Santa’s Pucking Hat Trick (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

11. Rachel

11

RACHEL

I f I was really trying to avoid thinking about how hot Sawyer, Wes, and Roman were, setting up a whole photo shoot for the team was not the greatest idea. On the marketing front, it was perfect, of course. A really solid idea that I was sure would boost the team’s reputation and visibility. But God, at what cost?

I watched Sawyer and Wes with a truly absurd level of concentration as they posed with their teammates. Strong jaws, stronger arms, and the unique masculine grace they both shared as elite athletes…it was mesmerizing. After Wes and I had connected during his interview and Sawyer and I had literally kissed, it was also like torture. Here are the hot guys you can’t have, posing for your viewing pleasure! Look, but don’t touch. Again.

And it only got worse when Roman finally emerged in his Santa garb.

And he was missing a shirt.

I almost moaned aloud at the sight. Roman was, somewhat predictably, covered in tattoos: a cluster of roses on his ribs, a tiger clawing its way up his chest, some more art I couldn’t recognize because I was too mesmerized by all of his warm, sun- browned skin showing in between the ink. Rippling abs flexed as he walked, bracketed by the suspenders in a way that felt downright pornographic. A thin dusting of dark hair on his chest only enhanced the gorgeous picture even more, as did the cocky half grin he wore up top. And damn it, even the stupid Santa hat looked good on him, the red contrasting so perfectly with his green eyes that I wanted to cry out in frustration—sexual and otherwise.

As Roman came further into the room and the other guys started to notice him, titters of laughter and mocking wolf whistles rose up. Roman preened under the attention, but his eyes never strayed far from my face.

It made it even harder to regulate my reaction. But I was determined not to let him win. Not to let him see that as much as he pissed me off, I kind of still wanted to make out with him about it.

“Roman, you need to put on your shirt. This is a family-friendly shoot,” I told him as firmly as I could manage while my inner voice was saying, No! Don’t put on a shirt! In fact, take off more clothes!

He looked at me like he knew what I was thinking. “Family friendly’s not really in my wheelhouse, sweetheart.”

“A more PG-13 photoshoot could be interesting,” the photographer butted in from behind me. I whirled around on Leonard, who was semi-openly eyeing Roman’s body in a way that made me self-conscious about how I must have been staring too. “Up to you, of course, Ms. Henning. But people do love a Sexy Santa. And we’ve got all of these svelte young men here itching for their GQ moments—why not work with what we’ve got?”

I let out a laugh. Leonard was right, and as the other members of the team laughed at the prospect of getting a little more scantily clad themselves too, a thought dawned on me about how this could still help with Operation: Rehab Roman. He was already pretty far tarnished in the eyes of a traditional small town like Mistletoe, arguably past the point of no return, so spicing up the rest of the team to make him less of a stand-out bad boy by comparison…it wasn’t a bad idea. Reverse engineering the problem of his reputation.

“As if any of the rest of these guys want to pose with their shirts off,” I let out flippantly, half knowing that the response would rebuke my efforts to stop this before the whole team was in an uproar. The situation had truly gotten out of hand when the other guys started to strip.

This turn of events was definitely not a good one for my overstimulated libido.

“Fine,” I sighed, sounding like I was agreeing to sacrifice myself to a horror movie monster on behalf of my band of friends. “Alright, fine. You guys can have your spicy photoshoot. But we’re keeping it strictly PG-13, alright? And any of you who haven’t gotten kid-friendly photos yet should keep your shirts on for now—we’ll get some of those too, so I have more shots to choose from for the social media campaign.”

It was easy, at least, to ignore most of the guys on the team as they posed like Christmas-themed Ken dolls all over the festive photo backdrop. I didn’t care to see Nakamura or Young or— ew —my dork of a brother in their half-clothed states, and it was second nature to tune them out and just examine the photos from an objective marketing standpoint. Most of the guys might as well have been faceless mannequins.

Sawyer, Wes, and Roman, though…those three were an entirely different story. I had to very consciously avert my eyes as the first two reluctantly posed, allowing myself only a second or two of admiring all that taut, glistening skin. Neither of them had the modeling gene, at least, so the fact that they clearly didn’t want to be seen made it slightly easier to see them the tiniest bit less.

But I was still pretty sure I’d be haunted by Sawyer Finnegan’s red chest hair and those sharp Wes Robbins hip bones in my dreams.

When it was time for Roman to do some solo shots, though, I really couldn’t help but stare, gawking on the inside even if I was able to keep my face impassive. He smiled for the camera like it was where he belonged, just as at home here as he was on the ice, if not more so. He may have missed his calling as a model.

Or honestly, a porn star. The pure sensuality that radiated off of him as he flexed and preened under the photographer’s guidance was palpable, at least to me. I found myself transfixed by his gorgeous inked skin, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene. My breathing became labored. A hot, tight feeling wrought havoc on my body, and a low, delicious warmth pooled in my belly.

“Like what you see?” Roman joked across the room, looking right at me as he lifted his sculpted arms over his head, stretching out all of those dark tattoo lines until I worried they’d snap like my pushed-to-the-brink sanity was threatening to do. I swallowed hard and made a concerted effort to seem unimpressed, which only egged him on further. “I can take off more, if you like.”

“Family friendly,” I croaked out, my head swimming just from the sight of him hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants.

Roman’s laugh echoed through the studio, and being surrounded by such a surprisingly pleasant sound was almost too much in my overstimulated state. He laughed like a real person—a little loud, a little husky, not nearly as untouchably perfect as he appeared in stillness. I almost wanted to moan.

“Hey, don’t worry about my reputation, sweetheart,” he said, shooting me a condescending wink that had my blood boiling for a different reason, thank God. “I already got everybody else to get half naked. Bringing them down to my level, yeah? That’s gotta count for something.”

It irked me that his thoughts so closely mirrored my own.

When Leonard finally got tired of taking photos of Roman, the shoot wrapped up. It had been a success, despite the gray hairs it had probably given me—and the endless amount of fantasy fodder. The last of the guys from the team who’d stayed to laugh at Roman’s Top Model fantasy playing out before their eyes finally left, thanking me for the fun day and giving me a sense of satisfaction that dulled the effects of my grumpiness.

Which left me and Roman alone. Bad, bad news.

He was clearly lingering because this opportunity had presented itself to him. Any opportunity to get my metaphorical goat seemed to thrill him. He did, mercifully, change back into his regular clothes, but that wasn’t actually that much of a mercy; gray sweats slung low on his hips, a black t-shirt that fit him snuggly enough to outline each ridge of his abs…he still looked absolutely delicious. And those gorgeous, inked arms were out in the open too—no matter how many times I saw them, they’d never be less impressive. All that muscle…would it kill him to leave some sex appeal for the rest of the world?

“Any plans this evening, sweet cheeks?” Roman asked, approaching me with the slow, measured gait of a jungle cat on the prowl. I turned away from him with a herculean effort, fiddling with the containers I’d packed with leftover food on our makeshift craft services table. I threw my response over my shoulder.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Roman, but I actually have more work to do.” I resisted the urge to make some kind of snarky comment at his expense—something about how some of us had to work hard and weren’t just handed things because people thought we were beautiful.

I didn’t care that it would discount his genuine hockey talent, but obviously I wasn’t going to compliment him by calling him beautiful to his face. Instead, a light bulb went off in my head, and I whirled around to look him in the eye, trying not to fixate on that gorgeous gray-green color I’d never seen in real life before him.

He was nearer than I thought, so we were almost touching. I’d felt it when he moved closer, the displacement of the air he’d disturbed, but I didn’t expect him to be so close that I could count all of his eyelashes. I swallowed hard, and my voice came out a little breathy when I said, “Actually, you can make yourself useful and help me. Since you’re here and all, now might be the best time to finally get your interview for the social media profiles.”

His slow smile held ill intent. So did his low, husky voice when he said, “Ask whatever you like, baby. I’m an open book.”

And I was about to open my legs if he didn’t tone it down. I took a step back, then pivoted out of his direct line, as if worried he’d reach out and touch me and then I’d be a goner. I gestured for him to follow me, one crooked finger that made him raise his eyebrows. I ignored the heat that flooded into my cheeks, into the rest of my body, as I led him to a couple of folding director-style chairs at the other end of the room.

“Sit,” I told him firmly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he practically purred, and I ignored how that made my clit throb with a need I’d been trying to ignore all damn day. Tonight, when I finally made it back to the guest house, I’d really have to get my money’s worth out of my vibrator.

“First, tell me how you got into hockey,” I asked Roman as I set up my phone to record his answers. I hadn’t thought to bring along my notepad, since the photoshoot had been the plan, so transcribing the interview later would have to suffice. The disinterest in my voice was apparent as I started the interview, though. I was resisting any path toward knowing this man further for my own health. Besides, I’d lost my ability to perform after suffering through such a long, arduous photoshoot. Roman smirked from his own director chair, sliding down lazily into it so he was slumped low. The man even made slouching look sexy. I ground my teeth.

“Figured out it was a pretty good way to impress girls when I was in middle school,” he answered with a smirk. “And the rest is history.”

I got a feeling he wasn’t telling the full truth, but I decided to take him at his word. I fired back, “Is there anything you do that’s not about getting into someone’s pants?”

“You know what they say, baby. Do what you love and you never work a day in your life.”

“That sounds like you’re a sex worker,” I shot back. He laughed.

“Nah. I guess I’m just a sucker. Nobody pays me for the pleasure I give them—but I work at it like they are. Gotta earn my keep.”

That stopped me in my tracks. Roman Jett, and other cocky men like him, always struck me as the type to be selfish in bed. Men like a few I’d slept with in college who asked a half-hearted “did you come?” after thrusting quickly into me with no art, no finesse, no real love of the game. This was an interesting development, and I couldn’t help but sate my curiosity.

“Oh? What does earning your keep typically entail?”

Roman’s grin turned more wicked. He slid bonelessly out of his chair, ending up on his feet and prowling toward me again. Christ, he was like a stray cat, always coming back no matter how many times I tried to deny him. Like he could sense that I really wanted him to come closer, rub himself all over me the way a tomcat would. I was practically in heat. I shifted uneasily, crossing my legs together tightly. Maybe I was worried about giving him easy access. My mental fortitude certainly wasn’t up to the task of refusing him when he looked at me with those striking eyes, especially if he flicked that godforsaken tongue ring at me again.

“You know, I’m not so good with words. Explaining that kind of thing…it takes the magic out of it. But I can show you, if you like,” Roman said to me. And damn it, there was that flash of metal in his mouth again, making me want to squirm in my seat. Predictable, but it made it no less tempting.

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that,” I tried to scoff.

“Oh, I’m sure I would.” His eyes almost seared my skin as they swept over me, leaving warm hyperawareness in their wake. It made it hard to stay in my chair—hell, in my skin. But I shook my head, and pointed back to his own chair, staring directly into his eyes if only to keep from looking at the rest of him.

“Sit. Down.” The words came out almost as growls, and I could have sworn I saw Roman shiver in response. But he gave me another low “yes, ma’am” that made me want to rip his clothes off, and he sat back in his chair. So my interview could continue. Safer question, Rachel. Quickly.

“What’s your favorite part about being on a team like the Santas?” A family-friendly Christmas-obsessed hockey team. That had to be safe territory, surely.

“You mean other than getting to see your pretty face—and those tight skirts—at work every day?”

Or not. I rolled my eyes. “Please. You’ve been on the team way longer than I’ve been here. You expect me to believe I’m the reason you come to practice every day?”

“Not the only reason,” he conceded. “But it’s been a nice bonus lately.”

Damn it. His charm offensive usually seemed so put-upon, but that sounded genuine as hell, and it almost made me smile. Instead, I put my lips to use with another rebuttal. “I’m sure you say that kind of thing to every woman you meet.”

“Me? A sweet talker?” His eyes glinted with mischief. I wanted to laugh, but I resisted giving him that victory.

“Unheard of, I’m sure.”

“Actually, outside of the bedroom, yeah,” Roman mused. “I guess I usually don’t have to talk much to get a woman to come home with me. All this,” he gestured toward himself, his incredible physique, “usually does the trick on its own.”

“Then why try it with me?”

“Well, you haven’t come home with me yet, have you? Clearly, you take a little more effort than most.”

That sounded like a compliment. I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling quite dry. “I figured that would be a deterrent. If you can find easier marks at any bar, mall, or freaking synagogue in the tristate area, why waste your time and efforts on me?”

His pause, the way he blinked with a sort of perplexed expression on his face, told me he’d never considered the why of this before now either. But it was just a moment of his overconfidence faltering. That untouchable grin was back in place in seconds. “Maybe you interest me more than other women do. I’m just being honest when I say that I look forward to seeing you.”

I blinked at him. Was he serious? How could he really look forward to seeing me when I’d been nothing but surly to him since the second we met? But I’d basically already asked him why, and Roman could tell I was too stunned to ask further. He elaborated on his own.

“I won’t lie to you. Got no reason to. Your body…yeah, it’s a big part of the appeal.” His eyes swept over me again, seeming to strip me bare. My breath hitched, and I didn’t know how to handle the fact that he was once again sliding out of his chair, moving closer to me. He stopped in front of my chair, leaning in to place his big hands on the wooden arms, bracketing me in with his body the way he’d done the first time we ever spoke at the ice center. His voice was so low as he went on. “But there’s something else there too. You’ve been taking up space in my head a lot more than any other beautiful woman ever has.”

He’d been taking up way more real estate in my own thoughts than I wanted, too. I tilted my head back so I could look up at him, meeting those eyes as full-on and fearlessly as I could pretend to feel.

“Enough with the flattery. You just want what you can’t have.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. I felt his breath on my face, and I shivered, which made him grin. “But, Christ, Rachel, you should see yourself. You’re all flushed,” he said, letting a gentle finger come up to trace the pink of my cheek, so delicate I could almost pretend he hadn’t actually made contact. I wanted to sigh into the touch. Stop this, Rachel. Be professional.

“And your breathing…it’s a little heavy for someone just sitting there, unimpressed by me. Unaffected,” he went on, almost conversationally. With a cheeky energy that was almost playful, he leaned in and nuzzled my nose with his own, and my shaky gasp of surprise only further proved him right. “I may not be an expert on you, but I know what it looks like when a woman wants to fuck me. And Rachel, you sure look like you want me just as bad as I want you right now.”

I tried to be strong. Really, I did. I tried to listen to that rational, professional part of my brain that was screaming at me to shut this down, throw him another softball, not-too-personal question and focus on the task at hand now that I finally had the opportunity to interview him. But it was no use—like trying to dry up a tidal wave with a roll of paper towels.

I knew I was going to kiss him even before I reached for him, delved my hands into his dark hair, and let my lips crash against his.

It was a mistake. Worse, it was premeditated. And yet the second our lips were together, moving in perfect sync, parting to allow our tongues to dance too, I no longer cared about the consequences. Because Christ, Roman was a good kisser. Maybe I’d hoped that he would be all bark and no bite, that there was no way someone as full of himself as Roman Jett could actually have the skills to back up his reputation. But those girls in the bathroom at Candy Cane Jane’s had gushed about how bad he was, and they were right, because his mouth was absolutely sinful.

I was more than happy to be damned.

Roman half growled against my mouth as his strong arms wrapped around me, crushing me against him. My crossed legs fell open, making space for him to stand between my knees, so close that I felt the movement of his cock hardening against the apex of my thighs and I gasped into our kiss, edging forward on my chair to feel more of him. It was more frantic, now, our mouths picking up in intensity and in pace as Roman ground his hips further into me, giving me a taste of the friction my pussy craved. In those gray sweats, I could feel every inch of him as he grew hard, solidifying to a substantial length and girth.

Fuck my vibrator. This was what I needed.

The second I let my hands slide down from Roman’s hair, gliding over the fuzzy shaved parts at the back of his head, down his muscular shoulders and finally the small of his back, I knew there was no stopping this. My hands searched for his skin, pulling up his shirt, and in seconds he was breaking our kiss just to tear it off and give me better access. I gripped his warm skin desperately, letting my nails dig in, which he seemed to like.

Roman returned his mouth to my ear, catching it between his teeth in a tiny bite of pain that sent a thrill through me. As he moved lower to kiss my neck, leaving gentle love bites that I knew would make marks, his hands found their way to the front of my jeans, flicking open the button and zipper with a deft finger like he’d done this thousands of times before.

I knew I was soaked. Hell, I’d been slick and wanting all afternoon, from the moment I saw Wes, Sawyer, and Roman all pose with their shirts off for the camera. I felt the truth of my wetness without a shred of embarrassment when Roman slid a hand into my pants and cupped the front of my panties, possessive and wild.

“Fuck, I’ve gotta taste you,” he ground out between his teeth. He’d found his way to my collarbone, and the warmth of his mouth so close to my aching nipples was like a drug.

“Do it, then,” I gasped.

Two things happened at once—glorious, sexy, and only a fraction of what I wanted. Roman, deft enough at seduction and sex that he’d managed to undo my bra under my shirt without me noticing, used the hand that wasn’t cupping my pussy to yank down my top and free my breasts. Then, his lips and tongue were on my nipple, and at the same time, his clever thumb found my clit.

I heard myself moan, heard it echo across the large studio space we had all to ourselves. Roman sucked my nipple expertly at the same time as his thumb massaged my most sensitive bundle of nerves, and maybe it was because I’d been so riled up all day, but by the time he’d switched to my other nipple and scraped it with his teeth, I was coming. He grunted in satisfaction, even letting out a rough, “Fuck, yeah,” as he kept rubbing my clit, taking me through the waves that had my hips bucking up to meet him. And then the cold air hit my wet nipple as Roman’s mouth abandoned it, moving instead to kneel in front of my chair.

Oh, fuck. I loved where this was going, needed to feel his mouth on my most sensitive place or I might cry. I could almost come again just at the sight of Roman on his knees before me, all those glorious tattoos on display. I half wished he’d rip my jeans right off, waste no time getting his tongue on my pussy, but instead Roman helped me wriggle out of them, pulling them completely off and then spreading my legs over the arms of the chair.

“That’s a fucking gorgeous sight, baby,” Roman told me, his eyes raking over me. My breasts were still out, my arms trapped at my sides by the stretched out neckline of my shirt, and my legs were wide open, welcoming him. I was spread out for him so fully that it felt obscene, even though my panties were still on, plastered to the front of my still-throbbing vulva by the wetness. I loved it. I loved it even more when he went on. “Those gorgeous tits, your hair all a mess. And your sweet pussy is so wet for me. You want me to lick it until you come against my face?”

“Fuck, yes,” I gasped.

“Tell me, baby,” Roman growled. “Tell me how bad you want me to tongue-fuck you. Tell me everything you want.”

“You,” I told him simply, inarticulate and feeling nothing but desire. Maybe later I’d feel embarrassed by this, even ashamed that I’d given in so easily to Roman Jett, but not now. “I want you to lick my pussy, and then…”

My eyes trailed down to his dark happy trail, and I couldn’t help but lick my lips, even though I couldn’t see his erection from this angle. I want you inside me. Every inch.

I couldn’t get the words out, though.

“You want to feel my cock stretch you wide, don’t you?” Luckily, Roman wasn’t shy in the slightest, clearly used to talking dirty. I never knew that was a particular interest of mine before. I gave him a frantic nod. He hummed, a wordless agreement, and brought his hands up to my inner thighs.

Roman yanked the thin fabric of my panties to the side, away from my pussy, exposing me to the air. His other hand tightened its grip on my thigh, possessive and strong as he looked me over. He only had time for one sentence: “Fuck, that’s a pretty pussy,” and then he was delving in face-first.

He didn’t take his time or pretend to be patient. No, Roman dove in and devoured me, his tongue finding and expertly flicking my clit as his lips enveloped my sopping folds. The hard, cool metal of his tongue ring felt like a shockwave. I cried out from the overwhelming ecstasy of it, undulating my hips for that extra friction.

Roman traced every soaking wet inch of my pussy with his tongue, making wanton sweeps through my folds, teasing my entrance, and then landing back on my clit again to give it extra attention. The piercing struck my sensitive nerves like it was made just to get me off. I was panting, my voice coming out without my brain’s permission as I begged Roman to let me come.

“Please,” I pleaded, and then Roman groaned as he sucked my clit between his lips. The vibration, the pressure, the perfect heat of his tongue contrasted with the cool metal of his piercing—together, it brought my second orgasm crashing down in another few seconds that felt like an eternity.

It was so much more intense than the first. A tsunami of sensation that had me crying out louder than I’d ever allowed myself before. My whole body shook, my legs twitching, and I felt that Roman was the only thing keeping me together—his strong hands holding my legs as he kept licking and sucking me, prolonging the pleasure. I was almost sobbing when the waves finally subsided, and my body was like a ragdoll. That was perfect for me, for Roman too, as he found a way to get me out of the chair, out of the last of my clothes. Next thing I knew, I was completely naked, my back on a cold table that once held refreshments for the team, and Roman was standing before me, his hard cock in his hand.

Just like the rest of him, his erect dick was so fucking pretty. Thick, long, elegantly smooth but for the prominent vein that ran underneath it, making my mouth water. His black pubic hair, his perfect balls that hung low and full…God, if I’d ever wondered if men were worth all the bullshit that came with dating them, this picture would be the proof. Here was a perfect male specimen, his face glistening with my juices, and I was about to have him inside me.

And I hadn’t even had to sit through an awkward dinner first.

“Tell me you want this cock, Rachel,” Roman told me, almost like he was reassuring himself that I was on board with all this. As if I’d say no now after he’d already made me come twice. “Tell me you want me to fuck you, and I’ll give it to you the way you deserve. Hard, fast, and rough.” His voice was hoarse, his own lust making his self-control waver. There was nothing sexier than the knowledge that I had Roman Jett this weak—I hadn’t even touched him, but he really had worked at my pleasure like it was a job he took seriously.

“I want it,” I told him. For once, my voice was firm, as was my resolve. Maybe if we got what we both wanted, we could both move on—get back to our jobs, our lives. That thought only further convinced me there was no other answer but yes, yes, yes. “I want your cock inside me. I need you to fuck me, Roman.”

Instantly, he stepped closer, reaching for me. I sat up to meet him, our mouths crashing together again, letting me taste myself as he positioned the tip of his hardness at my dripping entrance. Even the tip felt incredible, and I edged closer to him so my ass was almost off the edge of the table. Roman swore, and I gasped loudly when he didn’t wait another second, thrusting his hips forward and slamming himself home inside me.

Fuck, I was full, and it felt like everything I’d ever wanted. Roman stretched me just right, and as my inner muscles clenched, pulling him in further, he started to move, fucking me hard and fast like he’d promised. I felt my tits bounce with his thrusts, my highly sensitive nipples brushing against his chest and adding to the sensation of it all.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Roman told me as he fucked me, his hands gripping me hard around the waist. “Perfect. So wet, so right for me. This is my fucking pussy,” he growled, throwing in a sharp slap where my thigh met my ass. Fuck, that was hot.

“Yes,” I agreed without thinking, panting out my next words. “Fuck, I’m so close again. I’m—I’m gonna come,” I said, almost astonished that the tight, hot feeling was cresting inside me again so soon.

“Fuck yeah you are. Gotta give this perfect pussy everything it wants,” Roman proclaimed, and I could see that he was grinning, that wolfish way I’d found so annoyingly tempting before. “It’s so good, it deserves to come all over my cock.”

Now, his hand slid down my stomach to find my clit again. All the while, he continued with his powerful thrusts, slamming inside me again and again. Roman used two strong fingers to rub hard, fast circles into my clit, right over the hood, while his hard cock found the spot inside me that heightened the pleasure even more.

I could feel his own need to come in the way his rhythm threatened to falter, the way his muscles tensed and his brow screwed up in concentration. But he had an athlete’s discipline, and plenty of experience in the bedroom to boot. He wouldn’t finish until I came again, and suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to feel him come apart deep inside me at the same time as I reached my third orgasm.

“I’m coming,” I felt myself whisper-scream as the spasms began, my inner walls clenching, milking Roman’s cock as hard as they could. Christ, it was agony and bliss at once, and that only became more true when Roman moaned aloud and let himself fall over the edge with me. His hot seed filled me up, the involuntary jerks of his cock syncing near perfectly with my own twitching muscles. I slumped forward against Roman’s hard chest, utterly spent and satiated, still riding out the aftershocks of our mutual climax. He held me against his body, swearing quietly in my ear.

“Christ, Rachel, I knew you’d come like a goddamn freight train. That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up,” I whispered, but I was smiling, and that made him laugh.

Roman and I could barely look each other in the eyes when the afterglow faded. We both scrambled back into our clothes, not speaking another word as we slunk off to our cars. It wasn’t a walk of shame, though—no matter how much my rational brain wanted to admonish me for losing control, hooking up with someone whose personality I found insufferable, crossing professional boundaries in the worst way, I was practically giddy from the thrill of it all. Replaying Roman’s well-honed moves, the feeling of his lips, the sound he made as he came.

There was a tiny moment of worry about the fact that we’d never even discussed using a condom as I headed to my car, but I was diligent about my birth control, so it wasn’t much of a worry. STIs were more of a concern, but I was no stranger to getting tested, and I got the sense that Roman did that a lot too. Wishful thinking, maybe, but the way he cared so much about my pleasure made me think he must at least care a little about not spreading love bugs to all the other women he aimed to please.

Honestly, just the thought that he’d go sleep with someone else after the crazy good sex we’d just shared…that was the most upsetting part of it all. But that was ridiculous, and like my other worries, it was easily squashed. Just enjoy this, I told myself. You haven’t been thoroughly laid in a long time.

After, I drove home with my legs still shaking, sneaking into the guest house through the backyard so none of my family could see me. The Hennings were cool and loving and supportive as anyone, but there were limits even to their kindness. No way could I let them see me like this: just-fucked, clearly a little guilty, but not enough to regret the best sex I’d ever had.