PART FIVE: DREAM TEAM

Gerri heard Roman finish on the other side of the hotel door. Rustling after – cleaning up, catching his breath. He'd open the door and brush past her, head down, leave without saying a word. Like always. Her mix of anxiousness and relief would linger for days.

But instead he opened the door and stepped into her, her back still against the wall. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, his hand slipping into her silk pajama pants.

"Roman–?"

"Please let me." He moaned as if he was the one being touched. She squirmed, equal amounts of desire and attempts to teach him.

"What do you think you're doing, Roman?"

He whimpered. She ran her hands through his hair, the first time she'd touched it, tugged his head up so their eyes locked.

"You moron. Have you ever done this? Use your mouth."

She loved watching him drop to his knees. His shoulders moving through his white tee, his bare feet below black sweatpants. His jokey, straightforward persona to hide the truth.

"You vulnerable, needy little mess," she whispered. She tried to keep her voice at its minxy volume but every now and then, Rome's tongue found bullseye.

She pushed his head back to establish she did not need this and he was lucky to serve her. Should beg for it. His eyes were owlish, some other creature that knew how to navigate the dark because there was no other choice. She flicked his lower lip with her thumb.

"Tongue," she said. He obeyed and she ran her finger down it, slipped her finger into his mouth until he gagged a little, then pulled him by the hair against her again.

"You have one minute to make me come," she said. "If you don't, no more special conference calls."

He writhed beneath her. Went to work.

"You idiot. Do I need to do this myself?"

He moaned her name against her clit and that was it, she abandoned control and let pleasure roll wave over wave through her.

"Rome," she gasped and grabbed his shoulder. Ran a hand through his hair.

When she was done, he smiled up at her, pleased and drunk on pleasure.

"You need to go now," she said quickly, rearranging her clothes, touching her hair. It was impossible to look at him but she tried.

He tilted his head. Smiled. Still on his knees. "But would you like me to stay?"

"That's a very interesting interpretation of what I just said."

"No. I get it." He bounced to his feet, chipper in a way that Gerri knew wasn't pep-in-his-step but nervousness, fear of the spiral.

Against her better judgment she took his arm, directed his face towards hers, kissed his forehead. Kissed his mouth. The chafe of his scruff against her palm, the lingering taste of herself on his soft, startled lips.

He pulled away. "Mm I'm not very good at the whole –" Roman waved his hands. "Intimacy, kissy, let's go eat Italian with a bottle of Chateau Margaux thing."

She flipped his hair back to the right direction, ran a hand down his shirt as if to smooth it out but she was just keen on touching him. Shit, she thought.

"Good, dating sounds disastrous." She eyed him. "Do you still want to manufacture this dream team? Can you pull yourself together and handle it?"

He hesitated.

"Can you do that?" she asked.

He looked soft, malleable, considerate. "Uh yeah. Yeah. If you're coming with me? No pun intended – then yes, let's do it."