone I only really said "hi" and "bye" to, because we traveled in two very different social circles in school.

  She was the overachiever and outgoing popular type, and I was the under the radar, nerdy type. That's why I was a little surprised when she messaged me through Facebook, but evidently it was because she saw a post I made on the school's alumni page looking for a coder. I wanted someone local, and thought there may be a small chance that an old classmate of mine may have a referral. Lucky for me I was right.

  Blake is a close friend of Jessica's family. He's twenty-nine and has got at least seven years of real world, solid experience as a coder; way more than any U.S. based freelancer I've ever hired before. He's recently moved into the city and is willing to work for my rate. I'm not sure why. He's way overqualified, but I think he's in between real jobs.

  In the fall, my old high school throws a big homecoming celebration and football game that most alumni try to make every year. I'm talking even senior citizens who live a hundred miles away will still come home to support it. It's really one of the biggest events of the year in my township, so there are also people from nearby towns who also participate. And it's complete with all the festivities and food that you'd pretty much see at any town fall festival or winter carnival. It never even dawned on me when I first interviewed Blake over the phone a few months back that he'd be attending homecoming just like me, but it makes total sense. He's from the neighboring town of Washington Falls. Our high schools have a long-standing rivalry, and we actually play his alma mater in the homecoming game every year.

  So when I told Roman that I had to stay an extra week, because my mother's bad back started acting up again, but that at least I'd get the opportunity to be productive because Blake was also in town, he flipped.

  He's never given me specifics, but there's something about Blake that rubs Roman the wrong way. It can't be anything serious, because knowing him, he's already run a thorough background check on Blake. It's probably what Sloan told me the other day.

  "It's because Blake is smart and looks Viking yummy!" Were her exact words. I just laughed at her at the time, but now I'm starting to wonder. Could my uber confident boyfriend possibly feel threatened by of all people Blake?

  Now flipping out for Roman is not yelling at the top of his lungs or punching holes in walls, like many people assume he does based on his bad boy appearance and temperament. At least that's not what he does with me. Flipping out for Roman means dead silence. A scary, uncomfortable silence. Then when he does finally say something it's laced
with expletives, spoken in an eerily deep voice, and it feels like shards of glass slicing someone's gut open, especially when those words are directed at me.

  "The fuck."

  "What do you want me to do, Roman? My mom can't move. She's stuck in bed. I have to help out for a few more days while my father is at work. He's can't take off until next week."

  "What the fuck would they do if you weren't there?"

  "You just want me to leave my bedridden mother! And what they would do if I wasn't here is not the point."

  "All right then let's talk about what the real point is. Why the fuck are you taking work meetings with Blake, when you're supposedly staying there to help your mother out? Why is he even FUCKING there?"

  "Supposedly?"

  "Is that the only word you heard from all the fuck I just said?"

  "You're being stupid."

  The moment the word flew out of my mouth, I wished that I could have grabbed it in midair and gobbled it quickly down my throat.

  The word stupid.

  He doesn't like when anyone uses it in reference to him, if anyone is crazy enough to say it out loud like me. Especially when he's angry. He takes it way too personally. I have no idea why. People call each other stupid all the time. But maybe the word hits a nerve because someone called him that when he was a kid, or maybe a lot of people did? So for me to call him that ... well I suppose it's tantamount to him calling me a bitch. I know better, but it just slipped out.

  "Go work then. My stupid ass has shit to do," was all he said after my faux pas and then ... nothing.

  He was gone.

  Total radio silence.

  No more phone calls, no more texts, and definitely no more R-rated Facetime chats. He cut me off cold turkey. I tried apologizing via voice mail, text and frackin' email for twenty-four hours, but after receiving no response at all, I was done. If he was going to be a stubborn ass about a simple mistake, so could I. In fact we didn't communicate with each other for three entire days and two nights. It wasn't until the third day of our cold war, that I finally received a text from him.

  Roman: You coming home yet?

  Me: Friday.