Love Sincerely Yours

by Quinn, Meghan

  I shrug and take a giant bite from my dog, savoring the flavors of the rich onions. “Hey, don’t count the guy out. Cheese Beard really knows how to make a good hot dog. This thing is delicious.” I lift the hot dog even farther and press it to his lips. “Go on, eat.”

  He doesn’t open his mouth. Ugh, he really is a snob.

  “Rome, it’s good. Try it.”

  “I think I’m okay. You can have mine.”

  I place my hand on my hip, frustration hitting me hard. Not only is he a snob, but he’s also stubborn. “Rome Michael, if you don’t eat that hot dog right now, I will never give you another blow job again.”

  Just as the words come out of my mouth, an elderly couple decked out in designer clothing walks by, giving me the stink-eye. I give them a quick salute followed with, “Kids these days, right? Talking about oral sex in public, sheesh?”

  They both make a disgusted sound and scurry away, clearly insulted by my crassness. Oh well.

  “Was that necessary?” Rome asks.

  “Don’t change the subject. I will never put my lips on your dick again if you don’t eat that hot dog.” I run my fingers up his thigh. “And you know the kind of orgasm I can give you with just my tongue. Remember last night . . .”

  How could he not? Last night was so incredibly hot. I took him in my mouth in the shower, made him sit on the little bench, and I blew him for what seemed like ten minutes. Every time he got close, I would edge him out, never fully letting him come until I was ready. I’ve never seen him so angry and turned on at the same time.

  Groaning, he relents and takes a big bite of the hot dog, cringing like a baby the whole time. Slowly his face starts to relax, and I can see that he actually enjoys it even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

  “Good, huh?”

  He purses his lips to the side, acting like the hot dog “ain’t no thang” when we both know it’s heaven on our tongues.

  “It’s all right.”

  Liar. I poke his side causing him to laugh as he tries to dodge my finger. “You’re such a stubborn man.”

  Capturing my finger in his hand, he tugs me closer to him and places a sweet kiss across my lips. “I might be stubborn, but at least I’m your man.”

  So freaking true.

  “When did you switch from hard-ass to softie?”

  “I’m still a hard-ass.”

  I shake my head. “Not with me. It’s like I hit a soft spot with you.”

  Growing serious, he brings his hand to my face and strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I hate to admit it, but you did hit a soft spot. I think you hit that soft spot the minute you wrote that first email.”

  “Yeah, made that soft spot turn hard, huh?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Get it, I’m talking about your penis.”

  He gives me a giant eye-roll and takes another bite of his hot dog. I knew he liked it. “I got it.”

  “Just making sure, since you’re so stiff all the time.” I shoot my finger guns at him. “Hey-o.”

  Standing, he shakes his head. “I think it’s time we went our separate ways now.”

  Not looking back, his jeans hugging him in all the right places, he takes off down the street without me.

  “Hey,” I call out, grabbing my purse and chasing after him. I loop my hand through his arm and yank on him to slow down.

  Laughing, he leans down and places a kiss on my head before slowing down his powerful stride and enjoying New York City in the afternoon with me.

  * * *

  “Where are we?” I ask as we ride up a very long elevator.

  “I told you it’s a surprise,” Rome answers, moving his hand to my hip and pulling me into his chest.

  The only thing I know about our dinner tonight is he told me to dress sexy and to bring a coat.

  So I spent the day primping my entire body, from head to toe—literally, got a pedicure—curled my hair in waves, stepped into my sexiest lingerie, and put on a killer black dress with a deep V neckline and a short hem that hits me mid-thigh.

  And the heels I’m wearing, let’s just hope I don’t have to walk too far, because there is no way I’ll make it.

  The elevator above us dings, indicating we’ve made it to our floor. By the small of my back, Rome guides me out of the elevator and into what feels like an open room.

  With an arm wrapped around my waist, holding on to me tightly, he undoes my blindfold and presses a kiss to the side of my head when he says, “Surprise.”

  It takes a few blinks before my eyes adjust, but once they do, I’m blown away. A span of windows greet me, revealing the beautiful New York City skyline at night. Lights twinkle for miles in front of me, the Hudson River just off to the side, reflecting the picturesque scenery.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp.

  Taking my hand in his, Rome guides me to a small sectioned-off area where there’s a table set for two, lit by candlelight, and a bottle of our favorite wine chilled and waiting to be opened.

  I turn to him and wrap my arms around his neck. “Rome, I can’t believe you did all of this.”

  He lightly kisses me, his lips lingering for a few seconds before saying, “Anything for you, Peyton.” He kisses me again and then asks, “Do you want to go outside, take in all the scenery before dinner?”

  “I would love that.”

  Still caught up in the romance of this night, it isn’t until we’re outside, staring at the busy streets of the city that I realize we’re at the top of a monumental building.

  “Are we at the top of the Empire State Building?”

  “Yup. Rented it for the night for us.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He shakes his head, his lips sealed together.

  “You seriously rented the whole building?”

  He wraps his arms around me, warming me up from the cold breeze. “Not the whole building, just the touristy part. And afterward, you can have your pick of any souvenir in the gift shop.”

  “Oh, you really do know how to win a girl’s heart, don’t you?”

  He chuckles into my ear, the sound so sexy, so Rome.

  “I know how to win my girl’s heart. Let’s put it that way. How long have we been together now? A month? I have realized that whenever we do something, you always like to get a souvenir, even if it’s just a sticker.”

  I lean my head against his shoulder and take in the dark abyss that rests before us, only lit up by what seems like little lights from where we stand. “I like to remember the places I go, the things I do.”

  “I think it’s cute.”

  “I think it’s cute that you think I’m cute, or that you even say the word cute. If you told me two months ago that Rome Blackburn would be referring to me as cute, I would have told them they were high.”

  “I don’t think you’re cute. Your personality yes, but you, no. You’re sexy, hot, and drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Wow.

  Considering how gorgeous this man is, it still amazes me that he sees me that way, too.

  I rub my hips against his, making a low thrumming sound in the back of my throat. “You’re good to me, Rome.”

  “Because I care about you.” He turns me around in his arms and lowers his hands to my back where they rest. “I hate to admit it, but you’ve kind of wiggled yourself into my life.”

  “Why do you hate to admit it?” I stroke the stubble on his jaw, coarse and rough, just like him.

  He grips me tighter. “Because I’m stubborn, and from the beginning, you’ve wanted to be with me and I had to succumb to the overwhelming feelings I had for you. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.”

  He goes in for a kiss, but I palm his face, stopping him. “Care to rephrase that? It wasn’t the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

  Chuckling, he kisses my hand and says, “Basically, you’re a leech I can’t seem to get rid of.”

  “Rome.” I pull on the lapels of his jacket.

  “Okay, sorry.” He clears his throat. “You’re a piran
ha—”

  “I hate you.” I start to walk away when he pulls me back into his chest and captures my lips with his. Smooth like silk, they glide over mine, nipping, licking, and sucking to the point that my knees start to go weak, and I am forced to dig my hands into Rome’s biceps to steady myself.

  When he pulls away, he softly brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, keeping his eyes fixed on mine. “You’re special to me, Peyton, and I wouldn’t trade this last month for anything. Not because you’re killer at what you do, and not because you’re fucking sexy as shit in the bedroom, but because you’ve genuinely put a smile on my face, and there aren’t many people I can say do that to me.”

  Be still my heart.

  This man has rendered me speechless, because no one has ever said that to me before. Has ever seen all of me the way he does. I swallow back tears, because even though the words are romantic and sentimental, praise from this man still stuns me.

  I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling and run my fingers through his hair, framing his face with my hand. “You’ve been my dream man for so long, Rome, and . . . actually no. That’s not right. You are even better—more magnificent than the dream I’d imagined. And the fact that I can stand here, touching you any way I want, and I have those beautiful eyes of yours giving me your full attention, it means everything to me.”

  He pinches my chin and pulls on my bottom lip with his thumb. “Keep saying things like that and we’ll never make it to dinner.”

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Your favorite, chicken pot pie.”

  I weigh my options. “Sex or chicken pot pie.” I pause, giving it some real thought. “God, I’m so sorry, Rome, but I’m going to have to go with the chicken pot pie.”

  Chuckling, he takes my hand and leads me inside to our table. “Don’t worry, I knew that would be your answer. The passion you have for a dinner pie is powerful. I know where I stand.”

  “If it were a casserole, we would be naked right about now.”

  He pulls a chair out for me. “What if it were quiche?”

  “Ooo,” I cringe. “Tough matchup. Let me get back to you on that. You know how I love a good quiche.”

  Hands on my shoulders, leaning forward, he places a quick kiss on my jaw and whispers, “I know all too well how much you like quiche . . . babe.”

  * * *

  “Peyton, what the hell is taking you so long?”

  I stroll down Rome’s hallway, the concrete chilly beneath my feet as I make my way toward my man.

  It was a long day full of rigorous work, prepping the launch of the new women’s line in a few weeks, and it’s taken its toll on me. I’m exhausted.

  It could also be from the insatiable man sitting on the stiff couch, shirtless, in sweatpants—yes, Rome owns a few pairs—who about ten minutes ago came inside me with such a vicious roar that I was certain he was going to pass out. But nope, he’s sitting in the living room, waiting for me to cuddle and watch a movie.

  “I’m a little sore,” I say, hobbling over to him.

  His forehead creases, sharp brows pulling together. “Sore? From what?”

  Slowly, I ease myself down next to him, feeling a little twinge in my back, only to settle on a rock-hard surface, and I’m not talking, Rome.

  I hate his couch, so much. It’s so uncomfortable. Everything about his entire place is uncomfortable, but to be fair in this little relationship, I suggested splitting the nights we spend in each other’s places. My apartment, although not as fancy, is a hell of a lot more comfortable, with maybe a crazy neighbor problem that likes to scream a lot. Not Rome’s favorite part about staying with me, but at least he can sit on my couch without cracking a hip. I’ve told him you get used to the yelling after a while, but he hasn’t seemed to catch on.

  Turning toward me, Rome assesses my body, strong gaze unwavering as he looks me up and down. “Why are you sore?”

  I hold my lower back. “I don’t know, maybe it was the acrobats you put me through on a daily basis.”

  Just in time, I see his face go from extreme concern to a lazy smile as he pulls me into his chest. “Babe, sex sore is different than real sore. Sex sore is something to be proud of.”

  “Uh, speaking for the guy who doesn’t want to dip his entire body in Bengay right about now.”

  He nuzzles his nose into my neck, his soft lips playing along my skin. “Who says I’m not sore?”

  “Me, I do. You’re not the one taking the brunt of your hips.” I turn my head and look him in the eyes. “Not to boost your already inflated ego, but you have some powerful thrusts, my friend, and when you have me contorted, driving in me like that, yeah, girl’s going to be sore.”

  “Powerful thrusts, huh?” His smile stretches across his handsome face, and even though I want to roll my eyes at how happy he is, I can’t. Because he’s happy. I make him happy, and that right there is everything.

  “Don’t get too cocky, all right? There are things you could improve on.”

  I hide my smirk.

  Clearing his throat, completely stunned, he twists me in his arms and says, “Excuse me? What do you mean I have things I could improve on? From the sounds coming out of your mouth when I’m buried deep inside of you, it doesn’t seem like I have anything to improve on.”

  Casually I shrug. “You know, foreplay might be lacking.”

  “What?” He nearly jumps out of his seat, pushing me to the side so he can really look me in the eyes. “You’re complaining about foreplay?”

  Bringing my hand to my face, I examine my nails and nonchalantly say, “It’s okay, Rome, some people show weakness in bed.” I pat his leg. “I think you just need to realize that foreplay isn’t office talk. I don’t get turned on talking about emails and highlighters like you do.”

  He studies me, his eyes boring into my soul, looking for any sort of falter in my demeanor, and when he clears his throat, I can’t hide it anymore. A smile peeks out.

  His eyes widen—disbelief etched in them—and he takes the pillow from behind him and tosses it at me as he roars out of his seat. “Oh, you’re in fucking trouble, babe.” He’s rounding the couch and pointing at me. “So much trouble.”

  I chuck the pillow back at him that he easily dodges by swatting it away. “What kind of trouble?”

  Energized, looking sexy as hell as he bounces on his feet, the muscles in his chest flexing, rippling. “The worst kind of trouble.”

  Loving this super playful side of him, I sit on my knees and say, “Ooo, what kind of trouble?”

  “Not the kind of trouble you’re hoping for.”

  My face falls. “So, not like the kind of trouble where you punish me with your penis?”

  Lips sealed shut, he shakes his head, no. “Nope. This is the kind where you don’t get any penis.”

  “Ha!” I laugh. “I would love for you to try to punish me that way, Mr. Morning Erection.”

  “Watch. You’ll be begging for my ‘horrible’ foreplay.” He uses air quotes, his smile so brilliant.

  “I never said horrible.”

  Picking up another throw pillow from a chair close to him, he tosses it at me. “Might as well have.”

  * * *

  For the record, when Rome sets his mind to something, he means it. I should have known this given his work ethic.

  But clearly, I forgot who I was dealing with.

  We haven’t had sex in a week. A freaking week.

  I’m about to lose my mind from the built-up sexual tension inside me. We’re still sleeping in the same bed, trading on and off at each other’s places. It’s killing me.

  Try sleeping next to Mr. I Sleep Naked, when all you want is his mouth on your body, his hands on your breasts, and his dick inside you, pumping like a crazed sailor on leave.

  He’s holding out on me, and it almost seems like it’s not affecting him one bit. If I knew he wasn’t one hundred percent committed to me, I would think he’s getting some side action.

&nbs
p; His hand must be really good at getting the job done.

  Mine, not so much. It’s nothing like the real deal that is Rome. He commands my body, makes me feel things I’ve never felt before and after, when he’s cuddling me, nuzzling his nose into my hair, it’s pure bliss.

  I miss it.

  And being in this meeting right now where I have to act professionally is slowly eating me alive, especially when he keeps lifting his eyes to look down my blouse that I might have popped open the top few buttons just for him.

  “And everything is in line in production, ready to roll out?” Rome asks, flipping his pen between his fingers. He’s sitting at the head of the conference table like he always does, wearing a navy-blue button-up shirt and light gray slacks. I watched him get dressed this morning and couldn’t help but gawk at how tight-fitting his pants are.

  “Yes, Mr. Blackburn,” some guy says to the right of me. I can’t remember his name to save my life right now, not when Rome is slowly chewing on the corner of his lip.

  I swear to God he’s doing this on purpose.

  “Miss Lévêque, care to answer?”

  “Huh?” I shake my head, eyes blinking rapidly. I was so not paying attention.

  Rome’s face turns stern, but there is a sparkle in his eye that tells me he’s amused. “It would help if you would pay attention rather than daydreaming.”

  “Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I haven’t had a good week. What was the question?”

  Smirking behind his pen, Rome says, “How are we with our partnership with Adventure Protein Bars and Fuelade?”

  “All set. Contracts have been signed, and products have already been shot for ads.”

  “Good.” He taps his pen on his pad of paper and says, “That’s all for this evening. It’s late, get home and get some sleep. The next few weeks are going to be trying as we narrow down on release date. I’ll have Lauren type up the notes and send them out tomorrow.” He stands from his chair as well as everyone else. I take my time gathering my things, knowing Rome is the last to leave the conference room.