by Meghan Quinn
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.
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.
Hands in his pockets now, stoic as ever, he watches his employees filter out of the room
one by one. This was the Rome I fell for, the one who caught my attention. Business
minded, relentless, and vastly intelligent when it comes to running a company. But the
Rome I get to see outside of the office, that’s the one I’ve become addicted to, and it’s about
time I feed my addiction.
I stand from my chair, push it under the table, and then meander my way to Rome
who’s studying my every move.
When I step up to him, he gives me a full onceover. “Haven’t had a good week, huh?”
I shake my head, pouting my lip. “No, not at all.”
Hands still in his pockets, he tips his body forward, getting close to me, and his cologne
seeps into my veins, awakening everything inside me. “It would be best if you don’t bring
your personal life into the office, Miss Lévêque.”
The giant ass.
I flip my hair to the side and clutch my notes to my chest. “It would be best if you didn’t
eyefuck me during meetings, Mr. Blackburn.”
The smallest smirk passes over his lips, barely reaching his eyes. “Don’t unbutton your
blouse like that, and I won’t eye-fuck you.” Chest puffed, I say, “Stop trying to prove a point and fuck me already, Rome.”
I’m trying to garner a reaction out of him, but he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Instead,
he rocks back on his heels and says, “Nah, I’m good,” and then gestures toward the door for
me to exit.
I’m going to kill him.
Huffing, I walk past him only to feel his hand float to the small of my back and his body
fall behind me, chest close, breath mixing with mine.
I pause in my attempt to leave as his hand moves a little lower to just above
my butt. A
sharp intake of air hits my lungs along with his cologne making me feel dizzy and turned on
all at once.
My nipples pucker when his thumb glides over my back.
My lips part when I feel his chest touch my shoulder.
And my breathing starts to become erratic when his mouth lowers to my ear.
Ever so quietly, he whispers, “This whole week, this right here, this is what you call
foreplay, babe. One thousand dollars says if I shifted your thong to the side and felt that
delicious pussy it would be soaking wet.”
Goddamn him.
Chuckling from my silence, he whispers again, his lips grazing my ear, “Don’t ever
fucking say I don’t have good foreplay game, because you damn well know that I do. Scurry
on to my apartment, strip down, and have your legs spread by the time I get there. I’m going
to fuck you until morning.”
I want to be the defiant girlfriend, the one that tells him to fuck off, but I am so beyond
turned on right now that I nod and exit the conference room with one thing on my mind:
deliciously hard, hot sex with Rome. And I couldn’t be happier.
CHAPTER 26
ROME
“How was your day?” Peyton asks, looking pretty as fuck sitting across from me, her
hair tied up in a tight bun, her dress accentuating her beautiful collarbone.
Not a single damn day goes by that I don’t think about how lucky I am. What a lucky
bastard I am who won the girl.
But here I am, Peyton across from me in a restaurant I wouldn’t have caught myself
dead in a few weeks ago, and yet I’m here for her because she’s never been.
“Fine,” I answer, looking around.
Stained glass chandeliers of all shapes, sizes, colors and themes hang sporadically from
the ceiling. Dainty white chairs and tables fill the space while little pom-pom bullshit things
dangle everywhere.
It’s a little girl’s dream.
My freaking nightmare.
“Isn’t it so cute in here?” Peyton leans over and clasps my hand with hers. “Thank you
for taking me here.”
And when she bats her eyelashes like that at me, so fucking happy, I have to swallow my
pride and deal with feeling like a complete dickhead in the well-known NYC restaurant,
Serendipity.
Giving in to her smile, I say, “Anything for you, babe.”
She squeezes my hand and takes a sip of her water, humor in her face. When she lowers
her glass, she leans forward and says, “You’re so getting laid for this tonight.” “Oh . . . I know.” I tip my glass toward her and then take a sip of my own. “By the way, I
was thinking.” I pause, feeling my nerves start to climb up my spine.
We’ve been together for two months now, we spend every night together, and once I left
work today, it hit me. I had this overwhelming need to take things to the next step. On the
drive here, I played the conversation over and over in my head—what I would say, how I
would ask, but now I’m here in the moment, I’m freezing.
Me.
Freezing.
It’s never happened to me. I’ve been in meetings where I’ve had to introduce a new
state-of-theart product and I’ve never had an issue, but right here, right now, talking to
Peyton, I choke.
“Is there an end to that sentence?” She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Rome,
are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I pull on my collar, trying to get air to my burning skin.
What if she says no?
What if it’s too soon?
Is it too soon?
Christ.
The waitress puts a giant cup of frozen hot chocolate in front of us with multiple straws,
the one and only thing Peyton wanted to try from here.
“Enjoy, you two,” the waitress says before taking off, neither of us paying any attention
to her.
“Rome, you look pale.”
“Really?” I nervously laugh. “Huh.” Her eyes narrow, her mind probably reeling with possibilities. She sees me retreating,
and she’s not going to let it happen.
Scooting her chair to my side, she takes my hand and gently strokes her thumb over my
knuckles, easing the tension in my shoulders.
“Okay, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can either tell me what you
were going to say,” her voice is soft and sweet, caring, “or I can bug you all night until you
tell me.”
Truth, she’s done it before.
Knowing I need to nut up, I let out a big breath and look her in her beautiful, expressive
eyes. “I think we should move in together.”
Blunt, to the point, perfect.
Peyton’s expression doesn’t change. She barely blinks, and I think I shock the hell out of
her until she says, “That’s how you’re going to ask me to move in? With a statement? It
wasn’t even a question.”
She moves back to the side of her table and is shaking her head.
“Oh no, Rome. Not like this.” She takes a big sip of the frozen hot chocolate and then
grips her head. “Ooo, ice cream headache.”
Uh . . . so, is that a no?
Eyeing her, completely confused, I ask, “Am I taking that as a no?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’ll move in with you, but not until you ask properly.”
Jesus Christ. Women.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Fine, will you move in with me?”
Eyebrow cocked, straw halfway to her mouth, she mocks me. “‘Fine, will you move in
with me?’ Oh no, not going to ask with attitude. And don’t bother trying to rephrase it tonight. You’re going to have to think this over, make a grand gesture now.”
“You’re serious?”
She looks me straight in the eyes. “Dead serious.” Then she lifts a straw, plasters a smile
on her face, and says, “Drink up, handsome, it’s delicious.”
What the hell just happened here?
***
“Grand gesture, huh?” Hunter says, patting me on the shoulder as we enter the
conference room for our Tuesday morning meeting. “Good luck with that.”
“I don’t even know what it means.”
“It means you better look on Pinterest or something, get some ideas.”
I adjust the sleeves of my suit and speak quietly as we enter the room. “I’m not looking
on goddamn Pinterest.”
Lauren shuts the door behind me, a knowing smirk on her face. She is the only one in
the office who knows Peyton and I are dating, and only because she walked in on us making
out once late at night. She forgot something at her desk, and when she saw someone in my
office, believing I’d already gone, she checked to see who it was. To her shock, it was Peyton
and me lip-locked with my hand halfway up her blouse.
I gave her a nice little gift card the next morning and thanked her for her discretion.
And I hate to admit it, but she’s been super helpful when it comes to sending things to
Peyton during the day, especially things like lunch and . . . quiche.
I scan the room, making sure everyone is here. Peyton doesn’t come to these meetings,
because they’re more about what’s happening for the week than strategic planning.
Just like everyone else sitting in their seats, coffee in hand, a dreaded look on their face, I hate these meetings, but it’s necessary to go to them.
We always start with a round-table shout-out, so if someone has something
interesting
to say that pertains to the company, they can speak up.
Employees take that time to discuss if they used a certain product over the weekend or
if someone reached a milestone working for the company, light and fluffy shit that I don’t
care about but I know helps the morale of the company.
I take a seat, cross my ankle over my knee, and nod at the woman sitting close to me.
Andrea I think is her name.
“Start us off with the shoutout.”
Smiling brightly, she nods her head and starts talking about the new women’s line, how
she used one of the sweat-proof long-sleeved tees, and how amazing it was and comfortable.
Okay, I like to hear that kind of shit.
Next, it’s George. The only announcement he had was his wife made brownies again,
and they’re on the marketing floor if anyone wants any.
Lauren will be sneaking down later to snag one for me. Those brownies are lethal. I eye
Lauren who gives me a conspiratorial wink.
And we go down the line. Some people don’t have anything to say while others talk
about meaningless shit until the shoutout stops at a redhead I’ve seen before but never in
these meetings.
Who is she again?
Waving, she says, “Hi, I’m Sasha, and George invited me up to this meeting, because I
have some rather interesting news to share.” Her voice is fucking awful, all high-pitched and
squeaky. The less she talks, the better.
“Go on.” I motion with my hand. Showing no nerves, she says, “You know how we had that leak this weekend over the
line of hats in our women’s wear line?”
Don’t get me fucking started on that. Thank God I don’t care too much about the hats.
We have four options, and that’s it. The hats aren’t going to make or break the launch, but it
was annoying as shit when Project Mountain announced a hat line yesterday.
“Yeah,” I push her to go on.
“Well, I think I found the leak.”
Okay, now we’re onto something. She nods to someone who’s standing by the lights of
the conference room. The room turns dark, and the TV screen lights up with pictures.
“I took these this weekend. I thought I was seeing things at first, but once I got closer, I
was blown away.”
The pictures are shit. It looks like a bunch of people sitting outside at a dog café, having
breakfast.
But then she scrolls to the next one, and that’s when my heart catches in my chest and