ROMAN (Lane Brothers Book 5) (2 page)

Melissa

I am literally in hell. The worst part of it all is that it’s one of those nice hells that are so sweet, I keep running my tongue over my teeth to check for rot.

I mean, how is it possible for a family to be this nice, loving, and supportive without wanting to kill each other? Roman warned me that his people are like the opposite of the Dobson clan, but come on!

Here I am trapped at the Lane residence and the whole clan won’t leave me alone. Make one baby with a dick that they consider theirs and apparently you’re in for life.

And by that I mean Judith Lane has already attempted to drag me up to a closet for “fittings” and keeps trying to scope out my finger for some odd reason.

And not the one I’m dying to flip them all after I learned that I am locked inside this enormous family estate…

Of course, there’s also baby talk and plans for a nursery that I have no intention of using. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all great, I guess, but I’m more of the biker chick who works in a bar and rents her house like normal people do.

I like gruff, snarky, loud people who are as interested in me as I am in them.

I cannot deal with the niceness for too long without longing for the days when my dad would grunt at me over dinner and scream at me to pass the remote.

For God’s sake, Clari keeps trying to hug me and she’s cried three times since I arrived…an hour ago. Miah seems indulgent and harried. Jared looks at his wife as if the poor woman’s being holds all the secrets to life.

And the other two are so gaga for their girls it makes me sick.

Well, not sick exactly…

Okay, so I’m jealous and resentful that they’re together while the guy I love is prancing around like Mr. Freaking Double Agent. Or something.

At least I hope he’s, like, infiltrating and not getting settled in, because if the latter is true, his balls are in danger of becoming ground beef.

“So, Mel, honey, tell Mama what’s going on with your morning sickness,” Judith trills, smiling so widely that it’s a physical struggle for me not to attack her and remind her what this shit is like.

Does she seriously not remember waking up so fast, you’re falling head-first into the toilet bowl before your eyes open? And what’s up with the way this Clari chick is smiling when she looks greener than a pea?

“Er, it sucks bal—I mean, it sucks a lot, ma’am.”

“Oh pooh, call me Mama! Now you remember to take your vitamins after your breakfast and never drink ginger ale warmer than chilled and you’ll be just fine. Oh!” she squeals so loudly that I actually jump out of my skin for a second before the tears and hand clapping start. “I can’t believe this. George, we’re going to have more grandbabies! Can you just imagine it, honey?”

George, or Pop, as he keeps insisting I call him, just smiles indulgently and goes back to his paper when his wife keeps chattering about onesies and matching nurseries.

I’m scoping out the Lane men as they all four recline beside their women, looking uneasy.

I know what their mood is about because I’m the reason for it. They are watching me as if I’m about to pull a runner at any moment.

And I am. I so am. The first minute I find myself unsupervised—if that ever happens—I’ll be gone. I just need a plan. Right now my only objective is to get in touch with Roman—something that’s been near impossible since he stopped calling the burner phone he got me.

Weeks of waiting has taken its toll. I may be ready to just lie back and relax for more than a minute, but I need to find that rat bastard before he either gets his fool head shot or my kid pops out.

That’s about the only softness I’ve allowed myself since my daddy got involved with that no-good bunch of murderous thieves.

Lesson one, as Daddy always said, stay strong no matter how weak you are. I’m halfway to broken right now, but I haven’t shown it except for that little crying incident back at my childhood home. I have no intentions of breaking now.

After I brain Roman and make spaghetti out of his nuts, that’s when I’ll cry and let all this pent-up pain and rage out.

It takes about another hour of interrogation before old Judith lets me go upstairs to a bedroom that matches Roman’s tastes but smells nothing like him.

I close the door with a sigh and lean back against the door, resisting the urge to smell a pillow because…really, who smells a dude’s pillow?

“Goddammit!” I yell when I reach the bed without thinking and find my face buried in his pillow, my nose watering when all I smell is fabric softener and clean sheets.

“Get yourself together, Mel. You are not the pillow-smelling type.”

I fall to the bed, clutching the pillow to my chest, and stare into the darkened room.  I’ve morphed into one of those pathetic women who start pining over a guy and end up standing outside his building, waiting for a glimpse of him while he swans around town with a piece of cheap tail.

I hate those girls, and yet as I lay here and watch the light of the stars twinkling in a crystal-clear sky, I miss Roman so much that it feels like I have a limb missing or something.

I met the man when I was so desperate to do something to help Daddy, and I knew that playing house with him was not a good idea.

I played it anyway, and before I knew it we weren’t playing anymore. Roman is just so…
irresistible
I guess is the word. With those blue eyes that are always twinkling with mirth and that boyish grin, I soon found myself wanting to make him smile and relishing the times I could make him laugh with my off-color humor.

It doesn’t hurt that the man is sexy as hell. I couldn’t resist him, not with the way he’d touch me every chance he got and drop little suggestive comments whenever the opportunity arose.

I used to be the rebellious, smart-mouthed woman who tended bar and hung out with society’s “undesirables.” Roman changed me.

“Hey, Mel, baby girl, you want garlic bread or salad with your pasta?”

I almost jump right out of my skin when Roman’s hot breath skitters over my skin and I turn to see him standing behind me with a grin and a glass of wine that is sorely appreciated after a nine-hour shift over at The Drunken Traveler.

I want the wine, but as his lips touch my nape and the smell of his minty breath hits my nose, all I really want after days of trying to ignore my libido is to kiss those full lips and finally know what a rich Boy Scout tastes like.

We’ve lived together for just over a week and I’ve lost whole nights of sleep as lust raged through me. I even had the urge to seek out one of the shirts (as I call Daddy’s goons) for relief.

I toss and turn most nights and I think I’ve reached my limit. So instead of turning away like I usually do, I look up into those bright blue eyes and do the one thing I swore never to do.

I kiss Roman Lane for all I’m worth.

The first touch is soft and I’ve hardly had the reins for a minute before he’s kissing me for real. His tongue swipes over my lips and demands entry, making the rest of my body burn with need.

The sensation is startling and so welcome that I throw my arms around his neck and pull him closer just as he grabs my ass and squeezes, pulling me up and over his thigh for a ride that soon has me panting and gasping into his mouth.

I’ve had sex before—lots of it as I chased that elusive orgasm that so many women speak of—but I have never experienced this before. Not the heat as he controls my hips and grinds my sensitive sex into the hard muscle of his thigh, and not the clenching sensations that overtake my empty sheath, letting me know that whatever is happening, it’s good and may lead to a climax that I’ve been desperate to taste.

He keeps kissing me through it all and I’m almost lightheaded by the time he wrenches back and stands, gazing down at me. I see his mouth is swollen and wet from my own.

His eyes are a darker blue than usual and the way he keeps licking his lips, as if searching for more of my taste, is such a turn-on.

Roman waits till I meet his eyes before speaking words that have no place in my fantasies.

“Mel, baby girl, are you sure you want this?”

Want this? I don’t freaking want this. I
need
this. I’ve needed this since the first moment I entered high school and laid eyes on the strapping football captain who had more girls vying for his attention than a One Direction band member.

Oh yeah, I’m that girl, the dorky chick who had stars in her eyes for the handsome hunk with more charm than sense. I’d basically had a crush on the guy since I got my braces off and the only way I survived it was by making friends with the “bad seeds” and wearing enough black to blend in at an Ozzy Osbourne concert.

After he left for college, or whatever Mr. Rich and Popular did, I got to move on, finally, and do what I wanted. Namely going steady with Ricky Graham, the ultimate biker boy.

I’ll just say that sex has never been good for me, no matter how hard I tried to get into it. Until now.

I’ve never felt butterflies and clenching and that slide of moisture that lets me know that lube is a moot point. I’ve never felt desperate and needy and a hundred other sensations that all lead to that one place that I’ve come to loathe for its disinterest.

I feel it all now, though, and all I want is to have him take me to that place of freedom where I finally get to feel like a whole woman.

And he’s asking me if I want this.

“Yes.”

I could probably have been more original and verbose, but I’m still trying to dry hump the man’s leg and I feel so desperate between my legs that I’d be satisfied with a quickie if that’s all he wants.

Right after I give my consent I find myself on the living room sofa while Roman lowers his massive body over mine, pushing himself into the cradle of my thighs with a groan I can’t help but echo.

“Christ, I can feel your heat already,” he moans, pushing close enough that I feel the outline of his hardness through both our pants.

I realize just how big he is as he starts a bumping rhythm that puts the head of his erection right over my clit for a grind that starts off slow and rapidly picks up speed until I start gasping and pushing closer.

A tightening is happening deep inside me that’s sending echoes from the swollen flesh of my inner walls all the way to the nub that’s just as swollen and ecstatically primed for whatever is about to happen.

I feel almost pained as he keeps rubbing at me, thrusting hard and adding a twist at the end of every nudge, before I explode.

“Ohh,” I moan, riding the wave to the very end, my nerve endings and every inch of me coming down in a euphoric settling that leaves me boneless and so satisfied that all I want to do is curl up and just bask in the feeling.

Roman is a true gentleman about my lack of participation when I flop down and blink up at him with a smile that would rival the grin on the Cheshire cat.

“Good, baby girl?”

I’m pretty sure that
good
is like the biggest understatement of the millennium.

I just had my first orgasm at the age of twenty-three and all I can think is…wow. I want to do that again.

“That was better than good and you know it, Lane,” I purr, pushing up to plant a wet kiss on the Adonis above me. “Want to go for a homer?”

He chuckles before jumping up and grabbing my arm to pull me up beside him.

It’s not a big surprise when I look down to see his hardness straining against the fabric of his pants, but I find myself biting my lips and casting him glances like some inexperienced girl who simply waits for direction.

Pathetic.

“Sorry, sugar. As much as I would love to get under all those clothes and have my dirty way with you, I made dinner and then I gotta skedaddle to work. My shift starts in about forty-five minutes.”

“But…” I choke out, waving at his crotch in disbelief.

He laughs again and I blush as he pulls me to the kitchen and shoves a plate my way before digging in himself.

“This will hold. No way am I rushing our first time. I’ve waited long enough for this moment that I can’t let myself down at this point. Prepare yourself though, baby girl, because the minute I get home I’m going to be all over that delicious body of yours. Oh, and by the way—”

I’m wrenched out of the memory with a jolt when I hear a hard knock at the door and what sounds like furious arguing before a loud thump and vicious curse reach my ears.

I don’t want to open that door, not when I’m still lost in one of my favorite memories. Unfortunately, the door handle starts rattling and I hear Jared curse again. I sigh and force my exhausted carcass from the comfort of my man’s bed and trudge to the door.

If I were in a better mood or mind-set right now, I would enjoy the sight of Jace and Jared tussling with each other before jumping apart like two naughty kids caught in the act.

All I can manage is the lift of a brow and a scowl when they straighten and give me another one of those suspicious once-overs I’ve been getting all night.

“Can we talk?” Jace asks and I almost implode when he doesn’t wait for an answer but pushes into the room and flops onto the sofa.