Page 23 of Loving Roman (The Summer Twins #3)

–alice–

It’s exactly two weeks to the day since I promised Roman I would contact him. I’ve missed him so much.

Missed his touch, his kisses.

Missed him.

Just being around him makes me feel ...

My phone buzzes, alerting me to a text.

Roman

Time’s up.

My heart pounds.

Roman

I’m taking you out on Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at 7.

I’ll need your address. No excuses.

Me

Hello to you too. I was about to message you, so there’ll be no excuses.

I send him my address and slump back in my chair as my lips stretch wide.

My heart’s beating a million miles a minute, and I’m equally excited and nervous to see him on the weekend.

I’d never believed it possible to experience butterflies over a man at my age, but here I am with all the butterflies in the world taking up residence in my stomach.

Roman

Good. See you on Saturday.

And Alice, wear something sexy for me.

Oh my .

Heat rises through my cheeks, and I fan myself.

I loved his occasional bossiness in the bedroom.

It was such a turn-on and a contrast to his regular personality.

He’s such a laid-back guy, and it was so unexpected.

I press my thighs together to stem the pulse that’s started throbbing.

It had been twenty years since my last sexual experience with a man, and what a way to break the dry spell.

Roman certainly took care of my needs beyond anything I could have ever fantasized.

Me

Okay

I guess I’d better buy something new to wear. I may even splurge and get some new lingerie. My stomach swoops as giddiness erupts at the thought of seeing Roman in a few short days. I can’t freaking wait.

I bought the sexiest thing I could find that suited my body shape and a set of stunning deep purple lacy lingerie to wear underneath. The clothes make me feel feminine and sexy … empowered .

Checking the time, I have a couple of minutes for a final coat of gloss and to check my hair.

I barely manage to keep my hands steady with the nervous charge running through my body.

As I apply my gloss, I pause to scrutinize myself in the mirror.

My eyes have a sparkle to them I haven’t seen since my early twenties.

My cheeks are flushed, and I think I look pretty good for forty-seven.

The shock of white hair framing my face is possibly the only thing that gives away my age.

The overhead light catches something on my chin, so I lean closer to the mirror to see what it is. My eyes widen, and mortification hits me like a sledgehammer. Leaning closer, I tilt my chin in a different direction.

How long’s that been there?

I pinch the hair between my fingers. It’s long enough to get a decent grip, meaning it didn’t just sprout overnight. I drop my hands to the counter and look up at the ceiling. I hate what’s happening to my body. I feel like I’m living in a foreign country in my own skin.

Huffing out a breath, I dig through the top drawer to find the tweezers, then lean in close to the mirror and pinch the offending hair between the tweezers and pull. Ouch! Thank god I saw it. I scrutinize the rest of my chin, tilting my face this way and that to ensure it was the only one.

A loud, confident knock at my front door startles me out of my inspection, and my stomach flips. In my haste to pack away my tweezers and gloss, I end up knocking over half of the stuff I keep on my vanity. I’ll sort that out later.

I glance around my little house to make sure everything’s tidy, which it is. I rushed around like a madwoman cleaning up today—just in case Roman wanted to come inside. It’s not like I make a mess; I’m only one person after all, but it was important to me to make a good impression.

Stepping toward the door, I wipe my sweaty hands down the side of my dress as I check through the peephole .

It’s him .

My chest heaves with a shaky breath, and I roll my eyes at myself.

It’s not like he’s someone new. I know this man intimately.

Every single inch of him. Maybe that’s why I’m so nervous.

What if the closeness we shared was because we were on vacation and it won’t be the same now?

I think I’d be disappointed. No, I know I’d be disappointed.

What we shared on vacation was phenomenal, and surely goes deeper than the fling we agreed to.

My stomach flips again, and I take a calming breath before opening the door.

His hand is raised as though he was about to knock for a second time.

Without my permission, my eyes start at the top of Roman’s head and glide down his body, cataloging every detail.

His messy hair—that he’s obviously been running his hands through—his warm chocolate-colored eyes, broad shoulders encased in a navy button down, and dark-washed denim hugging his strong thighs.

I slowly make my way up to his face to find a lop-sided grin. He likes that I was checking him out.

“Tesoro,” he breathes. “You look … good enough to eat.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Damn!” he curses, his voice full of gravel.

I step in close, pushing onto my toes as Roman leans down to meet me part way and I press a kiss to his soft lips.

His big hand slides under the fall of my hair as he takes over, sending goosebumps racing across my heated flesh as his tongue delves into my mouth and I moan around his amorous assault.

He pulls back a mere fraction from my mouth. “You taste good enough to eat.” His kisses move down along my jawline, to the crook of my neck before he nips my earlobe. He sucks in a breath. “You smell good enough to eat.” He moves back to my mouth to continue our kiss.

It’s long minutes before we separate again, and I’m ready to stay in and strip him down, rather than torture myself by going out in public where I can’t get what I want until much later.

With my arms wrapped around his neck, he grabs my ass and lifts me.

Thankfully, the skirt of my dress is flirty, allowing me to wrap my legs around his hips with ease as he steps inside, slamming the door closed with his foot.

He turns, locks the door, and then presses me up against the unforgiving surface.

His hands move further under my ass, and I feel his fingers tease the edge of my lacy underwear before sliding between the fabric and my pussy.

My soaking wet pussy.

Oh, god. It feels like forever since I’ve felt his fingers there. I shift and move my hips, attempting to get the friction I need, but he pulls back.

“I have a reservation at a restaurant, and if we get started now, we won’t make it.” He finishes his sentence with a kiss, and I shift my hips, seeking out his talented fingers.

“I don’t care,” I pant against his lips, my eyes begging him to help me ease the ache that shot through me like a bullet. “I need you inside me. I don’t think I can wait.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be quick this time and later I’ll take my time.” He kisses me roughly, thrusting two fingers into my pussy without warning.

“Oh, god, your fingers feel amazing,” I pant into his ear.

“Undo my pants,” he demands without missing a beat.

While his fingers move in and out of my opening, I awkwardly follow his instructions.

It’s difficult to remain focused on my task while he’s pumping his fingers into my body.

I’m so wet—a relief in and of itself—the squelching sounds echo in my empty living room, increasing my arousal.

Using my hands and thighs, I push his jeans and boxer briefs down enough to free his rock-hard length. He presses me tighter against the door and uses one hand to pull out his wallet, which hopefully contains a condom.

His dick slides between my lips—feeling like heaven—while he pulls a silver packet out and passes it to me, then throws his wallet over his shoulder.

With trembling fingers, I struggle to roll it down his length as he pushes my lacy panties out of the way.

In one thrust, he seats himself inside. Filled with him and surrounded by his citrus scent, my walls flutter and so does my heart.

I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be filled with him. Surrounded by him.

Pressing his forehead to mine, he whispers, “I’ve missed you so fucking much, Tesoro.”

My heart skips in my chest, my body warming at his confession while he’s balls deep inside as I’m pinned against my front door. This man has been nothing but genuine from the outset. “I’ve missed you, too. So much.”

I press my mouth to his, and he slips his tongue inside. My fingers grip his hair, and I wiggle my hips in invitation. He takes me up on my request for him to move with slow glides in and out of me—unbelievably delicious.

The push, the pull.

The closeness.

The intimacy of sharing this experience with him.

I break our kiss and lean down to lick my way up from his smooth jawline back to his lips so I can taste him the way he tastes me.

With open mouths, our tongues tangle and dance, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

And with panting breaths, our movements become more frantic, desperate to reach the point of no return.

With eyes locked, rich chocolate to blue, our union goes beyond the physical compatibility we share—its soul deep, burning from the inside out.

His grunts and my moans as the door rattles with our movements fill the space of my small home, driving me higher.

It’s so hot that he couldn’t wait to have me—I’m not even mildly upset that my hair and makeup are probably ruined.

Instead, I feel empowered that little old me could drive this giant of a man to the brink of desperation, that he had to have me right at this moment. Against my front door, no less.