I sigh into the mattress, my heart beating a mile a minute. I’m not going to say it, but . . .
I think I’m falling for him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ROME
The sun is bright on my face as a light tapping continues to hammer on my shoulder. I squeeze the pillow tight, the feel of my silk sheets beneath me, rubbing at my morning wood.
“Hello. Anyone in there.”
Peyton.
Goddammit Peyton.
My mind flashes to last night.
Peyton in my bed, Peyton in the shower, Peyton on the kitchen counter.
Her smell.
The way she tastes.
The way she fits like a glove against my body.
There’s only one thing to say. She rocked my fucking world last night and not just with sex, but with how she opened me up.
I’m different around her, more vulnerable, more aware of my feelings. Not so much of a prick.
And even though I kind of hate to admit it given where we started, she makes me happy.
Groaning, I roll to the side and capture her between my arms, her brown hair a stark contrast to my bright white bedding. She laughs as I tangle us up and pin her to the mattress.
“That’s not the proper way to wake up a man who gave you the best night of your life.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Best night of my life? How do you know it was the best?”
I dip my pelvis toward hers, my erection pressing against her stomach as I wiggle my eyebrows. “When you were coming on my tongue for the third time, you said and I quote, ‘This is the best night of my life.’” I add a little facial expression impersonation where my eyes roll in the back of my head.
Laughing, she swats at my chest. “That is not what I look like when I come.”
“How do you know? Ever look in a mirror?”
She squints, twisting her lips to the side. “Fine, if I look like that, then you look like this.” She sticks her tongue out of her mouth, pants, and pulses her leg up and down like a damn dog.
I can’t hide my smile or the laugh that pops out of me.
“So basically, you’re comparing me to a dog.”
“Pretty much.”
I nod. “Fair enough.” Gripping her hands, I pin them down and lower my head to her neck where I lightly lick the spot just below her ear and then work my way to her collarbone where I pause and smile to myself. Without warning, I suck her skin into my mouth and nibble.
“Rome!” she shouts, shifting beneath me. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
I suck hard and nibble.
“Rome, I’m not kidding.”
I don’t let up, making my mark and loving every second of it.
“I swear to God if you give me—” Her voice cuts off in a gulp as my dick slides against the juncture between her thighs. “Ohh,” she moans, her legs parting open for me.
Last night, we had the awkward conversation about birth control and how she’s on it, which only meant . . .
I glide my cock across her slit, slick and already wet.
“Shit, Peyton, you’re so hot.”
She doesn’t say anything, instead she rocks her hips, her fingers entwining with mine, gripping onto me tightly.
I lower my head, our foreheads touching, our eyes locked on one another. Temporarily I unlock my hand from hers and grip my thick cock where I guide it in. Returning my hand, I keep her still as I fully insert myself inside her. Her face scrunches up right before she lets out a long breath, her entire body relaxing.
When her eyes open up again, glazed over and needy, I bring my mouth to hers in a heated frenzy. Our tongues clash, our mouths molding as I quickly begin to thrust in and out of her.
There is nothing slow about it. We are in desperate need of release despite the night we had.
My hips don’t ease up, and when she wraps her legs around my waist, I bury myself even deeper, hitting her in just the right spot.
“Oh my God, yes. Right there, Rome.”
I love how she talks to me, how she doesn’t have any reservations about being vocal in bed. It’s fucking sensational and turns me on even more. Sex with this woman is incredible.
“How close?” I grit out, my climax resting at the base of my spine, ready to rip through me.
There’s something about morning sex that gets me off so much faster, and right now is no exception.
“I’m . . .” Her tongue sweeps across mine, her lips attacking mine before she pulls away and bites down on her bottom lip. A long moan escapes her as her pussy clenches around my shaft. “Oh. God,” she practically screams, back arching. “Yes, Rome.”
Grunting, I pulse a few more times.
One.
Two . . .
Fuck.
Three.
My orgasm tears through me as my balls tighten and I spill into her, pumping feverously until every last drop escapes me.
Christ.
I still. Press my forehead against hers, our noses touching, our breaths erratic as if we just ran a marathon.
Once our heartbeats start to slow down, Peyton finally says, “If you gave me a hickey, this little affair is over.”
“If I gave you a hickey, it means you’re fucking mine.”
* * *
“That’s cheating.”
Peyton is sitting on my kitchen counter, in one of my button-up shirts, legs crossed, looking fine as fuck.
I shut the door with my foot and turn toward the kitchen, holding a steaming bag of food in my hand.
“You never requested I actually make the pancakes.” I wink and set the bag next to her, only to spread her legs and slide my body between them, placing my hands on her hips.
Her hands fall on my shoulders. “I didn’t think I had to specify.”
“It’s all about the details, babe.” I place a quick kiss on her nose before stepping to the side to start unpacking the food.
When she doesn’t move, I twist my head and ask, “Are you going to eat? Why are you just sitting there, staring at me like that?”
The smile that consumes her is so fucking overwhelming that I have to catch my breath when she finally says, “You called me, babe.”
I lick my lips; look her up and down. She is a babe. There is no denying that.
“So?”
“Soooo,” she carries out and pulls me back between her legs where she twists her fingers through my bedhead. “It’s really cute.”
“I’m not cute.”
“You really are, especially when you get this little wrinkle between your eyes.” She presses her index finger to my brow.
Sliding my hands up her thighs to her ass, I grip her tightly and bring my mouth to her jaw where I pepper her with kisses.
“Are you trying to distract me from my pancakes?” she asks, tilting her head to the side to give me more access to her neck.
“Is it working?”
“First calling me babe, now this, I would say maybe it is.”
“Maybe? Or definitely?”
“Mmm . . .” she moans when I slip my hands under the shirt and move them up to her rib cage, just under her perfect breasts.
Fuck, I can’t get enough of her. Every time we’re in the same room, I can feel my need for her grow to an uncomfortable level, that if I don’t take her right then and there, I might explode.
“Your skin is so soft,” I mumble, bringing my hands to her breasts where I pinch her nipples.
Her head falls back, her hair floating down with her as her legs wrap around my back.
I twist and turn the little nubs between my fingers, working my mouth along her skin, desperate to make her come just from nipple play. She did last night, and it was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, her head thrashing about, her pelvis thrusting up at mine, looking for relief of the pressure building until she came all on her own, my fingers plucking at her sensitive breasts.
I want that again.
I stroke my thumbs over the ends and pinc
h. Repeat the process over and over again until she’s panting, her fingers gripping on the edge of the countertop. Her mouth parts open, her chest heaves.
Fuck, yes. She’s so close . . .
I’m about to bring my mouth down on hers as the door to my apartment flies open, slamming into the wall, startling the ever-living fuck out of the both of us.
“Rome?” a panicked Hunter calls out right before he spots me in the kitchen, my hands up a scared Peyton who is now clutching onto me, arms wrapped around my neck. “Oh.” A giant smile crosses over Hunter’s face.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I sneer, about to kill my best friend.
“I, uh, I thought you were dead or something.” He pulls on the back of his neck, and that wicked smile is still on his face.
“Why the hell would you think I was dead?”
“Because” —he shifts on his feet— “you didn’t show up to work. You’re always at work. You missed a meeting. I thought maybe the whole Project Mountain thing got to you and you keeled over in your apartment. I didn’t want you to be dead cold on your cement floors all by yourself.”
I’m about to answer when Peyton turns her head, giving Hunter quite the shock when she shows her face. “Don’t worry about Project Mountain, Hunter, I got it all covered.”
He chuckles and nods his head. “You sure do, don’t you?”
“You can leave now.”
Standing on his toes, he eyes the bag on the counter and points to it. “What’s in there?” He sniffs the air. “Pancakes?”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” I point to the door.
Holding up his hands, he starts to back away. “You can at least say thank you for making sure you’re not dead.”
“Don’t make him leave. He can join us for breakfast.” Peyton flips her hair to the side.
The fuck he can stay. No way in hell is Hunter going to join us for pancakes. I have plans for breakfast, and they don’t involve my best friend who can shovel a trough of food in his mouth and still be hungry.
“He’s not joining us for breakfast.”
Shutting the door. Hunter pats his stomach and walks toward the kitchen where he snags the bag and takes it to the dining table. “Grab napkins, bro, things might get messy.”
Jesus Christ.
* * *
“Pass the syrup.” Hunter makes grabby hands at me as I lean back in my chair, completely and utterly irritated that he took over my morning and Peyton seems to be enjoying it. But every time she glances my way with that fucking cute and huge smile on her face, I can’t really be angry. She’s too gorgeous. Happy. With me. And my idiot friend.
I push the syrup toward him and watch him drench a stack of pancakes while popping a piece of bacon in his mouth. “I like your outfit, by the way, Peyton. Very I had a lot of sex last night look.”
“Watch it,” I grit out, pulling a piece of bacon off his plate.
“What? It’s a compliment.” He smiles and winks at Peyton who’s blushing, the pink of her cheeks so goddamn endearing.
She fluffs the collar up and says, “Thanks. It’s from Rome’s hamper. Can you believe that? So chic.”
Mouth full, he points his fork at her, brown syrup dripping off the ends and onto my two-thousand-dollar table. “Very becoming on you and the no bra”—he gives her an okay sign while turning his lips down and nodding—“nice touch.”
I’m about to punch him in the damn teeth if he doesn’t stop complimenting my girl.
Yeah, my girl. I left the hickey to prove it.
And he’s right; the no bra is a really nice touch. It would be even better if fucking Hunter wasn’t here cock-blocking, and I could get my hands back on her tits.
“Do you want to take your pancakes to go?” I ask, hinting for Hunter to leave.
“I’m good here. Thanks though.” He halts his chewing for a second to smile at me. “So, when did this start?” He motions between us.
“Last night, actually,” Peyton says cheerfully. “He acted like it was all business, but this lovable hunk had other plans.” She nudges Hunter with her elbow and wiggles her eyebrows.
Hunter laughs. “You old dog.”
Christ. I drag my hands over my face and let out a long breath.
“I think we’re upsetting him,” Hunter whispers, as if I can’t hear him.
“I think it’s because he was playing with my nipples before you interrupted us.”
“Peyton, can you not?” I ask, wishing we could keep some stuff between her and me.
She shrugs. “What? Your hand was up my shirt when he walked in, so I’m pretty sure he put two and two together.”
“Not true.” Hunter comes to my defense. “He could have been massaging your breasts, totally different ballgame than nipple play.” Hunter cups his hands for demonstration. “You see—”
“You’re both fired if you don’t stop talking now.”
As if they’re best friends, they both laugh and go back to their pancakes. Great, just what I need, Hunter and Peyton becoming friends. It’s bad enough I have to deal with Hunter’s antics. I don’t need him looping Peyton in as well. What am I thinking? That’s why they get along so damn well. They both treat me the same way already. So little respect. Cue the eye-roll.
“Got laid and still uptight, should have known better.” Hunter shakes his head and then grows serious. “I’m going to assume since you weren’t in the office at the ass crack of dawn, you’ve found a solution to beat Project Mountain.”
I bring my glass of orange juice to my mouth, the condensation running down my fingers. “We did. Peyton did some impressive work.”
“And you didn’t want to hire her.”
Peyton shoots a glare in my direction. Keeping her eyes trained on mine, she asks, “How much did he resist?”
“More than I expected, but he finally gave in, knew you were the best.”
“Is that right?” she asks a little skeptically, but I put that skepticism to rest.
“You are. Hands down.”
I speak with such conviction that I can tell when my confession registers. Her face softens and she sets down her fork.
Eyes fixed on mine, she says, “You’re going to need to take your pancakes to go now, Hunter. I need to properly thank your friend for having so much faith in me.”
Like a tennis ball, Hunter’s head bounces back and forth between our staredown. He backs his chair away, taking his plate and fork with him. “Uh, I’ll just take these dishes and return them later.”
The door shuts with a click.
I tilt my head at Peyton who stands from her chair and sways that perfect ass toward me while unbuttoning her shirt, revealing an inch of skin at a time. Fuck. She got Hunter to leave with few words. Now with even less, she's coming for me.
I slouch in my chair and grip her hips when she reaches me. She drops the shirt to the floor and leans forward, pressing her hands into my shoulders. My hand glides down the slope of her back to her ass where I squeeze hard.
The smallest of gasps pops out of her mouth before she says, “Pull your pants down, Rome. I’m about to rock your fucking world.”
Doesn’t she know?
She already has.
Chapter Twenty-Five
PEYTON
“Don’t you dare turn your nose up at me.”
“I’m not.”
Accusingly, I point my finger. “You are so turning your nose up. I need a mirror, you should see your face right now.”
“Stop.”
“Rome.”
“Peyton,” he answers with that smooth and sweet voice that I know is made for only me. When he’s talking to anyone else, there is more of a bite to his words, but for me, he has a different tone, and it does something to my insides that makes them all jumpy.
“Be honest, you’re slightly scared.”
He eyes the hot dog I just bought for him from the street vendor with the overgrown beard and dubious expression. We just spent the last two hours loun
ging and reading in the New York City Public Library, looking at all the art, and taking in the beautiful architecture. And get this . . .
Are you ready for it?
We held hands the entire time.
Cue inner girl squeals. I held Rome Blackburn’s hand, fingers entwined, legit handholding with the occasional thumb rub on his end. It’s such a simple thing, but it meant the world to me, because I’ve dreamt of being with this man for so long that I almost still can’t believe it’s true.
And not only are we together, but we’ve been straight-up monogamously dating for three weeks now. Three weeks of Rome calling me, texting me, sending me flowers.
So many flowers.
Would you ever think of Rome as a flower-giving guy? Me either, but he is. He also sends sex toys, real kinky stuff. That didn’t surprise me.
I see him almost every night. Sometimes we talk about business, but most of the time we just talk. He told me all about how he started Roam, Inc. from the ground up like I’m trying to do with Fresh Minted Designs. He told me about his parents and his childhood growing up in Upstate New York and his dream to live in the city one day. He told me about his relationship with Hunter, and why he still loves him even though he drives him crazy most of the time.
I feel like I know more about Rome than I ever thought I would, and what’s the best part about all of it? Apart from the mind-blowing sex? When I come into the office, he’s all business. We talk strategy, go over mock-ups, and work like professionals. It isn’t until he slaps me on the ass and kisses me before I leave that I remember we’re a couple.
It’s like I have the best of both worlds, and I still can’t fathom how I made it all work. With a silly little email joke on my thirtieth birthday. Crazy how things work out sometimes.
“You know, I’ve lived in the city for years and never once have I ever stopped at a street vendor’s cart and bought any type of food from them. Not even a drink.”
“It’s because you’re a snob.” I lift his hot dog to his mouth. “Now eat up, it’s not going to kill you.”
“The guy had cheese dangling from his beard when he served this to us.”
Love Sincerely Yours Page 21
