Concrete floors. Gray bed. White bedding, which surprises me. Black everything else. Stern and serious.
Cold and unrelenting.
Everything I thought he was before I got to know him.
I move toward him, fiddling with the blue tie around his neck, then loosen it until I’m able to lift it over his head, toss it aside, but close enough that I can use it later for . . . whatever reason.
“I’ve daydreamed about this forever,” I whisper, fingers working the top button of his dress shirt—so stuffy for a date, but appropriate for a business meeting.
“Tell me.” Are my ears deceiving me, or did his voice crack? “In detail.”
“Well,” I begin. “In my fantasy, I’m removing your tie like this, and I keep it nearby in case I want to bind your hands with it.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Or . . . I can gag you with it if you give me attitude. Which we both know is the likely scenario here.”
“You think you’re in charge?”
I smirk. “Oh, Rome. I don’t think I’m in charge here. I know I am. You might be the boss at work, but I’ll be the boss of this bedroom.”
I sound so sure of myself. So aggressive.
I love it.
Love the way he’s looking at me, eyes half-hooded and lazy, liking the way I’m taking control.
I don’t want to dominate him; I just want to do what I want with him . . .
“All right.” His answer is low. Amused.
His eyes are so watchful still as I work the front of his shirt. The fabric is worn and butter soft, gliding through my fingers when I tug the hem out of his jeans, his breath hitching.
Sliding my palms under his tee, I touch his chest, tentatively at first. Then more confidently, working my way up his abs and pecs.
Mmm. One of us moans and I’m almost certain it’s not me. Leisurely, I let my hands roam his upper torso, basking in his smooth flesh. He doesn’t have much hair on his chest like I thought he would, just a light sprinkle across his hard pecs. It’s light, barely noticeable, but there.
When I’m done exploring, my hands run under the shoulders of his shirt. Tug it up and over his head until it’s free from his body and falling to the floor.
Rome Blackburn, standing before me with only his pants on is not something I thought I’d ever see. He is mine for the taking; putty in my hands.
My hands are trembling a little. I might talk a lot of shit about banging, but in reality, I’m not the most experienced in the world . . . I’ve only had a small handful of sexual partners. Like, three.
One almost didn’t count, because we were in college, and neither of us knew any better. Fumbled around, pawing at each other. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t even stick it in the right hole the first time.
I almost laugh at the memories, nervous laughter bubbling in my throat when Rome’s serious, grey eyes catch mine.
His mouth twitches; he’s amused. He doesn’t know why I’m laughing, but the sound of it makes him smile. My voice makes him smile.
“You like me,” I simply state, tracing his bottom lip with the tip of my thumb. Back and forth, slowly, pad of my finger memorizing how soft his mouth is.
“I do,” he says, which is so unlike him.
“I can’t believe you admitted that.”
“I can’t believe it either. But you have my shirt on the floor and your fingers tracing my mouth and—shit. I just want to stand here and see what you’re going to do next.”
But he’s lying.
He doesn’t wait to see what I’m going to do next, because he’s impossible and impatient.
His hands are at his sides—but not for long. They find my waist and skim my hips over the silky fabric of my dress, gliding up my rib cage. They snake around to the front and tug at the sash tied over my abdomen, slowly dragging it out of its loop. Pulling it so the sash completely unties, the dress parts, and my entire middle is exposed. Bra. Panties.
“Well, this is a fun surprise.”
I’m full of them, I want to boast. But don’t have the courage; plus, I would choke on my nerves if I tried to speak.
Instead, I gasp as the cool air from his frigid bedroom hits my body. I shiver, from Rome’s hands and the temperature.
“Cold?” he murmurs, although he’s more interested in his turn to explore. They rake up my stomach that’s now covered in goose bumps, up to the lace trim on my red bra.
Yes, I wore a red bra. Yes, it’s cliché. But it matches my dress, and hopefully, my mood. I needed to feel sexy tonight, so I could do all the sexy things.
Lace-covered courage, as one might say.
“I was cold, but not anymore.”
His hands pass over my plump cleavage—I’m disappointed—not stopping until they reach the slope of my collarbone, gliding along there unhurried. It sends another shiver down my spine having his hands there. My skin is velvety smooth and tingles against his wanton fingertips.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, inching closer. “So sexy.”
His mouth finds the pulse in my neck and latches on.
“Don’t you dare give me a hickey,” I scold, pushing on his shoulders with the palm of my hands. It’s useless; his body is a wall of masculine energy.
“But you need one.” He laughs into my neck, the jerk.
“I’m serious, Rome. I have to hold my head up at work tomorrow. I’ll die if anyone notices.”
“You work for yourself; no one is going to rat you out.”
“I will kill you.” I pull back, glaring at him. “No. Hickeys.”
He pulls a face. “You’re no fun.”
“Do you want me to give you one, instead?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Then leave my neck alone.”
When he does remove his mouth, I groan—it felt so damn good having his lips there—I’m rewarded when it slides up my jawline, the tip of his nose bumping my ear. Breathing warm breath into the shell, my eyes slide closed.
“Mmm.”
I feel his mouth smiling at the same time his hands slide down my arms. Up again, thumbs hooking the cotton of my dress. Pushing it down my arms like I’d done with his dress shirt. And, just like his dress shirt, it slides off my body into a pool of red, liquid fabric, down to the floor.
Red bra. Red panties.
Nothing more.
He kisses me as I nimbly fumble with the buckle of his belt, then unbutton his jeans. Whirr the zipper down its track.
His cock strains against the thick fabric. I can feel it beneath my fingers as I pull the zipper along. Greedy fingers that want to feel it; greedy eyes that want to see it.
I’m glad he turned the lights on. I want to see all of him, every inch. My eyes cast downward—they simply cannot help themselves. I’ve only ever seen this man in a suit, jeans or shorts, and a T-shirt. Never even close to naked.
He’s so laced up and stuffy.
Now he’s bare and practically naked to my prying gaze.
Broad chest. Tan skin.
A stomach that dips into that glorious V into the waistband of his black boxers.
“Everything in this room matches,” I can’t help pointing out. What can I say? I’m a stickler for details. “The floor. Your bed. Your shirt. Your boxers. Do you do this on purpose?”
“Maybe,” he teases back.
“Mmm . . .” is all I can muster, because I’m helping him shuck his pants and get them off his body.
Then, it’s just the two of us.
Skin and lace and cotton briefs.
Hands and lips and tongue and a little teeth.
I want to be on the bed, so I take a few steps backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. Wait for him to guide me down, laying me flat on my back. I crab-crawl to the center; I’m not brave enough to pull down his underwear and give him a blow job—not yet anyway.
But he seems content to watch me recline on his stacked pillows—red panties against stark white—my dark hair fanned out, a
rms spread wide, inviting him to join me.
“God, you’re sexy.”
I crook a finger.
He comes.
Rome dives into my body, arms braced at my sides, tongue licking between the valley of my breasts. Playful. Sweet. My breath quickens when he lowers himself, settling between my legs, the hard length of him pressed into my core. It pulses.
Now, I shouldn’t say this is the part where we dry fuck for a good ten minutes, but . . . this is the part where we dry fuck for a good ten minutes. Like teenagers. Rome moving over me, mimicking sex.
Digging the tip of his erection into the valley of my thighs, hitting the wet, hot center. My head tips back and I moan, biting my lip. All he’s doing is rubbing himself against me, for God’s sake.
We’re still wearing underwear . . . and I love it.
God, it feels so good, and we’re not even screwing.
“More,” I whine. “Get these off.”
Together we shove at his boxers. I’ve never seen Rome Blackburn so . . . desperate. Excitement shines in his eyes; he wants me bad.
And, dear God, his dick is ridiculous.
Big.
Thick.
Big and thick? Stop repeating yourself, Peyton. You’re about to bang your boss. You’re about to bang the man of your dreams.
Stop saying bang. It’s not classy.
I try and focus on the task, and get out of my own headspace, but it’s hard—I haven’t had sex in two years, and his incredible penis is clouding my judgment.
Rome spreads my legs.
Inches down my body, peppering kisses on my stomach—it’s not perfect, hardly flat—but he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to love it, licking my belly button and running his nose along my pelvis.
“So fucking sexy,” he tells me for the umpteenth time tonight, and I stretch out beneath him, kind of like a cat lounging in the sun. “I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on this pussy for weeks.”
“You have?” I squeak out in the unsexiest way, tipping my neck so I can see him better. I then watch as his mouth descends on my panties, sucking through the sheer, red nylon. His tongue flicks up and down the slit of my crotch, wetting the space between my legs.
Sucking.
He pulls the panties to the side and licks me clean up and down the middle.
“Oh, Jesus.” My head casts to one side and I lay limply, like a rag doll. Legs spread by the width of his broad shoulders, his large palms splayed on my open thighs, keeping them open.
Open.
Hot. Wet.
Ready.
Rome’s mouth sucks, fingers spread my pussy, and oh God, I can’t believe I just called it that word. It doesn’t take long for the nerve endings in my entire lower half to quiver; he is that good at this. Someone get this man a medal.
I grabble at his hair, grasping a handful.
“I don’t want to come unless you’re inside me,” I protest when his mouth devours my clit.
“Shhh.” Rome shakes his head, barely removing his mouth from where it’s buried. “You will. Later.”
Oh shit.
Oh shit, this feels good.
“Oh, God . . . yes . . . mmm.” My hips, of their own violation, begin a slow, steady rotation, and I raise them up, off the bed slightly when his teeth graze my clit. Just the barest hint. Just enough so I toss my head on the pillow and bite down on my bottom lip.
His flat tongue laps up my . . . “I’m gonna . . . oh God, don’t stop doing that . . . right there, Rome, mmm . . .”
Nothing but incoherent thoughts course through my mind, body. Lower parts.
“Your pussy tastes too fucking good,” he moans, coming up for air. “I need to fuck it. I’m gonna fuck this pussy.”
Oh, Jesus.
I can’t take the dirty talk; not from him.
He’s stalwart and serious.
What do I even reply with? Yeah, fuck me hard? I’m not good at dirty talking—I’ve never really done it, and it feels weird and unnatural.
I try it anyway. “Yeah, Rome, fuck me.” Then, even though I feel like an idiot, I add an extra, “Mmm.”
The sound of my mmm drives him crazy, and he adds a finger where his mouth is. It hits the right spot, at the right time, and my hips come off the bed.
He pins them down, shoulders boxing out.
Glassy-eyed, I watch the top of his head. Watch his tongue and fingers work my pussy. The sight is as arousing as the actual act of him doing it, like sexual napalm.
Explosive.
Intoxicating.
I haven’t had anyone go down on me in forever, and I’m getting high on watching Rome do it. So fucking hot.
My nerves quiver. Thighs tremble. Head rears back, hands reaching for the white sheets. I clench them, bringing the corner of one to my mouth, teeth biting down on the fabric.
“Oh God . . . oh . . .”
No actual words slip out of my mouth when I come, but my entire body is alive with pleasure, hitting me dead center, erupting like fireworks all through my nerves.
I’m incapable of speech. A little bit sweaty.
Spent.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Rome admonishes from down under, working his way back up my body, tugging at the sheer red bra cups. He pulls one down so my nipple pops out and lowers his head to suck.
One of his hands disappears beneath me, fingers working the strap until it’s free, then pulling the entire thing off my body. Tosses it to the pile of clothes on the floor. Pushes my panties down while I languish on the mattress—fanned out and wanton—waiting to see what he’s going to do next.
“You look like a goddess,” Rome whispers into my neck, and I believe him.
“I love your body,” is my contribution to the sex talk, my brain completely useless for stringing intelligent words together.
I can feel his stiff cock on my thigh, the pre-cum leaving a wet mark on my skin. Even though I just had an amazing orgasm, I want him inside me. Where he belongs.
He agrees, and then reaches across my body to the bedside table, yanking open the drawer unceremoniously and pulling out a box of condoms—the sight makes me blush, and my body is already on fire. Alive and on fire.
Still aroused—maybe more now than I was before, suddenly insatiable.
“God, I want you to fuck me so bad.” I squirm on the mattress, twisting in the sheets, rubbing my thighs together. He makes me so hot.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The condom gets rolled on, and watching it makes me bite down on my lower lip, anticipation coursing through my veins like it’s the first time I’ve had sex.
Rome’s bicep muscles flex when he positions himself over me, and my greedy palms land there, taking hold. I gasp when he reaches between us, grasping his dick and guiding it into my wet, slick heat.
One slow touch and then he pushes in a few inches.
“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans deep inside his chest.
“You like that?” I ask, eyes closing at the sensation of him sliding slowly inside me, inch by inch.
“I’ve never felt anything so good in my life,” he groans again, louder.
“Wow. So many compliments.” Why am I teasing him?
“You want to make jokes now?”
“I can’t help it.” I laugh. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”
“You couldn’t pay me to leave this goddamn pussy.”
Those words.
This man.
He pulls out, then pushes in, thrusting in . . . pulling out . . . nose buried in the crook of my neck, mouth on my pulse. Mine, for its part, hangs open.
“Shit, Peyton . . .,” he moans into my hair. “Goddamn.”
Yes, more. Say my name again.
He does.
“Peyton.”
Good old-fashioned sex, the best way there is—him on top, pounding into me, hard. The headboard begins to hit the wall and I concentrate on the sounds and sensations of it, alongside his moans that turn into soft, animalis
tic grunts. The sound of our sex.
Sweat on his brow.
The dampness between my legs.
I feel and hear it all.
And Rome was right; he is going to make me come again. I can feel it building . . . slowly but surely, the telltale clenching in my pelvis sending a shockwave up my spine, and I arch my back. Rome latches onto a nipple, suckling and it damn near makes me crazy.
“You’re going to make me crazy.” His voice echoes my thoughts.
“Good.” That’s what I want. “I want you to lose control.”
He quickens his pace, thrusting harder. Deeper. Grabbing my ass with both his hands and getting as deep as he can go.
“Uhh,” I moan. Because mmm . . .
“Peyton . . .” He groans my name again, and I know there will never be a time I forget the way it sounds leaving his lips.
“Rome,” I whisper back, stroking his shoulder blades as he pumps his lean, athletic hips.
I’m so close. So is he. I can feel it in the way his body tightens, and his face morphs in awe when he lifts up to look at me.
Eyes locked.
Hips thrusting.
Bodies sweating.
It feels fantastic, everything I ever dreamed of.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, strained and sexy.
And just like that, a rocket of pleasure shoots up my spine hitting me so hard that my eyes squeeze shut, my back arches, and everything inside me feels like it’s on fire as my orgasm takes hold of me.
“Jesus Christ.” His hips pump harder, his lips land on mine where he kisses me relentlessly until he freezes and groans into my mouth.
I can feel him pulsing inside me, his orgasm consuming me, his heavy breaths consuming me.
Rome Blackburn is so freaking hot, especially when he comes and comes hard.
Blowing out a long breath of air, he collapses on top of me and then does the most surprising thing. Propping up on his elbows, he takes my face in his hands and strokes my cheeks with his thumbs before ever so softly brushing light kisses across my face. There is nothing urgent about them, just a reassurance that he’s here, in my arms, filling every fantasy I’ve ever had.
And this will most likely be the end of me, because this is the Rome I saw, the Rome no one else could see.
Sensitive, sweet, and loving. Intense.
Love Sincerely Yours Page 20
