by Meghan Quinn
“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, animalistic 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.
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 24
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 m
orning 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 pinch. 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-thousanddollar 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 n
ice 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.”