Текст книги "The Story of Me "

Автор книги: Lesley Jones

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

I sit down on a stool. I feel awkward and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know this person, I don’t know what overcame me last night, and I don’t know why I agreed to see him today.

“D’ya know what?” he asks

I turn and look at him. “Cold potatoes ain’t hot?” I reply.

“What?”

I give a small laugh, “Nothing, it’s just something my dad always says.”

“Right,” he says, sounding confused. “Anyway, yeah, nah, that’s not what I was gonna say.” He frowns at me for a few seconds. “Look, let’s just go have a walk along the beach so we can talk. Can we talk? Would you like to talk?” I nod. “Good, coz I’d like to talk, Georgia, and I’d like you to talk and tell me about yourself.” He looks at me intently.

“I’m sure you know all there is about me. Most of my life has been splashed over the front of a newspaper or magazine since I was about sixteen.”

He rakes his hand through his hair. “I don’t read newspapers often and when I do, I don’t really believe most of what’s written in them.” He winks at me and that little something re-ignites inside me. I can’t quite pinpoint where it’s centered; in my belly, my chest, my bones? I don’t really know.

“Let’s go for a walk on the beach then, Roman Peterson, and I will tell you the story of me.”

We grab some towels, put some beers in a cool bag and head down the street to the beach.

* * *

We throw our stuff down on the sand and both walk down to paddle our feet. Roman’s wearing boardies and a vest, but like me, he keeps all his clothes on. We walk out a little way and just stand, staring out at the ocean for a while.

“D’ya surf?” I ask without looking at him.

“Yeah, since I was a kid. My dad’s a really good surfer and taught me as soon as I could stand up.”

I nod my head. “Were you born here in Byron?”

“Yep, born and raised, then travelled around Europe for a year after I left school.  I went to Imperial College in London for four years, got a degree under my belt, and came back here when I was twenty-five. Messed around for a bit while I decided what to do with my degree and then got offered a job over in Western Australia with a mining company; been with them for nine years now.”

I turn and look at him, as I know he’s looking at me. “Wow, so you’re like really brainy. Imperial College, don’t they have teams on University Challenge?”

He laughs and nods. “Yeah, I think they do, but I wasn’t on it. I did enough to get by. The rest of the time, I was in the pub, either drinking or playing my guitar.” I can’t believe that the first person I feel any kind of attraction to since Sean is a musician. My belly rolls over at that thought and I have an instant headache. Is that what this is all about? Am I just looking for another Sean?

The sun’s strong today, and I splash some water over each of my arms just for something to do while I churn that thought over and over in my mind.

“Let’s walk back so you can put some sunscreen on. The sun’s hot today.” I turn and start walking back, and Roman walks quietly beside me. I pull the suncream out of my beach bag and rub some on my arms and legs. I sit down on my towel as Roman stands in front of me, pulling off his vest and rubbing the suncream over his shoulders. I try not to look at his body, but it’s so fucking perfect I can’t help it. He doesn’t have the spray-on-looking abs that Cam has, but there’s definitely a six-pack going on. He has toned arms and legs, and a broad chest. A fine smattering of chest hair runs all the way down and disappears into his shorts, right through the middle of that V-thing blokes have going on. His skin is a beautiful golden brown and is shining in the sun now that it’s covered in suntan lotion. He sits on the towel next to me and sighs deeply.

“So, Georgia, tell me about the story of you then, but just the bits you want to.” He lays down on his side and props himself up on his elbow, facing me. I look down at him and smile.

“My name is Georgia Rae Layton McCarthy and this is the story of me, the true version.” He gestures for me to wait a minute, then rolls over and pulls us a beer each out of the cool bag. He has a bottle opener attached to his keys and opens them both, puts them in a cooler each, or stubby holder as they call them here, and then passes me one. I take a long swig before starting my story. I tell him about my parents, my brothers and how I met Sean when I was just eleven. He asks questions every now and then, but mostly he’s quiet and just listens. I don’t go into great detail about me and Sean, and the subjects jump about. We talk about the countries we’ve been to and the bands we’ve seen. It’s almost like I’m just a normal woman, meeting a bloke and we’re just getting to know each other, without this whole other life that I’ve led ever happening. Like Jackson, Roman’s a good listener, but unlike Jackson, I don’t feel analysed when I talk to him.

After a while, he sits up and pulls a tin from a drawstring sports bag he’s brought with him. He opens it and then looks up at me.

“D’ya mind?” The tin contains rolling papers and weed and a few cigarettes. I shake my head.

“Go for it.”

The one thing I’ve learnt in the short time that I’ve been in Byron is that a lot of people smoke weed. I don’t know if it’s because of the markets and music festivals that go on locally that attracts people into the area who just happen to be into it, or if it’s just something that’s acceptable here. I’m not being judgmental about it; how could I be? I’d grown up around it, and where I came from, from the age of about fourteen or fifteen, everyone smoked the stuff. I just had never seen it done so openly anywhere else, other than Amsterdam, of course. And that thought leads me into another conversation with Roman. While he rolls a joint, we sit side by side on the beach, smoke it and talk about Amsterdam, the coffee houses, the red light area. The conversation is easy and I feel totally relaxed and at ease with him. When we’ve had enough sun, we pack up our things and wander back to the bar.

* * *

Brooke’s back and already working; she comes around the bar and gives me a big cuddle as I pull up a stool.

“George, you missed a grouse weekend, darl. Seriously, next time I go down, you’ve got to come. So many men, George, so many.” Roman sits down on the stool next to me and Brooke gives a little squeal.

“Fuck me! Roaming Roman the Rooter, when d’ya get back in town?” She throws her arms around his neck and he wraps his around her waist; I watch with interest, especially after what she just called him. I know we all talk English, but the Australians have completely different slang to what I was used to, and I was learning it slowly. I know a ‘Rooter’ or a ‘Root Rat’ was someone who shagged about a lot.

Roman kisses Brooke’s cheek. “How ya goin’, Brookie? Ya lookin’ good, darl.” She stands back, puts her hand on her hip and looks him up and down; he’s put his vest back on, but his nicely tanned and toned arms are still on display.

“You too, Rome, lookin’ pretty damn hot yourself. Broken any hearts since you’ve been back yet?”

He shakes his head, turns and looks at me. “Would you like a drink, Georgia?”

Before I have a chance to say anything, Brooke shrieks, “Oh, my fuckin’ God, you have got to be kidding me!” She looks between Roman and me. “Three days, three fuckin’ days I’ve been away, how… when did this happen?” She gestures with her pointy finger between the two of us.

“Shut up, Brooke,” Roman says to her. She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her hip to the side, tapping her foot.

“Brooke, can I get some drinks please? Stop being a child, nothing’s going on. We only met last night,” I say to her. She frowns.

“So, why are you here together now, George? Seriously, you need to watch this one, darl; he has a rep. Where was Jax? Didn’t he steer ya right?”

“Hello.” Roman waves his hand in front of Brooke’s face. “I am here ya know; I can hear what you’re saying.” He looks across at me. “Don’t believe a word of it, Georgia; none of it’s true.”

“Haaa, bullshit Roman, bullshit,” Brooke shouts as she walks back around the bar. “What can I get yas? And no getting my cousin drunk and trying to get in her pants; she don’t need none of your kind of trouble in her life.” Roman and I look at each other, both smiling and shaking our heads.

“Thanks for your concern, Brooke, but maybe he’s exactly the kind of trouble I need right now.”

Her mouth drops open, and Roman leans into my ear and whispers, “I’m exactly the kind of trouble you need right now, exactly the kind.” Goose bumps travel up my spine, but I keep staring ahead as if he’s had no effect on me.

“Georgia, you are a bad, bad girl, but you’re in very good company. I’ve heard first-hand that Roman here is a very bad, bad boy. Now, take this bottle of wine and go be bad together, but be done with the badness by the time I finish up here tonight.” I can feel my face flush. What is it with my Australian family and their outspokenness?

Roman takes the bottle from Brooke.

“C’mon, Georgia, I can’t take much more of your cousin’s mouth.”

We stand as Brooke calls from where she’s serving another customer, “Yeah, go on; get out of here, ya pair of freaks!” I turn and glare at her; she shrugs, winks and turns back to her customer.

* * *

We spend the rest of the evening sitting on the balcony, drinking wine and talking about our lives. Despite the drink, I remain fairly guarded. I’ve never really had many friends outside of my family. My best friends growing up were my brothers and Jimmie, then later on, Ashley; my best friends had gone on to marry my brothers so they eventually became family, as well. Sean was my brother’s best friend and was already a part of my family before we were even in a relationship, which all meant I had never really trusted anyone outside my family, and I’m not about to start now. I like Roman; he’s a nice bloke, but I don’t know yet if I can trust him. What if he goes to the papers? What if I kiss him? What if I let slip some secret the press doesn’t already know about my life and he sells me out? I’m suddenly feeling extremely paranoid…

“What are you thinking, Georgia? What’s going on in that mind of yours?” His eyes sparkle in the dark. We’ve drunk wine and beer and smoked another joint between us.

I sigh deeply. “I was just thinking about how hard it is learning to trust people.”

“What people? Hope ya don’t mean me?”

“No offence, but yeah, you included, Rome. Sorry, but when you’ve had as many lies told about you in the newspapers as I have, it makes it really hard to trust anyone.”

He nods. “Yeah, I s’pose it would, but what makes you think I’m gonna go to the papers with anything? I’ve got nothing to go to them with.”

I feel really bad, but I need to put it out there. “I know you haven’t, and I need to keep it that way.”

“That’s horrible, Georgia. That’s a horrible way to think of me and that’s a horrible way to go through the rest of your life. To be honest with ya, darl, I’m offended.” I knew it would piss him off, but I’m a little stoned, a little drunk and feeling brave. I just needed to get it out there, so there it is.

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought we’d had a nice day, George. I thought we’d become friends, but obviously I was wrong.” He stands and pushes his chair back loudly; I assume he’s going to leave, but he moves around the table that’s between us and leans down into my face “You’re just a girl, a beautiful girl I met in a bar. You’re funny and intelligent, and I’m really pissed off that you think I would do something like go to the press. You’re not famous to me; you’re just someone I really, really…” he looks all over my face, then brings his fingers up to my mouth and brushes the tips over my lips, “…really want to kiss.”

My breaths are coming short and shallow, my heart is beating hard in my chest and I can’t take my eyes from his mouth. He brings it closer, smelling of wine and cigarettes. His hand slides around the back of my neck and he closes the distance between our mouths, his lips gently brushing mine. He pulls me up by my arm and I stand; his lips move slightly while his tongue traces along the seam of my mouth but our mouths are still closed and I resist. His hands rest on my hips and he pulls me into him closer, tighter, my boobs pressing against his chest as my arms wrap around his neck. My fingers slide into his hair, and he lets out a little moan as my nails rake his scalp.

A million emotions are racing through me: this is wrong, but it feels so right; this is good, but it should be bad; I want this but I shouldn’t. Then I realise that while I’ve been thinking, my mouth has opened and his tongue is inside, tangling with mine. He grinds against me. I can feel his erection pushing through the thin material of his shorts and want, need and desire rush through me. From where? I don’t know. I’ve not felt a thing for almost a year. Nothing, and yet instantly, it’s back. I’m a woman of thirty-two, and despite the shitty hand life recently dealt me, my appetite for sex has apparently survived. I grip Roman’s hair hard and grind my hips into his.

“Jesus, Georgia, don’t do that, babe; it feels too good.” He kisses my bare shoulder, next to the thin strap of my vest and then up to my neck. His hand slides up my waist and I tuck my elbows tight into my side, blocking its path to my boob, exactly the way I used to when I was fourteen and Sean first started trying to touch them… Sean, Sean, my boy, my beautiful dead boy…

“I can’t; stop, please stop.” The words rush out of me and Roman stops in an instant. I open my eyes and look at him; his eyes are closed and he’s biting down on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m not ready. I can’t give you more.” He nods and opens his eyes. My stomach aches, really low, low down as I register the desire he has in them while looking at me. I shake my head, pleading for his understanding. “I just can’t.”

He nods again. “I understand, George; we’ll take our time, but we’ll get there.” His eyes wander back to my mouth. “We’ll take it slow but we’ll get there. I want to be the one, Georgia. I want to be the one to help you learn to live again. I want to be the one who makes you realise it’s okay to let it all go. I won’t lie, and I won’t make you promises, apart from promising I won’t sell your secrets to the press.” He winks and smiles as he speaks. “I’m only here till February and then I’ll be gone; just give it till then. Follow me, baby, and I’ll make everything right.” He smiles again, referring to the Uncle Kracker song he sung the night before. “Will you give me that?” He bends his knees slightly so we’re eye to eye. “Will you let me try and do that for you?”

I want him to do so much more than that for me right now. Well, physically, I do at least, but mentally? Mentally, I’m still a married woman, desperately in love with and missing her husband. I need him to go; I need to take a shower and get my thoughts straight.

“Georgia, will you give me that? Will you let me help you?” I nod and he kisses me gently on the mouth. “I’m gonna show you and teach you how to just let it all go. Right now, though, right now, I need to go, coz I want to fuck you so bad, so, so bad.” He kisses me once more, then he’s gone, and I’m standing there, alone, my lips feeling bruised and tingly; a delicious ache is between my legs and an all-too-familiar sense of guilt fills my heart.

Chapter Seven

For the next week, Roman does what my mum would call ‘courting’. Basically, we hang out together.

The busy Christmas season is about to start for the town, and there are lots of new staff at Worldies. I sort of feel in the way; they’re all expert at bar work and waiting tables, whereas I’ve never done work like that in my life. I still go in a couple of days, but there’s not really a lot I can do so I spend my time with Roman. We swim, we surf, we go for walks along the nature trails in the surrounding area, and we go for long drives along the coast road on his Harley. During the evening, I usually go with him to whatever pub he plays at and just sit—at the bar or at the side of the stage—and listen.

On more than one occasion, I get a sense of déjà vu. Obviously, I have a ‘type’, it would seem. Sean and Cam are both dark, dark hair, skin and eyes, but personality-wise, they are poles apart. Roman looks nothing like Sean or Cam but has a personality and a love of music, very much like Sean. He’s been sweet this entire week. He’s held my hand; he’s kissed me passionately, but he’s not tried anything more. As much as my body is craving a physical connection, mentally I have no idea where I’m at. I’m a fucking mess to put it bluntly, and I’m really missing having Jim and Ash to talk to.

It’s a Friday night, and Roman has played at Worldies, but I didn’t stay down at the bar to watch for too long; I have a headache and feel like being on my own. Brooke has already left for Sydney, and I’m looking forward to having the place to myself for the weekend. I think I’m feeling a little homesick and despite what I promised Roman, I’m wondering if it’s time for me to head back to England. The only problem is, I don’t want to be there before next Saturday; next Saturday is the first of December, exactly one year since the day that ended my world, and I want to be as far away from all of that as possible. The press, the television shows, the heartbroken fans—I just can’t be around it, and Australia is about as far away from England as I can get. So for now, I will stay put.

I’ve still not decided what to do about Jodie’s invite. She wants us all to go down for the club opening, but it just feels wrong to be doing something like that on the anniversary of my husband’s death. Jax is trying to convince me to go, telling me it’s just another day; the pain, the heartache and loss I feel, will be no more or less on Saturday than on any other day. Plus, going out and being with people is a much healthier option than staying in bed all day and crying, which would be my first choice.

I lay on my bed, alone in the dark, listening to the sounds drifting up from the bar; there was a packed house when I left, and it was really noisy. I didn’t feel like a drink and I didn’t feel like company, so I asked Jackson to tell Roman I wasn’t feeling well and headed up here. It was a humid night so I’d taken a shower and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a vest. Now, here I lie, on the top of my bed, the painkillers I took before my shower just starting to work their magic. I reach for my phone and call Jimmie; it would be Friday afternoon in England so she should be about.

“Georgia Rae McCarthy, how the fuck are you, gorgeous?”

“Jamie Louise Layton… I’ve met someone. He’s sweet and he’s kind and he plays guitar in the bar and he rides a Harley and fuck, Jim… I’m so confused.” I had absolutely no intention of telling her any of this when I picked up the phone but the words just sort of jumped out of my big fat gob without asking my brain’s permission. I can’t hear a thing, not a sound, and I wonder if I’ve been disconnected, but my phone screen says otherwise when I look at it.

“Jim?”

“I’m here. I’m here, George.”

“Say something, Jim. Tell me I’m a bad person. Tell me it’s too soon. It’s wrong; just tell me something, Jim.”

“I’m not telling you any of those things, George, coz none of them are true.” She lets out a loud huff. “What’s his name? Is he fit? Is he an Aussie? Oh, my God, does he look like Jackson? Jax is well fucking horny from what I can remember. Does he call ya Sheila? Have you shagged? Oh, my God, George, have you?” This is the sort of conversation I would expect to have with Ashley, not with Jimmie, my sensible sister-in-law and best friend. Before I can answer any of her questions, she shrieks again, “Oh, my fucking God, George, is he gonna be your baby daddy? Am I gonna be carrying his baby in my belly?”

“What? No!  For fuck’s sake, Jim, what’s gotten into you? I called for advice from Jamie Lou’s sensible advice surgery, and instead, I’ve gotten Agony Aunt Ashley’s looney line instead.” My headache has returned, and I wish I hadn’t bothered calling her now.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, George. Harley’s got a bug. I had no sleep last night, and I’ve done nothing but cuddle her today because she’s so clingy. She’s finally just gone off to sleep and I think I might be a bit delirious. Ziggy had it at the beginning of the week, and I lost two nights sleep with him throwing up everywhere.” She pauses and the silence seems to stretch on, and I’m so worried about what she must think of me. “What’s his name, George?”

“Roman,” I reply quietly.

“That’s different. I like it. What’s he look like?”

“He’s tall and blond, with the most amazing ice-blue eyes, and he’s just nice, Jim.”

“So, what’s the problem, George? Have ya shagged him?”

“No, no, nothing like that. We’ve just… I don’t know if I’m ready, Jim.”

“George, we spoke about this last week. Please stop feeling guilty; you’re young and beautiful, and you’ve still got needs. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing, George, nothing at all.”

“I’m not doing anything, Jim. We’ve kissed… a lot, but that’s it. I’ve told him I’m not ready for more and he’s said he’ll wait, but it just feels wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t, George. After all this time, it probably feels fucking great. It only feels wrong in your head when you let it, when you start over-thinking.”

I have tears running from my eyes now; they’re running into my ears and around the back of my neck. “But it’s not even been a year. It’s too soon.”

“And what, after next Saturday, it’ll be all right? You’re talking bollocks, George, and you know it.” My heart leaps at the mention of next Saturday; all my thoughts, all my memories have started with ‘This time last year…’ but after Saturday that would be gone. All the time it was ‘just’ a year ago, I could justify that moving on was wrong, too soon, but when my thoughts start with ‘This time the year before last’, it sounds like it’s a long time ago. It sounds long enough ago for me to be moving on, to be letting go. A sob comes from within me that I have no control over, then another.

“I want them back, Jim. I just want them back.” My chest and my throat burn. I roll onto my side and curl up into the foetal position, still holding the phone to my ear.

“Don’t do this, George. Please don’t do this. Fuck, I wish I was there.”

I choke on my words as I almost tell her I wish she was here, too, but I disguise it as another sob. If I ask her, I know she’ll come, and as much as I would like that, I need to get through this on my own. I need to prove to everyone, especially myself, that I can get through these next few weeks. Sometime in the very near future, I want to become a mother, and if I can’t get through this, then how am I ever going to raise a child on my own? That thought is all I’m living for right now; it’s all that’s keeping me going. My family and the hope I have for one day having a baby are what make me get out of bed each day, if I’m totally honest with myself.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m just having a moment.” I cover my mouth with my free hand so she can’t hear my sobs or my gasps for air.

“I know, babe, and you’re quite entitled to; it’s just hard hearing you so upset when you’re so far away.” She’s quiet for a few moments, and I hear her sniff. “Look, George, Len’s saying that the music channels are going to be playing wall-to-wall Carnage music, interviews and documentaries all weekend. I don’t know if they have Sky over there, but I just wanted you to know that the coverage is going to be intense, and there’s been a lot of requests at the label for info as to when the memorial service will be.”

I let out a long sigh; I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “I don’t know, Jim. Next year sometime, June maybe, on Sean’s birthday.”

Sean and Beau’s funeral had been private. The streets had been absolutely rammed with his fans and just general members of the public showing their respect, but the church service and burial had been family and very close friends. I had agreed to a more-public memorial service at a later date, and I probably would’ve let it be arranged for the first anniversary if I had still been in England. Since that wasn’t the case, it would have to be next year now.

“There’s no pressure, George; whenever you’re ready. There’s just a lot of people who want to show their respects.”

My head’s pounding and my throat aches from the sobs I’m suppressing. Some days, only a good cry will do. I just want to end this conversation and have that good cry right now.

“I know they do, Jim, and it will happen; I just need to get through this next week, and then perhaps I can think about it. I love you, Jim; kiss them babies and my car-wanker brother for me. I need to go.” I don’t wait for her goodbye; I end the call before she can hear me cry. I just can’t hold it in any longer. I grab the pillow and hold on to it, squeeze it to me, wishing everything about my life was different.

I think I’m imagining things a little while later when I feel the bed dip beside me and someone strokes their hand over my hair. I open my eyes to see Roman standing up from the bed; he pulls off his jeans and T-shirt and lies back down next to me. He rolls me on my side and spoons into my back, pulling me into him tightly; he kisses the top of my head continuously while I cry.

“Let it out, George; let it all out, baby.” I have this sudden urge to talk, to tell him everything.

“I want it to stop, Rome. I’m so sick of the pain, all day, every day; it hurts so fucking much.” I turn around and face him. “Help me, Rome. Help me make it go away; help me to forget, just for a little while.” He kisses away the tears on my cheeks; my mouth finds his and I kiss him, hungrily; my tongue invades his mouth.

He pulls away. “Georgia, baby, please; I want you, but not like this. I feel like a complete bastard; I feel like I’m taking advantage of ya.”

I shake my head and hold his face between my hands. “No, no, Rome, you’re giving me what I need; you said you would help me.” My eyes widen as they plead with his. “You said you would help me. Well, I need your help, right here, right now; I want and I need your help.” He runs his fingertips over my cheek, towards my lips; I open my mouth slightly and flick my tongue between and over his fingers. They taste salty where he has touched my tears. His body is tense against mine as I slowly see the resolve in his eyes fade. Then his lips are on mine, gently at first, and then he rolls over and positions himself between my legs without breaking our kiss. He grinds his hips into mine; while one hand is under my arse cheek, tilting my hips up to meet his, the other hand is holding both of mine by my wrists above my head. I grind my hips back against his, and I can feel the tip of his cock pushing against my clit. I move so it slides lower, where I’m so hot and wet that surely he has to be able to feel me through my shorts. The spark of... something in his eyes and the way his mouth drops open slightly lets me know he can.

“Fuck, Georgia. That feels good. You feel good and I don’t want this to be quick. I want to worship you. I want to take you to another world and help you forget, but I need to fuck you so bad right now, baby.” He slides down my body and pulls my shorts off as he goes. Then he stands at the side of the bed and takes off his boxers; he pulls me up by my hand so I’m sitting and strips my vest off. He pushes my legs apart and kneels in front of me, between them. His hand moves behind my head, his fingers lacing into my hair to make small circular movements against my scalp. It instantly relaxes me; my jaw feels slack and I hear the bones crunch as I tilt my head back.

“You’re so tense, Georgia. It’s coming off you in waves.” I look back towards him, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine. “I want this, but it’s only going to happen if it’s what you want, too.”

I’m not actually sure if this, sex, is exactly what I need, but for now, it’s working; it’s taking the pain away, from my heart and from my head. It has eased, just a little bit, and that’s what I need; that’s what I want, to forget, just for a while.

“I want this,” I whisper so quietly, even I’m not sure I said it.

Roman leans in and kisses me gently on the mouth, dragging his fingers down my throat as he sits back on his heels and looks at me. His fingers continue their path as he brushes them over my chest, then over to my boobs, first the left, then across to the right, which he cups as he brings his eyes up to meet mine. He leans in, takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks on it, first gently, just using his lips and then I feel his teeth. He doesn’t bite down hard, but he pulls at my nipple, all the while still looking at me. Just as I’m about to tell him to stop, that it hurts, he releases it. His gaze leaves mine as he blows on the erect bud, then he laps at it with his tongue as his eyes once again meet mine and I moan. I thought it would be quiet but it comes out much louder than I planned, and I feel myself blush as a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Turn around, and lay on your belly.” I do as he says, curious as to what he’s going to do. “D’ya have any oil, baby, massage oil, anything?” What the fuck is he planning on doing to me?

“Why, what do you need it for?” My voice must sound more panicked than I intend. I hear him chuckle, and he leans forward and bites my bum cheek gently.

“Chill, little girl, I just want to help you relax.” He runs his palm gently over my arse and whispers in my ear, “I promise not to touch this.” He squeezes my bum cheek hard. “Not till you’re ready for me to. Could be tonight, could be next week, but I’ll make sure you fucking love it when I do take it.” Fuck, I’m melting. I push my pubic bone down into the bed to try to get some friction. “Now, oil, where will I find it?”

“Bathroom,” is all I can manage to get out. He’s suddenly gone and I try to gather my thoughts. I’m shaking from head to toe and my head is pounding. I’m sure I’m doing the right thing. I just need to get this first time out of the way, and I couldn’t have picked anyone better than Roman. He wants nothing from me; there’s no illusion of love, and I like him. I couldn’t do this otherwise. The days of cold, calculated sex are long gone for me. I need a connection, but the fact that what I feel for him isn’t intense or overwhelming me is probably a good thing. I like him a lot, but I have no plans for a long-term relationship with him. He’s only in town till February, and I’m thinking of going back to England before Christmas, maybe as soon as next week. He’s hot to look at and he’s a great bloke; he’s kind, considerate, and from what I can tell without being obvious, he has a decent-sized dick. He’s hot. He seems to know what he wants with regard to sex, and he’s hot, did I mention that already? So bingo, I just need to get this done and not become a blubbering mess during the process.