Every woman should have multiple orgasms. They were a glorious, glorious thing.
Roman climbed onto the sofa, with his legs resting over the arm and placed his head on her lap.
“This all right?” he asked as the sofa let out a bit of a protest.
“Are you uncomfortable?” This sofa wasn’t really made for four people. Especially when one of them was a six foot three Russian who had to weigh over two hundred pounds.
“No. I’m not.”
She ran her fingers through Roman’s hair, sighing with pleasure. This is what she’d needed even if she hadn’t realized it.
To touch all of them. Be surrounded by them.
“Better, Pet?”
“Yes, Sir. It’s perfect.”
35
Tamsyn was kind of bored.
It was Friday afternoon and Roman had worked from home for the most of the day, while she’d puttered around doing some cleaning. But not much.
And now she was out of things to do.
Roman had rushed out of here about forty minutes ago, saying that he was late for a meeting he’d forgotten about.
And, yeah, she was stuck here with nothing to do.
Although she knew what she should do . . . but she just didn’t want to spy on them anymore. She didn’t want to do anything that asshole wanted of her.
But she had no idea how to protect them and herself. She had a bad feeling that she could only do one of those things. And if it came down to it, she knew just who she was going to sacrifice.
“Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?”
A female voice made her jump and she glanced over at the doorway. She was lying on the sofa in the living room. How long had she been here? Who was that?
She sat up, just as an older woman with salt and pepper hair and hazel-colored eyes walked into the room.
“Oh. Who are you?” she asked, taking a step back and eyeing her warily.
“Um, I’m, uh, I’m Tamsyn.”
Great.
Like that meant anything. The woman just stared at her in confusion. “Tamsyn?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here? How do you know my son and his friends? And where is Salem?”
Wait.
This was Salem’s mum?
Oh heck.
What did she do? How did she explain who she was?