Jane laughs then sobers when she sees I’m not kidding. “Oh, sweetie, of course I don’t. I’d be throwing stones in my own glass house, and I’m rather fond of it the way it is, thank you very much.”
I know she’s telling me the truth. Her metaphorical glass house is built on a foundation of rough sex with healthy doses of humiliation kink thrown in for good measure. Though I’d castrate a man if he ever called me a slut, Jane gets off on it within the safe boundaries of her “bedroom life” with Chance. It’s not my thing, but I certainly don’t judge her for what turns her crank, so I don’t know why I thought she’d ever judge me for mine.
“It’s just that this isn’t a secret fantasy I’ve always had. It’s not like it was for you when Chance realized you were into the same thing as him and you guys fucked happily ever after.”
“So you didn’t like it.”
I release a strained laugh and tug on my braid from frustration. “On the contrary, I liked it a whole hell of a lot. ‘Fricking hot’ is an understatement for what that was.” Sighing, I voice what’s been bothering me at the root of everything. “But even though I was totally into it, I can’t get over this stupid notion that maybe I was merely a tool for their pleasure. Like a plaything. And I don’t like that thought at all.”
“Did they make it all about them? What they wanted, what made them—or in this case, Roman—feel good?”
Thinking back, I realize they’d really been focused on me the whole time. At one point I was supposed to give Roman a blow job, but it never happened because he wanted so badly to fuck me, first with his mouth and then his cock. Even the things Austin said to me were more about my pleasure, what they could do for me, than anything else.
A weight drops from my chest, and I can breathe easier for the first time in two weeks. “No, actually. They made it all about me.”
Jane gives me a sweet smile. “That’s what I figured. For all their flagrant arrogance and cocky attitudes, I get the feeling that core group of friends are all pretty generous lovers. Which means as long as you were okay with everything that happened, and they treated you with respect and care, there’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Addie.”
Elated, I throw my arms around my best friend. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
“You’re so welcome,” she says as we part, then she waggles her eyebrows at me. “Think you’ll do it again?”
“It depends on certain variables, but yeah,” I say, trying to keep my stupid grin on a dimmer switch instead of a megawatt bulb. “The whole thing was so strange, but hot strange. I think it helped that it was someone I knew on the phone, and probably even better that it was Austin. He just has that way about him that makes you feel comfortable, you know?”
Jane nods. “He really does, which is ironic, considering what he’s into.”
She says this like I’m privy to this information, but I’m not, and now I really want to be. “Which is?” Jane realizes her mistake and gets a deer-in-the-headlights look, mid-sip of her tea. “Okay, relax, I won’t press. If I want to know that badly, I’ll go directly to the source.”
Releasing a huge breath, she brushes loose hairs back from her face and chuckles nervously. “Thanks. I guess just because you have a three-way call with a guy doesn’t mean you know all his secrets.”
“No, but I think he might know mine, which is a little weird to think about.”
Jane scoots in closer and whispers, “What was is like? How did it work? You have to tell me because my brain is working so hard to fill in the details that I might pull my frontal lobe.”
“Let’s go, then.” I stand up, throw our empty cups in the trash can next to the bench, and start jogging in place. “If you want the juicy details, you’ll have to keep up with me.”
She groans pitifully as she rises to her feet. “Come on, Addie, can’t we just walk? Let’s speed-walk; we can do that.”
I start moving backward. “If you want to speed-walk, hit up the mall-walkers. You want details of my three-way call? You jog.” Janey caves, as I knew she would, and she’s so riveted by everything I say, she doesn’t even notice when I add an extra mile to our route.
Chapter Seventeen
Roman
I think I’m losing my street cred as the broody son of a bitch no one wants to cross paths with. All thanks to one Addison Paige.
It’s been a little over two weeks since we decided to entertain a relationship outside of the office. Two weeks of the most complex, and at the same time absolute simplest, relationship I’ve ever been in. We allow ourselves to flirt at work—as long as no one else is around—and then afterhours we hang out as…well, I guess as a couple, though I hesitate to put a label on it. Neither of us has felt the need to. We just have an understanding that we’re enjoying each other’s company, fucking like Armageddon is around the corner, and we’re not fucking anyone else.
Yet.
I have plans in motion, but that night in my office with Austin on the phone was the last time we’ve done anything that skirts the edges of ménage. Though I’ve known since our first time together that she’s definitely open to exploring the kinkier side of life, I’m still aware that this isn’t her thing. Not to say that it can’t or won’t be eventually, but it’s not something she’s done before, so I’m not about to toss her in the deep end without giving her a chance to warm up to the water first.
I had no idea how she would take the phone call experiment. I half expected her to tell me to go to hell and storm out, despite her assurance the night before that she wanted to try a threesome. But she didn’t storm out. She’d been nervous but also brave and sweet and a little bit feisty, just how I like her, and it was amazing. Granted, the part about taking orders instead of giving them, or simply doing what I wanted, had been a challenge, but I wanted to keep the physical aspects just between the two of us that first time, so I needed Austin to take over the mental ones.
It was the hottest experience I’ve ever had with a woman, and I do mean ever.
I’ve only ever had threesomes with women who are experienced in ménages, who know exactly what they’re getting into and are all the more eager for it. It’s great, it’s easy, and it’s mindless in the way that you can leave your brain at the door. You just let your sexual drive and muscle memory take over and the body does the rest until you’ve spent yourself and hopefully reached the kind of release you were looking for.
But introducing Addison to my darkest desire, leading her slowly by the hand and watching her come alive with every taste I give her…I don’t have the words to explain how fucking extraordinary it makes me feel.
Which is why I’m also mentally preparing myself for the moment when things get fucked up and it all comes crashing down around me. Odds are it’s inevitable, but that doesn’t mean I plan on helping it along. I’m not looking forward to this ending anytime soon.
“Hey, you’re not paying attention to the movie,” Addie says, elbowing me playfully in the ribs.
We’re curled up on her couch watching Mallrats, which according to her is “one of the best culture classic movies of all time,” along with Robin Hood: Men in Tights and The Princess Bride. At most, I’ve seen parts of TPB, only because there are so many pop-culture references to it, but I wasn’t familiar with the others. She felt personally attacked by my movie ignorance, but in my defense, I argued that I wasn’t guilty of film illiteracy but better taste, as I was busy watching the real culture classics from the generation before ours, like The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles. My “better taste” had been acquired the summer I broke my leg and watched every movie on AMC, which led to an embarrassing crush on Molly Ringwald. To be on the safe side, I tossed Goonies and The Sandlot into the mix so as to not reveal my secret.
This led to a heated debate on movies and filmmakers, almost none of which we agreed on, which then led to a round of wild sex to burn off all the adrenaline we built up from arguing our points.
Addison and I
rarely agree on anything, and oddly enough, it’s one of my favorite things about her. Don’t judge her book by its “Sexy Barbie” cover or she’s likely to use it to her advantage and fricassee your balls for lunch. For every blond hair on her head, she has a killer brain cell to match. The woman is wicked smart, highly opinionated, and loves a challenge, whether it’s from a client, friend, lover, or total stranger. She’s pretty fucking perfect.
I look down at her, nestled into my side, and something in my chest kicks. Her legs are tucked up onto the cushion, one hand is on my stomach, and her face is upturned to meet my gaze. Even scrubbed free of makeup, her hair in a messy braid that trails over her shoulder, wearing a pair of sleep shorts and tank top, she’s stunning. I don’t think it’s possible for her to look any other way.
Smiling, I say, “Of course I’m paying attention.” I wasn’t paying attention.
“Nice try, but if you were paying attention, you would have laughed at the Volkswagen joke.”
“Maybe I didn’t think it was funny.”
“Really,” she says, the challenge clear in her tone. “So you didn’t think it was funny when Ben Affleck’s character said that he likes to pick up girls on the rebound because they’re vulnerable and more open to suggestion and then he gets to screw them in a very uncomfortable place, and then the other guy says, ‘What, like in the back of a Volkswagen?’”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which earns me a playful elbow in the ribs and a “told you so.”
“Okay, you got me.” I give her a quick squeeze with the arm I have slung around her and kiss her temple. “It was a long day in court, and I guess I spaced out for a little bit. I promise I’ll pay better attention so I laugh in all the proper places.”
“That’s okay. We can always watch it again on a day you’re more alert. I’ve watched it a hundred times, but for the sake of helping you see the light about the true classics, I’m willing to watch it a hundred more until you’ve finally soaked it all in.”
She pats my chest and gives me a swift kiss before unfolding herself from the couch and walking toward the small galley kitchen in her open floor plan apartment. My eyes are glued to her ass as I say wryly, “You’re so benevolent, babe.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, handsome-pants,” she tosses over her shoulder as she opens the fridge. “You want another beer?”
I check my watch. I’ll probably be heading out within the hour. We haven’t done any sleepovers yet, and I’m not one to overstay my welcome. “Better not,” I say at last.
She glances at the clock on her wall and frowns as though she’s surprised it’s already past midnight. Biting the corner of her lip, she closes the fridge and meets my gaze across the room. “You know, if you really want another beer—I mean, you did have a really long day, and you’re already relaxing and all that—you can just stay here tonight. Then you can drink me out of beer and home, if you want.” Shrugging, she turns back to the fridge and tacks on, “But you don’t have to, it’s no big deal.”
Grabbing herself a bottle of water, she faces away from the living room and proceeds to make herself another cup of tea in her electric teapot. I smile to myself as I watch her for a few seconds. I’ve come to understand why Addison calls herself a honey badger. On the outside, she’s fierce and tough with an attitude that says she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. But really, just the opposite is true. She cares very much what other people think when it comes to the things and people that matter. When she cares about someone—like her parents, her friends…and now me—it matters what they think of her, how they view her.
How they value her.
It’s not easy for her to make herself vulnerable, which is why it gets to me every time she does it. Her vulnerability is my Achilles’ heel. And that’s a tangle of irony best left unanalyzed.
I get up and make my way to her. She’s deep in thought, because when I slide my arms around her waist from behind, she jolts with surprise a second before melting in my embrace. Gathering her into me, I bend my head to nuzzle the crook of her neck. She angles her head to the side, giving me better access to trail a line of kisses up to her ear. Then I say, “You’re right. I’d love another beer,” telling her in not so many words that I want to spend the night with her.
She turns around and looks up at me with a huge smile, one I’d do anything to keep there. “You would?” she asks.
I press my lips to hers then nip the bottom one as I pull back. “Yeah. As long as you’re sure you want to give it to me.”
“I’m positive I want to give it to you,” she says with a dreamy sort of look in her eyes.
“Then I gladly accept the offer.”
I think I hear her breath catch, and suddenly I’m not sure we’re still talking about the beer. But before I can turn it into anything more, she reaches over to open the refrigerator door, takes out a bottle of Corona, and holds it up with a sly grin. I grab the bottle-opener magnet to pop the top off before taking a long pull, feeling all tension leave my body as the cool liquid slides down my throat. Placing it on the counter behind her, I cage her between my arms and kiss her. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” she says, beaming up at me as if by drinking her beer I’ve made her incredibly happy. But I know it has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with us spending the night together.
I go back to nuzzling her neck—one of my favorite things to do. It allows me to breathe in her scent, like I’m taking her very essence into my lungs, and make her weak in the knees at the same time. I’m all about the win-wins in life.
“Look at us, being all progressive and taking the next step. We should celebrate.”
“Mm,” she hums, and the vibrations against my lips make my dick hard.
Hell, most everything she does makes my dick hard. I have to put my suit jacket on anytime I get up from my desk at the office now, just in case Addison says or does something to give me a semi. Like when I walked into the break room to find her bent over at the waist, retrieving the Clorox wipes from under the sink. I’d barely bit back the curse perched on the edge of my tongue when I realized Maggie was sitting at the table with her lunch. I’d pretended my cell vibrated in my pocket with a call and headed straight back to my office to compose myself—and put my suit jacket back on.
“Speaking of progression and next steps…”
“Mm-hmm,” I say in encouragement as I nip at her jawline, liking where this is going.
“I have a new client for the firm.” I stop. That’s definitely not where I thought this was going. Pulling back, I look down at her, and she says, “Sorry, this isn’t the time, right? I should leave work at work and—”
“No, it’s fine,” I assure her, tucking some hair that escaped her braid behind her ear. “I’m always interested in hearing about new clients. Who is it?”
“It’s a wrongful termination suit. She’s a family friend and she was fired because her boss, the VP of the company, had the hots for her—and his wife caught wind of it. They gave her bullshit reasons about not adhering to dress codes and trying to incite sexual harassment suits with male coworkers with her provocative attire.”
“Damn,” I say, quickly running through the potential for the case if the client’s claims hold true. “Okay, I can meet with her next week and we’ll get the ball rolling.”
She chews on her lip for half a second and then blurts, “I want it.”
My brows draw together. “Want what?”
“The case. I want to take the lead on this one.”
Fuck. In the back of my mind, I knew that eventually our work life would bleed into what we were attempting in our personal life and cause some friction, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I’m in a really difficult spot right now, and if I don’t handle this delicately, at best she’ll boot my ass out of her apartment, and at worst she’ll go honey badger on me and claw my eyes out.
The good thing is that Addison is pretty levelheaded,
especially when it comes to her career, so there’s a chance I’ll survive this. She truly doesn’t want any special privileges or treatment which she wouldn’t have received before we got together. I don’t care what other people think about what I do, and that goes for who I decide to date. But she was absolutely adamant that we keep our new relationship to ourselves (though, I doubt we’re fooling Maggie; nothing gets by that woman) so that no one can accuse her of having any advantages because she’s screwing the boss.
I, of course, pointed out that she’s getting plenty of advantages, and backed up my argument with concrete proof by making her come with my mouth three times then twice more with my cock before I followed her into oblivion. That two-hour session had nearly drained me of all my strength, and it’d been a Herculean task to get dressed and drag myself home afterward.
Uncharacteristically, I’m really looking forward to spending some nights together. I want to pull her into my arms after fucking ourselves boneless and fall asleep listening to her soft snores, which I know she makes from a rare nap we took one lazy Saturday afternoon. I want to wake her up with my fingers between her thighs and my lips on her breasts.
Somehow I have to find a happy medium between the boss who has to do what’s best for the firm and its clients, and the lover who wants to support his woman and indulge her every whim. “What’s the name of the company?” I’m hoping it’s something small; something that would make a great first solo case for her like a start—
“LevelUp,” she says.
I give a low whistle, immediately seeing the dollar signs a settlement like that would bring in. LevelUp is the opposite of small. It’s a business and employment social networking company that operates through the internet and apps. A worldwide corporation whose headquarters are here in Chicago and whose CEO happens to be golfing buddies with…oh, fuck. “Who’s the opposing counsel?”
Ruthless (Playboys in Love) Page 12