Page 55 of Heartfelt Pain
I ignore a tiny stab. Both of us know we’re not innocent people.
Roma: Can I come over?
Roma: Please
I stamp out the used cigarette and climb into a black SUV. My head rolls against the glass window as we drive home in the dark.
Trevino literally moved out just so I could have my own little liaisons. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.
Part of me worries, though, not about Roma coming over, but how tired I am. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I can get there, but at this moment I’d rather lay my head down on someone’s chest and fall asleep.
That’s not territory I’m interested in going with Roma. He can make me orgasm. He can make me feel wicked, painful things.
But that’s all he gets. No nicknames, no flirting.
Sex only.
As soon as the terms come to mind, I type them out in a message.
His response comes back within seconds.
Roma: Okay.
There’s no obnoxious blender going at six in the morning. There is however a sleepy Roma in my bed.
I guess we should’ve also agreed on stipulations for how the nights end because I did not expect him to still be here when my alarm went off.
He didn’t even move when I sat up, confusedand disoriented. It’s a random Wednesday morning. I’m too old for this lover shit where men lounge in my bed during weekday mornings.
I tore off the blankets, hoping that’d wake him up. He tossed over, gloriously naked, smothering his face into my pillows.
Fucking asshole.
Kicking him out in his zombie state seemed too tedious so I went back to my daily routine. Skincare, makeup, and hair.
I put on my trousers and grab a black button-down. I stomp all the way to the front hall, looking for my tallest heels. I stomp all the way back.
And still, Roma Zimin sleeps.
It’s the red lipstick that catches my eye. I don’t normally fuss with such a bold color because I start eating as soon as I make it to Fujimori’s.
But. . . maybe my mornings need some fun.
“Get up.” I smack Roma with a pillow. All I get is a sleepy groan so I slap his ass.
He jerks up. “Ren!”
“Does it look like I have all day?”
Rubbing one eye, he scans down my dress clothes. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get the fuck up.” I grab his hand and force him up. “Go over there.”
Confused, he turns. I can’t resist slapping his ass again, enjoying his sharp inhale.
“Seriously, I?—”
“Over there.” I point to a chair and practically shove him into it. “Now be a good boy.”
