Savages Series Boxed Set

by Jessica Gadziala

  I kept up these swirling, infuriating, frustrating thoughts the entire drive home, pulling up beside Roman's car in my drive. He was climbing the steps and looked back at me over his shoulder and, just like that, my thoughts finally quieted. Because I had never seen Rome look as beat-down as he did right in that second. I threw my car into park, grabbing my stuff in a rush, slammed my door, and almost ran up the steps to meet him inside my front door.

  "Rome, what's up?" I asked, watching him hit the code before turning back to me, giving me a second to stash my bag, phone and keys.

  "Guess you haven't seen the news," he said, his voice almost hollow.

  "No," I said, shaking my head as I followed him into the kitchen. I couldn't remember the last time I actually watched TV. I caught that movie with Rome and then about two minutes of the game Paine was watching, but that was it. "What's on the news?"

  "We got robbed, Else."

  "Robbed?" I repeated, moving toward the coffee machine to make a fresh pot.

  "An entire truckload of cold medicine meant for all the pharmacies in the state."

  "Cold medicine?" I repeated, brows drawing together.

  "It's a fucking PR nightmare. You have any idea how tightly that shit is regulated now? We tried to keep it quiet when we first investigated, but we had to report it and now it's all over the news."

  "Aw, Rome... I'm so sorry. I wish I had known... I could have..."

  "Nothing you could do, Else. Besides, you have your own stuff going on."

  "Stuff?" I repeated, not liking the tone he used.

  "I was going to drop in last night. I had pizza and another movie..." he paused, looking down for a second before meeting my eyes. "You had a car out front."

  Shit.

  Well, I guess it wasn't going to be as awkward a subject to bring up as I thought. "Rome..."

  "It's the tattoo guy, isn't it?" he asked bluntly.

  "How did you..."

  "Else, I've known you your entire life. You get dragged out of a bar by that man then come back in lips all swollen and bent on drowning something in alcohol. It wasn't too hard to come to the conclusion something was going on there."

  "I was planning on telling you tonight. I just... it's new and I wasn't..."

  "I've loved you all my life," he cut me off, the sensation of a stab wound searing through my stomach. "Around sixteen, seventeen, it became more than that."

  "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

  He let out a humorless laugh. "And fuck up the chance to spend my time with you because you didn't reciprocate? I'm not stupid, Elsie. I knew you always saw me as a brother. And I would always rather have a best friend who was clueless to the fact that I was in love with her, than to never get to see the woman I loved again because she felt guilty for not loving me back."

  "I love you Rome," I said sadly.

  His hand covered mine and squeezed. "But not like that."

  "No," I admitted reluctantly.

  "So I need to let go already," he said, dropping my hand.

  "Rome," I said, my voice a plea.

  "I'll always be here for you. Always. But I need to move on." He moved toward me, arms going around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest. I always liked that about Roman, his hugs. All other guys put their arms around my waist to hug me, leaving me to put my arms around their shoulders. Rome was always different. My arms went around his waist tight, tight enough that I knew I was making it hard for him to breathe, but not caring. He pulled against my hold, dropping a kiss on my forehead. "I'm glad you found someone. I want you to be happy."

  "I want you to be happy too," I agreed, feeling the familiar sting in my eyes and I knew I was going to start crying.

  "Don't," he said, knowing me too well. "It's not goodbye. No crying," he said, pulling away and putting yards of space between us.

  See, the thing was, in a way, it was a goodbye. It was a goodbye to the intimacy of our friendship that I had always viewed as chaste and due to knowing each other so long, but was really the result of his feelings for me. It was the end to me feeling comfortable talking about sex and boyfriends with him.

  I heard the door open and the bleeping of the alarm started. My eyes shot to Rome who had a look of resigned understanding. The bleeping stopped and Paine's footsteps came toward us. As soon as he was in the kitchen, he made a beeline for me, putting an arm around my waist and kissing the side of my head. And it was such a clear message that he was claiming me that the knife thing started in my stomach again.

  A shutter moved down over Rome's eyes and he shook his head slightly, turning his attention to Paine. "I hope you end up deserving her."

  "If I don't, you'll be there for her. That's big of you."

  Rome visibly shrank away from the praise of a man he knew was having sex with the woman he loved, but nodded tightly. "She's worth it," he said, turning to move out toward the dining room.

  I moved to follow him, but Paine's arm tightened and held me in place. "Rome," I called, but the front door clicked closed and I knew he wasn't coming back. Not anytime soon anyway. Alone, I wrenched away from Paine, shoving him hard in the chest as I turned. "That was not necessary!" I screeched, my voice shrill, as close to a yell as it had ever gotten during an argument.

  "Babygirl, it was," Paine said, voice calm, moving toward me.

  "No, it wasn't. He had just admitted he loved me since we were sixteen and that he knew it was time to let go and you came in here acting all alpha-dog claiming his fucking beta. That was really shitty of you," I seethed, backing up as he kept advancing.

  "Baby..."

  "Don't 'baby' me. Pet names don't erase that you just..." my voice hitched and I shut my mouth to keep it from becoming a full-on sob.

  "Hey," he said, his voice suddenly soft as I backed up into the counter and he came up in front of me. His hand raised and his fingers brushed the first tear off my cheek. I ducked my head only to find myself crushed up against his chest, his arms wrapping me up tight. And, well, something about being held opened up the floodgates. "It's gonna be okay," he said softly, the arm around my upper back loosening slightly so he could reach up, pull my hair tie out and run his fingers through my hair.

  "He's... not going to... want to be around me," I sobbed into his shirt.

  "Stop. You know that's not true. He loves you. He might need a little more distance than you're used to, but he won't go anywhere."

  "You don't know that."

  "I know you."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, doing an oh-so-attractive sniffle.

  "I don't know you one-tenth the way he does and I know a man would be out of his mind to stop hanging around you just 'cause you don't want to fuck him."

  "Don't be crass."

  "Just honest."

  I pulled against his hold slightly and he loosened enough so I could swipe at my cheeks. "I still think it was shitty of you to do that," I reminded him, not willing to let it go.

  "You gotta remember something, babygirl. Men and women, we communicate differently. You guys like to choose your words and pussyfoot around the issue so as to not cause any conflict. Men don't do that shit. In fact, if we can get our point across with a look or gesture instead of words, we will. You don't get it, but Roman did."

  "He got what?"

  "That you're mine. And what's mine is mine and he better the fuck not cross any lines with you from here on out."

  I'm pretty sure my entire body froze at that, including my heart. It just stopped dead in my chest for a second. "Yours?" I choked out after several awkwardly silent seconds.

  "Yeah, mine," he said with a squeeze of the arm around my hips.

  "I'm... yours?"

  "You been paying attention, baby? It was you I fucked in your bed, right? And it was you who met my friends and my mother. And I'm pretty fucking sure it was you who I've been leaving notes to every morning. And I'm almost damn positive it was you I fucked raw in your kitchen last night. Know you don't know me that way, Elsie,
but that's a big fucking deal for me. I don't do that. I don't lead women on if I plan on getting shot of them. And I never, as in ever, fuck a woman without protection. So you and me, we have something going on here."

  "Okay," I said, ignoring the way my stomach was swarming with happy little butterflies, because I knew that for my peace of mind, I needed actual clarification. "But... what does that mean? What does 'something going on here' mean exactly?"

  "I'm sure it's pretty clear by now that I've never been a relationship guy."

  "It's come up," I agreed, lips tipping up slightly.

  "So this is all new to me. I don't know what you're looking for here. You need assurances? I have none of those. You want labels? You're mine. Call it what you want: girlfriend, partner, main squeeze. I don't give a fuck. It all means the same thing: mine."

  "So, as it stands, this," I said, waving a hand between our bodies, "is a relationship? It's exclusive and..."

  "Babygirl, when I say you're mine, I mean everything. Mouth, tits, ass, pussy. It's all mine. And in case your mind is going there, let me shut this shit down right now. That means everything I got is yours too."

  The fluttering thing intensified. "You don't think maybe this is a little... fast?"

  To that, he put his head back to look at the ceiling and let out a sigh before looking back down at me. "What? You want six weeks of sitting across from each other in restaurants and talking about our favorite colors and all that bullshit that means nothing? We got something here. Only way to fuck that up this early on is to over-analyze it to death. So quit it. Let it happen."

  Let it happen.

  "Okay," I said, though a part of me knew there would always be that niggling little voice in the back of my head begging me to over-think every little thing. I was convinced it was a voice all women were born with.

  "So we're good."

  "Yeah, we're good."

  "Thank Christ because I'm starving."

  "Listen," I said, smiling, "I think me cooking one meal a week is plenty fair."

  "Chinese?" he asked, already releasing me to go fetch a menu from on top of the microwave.

  "Sure. Lo mein," I said, walking out toward the dining room. "I'm gonna go get changed."

  I hemmed and hawed over my pajama selection for a truly embarrassing length of time. Agreeing we were in a relationship certainly seemed like the occasion to slip into a slinky nightie. But we would be eating dinner and a delivery guy was going to show up...

  Eventually, I settled on a baby pink silk nightie, no bra or panties because the length was decent enough. Then I found a white and pink floral silk robe and slipped it on, knotting it. It would be a fun little surprise for later.

  Or, at least, I thought it would be.

  That was until I got into the living room to find Paine sitting on the couch, some rerun of a sitcom on the TV. He wasn't actually watching it, but it was on and the volume was almost to the point of being loud. "Not a fan of silence, huh?" I asked, leaning against the doorway.

  He looked up, eyes running over my robe, brows drawing together slightly. "Grew up in a two bedroom apartment with two sisters, a mom, and a grandma in a building that was constructed with the thinnest walls imaginable. Then, with the gang, there was always men and women around. It was never quiet. Silence feels unnatural to me," he explained, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. "Come here," he said, patting his knee.

  I rolled my eyes, but crossed toward him, moving to sit on his thigh like he had requested, but he grabbed me instead and pulled me to straddle him. His hands went immediately to the knot I tied and worked it out. He parted the material and a slow, sexy smile spread across his face. His hands drifted inward, sliding to cup my breasts. At the warmth of his skin on the cool material, my nipples hardened against his palms and his eyes went hooded.

  "Twenty," he said oddly, looking up at me.

  "Twenty what?"

  "Minutes to delivery," he explained, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

  "That's a long time. I wonder what we could do to make it pass faster," I said with a smile.

  His hands slid from my breasts and down my belly, landing high on my bare thighs so that his fingers slipped under the material. "No panties?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

  "It was supposed to be an after dinner surprise."

  "Yeah well now it's a before dinner treat. Slide back," he said, pushing my hips slightly backward. He reached down, unfastening his pants, reaching inside, and pulling out his hard cock.

  "Is that my treat?" I asked with a devilish little smirk, ready to slide down to my knees.

  "Gonna have that mouth on me again, baby. But right now, I need to be in that tight pussy. Ride me," he demanded, still holding his cock at the base so I could position myself. Not needing any further encouragement, I moved back over him, lifted my hips, then slowly slid down on him as my fingers sank into his shoulders. One of his hands moved to squeeze my ass, the other up toward my neck, holding on at the side.

  I took him slow for a few glorious strokes, reveling in the feeling of fullness, in the perfect friction. But it wasn't long before the need became an urgent, clawing thing and my hips started working him faster and faster, quiet moans accompanying almost every downward stroke. My thigh muscles tensed and shook, my core tightened, and I knew I was getting close.

  But then I lost it. My rhythm got sloppy and I felt it slowly drifting away. I was never good at being on top. I always got too into the sensations and couldn't keep whatever constant pace I needed to have an orgasm.

  I collapsed on Paine's shoulder with growl/whimper hybrid.

  "Lift up," Paine said, his voice sex-rough. I lifted up a bit and he started thrusting upward into me, his pace quick, but not overly rough, the position limiting him. I pulled off his chest on a moan and his hand curled further into my neck. "You need me to take over, tell me baby," he told me gently as he kept his perfect, relentless pace, drawing my orgasm back out of hiding. His free hand left my ass and slid between us, finding my clit and starting to work it in slow, hard circles that made my walls tighten hard around him. "You gonna come for me?" he asked, eyes holding mine and I wanted to take that moment: him inside me, his hands on me, his eyes pinning mine, I wanted to take it and freeze it, have it forever.

  "Yes," I whimpered, rocking my hips back and forth as he kept thrusting up into me, making his cock rub over my G-spot at every turn.

  "Squeeze my cock. Let me feel you come," he demanded then his finger did another circle, his cock did another thrust and my hips did another rock and I did. Hard. My body jerked almost violently as I fell forward against him, my legs shaking too hard to hold my weight.

  Paine grabbed my hips, pulling up, then slamming down, burying deep and I could feel his cock jerk inside me, his hot come filling me.

  I turned my face into his neck, kissing him just below the ear.

  "You don't like being on top, Elsie, tell me."

  "I like it," I said into his skin, taking deep breaths to take in his unique spicy scent. "I just suck at it. I get too wrapped up to remember to... move," I said with a silent laugh.

  "Got it," he said in a way that made me pretty sure he was cataloging that fact to remember for a later date. I liked that about him too; when I talked, he seemed to genuinely listen. Again maybe a trait he got from growing up around so many women. I actually found myself really excited to meet them all, silently thank them all for the man they helped create. I was really enjoying him after all.

  "Alright, off," he said gently, squeezing my ass with both hands.

  "I'm comfortable," I objected, snuggling in further for good measure.

  "Like that you feel that way baby, but I'm gonna be leaking out of you."

  I cringed slightly and nodded. "Right," I said, carefully climbing off of him and hastily closing my robe as I tried to rush out of the room to clean up without said leaking happening too badly.

  By the time I came back out, the food was on
the kitchen island. "Are we ever going to use the dining table?" I asked, realizing for the first time that I had literally never used it before.

  "So I can sit three feet away from you? No thanks."

  And, well, that was a good point.

  At dinner, he asked me questions and I talked. He occasionally weighed in, especially when we got onto the topic of my father. In bed, both of us realizing we apparently weren't going to be using the bed for sex often, we snuggled. This time, I asked questions and he talked.

  He was surprisingly open about his past, never sparing any gory details, never trying to hide the kind of man he was once, the things he had done. I liked that. It was refreshing. Most 'normal' men hid, evaded, hinted at things but didn't explain, or outright lied even though what they had to hide or evade or lie about was nothing big. Paine's history was big, but he shared. It was like it never even occurred to him to be anything other than forthright.

  I fell asleep on the tail-end of a story about him and Enzo playing pranks on Enzo's mom, lulled by the smooth, quiet tone of his voice, his warm chest, his strong arm around me, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear, excited to figure out what picture notes I would wake up to in the morning.

  FIFTEEN

  Elsie

  Three things happened the next day.

  First, I woke up to more picture notes.

  Second, I had a relatively normal Wednesday at work. Meaning I worked hard for about four-point-five hours then kinda fell off and lost my steam and spent time around the metaphorical water cooler.

  Third, I was kidnapped.

  But back to the first thing.

  I woke up like I expected to, in my blanket cocoon, smiling like a fool, feeling a warmth spreading across my chest that I knew, if things went south, was going to hurt like nothing before. On my nightstand wasn't a drawing of where he was or what he was doing; it seemed we had established that he spent his mornings at the gym then went to work. Instead, it was a drawing of... me. I wasn't sure exactly what moment he used for inspiration because the picture cut off at the neck, not showing any clothing, but it truly was an exact, perfect sketch of my face. He drew me with a smile, but not a full one, no teeth, just a turning up of lips that made the corners of my eyes crinkle the tiniest bit. My hair was a little mussed like I had just run a hand through it and it settled in slight disarray.