Love Sincerely Yours

by Meghan Quinn

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 25

  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 lounging 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.” 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 stinkeye. 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 eyeroll 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 le ech 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 piranha—”

  “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 ri ght. 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