Teaching Roman (7 page)

“Roman!” His name leapt from my lips as he held me to him, still rocking me toward a final swell of anticipation that shattered through me.

And as we fell back against the bed, sweaty and satisfied, I realized I was totally at his mercy and completely out of control—and I never wanted it to stop.

W
e laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, neither of us speaking. Exactly what were you supposed to say when you’ve just had the most mind-blowing sex of your life with the one person you should not be screwing? Especially when it involved spanking and biting and a lot of things you’d only read about in
Cosmo
?

Thank you?

That hardly seemed appropriate, but it was certainly the most fitting thing to say.

Roman tucked an arm under me. “So about that...”

His words trailed off, waiting for me to respond, but I was as rattled as he was. Not only was he technically a professor, but I was technically on the rebound.

“I don’t normally do that,” I said, but it came out in a muddled rush. My mouth was working faster than my brain. “I mean, sleep with professors or people I’m not dating or let professors or people I’m not dating bite me and spank me—and omigod, I’m going to shut up now.”

He popped up, resting his head on his hand and raised an eyebrow before he started to laugh. “Do you think I sleep with former students?”

“You better not,” I said, adding a smack to his shoulder to make me sound less jealous.

“I never have.” His voice was low and husky, and I pressed closer to him, already wanting more. “I’ve never looked at a student
like that
. But you—you would come to class and you always had something to say. You weren’t just skating by, trying to get an easy comm requirement out of the way. And there I was, seeing a beautiful woman three times a week—a woman who was everything I’d ever wanted— and knowing that I couldn’t even ask her out. But you got under my skin, Jessica Stone.”

And into his pants
. What was I thinking? My options were pretty limited. Could we just put this behind us and pretend it never happened? What if I didn’t want to do that? Because I’d wanted Markson since the first time I’d seen him. Now that I could have him, would a week really be enough? “This really isn’t like me,” I repeated. “I never—"

“Stop,” he said. “I don’t go for easy nails. I know you aren’t the type, which is one of the reasons that I couldn’t stop myself when you kissed me.”

“What if I kissed you now?” I asked, biting my lip. Apparently I wasn’t going with the put-this-behind-us route.

“If we’re going to do that again, I’m going to have to eat something first and possibly stretch.” Roman brushed his lips over mine and vaulted out of bed. I couldn’t help but watch his tight, perfect ass as he bent to pick up his pants. He didn’t look like he needed to stretch to me.

“Don’t,” I said as he began to pull them on.

“I’m not sure Cassie wants to see me in my birthday suit.” But even as he spoke, his mouth quirked up into a crooked grin, and I felt the familiar tick of my clit. I was ready to go again and it took all my willpower to clamp my thighs shut and let him walk out of the room.

Tumbling out of bed, I discovered my legs had turned to jelly—all wobbly and shaking and glorious. I fished through the clothes Cassie had given me until I found a long tank top that mostly covered my ass and headed out to find him rummaging in the fridge.

“This is a really nice place,” Roman said as I came into view. The fridge light framed his muscular silhouette, accenting the hard, but graceful curves of his abs and biceps.  “You don’t have much food though.”

He was right. We’d picked up a dozen or so bottles of wine and one good bottle of tequila when we were out and nothing else.

“Cassie says we’re on the liquid break-up diet. This place is courtesy of Cassie’s ex-boyfriend,” I said. I lounged back against the counter, unable to close the gap between Roman and I.

Roman swung the fridge door shut and turned to me, hooking an arm around my waist and drawing me to him. “Her ex seems....charitable.”

“We’ll see if that’s true when he gets the bill."

“It sounds like there’s a story there," he said.

I tried to focus on our conversation, but with him this close I was having a hard time concentrating. “There is.”

“Will Cassie be okay if you leave her?” he asked me.

“Probably. I think she's suffering more from a broken heart than alcohol." But even as I said it, I remembered that I needed to check on her.

"Sounds like she's trying to drink it off," he said.

"Yeah. He royally fucked up." Guilt started to filter through my post-orgasmic haze. Poor Cassie was in the next room, trying to heal her wounded heart and I was nailing Roman. In the last five years I’d had one bad break-up. It was years ago, but even thinking about it turned my stomach over. I wasn’t going to be winning any friend of the year awards.

Roman’s head tilted and he regarded me in a thoughtful way. “I’m starving. Your best friend is drunk. I have no choice but to procure food.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve totally got this,” I said quickly, embarrassed that he felt the need to take care of me. I could see where he’d gotten the idea that I needed help. So far I’d been robbed at the airport and been blackmailed into paying off a street vendor. I really could take care of myself and Cassie. I just hadn’t had the chance to yet.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile dancing in his eyes. “I know you’re a strong, independent woman. Which is why I’m offering to go to the market and get right back to being barefoot in the kitchen.”

“Where you belong?” My lips twitched at the idea of Roman cooking for me.

“Mi bella—” Roman leaned forward and trailed a finger along my jaw—“I cook better than I screw.”

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

“Y-y-yeah,” I stammered. “Groceries would be great.”

A smug grin took up residence on Roman’s face as he pulled his shirt on and buttoned it. It was like the exact opposite of Christmas morning, as if he was rewrapping my presents and taking them away, and it left me feeling flustered and anxious and disappointed. But after he slipped on his sandals he caught my hand and drew me to him. Roman pressed his lips to mine, lingering long enough that my mouth parted in welcome to him. His tongue flicked across the bow of my upper lip, but then he pulled back, leaving me breathless.

“Una semana,” he whispered before he disappeared out the patio door.

I didn’t need a translation. It wasn’t simply a reminder though, it was a promise. A promise that we didn’t have to rush. That we didn’t have to hold back. That there was more to come. At least, for one week.

T
he beach behind our villa was fairly deserted the next afternoon, which meant it was quiet enough for me to read. If I could get lost in a textbook maybe I could forget what had happened with Roman last night. A few hours of sleep had cleared my head, reminding me that starting something with him was a terrible idea. First, he was a teacher. Second, I had just broken up with Brett. Third,
he was a teacher!

I told myself to chill, but while that command usually worked on Jills and Cassie, I couldn’t swallow it myself. We were both consenting adults. We’d gone to bed together. We weren’t hurting anyone.

Yet.

This whole thing had heartbreak written all over it, which is why it would be better if
una semana
turned into
una noche
. We’d had one spectacular night together, why ruin it by dragging things out for a week?

“Why are you smiling?” Cassie asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

I shrugged. “I do remember some high school Spanish.”

Despite our lack of beach chairs, the sand was soft, hot, and welcoming beneath me as I settled down with
Cell Biology and Genetics
. Cassie stripped off her sun dress, revealing a tiny bandeau bikini top and something that barely qualified as bottoms.

“Aren’t you going to put sunscreen on?” I asked her.

She raised an eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses. “No, Dr. Stone, I’m not. I wanted to get some sun, remember?”

I could hear the challenge in her words. She suspected I wanted to give her a lecture on skin cancer, but
I knew
she was trying to pick a fight.

“Have you talked to Trevor?” I asked, switching topics to what I knew was on her mind.

“Absolutely not. I’m not even sure I can get service down here.” She shrugged like she didn’t care and rolled onto her stomach on the beach towel.

I knew she was lying. We’d both texted Jills earlier to touch base with her, and we were probably both going to get smacked with some serious roaming charges, too. But we definitely got service down here, which meant Trevor hadn’t called or texted.

“When did you talk to him last?”

Her voice was muffled by the sound of rolling waves. “Let’s see, when I was throwing his shoes at him.”

She’d left that part out of her story before. Of course, her first version was a barely coherent string of curses and sobs. “You threw his shoes at him?”

“And his pants and his shirt and a lamp.”

“A lamp?” I couldn’t help but be impressed. Apparently Cassie had a little bark behind her bite.

“He’s a piece of shit,” Cassie said. “I would have kept throwing things at him but I decided I was above it. Right now, I’d rather just enjoy the fucking sun and not think about the son of a bitch.”

“Fair enough.” I flipped my textbook back open and uncapped my highlighter.

“You are in the middle of fucking paradise and you’ve got your nose stuck in a book.” She hadn’t even rolled over to confirm this, she just knew me that well.

“I can’t get behind.”

“The semester hasn’t even started yet. You just aced your finals. Take a break.”

“Think of it this way. I have to get ahead,” I explained.

“How’s the view from up there?” she asked. “You’re soooo far ahead of me! Is it sunny?”

“Looking good.” I smiled to myself as I found the spot I’d bookmarked.

“Too bad you’re missing the view from right now.”

“That’s deep,” I told her absently. “You should write a book. I bet you could give Deepak Chopra a run for his money.”

Cassie snorted as she laid her head on her arms, which were already kissed with sun. No doubt she’d look like a beach goddess by the time we headed back to Washington. I pulled my beach hat further down to keep my nose from burning. I wasn’t born to tan. I was born to freckle and roast.

“So what happened last night? How did I get back?” Cassie asked in a soft voice. I heard the reservation in it as if she didn’t really want to know.

“Don’t remember, huh?” I tossed my textbook on my towel, abandoning it for a minute to have a much needed heart-to-heart with my best friend.

“Uh-oh. Jessica put down her book. This can’t be good.” She rolled to her side to look at me. Her gaze tentatively probed my face for confirmation.

“You gave Jills some competition in the drama department,” I told her.

“That bad?”

“You ripped apart about twenty magazines at a bodega.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked in a confused tone.

“They were bridal magazines mostly.”

Cassie’s face disappeared in her towel as she wrapped her arms around her head. I suppose I had to wait on my lecture until she resurfaced. After a few minutes, she sat up, facing me. “Go ahead.”

“Go ahead and what?”

“Lecture me,” she said. “I deserve it.”

“I’m not going to lecture you,” I lied.

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, fine,” I said without missing a beat. “I know you’re upset about Trevor and what happened, but giving yourself liver damage and nearly getting arrested—”

“I almost got arrested!” she interrupted.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re lucky that Roman saved the day.”

Cassie held up a hand for me to pause. “Professor Markson was there?”

I related last night’s events to her in full, save for Roman and I’s extra-sexticular activities, which I conveniently forgot to mention. Cassie was already obsessing over me hooking up with him. I didn’t need to fuel her fire.

“Shit. I’m so,
so
sorry, Jess. I’m being a crazy bitch about my break-up while you’re barely batting an eyelash about Brett.” She flopped down again, throwing an arm over her eyes.

“I wasn’t in love with Brett,” I confessed. I had suspected it when his proposal sent me running for the hills, but I was certain about it last night. Either Roman Markson was the rebound of the century or I wasn’t all that broken up about my ex-boyfriend.

“Why the hell did you waste so much time with him?”

“Brett was nice,” I said.

“Was he good in bed?” Cassie asked.

I measured my response. “He was adequate.”

“You wasted a year dating someone who was nice—
translation: boring
—and adequate in bed—
translation: he had a 50% success rate
.”

“Success rate?” I had a feeling I didn’t want to know, but I asked anyway.

“At making you see heaven,” she said. “I bet you are one helluva faker.”

I hardly registered her last comment, because the simple thought of sex had sent me back to last night. Cassie was right. If I’d known a man could make me feel like that in bed, things never would have gone on so long with Brett. I grabbed for my bottle of water, suddenly feeling overly hot, and took a deep swig.

“So did you nail Roman last night?” Cassie asked.

I choked on the water. Once I recovered I glared at her and picked my book back up. Cassie laughed at me as she stood up, brushing sand from her bare legs.

“I’m going in for a swim. Want to come?”

“Terrified of the ocean,” I reminded her.

“That water–” she pointed to the shore—“is as warm and calm as bathwater. At least wade in with me.”

I shook my head, and Cassie threw her hands in the air. I watched as she jogged across the scorching sand, diving into the water like she was on
Baywatch
, much to the delight of several men on the beach.

My beach bag vibrated, and I rummaged around until my fingers found my phone. My stomach did a giddy flip when I saw who was calling, but I hesitated before I finally decided to answer.