Roman’s eyes turn hooded as he watches. “Good girls don’t tease, Lola.”
I trace my tongue along the underside of his cock from base to tip then smirk up at him. “You sure about that?”
“Enough.” He drops my hair, letting it waterfall around my face for just a second before he threads his fingers through the locks and cradles my head. He draws me closer and I finally takehim in my mouth. The salty taste of him floods my senses and I grip the back of his thighs as he takes charge.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve pictured this?” Roman asks, his voice low, straining for control. “You on your knees. These damn purple streaks against my hands as that stubborn mouth of yours is stretched wide around my cock.”
I moan and Roman tugs me closer, forcing himself deeper. He pulls out and I gasp for breath before he’s pushing back in. He hits the back of my throat and I dig my fingers into his thighs.
“Relax. You can take me, Firebird. That’s it, just breathe through your nose and swallow. Your mouth was made for my cock.”
All of me was made for Roman. I fight against the need to choke and swallow him down.
“Fuck. Such a good girl.” His head tilts back, the tendons in his neck in full relief as he holds me close.
I feel him thicken in my mouth before he comes and I swallow again, hungry for the taste of him.
His hands go slack on my head and he steadies himself against the island.
I sit back on my heels and lick my lips.
Roman stares down at me, his eyes ravenous. He hooks his hands under my arms and I squeal with laughter as he lifts me onto the island.
“My turn,” he growls before lifting my shirt and burying his head between my thighs.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lola
Oh my god what did you put in this coffee?
It’s good stuff, right?
Will you be my friend forever?
Sure, why not.
- Conversation between Lola, age 19 and Scott, age 21
I takea sip of the hot coffee, letting it sit on my tongue. I moan at the perfect light body and the sweet cherry notes that linger on my tastebuds. “Oh my god, that’s it, this is the one.”
Skyler puts down the milk jug and makes grabby hands at me. “Let me try, let me try.”
I cradle the mug close to my chest. “No. Mine.”
“I made it!”
“After I told you how to,” I argue then take another long sip. “Fuck, that’s good.”
Skyler crosses her arms. “I can’t believe you own an entire coffee shop and you’re arguing over a single sip of coffee.”
The dismay on her face gets me and laughter bubbles up. I look down at the freshly finished counter and the dozens of half-drunk coffee cups lined up on the surface. “Hey, Skyler, you think maybe we drank too much coffee?”
She taps her fingers against her arm. “I do feel a little like the energizer bunny.”
I laugh again and hand her the mug.
Skyler and I have spent the entire morning trying out the different beans and blends the Oliviera brothers sent, testing various temperatures and calibrating the machine until we had the perfect brew. Now we’ve finally found it, I don’t want to share, but the caffeine tremor in my fingers suggests I really should.
