Chapter 4 Roman
ROMAN
Six nights. Six. That’s how long I managed to hold out.
After the disaster in the private booth—also known as the best goddamn half hour of my life—I promised myself I was going to stay away from the club. Maybe distance would help me get some perspective, calm down this raging need in my blood.
Besides, I wanted to give her the chance to work her shifts and enjoy her free time here without being reminded of my completely inappropriate behavior. Me staying away would be good for both of us.
Yet here I am, only six days later, desperate for even a glimpse of her, like I’m some kind of tweaking addict or something. I’m pathetic.
“Well look who decided to be festive and join in on the fun.”
I scowl at my buddy Cam as I approach his table in the highly decorated front lounge—it looks like Santa’s elves threw up in here. My expression only makes Cam laugh at my expense. “I mean, look at that face. Such an improvement to our gathering. Just brimming with holiday cheer.”
“How ’bout you shut the fuck up?” I suggest, taking a seat across from him.
“Seriously, man, I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.” He studies my face. “I don’t think you’ve ever come to one of the club Christmas parties before.”
Before I can respond, a waiter pauses at our table, setting down two glasses of champagne. I pick one up gingerly, the stem far too delicate for my big paw, and frown at the bubbles. “The fuck am I supposed to do with this?”
“You’re supposed to drink it, asshole.” Cam brings his own glass to his mouth as if to demonstrate.
I make a face. “Fucking frou-frou drinks. Where the hell is the whiskey?”
“You can order whiskey at the bar.” He sounds slightly less amused by me. There’s a strain of irritation in his voice now—I’m messing with his chilled-out vibe. “They’re handing out the champagne as a special treat. Since, you know, this is supposed to be a party.”
I sigh, settling back in my seat. “I’m fucking up your holiday spirit,” I mutter.
He grins, the irritation forgotten. That’s the thing about Cam—he’s the happiest, most laid-back motherfucker I’ve ever met. Unless he’s wielding a riding crop in the dungeon, that is.
“Of course you are,” he says pleasantly. “But when has that ever stopped you?” He studies me a moment. “All seriousness—it’s good to see you here. You sit at home alone too often. What made you decide to show up?”
Without meaning to, my eyes drift across the club to the bar. Three women are standing there, dressed in their holiday best. Only one of them captures my attention, though.
“Ahh,” Cam says and I realize he’s followed my gaze. “Now I get it.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He shakes his head, exasperated. “Dude. This is ridiculous. You’re so far gone for that girl. I don’t understand why you don’t just do something about it.”
“The last thing she need is some old asshole like me sniffing around her.”
He barks out a laugh. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I just glare at him.
“You’re not that old—”
“Nearly forty. Seventeen years older than her.”
Cam shrugs. “So?”
“So, she should be with someone her own age.” The very thought of my angel with some twenty-something, limp-dick idiot makes me clench my fists under the table.
My friend leans across the table. “Roman, man, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re in a sex club.” He gestures around the room. “A little age gap is nowhere near the most scandalous thing you could find in a place like this.”
“That’s not the—”
“Furthermore,” he goes on, raising his voice to talk over me, “your girl is about as submissive as they come. And you and I both know that plenty of submissives prefer the whole older man thing. They want their Dom to be able to take care of them.”
God, the idea of taking care of Noelle has an ache blooming in my chest. What I wouldn’t give to be the one to provide for her, to protect her, to be her man.
Not going to happen, I tell myself. I reach for the champagne glass and down the whole thing in one gulp. It’s too damn sweet and does nothing to ease the sick feeling in my gut. “I really need some fucking whiskey,” I mutter.
“By all means.” Cam gives me a broad grin, gesturing to the bar, where Noelle is standing. “Go order yourself some.”
“It’s pointless to even talk about,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. I really shouldn’t have come here tonight. But six days without seeing her had, apparently, been too much for me to handle.
And looking at her now, there’s a part of me that’s glad I have zero power to resist her. Even if tonight is yet another exercise in torture watching her from afar, it will be worth it just to see her.
She dressed up for the party in a dark green, tight-as-sin bodycon dress.
It hugs every one of her amazing curves and is cut high enough on her plump thighs to make me dizzy with lust. Her blond hair is pulled up on the top of her head, showing off the graceful line of her neck.
And her cleavage—holy fuck. How in the hell am I supposed to keep my hands to myself?
Especially since the last time I saw her, those tits were completely bare for me, along with the rest of her amazing body, while she thrust her fingers into her pussy at my command.
Across the table, Cam laughs. “You should see your face right now. You’re so fucked.”
I groan. “Yeah, I’m aware.”
“Hello gentlemen.” Philip Matthews, another friend, appears at our table alongside Luke Davis. They’re both very happily married to the submissives of their dreams, and it’s not typical to see them at the club without their women.
Cam says as much as he gestures for them to join us. “Where’re the better halves?” he asks and the guys take their seats.
Philip nods to a table only a few yards away filled with laughing women. “Socializing.” He sounds so grumpy about it, we all laugh. Whoever would have thought that the great Philip Matthews, world renowned Dom with a terrifying reputation, would be so whipped by his wife.
The guys fall into an easy conversation about their businesses, the kind of thing that normally bores me to tears.
Philip and Cam are in finance, Luke in some tech operation.
I own a security company, mainly because I couldn’t stand the idea of sitting in a stuffy office once I got injured and had to leave the Army.
Conversation about the stock market and whatever bullshit finance regulation is so not my forte.
At least, that’s the excuse I give myself for letting my eyes wander. Noelle has moved a bit, further down the bar to make room for the crowd waiting to be served. I hate even the few additional feet of distance she’s put between us.
She laughs at something her friend says, her head falling back a little, and I’m reminded of the way she’d tilted her head back when she’d been writhing on that chair and—
I’m jerked out of that happy recollection when a man appears at Noelle’s side, standing far too fucking close. She smiles up at him like they’re old friends, and I experience a very intense, satisfying fantasy of ripping his hand off when he touches her shoulder.
“Clarke?” Luke asks, sounding confused. It’s only then that I realize that I’ve stood, my feet already moving me in the direction of the bar. I hear Cam snicker. “Ignore him,” he says as I walk away. “I think someone is getting a little too close to his favorite toy.”
I stalk toward the bar, my anger growing as the asshole leans down to murmur something in Noelle’s ear. He’s way too fucking close. And why does she look so happy to see him?
Her friend—another dancer named Brittney, I think—sees me first. Her eyes widen at whatever she sees on my face, and she mutters something to Noelle before I reach them, making her spin in place to face me.
My breath catches in my throat. She’s so much more beautiful up close. From here I can see the little red bow on her neckline, right in the center of her cleavage, and the smattering of gold glitter dusted across her chest and shoulders, making her skin shimmer under the lights.
My perfect little angel, I think to myself, wanting more than anything to defile her sweet purity.
“Roman,” she says, voice breathy. Then she does something that shocks me to my core—she smiles.
Not the showy entertainer smile I’ve seen her give to a bunch of other men in this club.
Not even the sweet shy tilt of her lips she usually gives me when I’m close to her. No, this smile is completely different.
She looks genuinely, and completely happy to see me. Happy and excited and maybe even a little relieved. The expression on her face keeps me from pushing the asshole at her side out of the way.
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she says, taking a step closer to me, seeming to forget the guy she’d been talking to. I feel a ridiculous swell of triumph in my chest. That’s right, asshole. Not yours.
Not yours either, a little voice reminds me, but I ignore it.
“You didn’t say you were coming,” she continues, sounding a little more shy now, more like how she usually is when she talks to me. “Last week, when I mentioned it…”
She trails off when I do nothing but stare at her. Fuck, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I just have a conversation like a normal person?
Because the woman I’m obsessed with is standing three feet away looking like a Christmas wet dream and stealing every coherent thought from my head.
“I figured I could use a little Christmas cheer in my life,” I manage to grunt out, then immediately feel like an idiot. I sound like a jackass trying to flirt with someone way outside of my league.
But her entire face lights up at my words, and I decide it’s worth feeling like an idiot to see her looking like that.
“Gabe,” Brittney says in an overly-casual voice. “You wanna go play pin the nose on naked-Rudolph with me?”