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Speaking of heads, the one in my loose shorts was starting to thicken.
My balls also gave a pulse of need, which was quickly followed by a pulse of pain shooting through my lower abdominals.
Hopefully I hadn’t broken myself, because that would really suck.
Especially with the way Izzy was strutting her ass in front of all these men, making me feel things that I didn’t want to feel.
***
My mood hadn’t improved by the time we were eating our crawfish. Watching her eat her food had wreaked all kinds of havoc on my nerves.
The way she was talking to everyone, acting like she couldn’t feel the anger rolling off of me in waves, was driving me insane.
It was when she leaned over the table and touched Wade’s hair because they were talking about how soft it was that I almost lost it.
Shoving my half-eaten food away, I latched onto Izzy’s wrist and tugged. “Can you come help me for a second?”
I didn’t give her a chance to really answer, and instead, I started pulling her from her chair and dragging her where I wanted her to go.
I also didn’t miss the knowing looks that the other men at our table shot me as I tugged her away, nor did I miss the looks from the two women in the place. Wade’s ex-wife, who’d come in with another man and sat next to our table, and Jolene, who’d been sitting with us and was forced to come by Joe.
I didn’t care.
Izzy was driving me fucking insane, and I had a pressing need that was getting more serious by the second.
Something only Izzy could fix at this point.
“Rome, what are you doing?” Izzy asked, coming along with me without hesitation.
“I have a problem,” I said.
“What kind of…umph!” she squeaked as I pushed her into the men’s bathroom, which, luckily, was only a single stall, and slammed the door. “Rome, what…”
The rest of whatever she was going to say was lost on her lips as I pressed her up against the wall and slammed my mouth down onto hers.
That was when she finally understood, and not once did she protest.
Not when I was slipping those tight-ass shorts off her, or when I picked her up as I unzipped myself. Not even when I thrust into her after testing her readiness and fucked her so hard that her back would likely sport bruises from my haste.
But I just couldn’t stop. Couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t stop wanting her.
Couldn’t stop needing her.
“Rome,” she whispered into my mouth. “Oh, God. I’m going to come.”
I realized right then that not only did I want her and need her, but I loved her.Chapter 15Quit posting your problems on the internet. Go to a bar like a normal person.
-Rome to Linc
Izzy
“Can I borrow your truck today?” I asked sweetly.
Rome looked over at me. “Why?”
He’d been acting really weird lately, and although nothing overt had changed between us or with how he treated me or acted around me, I could still tell something was off. Whatever it was that was bothering him, though, he was doing his damnedest to hide it.
“Because I want to go get something, and it’s two hours away.” I paused. “I’ll also need to borrow you, too. I don’t drive, remember?”
He sat up from his sprawl on the couch.
“You really need to learn how to do that.” He paused, sounding sort of miffed. “I don’t like that you have to walk everywhere.”
Well that made two of us, but I had to do what I had to do.
I shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for forever. I don’t need a car right now, and although I do want to get one at some point, I have to have my license first.”
“Then get your license,” he countered.
I gave him a droll look. “To get my license, I have to have some sort of driver’s education. Then I have to take a test in a car, and I don’t have a car. Not to mention, I don’t have the money to get a car right now.”
I was still recovering from the hit I took when I chose to hand off Senator Antilles to my parents’ cleaning business. They had no problem taking him on, and they didn’t even say thank you.
But whatever.
Two hundred dollars a week less sucked ass, and I wasn’t doing well.
“Why don’t you have any money?” he suddenly asked. “You don’t have Senator Antilles’s place anymore, but I know you don’t come cheap, and you clean at least eight other houses a week just as big if not bigger than Antilles’ house, so what’s going on?”
I leaned against the arm of the couch and stared at him, wondering if he was going to judge me for what I was going to say.
“I pay my brother’s mortgage,” I explained.
“Your brother who has two teenagers who could help, a wife who also works, and a job with your parents?” he clarified, starting to get angry.
