Roman was frustrated, and unhappy. He had been woken the night before to his wife's nocturnal mutterings, which were normally just nonsense. These weren't. She'd been breathing in that breathy way she did when she was aroused. He'd watched her, tempted to wake her, and see where it might take them, because whatever she was dreaming about was obviously pretty steamy. It had been so long since they'd made love, since before her kidnapping by Stella. It had been months...and it was now the first week of February. They rarely spoke, hell, they rarely saw each other. Roman spent so much time at work, and now that Marlena was re-certified, her work schedule kept her busy as well.
Just as he was about to wake her, she gasped, "We can't do this...we can't " and Roman decided to wait. Can't do what? Her head rolled back, and she moaned again, saying, "Oh, G-d! John..." and if that wasn't a mood killer, then Roman couldn't think of anything worse. Really? My wife is in my bed having sex dreams, about her ex-husband. Fucking great. Roman got out of bed, and decided to go to work early.
Now he found himself working late. He and Taylor had gone to her apartment, so she could work out possible disguises for this drug case they were working on. Roman was exhausted. He was pretty sure he was looking at a sixteen hour day at this point. He was pulled from his thought when he heard Taylor clear her throat and he looked up.
Taylor McCall stood in front of him in one of the more revealing outfits she had gotten for this occasion. She wore a clingy dress with cut-outs in the side. It was low in the front, and high on bottom. Roman had vetoed all of the other ones as 'too modest', 'too librarian', and 'too schoolgirl'. This was her last one. If this one didn't work, she'd have to find something else for this job.
Roman stared at her, with his mouth slightly ajar. It did something to him, but he wasn't willing to even acknowledge the stirring he felt low in his belly. "Where the hell did you get that, McCall?"
"The thrift store, idiot. I'm not paying full price for this shit," she said sarcastically. "What do you think? Is it passable?"
"It barely covers your ass, so yeah, I'd say it's passable," Roman said, as he felt his cock twitch in the tight confines of his jeans.
"Are you checking out my ass, Captain Brady?" she laughed, watching him.
"You've got a fine butt, McCall. Look, it's getting late, and I'm exhausted. I gotta get going," Roman said, trying to act like he didn't care, and yawning widely.
"We have another issue to discuss first," she said.
"Oh, G-d...what?"
"We're going in together, right? We need a cover. Are you my pimp? My boyfriend? My brother, who's also my pimp? What?" she asked him.
"Fuck. Really, we gotta do this now? It's almost midnight," he grumbled, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He had to get out of here, because his body was betraying him more with every passing moment.
"If we've got no chemistry, Brady...this ain't gonna work..." she stated matter of factly.
"Chemistry. Really? How the hell are we gonna?" Roman caught her eye when he looked up, quickly realizing what she meant. "—No. Nope. I gotta go," Roman says looking around for his jacket, planning to exit her apartment immediately. He was too tired, too horny, and too lonely, and she looked entirely too fucking sexy in that get-up she was wearing. Then he felt it. Her hand ran up his back, and over his shoulder as she stepped around his body, and stood in front of him.
"Come on. Real fast. Just kiss me quick. It doesn't mean a thing...I know that," she said with a smirk.
But Roman knew better. He'd been teetering on a thin line for weeks. He was unhappy in his marriage, but in a Catholic family, that didn't matter. Vows were forever, so was unhappiness in some cases, but Roman knew he was not content. The marriage he had right now, was not the same one he'd left years earlier. His wife was discontent, he knew that too. She wanted the twins home, and, if he was brutally honest with himself, she wasn't in love with him...she was in love with John Black. Fucking John Black. The man was in her dreams, she called him in the middle of the night...he'd heard her talking to John, as if they were best friends.
The night Stella kidnapped Marlena, and put her in the pit, he'd told his wife that they were like two ships passing in the night. It was still true, and the guilt he held onto over that was heavy. He hadn't searched for her until after she'd been missing for weeks. He just assumed she was angry, and didn't want to speak to him. It was his pride that stopped him, and she'd suffered for it. It was John who figured it out. It was John who'd found her.
Roman looked at the sexy woman front of him, asking him to kiss her. She said it was to test for chemistry, so be it. He been thinking about this since the day Bo brought her in, and they'd tricked him into thinking she was a dancer at Rico's club. If she wanted to see if they had chemistry, he was all in. Roman grabbed the back of her head, threading his fingers into her hair, and pulled her forward, crashing their lips together. It was supposed to be fast, quick, and over in seconds. It wasn't. He practically devoured her. It was rough, and hot. His arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her to her toes, and holding her tightly. He liked the way she felt against him. She was shorter than Marlena, and more petite, and he liked it. When Roman finally pulled back, he was shocked at himself. He wasn't usually so aggressive.
They were both breathing hard, and staring at each other in shock. Taylor glanced at Roman's mouth, and then back up to his eyes. Her lips were swollen, and puffy because of the force with which he'd kissed her. She said, "Fuck, Brady, who knew?" She ran her hand over his chest slowly, and said, "You wanna go again? I won't tell."
"I'm married, McCall," Roman said slowly, watching her hand trail over him.
"I don't want a relationship, Brady, just a hard fuck every now and then," she whispered.
He needed something so bad, a connection...maybe just sex. He wanted this. He wanted the rough, aggressive, no promises, kind of sex. Roman gripped her hair, and pulled her head back, looking into her eyes, "No strings? No attachments?"
"I don't do relationships. Too messy," she moaned.
"Fuck," Roman groaned before biting at her neck.
Taylor McCall, always ready with a sarcastic comment said, "I certainly hope so..."
