Read Cousins (Cousins #2) Online
Authors: Lisa Lang Blakeney
Cousins (Cousins #2)
COUSINS An Alpha Bad Boy Romance By Lisa Lang Blakeney Book 2 WriterGirl Press |
To Mommy
The Final Chapter Of COUSINS, Book Two Of The Forbidden and Passionate Romance Series By Lisa Lang Blakeney.
I made a mistake and had a taste of something sweet, something forbidden, something highly addictive.
My cousin. It's no secret that I'm greedy, and I want more. Now I just have to convince her pretty ass that she does too.
Just as things begin to heat up between Elizabeth and her cousin, she pulls away frightened of what it all means and goes off to pursue funding for her new business.
Convincing people to make decisions that they wouldn't normally make is Roman's specialty. It's just that he's going to have to find other more creative ways to make this particular target bend to his will.
This is the second part of a two part series. The entire series is now complete and available exclusively on Amazon!
Genre:
New Adult Romance
Book 2
- Series
POV:
Dual Point Of View
Content Warning:
Contains adult themes, explicit love scenes, and harsh language. It is only appropriate for adult readers age 18+.
Disclaimer:
All characters in the book are 18+ years of age, non-blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.
LISA LANG BLAKENEY
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Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Lang Blakeney
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.
NOTE: All characters in the book are 18+ years of age, non-blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.
CHAPTER ONE
ROMAN
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
I should notice Jade in the room, because she's basically standing directly in front of me with her legs shoulder width apart, both hands on her hips, and her miniature skull cocked to the side; but I'm so inside of my own head right now, it's almost as if she's a silhouette blending into the background with the rest of the furniture.
I should also probably hear everything Jade is saying to me, because she's popping her usual wad of god-awful gum in her mouth while talking completely at me, but even her voice is like white noise to me right now.
I don't hear shit.
I'm sitting on the floor of my living room, methodically taking apart and reassembling my Beretta 92FS while separating and scarfing down yellow peanut M&Ms. If a stranger was a fly on the wall inside my apartment right now, he or she would probably be staring at me as if I was completely certifiable; basically how Jade is looking at me at this very minute.
What I've never told her or anyone for that matter is that I was taught by a school counselor, who I was forced to meet with in the twelfth grade (by Joseph's request I suspect), that I needed to create rituals for myself in order to self soothe.
In other words, to calm the fuck down.
When my insides are dark and stormy, this is what I do. I either create a new ritual on the fly or fall back on one of my old standards, but whichever method I select, they always have to mean something to me. And only me.
I was barely six years old when my mother woke me up on a weekday at five a.m. and announced that we were going to walk all the way from our house to Walmart (which was at least two miles away) and wait for them to open. She had purchased a vacuum cleaner from there that she wanted to return immediately, because the power cord would not automatically wind back inside its compartment, and she was livid. This is what it could be like living with my mother. She acted on every impulse, every whim, and every emotion. Many times at my expense.
After the time it took to get there, we waited another two hours for Walmart to open that day, and then she told me to sit on the walkway in front of the store with the vacuum cleaner while she made a run to the bank. I didn't understand at my age that there were no banks open at seven a.m., at least not in our neighborhood, so I did as I was told and waited.
It was cold that day and the longer I sat on the concrete, and the longer she was gone, the more anxious I became. I was shivering with my arms around a vacuum cleaner box as store employees pulled inside the parking lot to begin their workday. Most of them gave me inquisitive but brief glances as they continued their labored marches inside the building. Everyone except a cashier named Caroline. A round, robust woman with little to no hair on her head (my guess was due to chemo) but a huge smile, and she stopped to speak to me when no one else bothered to that day.
"Why are you sitting out here all alone son?"
"My mom's vacuum cleaner doesn't work."
"Where is your momma?"
"At the bank."
"The bank? Which one?"
"I don't know."
"Hmmm … what's your name?"
"Roman. What's yours?"
"See my name tag? Can you read it?"
"Yep. It says Caroleene."
"That's Caroline."
"That's what I said. Caroleene."
She flashed me another one of her warm smiles.
"Are you in school yet, Roman?"
"Sometimes."
I said not realizing what was very wrong with that answer.
"You want to come inside with the vacuum cleaner and wait for your momma there, Roman? It's chilly out here, and you'll get hemorrhoids if you stay sittin' on that concrete."
I liked the looks of Caroline. Even though she was missing a lot of hair, she still looked kind and fluffy like someone's grandma should look. But I could hear my mother's voice in my head, warning me to avoid all strangers, especially kind ones. My mom didn't trust many people and even when I really wanted to, I didn't either.
"I'll wait for my mommy out here."
"Fair enough, but here's a little something while you wait. Free of charge."
Caroline smiled when she handed me a small unopened bag of M&Ms. It was the first time I had candy since I could remember, and even though I had been warned about accepting food, gifts, or kindness from strangers, I made an exception that morning.
"It's my only guilty pleasure. I have plenty more at home unfortunately. You take these," she offered.
"Thank you."
I said as I ripped the bag open almost immediately. Not realizing how hungry I was.
"What good manners, and you’re welcome darlin’. But listen, Roman, make sure to eat each one of those candies one by one and very slowly. It will help pass the time until your mom gets back. Okay?"
"Okay."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Time passed longer than I ever anticipated that day and now that I'm older and wiser, it's obvious that sweet, old Miss Caroline figured that it was going to be a long morning for me. It was the first time that my mother had ever left me somewhere and then completely forgot about me. She usually came back within at least an hour.
This time she didn't.
I was still sitting outside Walmart three hours later, when the tears started to roll down my face and the realization hit me that my mother wasn't coming back for me. I knew then that I had a decision to make. Should I try and look for my mother? Should I try and make my way back home? Or should I go inside and ask that sweet old woman for help?
I ate the last of my M&Ms while I thought things through and was able to arrive at my first of many future big boy decisions. I was going to figure out my way back home, with the vacuum cleaner in tow, and hoped that my mother would remember her way back home too.
Almost five hours later she did.
I'm lining up the peanut version of my favorite candy side by side on my smoked glass coffee table, then eating only the yellow ones. Eating M&Ms to calm myself down is one of my go to rituals thanks to the kind woman I met many years ago. Making it yellow M&Ms is something I'm doing on the fly. Something that reminds me of the very person that has my insides all twisted in knots. Yellow is Elizabeth's favorite color.
And she's all I can think about.
Her mouth.
Her breasts.
Her laugh.
That spectacular ass.
I don't especially like that images of her are creeping around inside of my head, consuming my thoughts, but the fact remains that I brought all this shit on myself once I put my hands and mouth on her and especially my damn dick inside of her. I have no one to blame but my fucking self.
It's like a switch has been flipped on inside of me that I couldn't power off even if I wanted to. What I think I hate most about how I'm feeling is that it's all so new and foreign to me. This desire to always know where she's at, what she's doing, and how she's feeling is actually a big pain in my ass. That shit is for weak pussies. Not for men like me.
My old school counselor would probably say I’m having an issue, because I don’t know how to interpret and control unfamiliar emotional responses or some such nonsensical shit. She was right about one thing though. I do like control. I definitely like knowing exactly what I’m dealing with at all times. I don’t like surprises, and I don’t like chaos. And while I'm sure it's no big deal in many circles that I have hooked up with a family member who is only my cousin by marriage, in my world it's a big fucking deal.
It's messy.
None of my friends or family would ever understand this. In our world, she's still very much family. They'd probably come up with many creative names for what I am: perverted, distorted, warped, depraved, pathetic. I know this because I would probably think the same thing.
Problem is right now … I just don't give a fuck.
And the only reason why I've been holding back as much as I have with Elizabeth is because I know that she definitely does give a fuck.
I've swallowed four Extra-Strength Excedrin and drank at least three highballs of Jack Daniels over the last hour, but my head is still fucking pounding and my gut is still wickedly churning. Probably because over the last twenty-four hours the same questions have been running through my head, gnawing at me.