Enraptured (20 page)

He’d heard it all before.

But Jessica wouldn’t be his for certain until either her parents approved of their relationship, or she recognized that they didn’t and made a choice on her own not to care. Or, more likely, to care but stay with him anyway.

Yeah right. What were the chances of that happening, really?

The line tugged. He had a bite.

Roman smiled as he reeled the line in slowly, bringing a struggling trout out of the water.

He always got what he wanted, if he waited long enough.

J
essica stoked the fire she’d carefully built while Roman was off fishing. Her new discount jeans were already covered in dirt and ash from kneeling on the ground. Her stomach grumbled in complaint after what amounted to a day of hard labor and no food.

“Here we go,” Roman said from behind her, and she turned from the fire with a smile.

“You do realize that you just walked across twigs and leaves without making any noise, right?” she teased.

“I take it as my sworn duty to sneak up on you.”

He handed her the fish. Literally just handed her a dead, slimy fish. She took it with her bare hands, hoping he didn’t see her reaction on her face.

“Um, good job catching us dinner, sir.”

“I caught it, you cook it.”

“I . . . I don’t know what do with a fish like this, sir,” she admitted, staring down at its beady little eye. “The only time I’ve ever cooked fish was in a microwave steam packet and it was already, you know, skinned. Deboned. Didn’t have a, um, fish head on it.”

Roman laughed. “You don’t have to eat it.”

“I’ll eat it,” she said hurriedly. “I’ll . . . just go take the bones out. And take the scales off. And the dead fish head with the eye.”

“Tasty.” Roman raised an eyebrow and she laughed.

“Cruel and unusual punishment, sir.”

It would probably take someone who knew what the hell they were doing ten minutes to prepare the trout, but after half an hour Jessica managed to make the fish look almost like the sort of thing you’d find in a supermarket. Her hands and shirt stunk from the fish guts.

She placed the chunks of trout in the metal camping pan Emilio had thoughtfully provided and set it over the fire, watching the flesh turn flaky and white.

“Dinner, Master, is served,” she said grandly, as if they were dining at his estate.

“Where’s the caviar?” he asked.

Jessica frowned. “You brought caviar? Camping?”

He sighed. “The fish eggs. You tossed them, I assume.”

“I totally forgot caviar was fish eggs. Caviar sounds so much more appealing when you’re not scraping it out from inside a stinky dead thing.”

“Yes, well.” He grinned at her and winked. “Thank you for preparing dinner. Cheers.” He poked his fork directly onto the pan and speared a piece, blowing on it before taking a tiny bite. “Delicious! You underestimated yourself, Jessica.”

His praise made the ordeal with the fish guts absolutely worth it. And the trout was actually really tasty.

After dinner, Jessica cleared up the mess and did her best to scrub her hands with bottled water and the antibacterial soap, but the faint smell of fish lingered. She changed her clothes into another of the new shirts, wishing she had a fresh fleece to put on as well.

“Do I smell?” she asked, settling in next to him by the fire.

“No more than I do, I imagine. We can smell bad together.”

Jessica smiled up at him. Yes. She’d love to do anything together with him, including smell bad. It was a comforting realization. It hadn’t been easy to prove to herself that Roman’s lifestyle played no part in her attraction to him. To her devotion to him.

But now, under the stars, comfortably full from a dinner they’d caught and prepared themselves, she could sit in the dirt with Roman Chase and be completely content.

I love you, Roman.

She thought it as hard as she could, wishing the emotion would come off of her like a sound wave, or an aura, so that he could feel it and know it was true.

But his heart was so guarded. Would he ever let her completely in?

Can you feel it, Roman? I love you.
She didn’t dare say it aloud.

T
hat night they snuggled into their separate sleeping bags by the fire. It was still early, only nine o’clock, but outside the glow from their campfire the woods were dark as midnight.

The stars were so numerous up there. Hard to believe they were the same stars that were in the sky every night, everywhere. These ones seemed special, different somehow.

“I like camping with you,” Roman murmured as they were drifting off to sleep.

“And I like you.”

(I love you.)

“Even in the middle of nowhere?” he asked, whispering in the dark, as if someone might overhear them.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered back.

“Even without running water, or electricity?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t want to leave.”

“Not when you’re around,” she said softly. “That’s all I want.”

“Thank you, Jessica . . .”

The conversation slowed, the pauses between the words of conversation getting longer and longer as sleep overtook them both.

She awoke hours later in her sleeping bag, panting. The fire had burned down to embers. The dream-image of Roman holding her by her collar and rubbing her still-aching clit still lingered in her mind. The dream had felt so real her entire body was shaking with the aftereffects. She slipped a finger down below in her sleeping bag, unsurprised to find her inner thighs slick with her own arousal.

She glanced guiltily over at Roman sleeping soundly, unaware that her body had betrayed his orders. She couldn’t help it, he was so sexy that everything he did was like foreplay to her.

So much for orgasm denial.

T
he first thing Jessica wanted to do now that they were back at Roman’s mansion was shower and wash off two days’ worth of dirt and sweat. She also couldn’t wait to sleep in a bed with him tonight instead of on the ground.

Although, she had to admit sleeping under the stars by a campfire they had built together was very romantic.

I love him so much.

Jessica reveled in this new discovery, luxuriated in it, letting the passion and affection she felt for Roman wrap around her like the open, starry night sky. He may have thought he’d taken something from her by having her rough it, but instead he’d given her something invaluable.

Alone together, in the dark, in the dirt, with nothing but each other, she’d finally been able to recognize at once and for certain that she loved him no matter what he had. If he lost his wealth tomorrow, she’d still want to be his. Clarifying her own intentions and being able to show Roman that he couldn’t scare her off so easily was worth having to gut a dead fish.

Absolutely.

Roman opened the large front door and his jaw dropped at the sight of the new fountain in the middle of his expansive grand foyer. The soothing sound of the water was an echo of the creek that ran across the trail they’d hiked yesterday.

Sunlight poured through the open curtains, transforming his once gloomy estate into one as open and warm as her feelings for him. How silly she’d been, to think that his intimidating home matched his personality, when really it was this—the warmth, the sun, the happiness—that matched their world now.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“I love it. You’ve made this house into a home, like magic.” He wandered around through the living areas, taking in the view through the huge windows, running his hands over the new bits of color and fabric. “It’s amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for letting me do this,” she grinned. “I’ve been dying to let that sun inside here since I first stepped foot in your home.”

“You’ve always brought the sun in,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair, letting the blonde strands fall through his fingers.

They showered together in the master bathroom, scrubbing away the dirt from the weekend and making love under the running water.

I love you
, she wanted to say. But once again the words couldn’t come out. She wouldn’t lose what she had with him, not for the satisfaction of saying something he might not ever want to hear.

“I have a question,” he said later, over coffee on the deck at sunset. “Should we have a car waiting to pick up your parents tomorrow morning, or do you want to miss class and pick them up yourself? Or I could go.”

Jessica chewed her lip, wondering how her parents would react to a car waiting for them at the airport. “If it’s okay with you sir, I think I should skip class and pick them up myself.”

“The traffic around JFK is crazy. How about you let the chauffeur take you, and that way you can sit in the back with your parents and chat on the ride up to the house?”

She nodded. “Okay. It’ll weird them out, but I’d never forgive myself if I got into a fender bender in one of your cars.”

He laughed. “I’d spank you silly and then I’d make you forgive yourself,” he teased.

“Good.” She leaned over and took his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips for a kiss. “These are good spanking hands.”

“They are.”

“And good hands for other stuff, too.”

“I like to think so.”

They finished their coffee in comfortable silence, but Jessica couldn’t help worrying about how her parents would react to her boyfriend.

Boyfriend. The word didn’t fit Roman Chase, or their relationship. He was so much more than just a . . . boyfriend.

“How shall I introduce you, sir?”

Roman cocked his head to the side. “I was wondering the same thing myself. I’ve never had an opportunity to meet a woman’s parents before, outside of high school.”

“Yeah, well, that was like two years ago for me.”

“I know. Your father didn’t seem too happy about our age difference.”

“Can you imagine how they’d react if they knew I let you tie me up and whip me on a regular basis?” she laughed.

“It’s not funny, Jessica. They’re going to hate me for stealing their little girl.”

“Oh, Roman,” she whispered. “How could they hate someone I love?”

She froze. She’d said it. Hadn’t meant to, but it slipped out, as if the emotion had an agenda of its own.

He looked at her, his face creased with confusion. “You love me?”

“I’m sorry, it just happened.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice catching. “I . . . I haven’t heard that in a long time. It means a lot to me.”

Roman stared off into the distance, unable to meet her eyes. Oh God, she’d scared him away.

And the fact that he didn’t return the sentiment didn’t escape her notice.

“Listen,” he said, finally facing her again. “When your parents are here, don’t call me sir, or Master—as much as I adore hearing those honorifics coming from your lips. As far as they’ll be concerned, I am not your Dom, I am simply . . . your lover. No, they won’t like that either. Fuck. Excuse my language,” he muttered. “Your friend?”

“Please sir, don’t demote me to your ‘friend.’ I don’t care what they like, I’m your slave, I want to be.”

He smiled at her, easing some of her tension. “Okay. How about you say I’m your partner. It’s very modern and politically-correct-sounding. How’s that?”