19. Roman
NINETEEN
ROMAN
I'M NOT SURE HOW LONG I've been standing by this railing watching Elizabeth and this pretty ass swim boy dance in the middle of my club. I don't like him. I can tell life has been entirely too easy for him. He probably got all A's in school, all the pussy he wants, and lives off daddy's money. He doesn't look like he's ever had to fight for shit a day in his life. Guys like that feel a sense of entitlement about everything. I'm positive that he's nothing but trouble.
Of course one might interpret this another way, and I can't believe I'm even thinking this shit, but is it possible that I'm jealous? I mean, Elizabeth's arms are draped casually across this guy's shoulders, and his hands are holding her tiny waist as they dance way too slowly to a fast ass electro song. They're both smiling and giggling with each other as if they are in the middle of some sort of teen Disney movie or they're out on their first date.
I'm really trying like hell to tame the beast within me, but this is another new emotion for me, and I'm not sure what I can do about it. The swimmer kid should just back the hell off. That would make things a lot simpler, because it would be very embarrassing for everyone if I broke every one of his dainty, slender swimmer fingers, now wouldn't it?
My body is humming.
The hairs across my forearms are vibrating.
This thing brewing inside of my body has rendered me utterly stupid. While it's a sensation that I've felt recently, it's a whole hell of a lot stronger this time.
Possession.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but Elizabeth is mine. I'm not exactly sure how I can feel so covetous of a woman that I have only tasted but not fully claimed. Not to mention that I don't claim women. That's not what I do.
And that's exactly how I know that I'm completely and royally fucked.
I like Elizabeth. I mean, I really like this girl. She's made me laugh more than I have in the last year. She doesn't have fake tits, a fake ass, or even false eyelashes. She's a hundred percent natural, one hundred percent real, and she's super smart. I'm not used to intelligence in the bedroom. I'm used to women who either pretend that they are way smarter than they actually are or are plain ole' home-grown dummies.
I'm actually interested in not just Elizabeth's body (which is perfection, by the way), but in who she is and who she wants to be, which is some brand new shit for me.
Unfortunately though, I am highly interested in a woman who Joseph has made crystal clear is off limits to me. He made sure of that tonight when he called me into the home office.
Hence, my shitty mood all night.
"I have never interfered in your personal life, Roman, but you're my son, and I know you like the back of my hand. Something's off and if I find out that you are screwing with Elizabeth's head in any kind of way, be assured that I'll cut yours off. She is Juliette's niece. She's a sweet kid. And while she's under my roof, I want you to find out what's going on with her, and then protect every single hair on her head. Including from you."
"I don't know where this is coming from, Joseph, but you're way off base."
I lie through my teeth.
"She had a falling out with her landlord. I took care of it, and I've been watching her like you asked." With my tongue.
"Ask Juliette."
She might have heard me make Elizabeth come like a champion.
I decided not to tell Joseph about Elizabeth's boyfriend and the attack. I think I need to do some more digging, and the old man only needs to know details on a need to know basis. Especially now that he's suspicious.
"Good, because I've made a big decision, and I don't want to regret it."
"What decision?"
"I want to retire from the business and start traveling more with Juliette. I'm going to hand over everything to you. That is if you're ready." I was fucking stunned.
Never in a million years did I believe that Joseph would ever hand his business over to me. I'm not sure that I even wanted it, but I've come to terms that what I want is not the point. I'm already knee deep in this life, and I've done so much crap over the years to build it to this point, that I doubt I'd really know what else to do with myself. This is what I know. This is what I do well. I'm a thug. I'm a monster.
"So how would this work?"
"So you're on board?"
"Yes."
"Okay then, we'll start by me handing The Lotus and the other clubs over to you. I bought them because it will be much easier to control media access to our clients if they use our properties to party in, to get drunk in, to see their mistresses in. Each club will have a strict policy of no cell phone use. So no pictures and no social media posting or check-ins will be permitted. We can block most cell service within the club walls. If they need to use a phone, they'll use the house phone. Celebrities will love it. It's old school. It's exclusive. It's private. You'll eventually have to acquire a few spots in LA and Miami to cast a wide net, but at least we already have New York and Philadelphia on lock."
Using two fingers, my father slid a thick accordion styled folder across his desk with several papers inside, including a ten-page contractual agreement already signed by him and notarized. I picked it up and read it with glazed eyes. I wasn't processing any of the words on the pages.
As crazy as it sounds, all I could think about was how this deal between Joseph and I was effectively eliminating any possibility of me ever exploring this thing with Elizabeth (not that she was necessarily having any of it, but a guy can hope). This was my father's way of saying that I was back in his good graces, that he trusted me, and that there was no room for error. The door to anything happening with her would be ceremonially closed shut if I added my John Hancock to the signature line of the last page.
I signed it anyway.
Yet, as I watch her right now with another man's hands on her body, I can't help but feel like a man possessed. No matter how sick this shit is. No matter the risk of Joseph finding out. The truth is, is that I'm not even sure I have it in me to stop myself.
She's mine.
"Whatcha doing?" Jade asks curiously while standing behind me.
I didn't even see her walk over. That's how off my game I am.
"Nothing."
"Staring down your cousin's throat while she's dancing with the cutie is definitely something. You either want to kill her or him," she says, apparently amused.
I turn my head slowly to look down at the tiny terror.
"Mind. Your. Fucking. Business."
I stick my hand in my front pocket and dig out a couple of M I pinch both of her nipples between my thumb and forefingers with just enough firm pressure that she gasps and leans forward towards me.
I know that I could push things further right now, but since I'm crossing all sorts of lines that could put me in deep shit a second time in one day, I've decided that I need to slow this down. I need to make sure that when it does happen between us, if it happens, that she is practically begging for it.
I need her to be sure she wants this as much as I do.
"What do you want right this moment, Duchess?"
"I ... don't–"
"You don't what?"
"I don't know,” she exhales.
"Do you want me inside you?"
"Ummm–"
"Do you want me to stop?"
I'm still rubbing and tweaking her nipples. A few moments longer and I think I could have her fall apart for me just by my handling of them. The faces she's making are a mixture of pain and pure pleasure. But like I said, I want her to steer the ship this time.
"Yes."
If I was a two-year-old kid right now, I'd be stomping my feet in protest. That one word feels like a huge bucket of ice water dumped over the top of my head. I know by her body language that she doesn't mean it, but immediately I stop everything.
I pull her top back up and step back. She was right to stop this anyway. She deserves better than me taking her on top of a hard metal desk in a nightclub office. She deserves better than me period.
Fuck! I'm pissed. I'm not usually the guy who whines, "why me" about life. Hell, I realize that I'm one of the lucky ones. I made it out of my neighborhood, I live in a luxury penthouse apartment, I drive a hundred-thousand-dollar car, I'm good at my job, and I have no problem getting whatever woman I want on any given day of the week. I have no right to be angry or ungrateful about a thing; so the fuck what.
I'm still pissed.
Why does Elizabeth have to be my damn cousin? Why is Joseph watching me like a hawk? Why did I sign that damn contract? Why is she flirting with this swimmer? And why, for the first time in my life, have I found myself in the middle of a situation that I cannot fix my way out of.
"So … the swimmer. You'll stop dancing for him, right?"
"I'm not dancing for anyone, Masterson. We were dancing together."
"Well, let me put this another way. I don't want to see you two dancing together again."
"Or what? You'll bury him in the backyard until he grows?" she asks sarcastically.
"We were kids. When are you going to let that go?" I smirk.
"You're still the same badass kid you were back then."
"I'm even worse now. Try me."
Please try me.
"I like Jagger."
I think she wants me to pummel him.
"What do you mean, you like him? I brought you out tonight to meet my friends and see what I've done so far with the club not hang out with Captain America. He wasn't invited. Like him on your own time."
She looks at me pensively for a moment.
"What happened earlier tonight and just now can't happen again, Roman. You know that, right?"
I'm beginning to hate it when she calls me by my first name. I'm seeing that when she says it, it isn't a good sign. Masterson is the man she met a few weeks ago in the club. That name rolls off of her tongue like warm butter and makes my dick stand up and beg. That's who she calls out for when my mouth is in between her legs. Roman is the name of her fucking cousin. The boy who buried her in the yard when she was six. The guy who doesn't stand a chance with her.
"I'm not sure I can promise that," I say in complete honesty, but with regret.
"You're insane. We're cousins, Roman. Juliette and Joseph would freak. My parents would freak. Hell, you avoided me for weeks when you found out who I was."
"Just ditch the swimmer or I'll kick his ass, Elizabeth," I bark out in frustration.
Of course I know she's right. Everything she's saying is right, but my dick seems to be in complete disagreement.
"You're a complete ass, Roman!"
Then she picks up her glass, spins on her heels, and slams the door with a great deal of strength behind her.
Not ten fucking minutes later I find Elizabeth giggling and sitting on Jagger's lap, and just a moment before I was about to drop kick the swimmer in his windpipe, I feel two sets of meaty hands pulling me back from the brink of a night spent in police custody.
Camden and Cutter.
Absolute fun snatchers.