Page 30 of Voyeur
“Sit with us,” he said, more of an order than a suggestion.
I glanced to the tray I still held onto, and he probably figured I’d try to use that as an excuse to either walk away or ignore his order, so he grabbed it with his free hand and set it on the floor near his chair. Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me down—though not towards him. Roman tugged me down onto Carter’s lap, and Carter’s strong, muscular body accepted the embrace with a grunt.
Roman released me, and I squirmed a bit, feeling anxious to be sitting on Carter’s lap in the Dollhouse, where anyone who was here could look upon us, but as I surveyed the area around us, I found no one was even paying attention to us. A Tuesday night, it wasn’t the Dollhouse’s busiest night by any means; a few men sat near the stage, a few talked near the bar, trying to get Ruby’s number, and a few were at the tables on the other side of the stage, far away from us.
Nestled in the corner as we were, we were as alone as we could get here.
“Keep squirming like that,” Carter’s deep voice whispered into my ear, though I could hardly hear him over the music, “and I’ll take you in the backroom and show you exactly what you can do with that ass.”
Heat flushed throughout me, in spite of the fact I fought it from happening. Carter’s words affected me, even though they shouldn’t. He was a brute who almost mindlessly followed Roman around, did exactly as he was told, and yet I couldn’t ignore the way my body felt around him.
I wouldn’t call it a crush; more like… deep lust. Any straight or bi girl with eyes would drool immediately when a man like Carter strolled into their lives. Plus, you know, the way he moved his hips and fucked was unbelievably amazing. He knew how to use his body, for sure.
Roman’s gaze traveled along my bare legs, his eyes taking their time in raking over my body, like every inch of my skin belonged to him. “Have you been good, Zoey?” His question reverberated deep within his chest, his rough and scratchy voice smoothing over my ears like honey. It was a voice I could listen to day in and day out, a voice I could easily lose myself in.
With Carter’s hands running up and down my bare arms, I resisted my urge to squirm more on his lap; I already felt a slight bulge beneath me, and if I moved more, I knew it would only grow. “Yes,” I muttered, trying to keep my cool.
The hands on me were rough, and I wondered if Carter’s hands were as violent as Roman’s, if Carter was an assassin, too. These men were dangerous, and yet I wasn’t afraid when I was near them. The only thing I was was turned on to the extreme. In the beginning, I hadn’t been proud of that, but now I was past the point where I hated myself for it. There was no point in pretending these guys didn’t elicit strong feelings in my body; they both did, Roman especially, and I would be whatever they wanted me to be.
Fuck being Zoey Marbella. I wanted to be Roman’s Zoey.
“Good,” Roman purred out, and a wave of satisfaction swept over me. I wanted Roman’s approval, as silly as it was. He took a sip from his drink, his stare full of possibilities, whispered words and promises. I might’ve come from money, but Roman was from another world, and to be thrown into it all because I’d been curious as to what went on in the backroom was almost too funny to be real.
I was part of his world, now.
I wanted to be his world.
It was nice to sleep on a real mattress, even nicer to have sheets that didn’t stick to my skin because they were made of some cheap, low-thread count material. Roman had taste, I’d give him that.
I rolled onto my side, wearing nothing but my underwear beneath the sheets. I liked to feel the soft smoothness of the blankets, to be cool and let the sheets swallow me. When I flopped onto my side, though, I rammed myself into something warm.
Something very warm and very solid.
Huh? What in the hell…
My eyelids were slow to open, and through the darkness of my studio apartment, I saw a dark-haired head. Stubble on a wide, square jaw. A bare chest peeking out below my sheets. Based on how his body felt when I rolled against him, I’d say he was butt-ass naked under there, too. No boxers, no anything.
Who the hell would be in my bed? I certainly didn’t invite anyone in it—and then I realized who it was. Roman Russo.
His dark-haired head was turned to me, his eyes open, but nothing more than slits. Even half-asleep, he looked like a god, like statues should be sculpted in his image, like he was everything any man should aspire to be.
I opened my mouth to speak, to ask him just what the hell he was doing here—and, frankly, I didn’t remember him getting here to begin with. Did he come home with me after the Dollhouse? I honestly couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember much of anything right now, which I thought was a little strange.
“Roman…” I started, but my voice sounded too airy, too light, breathy like the man lying beside me had knocked all of the air out of my lungs without me realizing it.
Was it wrong for a man to hold such power over me? A man who was still technically a stranger? It wasn’t like I’d known him for long, but I’d be the world’s biggest liar if I said he didn’t affect me heart, body, and soul.
He rolled onto his side, eyes peeking open a bit more. Two dark pits of black, colorless. You couldn’t tell where his pupils ended and where the irises began. They were the eyes of darkness incarnate, belonging to a man who radiated danger and coldness, and yet when I was around him, I couldn’t help but feel every single part of me warm up. My skin, my heart, my core. He made me so hot it was ridiculous.
And yet I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t change any of it. I liked being near Roman, liked it almost too much. He was older than me by at least fifteen years, stuck in a world that I knew nothing of, but I didn’t care.
I didn’t care one single bit.
His chest rumbled with the words, “Waking up next to you is not the worst thing in the world.” A slow, devilish smirk crossed his face, and he leaned toward me as a hand found its way onto my side, pulling me closer to him beneath the sheets. My body collided with his, so small compared to him, and I didn’t struggle. Why would I? This man was everything: commanding, handsome, sexy as all hell, and so very delicious.
I only wished I could remember how we got here.
His lips found mine, rough and wild in their kisses, drowning out anything I could’ve said. His mouth dominated mine every way; it was all I could do to lay there with his arm around me, to take whatever it was he gave me. A fire burned deep within my gut, and I knew I wanted my release. You didn’t make out with a man like Roman and not want to do more.
