Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series)

by Adriana Anders

  “I trust you, Paige.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from behind him, and a pause in the motion of her hips. But as soon as he’d noticed it, it was gone again, replaced by a brusque smack on the side of his ass and a stroking motion of the hand wrapped around his erection.

  Then, then Paige was fucking him and it was marvelous. Having her literally inside of him, feeling filled up with her cock and the rocking friction on his prostate was brain-melting. So unlike anything he’d ever felt that it stole his breath, and he was panting to get it back, but also pushing back against her because he wanted more.

  At some point, she moved her grip from his hip to his shoulder and leaned down far enough to kiss him between his shoulder blades with an open mouth, wet and lush on his spine. It was tender and possessive but also filthy as sin. Made his nervous system go haywire with all the sensory input, but the one thing he knew was that this woman had him, inside and out. How she’d handled him through this act he’d never thought to indulge in—which, yes, he now saw as an indulgence—was incredible. She was incredible.

  He pictured her draped over him, her red lips parted to lick and suck at his skin while she bucked her hips against his ass and jerked his cock, and that’s when he lost it, spilling in her hand just like she said he would.

  CHAPTER 7

  A fter Paige had rocked out her own orgasm as Carter’s climax dripped over her fist, she pulled out of him, carefully. He collapsed on her bed and lay there, exhausted. His ribcage was still heaving, and there was a sheen of sweat down the center of his back and leading all the way up to his neck. The same places she was used to the sweat starting to darken his tees during class.

  She left him alone and went to get tidied up, not to mention to sort the thoughts in her head, because this hadn’t turned out anything like how she’d thought it would. She’d expected him to be resistant, to be a misogynistic and sexist jerkwad or to freak out when she’d said she wanted to fuck him.

  But he hadn’t. He’d been awkward, but with a little coaxing, a dash of kindness, and sure, a simultaneous handjob, he’d been…wonderful. Open, receptive, trusting, and not shy about how much he was enjoying having her fuck him. Hell, the noises he made and the way he moved—he’d been delightful and sexy as hell. None of that squared with what she thought she knew about him, and that was vexing.

  When she came back from the bathroom, he was lying on the bed, his head cradled in some of her fluffy pillows, his sandy hair a crazy jungle of short curls against the linens. He’d tossed the coverlet over by the door to the hall and when he noticed her looking at it, volunteered with a reddening mortification of his features, “Oh, uh, it got, um, messy? If you tell me where your laundry is, I can put it in the wash. Or take it to the drycleaner? It would be kind of awkward to bring it back to you in class, but I could do it. Or bring it here. If you would, maybe, I don’t know, like to—”

  No. No. He absolutely could not ask her out, because she’d probably say yes, and where would that lead? She didn’t like Carter, she didn’t agree with his fundamental beliefs. She could pass the sex off as sort of a hate/revenge fuck to get these stupid lustful feelings out of her system, though now that she’d had him, she could admit he was better even than she’d thought he’d be—nice fucking job there, Robinson—but anything else and it would start to look as though she liked him. On some basic level approved of him, when in fact, she didn’t.

  “—go out with me sometime? Or stay in. I promise I won’t bring terrible food next time, it was just that the only thing open and on the way was this sketchy-ass convenience store, but I couldn’t come with nothing, and I…”

  Christ, he was cute when he was babbling, with his hands in motion, and his bare chest peeking out above the blanket he’d pulled up to cover himself. Which was precisely why Paige had to cut this off here and now. Before she could get into bed with him and rest her head on that furry chest and graze her fingers over his careless stubble, sift her fingers through his unkempt hair. Down that path lay compromises she wasn’t prepared to make.

  “No. We can’t go out.”

  His face fell, and Paige felt a twinge of guilt, a pang of sadness, a stitch of regret. Which piled on until she felt like she was up to her ankles in shit. So she may as well keep pushing until she was wading hip-deep. “We can’t go out because I hate you. This…this was a hate-fuck, Carter. And didn’t you wonder why I knew your name? You never told me at the gym. And you never told me you were a Republican, though your goddamn T-shirts said it loud and clear, as did you agreeing with that asshole before class this morning. But I know who you are, what you do. Who you work for. I’ve read your papers because you’re my enemy. I work at HUD for fuck’s sake, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I know the people you support want to take rights away from me, want to ruin the people whose lives I’ve worked so hard to improve, and I…I hate you.”

  Carter blinked at her, his hands flexing in the sheets. “This was a…a hate fuck? I don’t even know what that means.”

  “It means I don’t like you, but I think you’re hot. So we just fuck the one time, and then we won’t want to anymore.” As Carter looked at her with that wide-eyed expression, she wondered how she could’ve thought that’s how this would turn out. That she’d be able to use and discard him because he’d confirm every crappy thing she’d assumed about him instead of mostly proving her wrong. But not quite wrong enough. “That’s the theory anyway.”

  The way his features crumpled like a soda can someone stepped on made him look…vulnerable, and she couldn’t take it anymore. Mostly because it made her question how she could’ve used another person like this. “Please, get out.”

  THAT WAS…NOT what he was expecting. But there were some hints he could take. More specifically, when a girl told you to get out, you fucking got out. So he got up and started tugging on the clothes he’d carelessly discarded when she’d told him to strip earlier. Now he was wishing he’d been less zealous because his shit was all the fuck over the place, and it was awkward having to hop around naked while trying to put one’s socks on while the woman you’d just had some really good sex with told you she hates you and wants you gone.

  It was the hate part that really needled. Also his ass was kinda sore from all the…friction.

  But she was standing there in that flannel robe she’d answered the door in. Unlike earlier, she was clutching the thing around herself instead of having it invitingly draped open, giving flashes of what was underneath. He wasn’t an expert on women, or people in general for that matter, but that didn’t reek of hate. How she was holding herself was more like regret which wasn’t much better, but maybe it was something else he couldn’t quite parse? There was however one question he could ask with certainty.

  “You hate me?”

  Paige sighed and crossed her arms tightly over her mid-section, like she was trying to give herself a hug because she sure as hell wasn’t going to take one from him.

  “I don’t hate you, Carter. Not at all, actually. I think you’re an incredibly intelligent person, and even though I don’t agree with you, I can admit that your arguments are well-reasoned and sophisticated. I also find you over-the-top attractive. Like if I could build a man out of spare parts, he’d look an awful lot like you.”

  That is not something he’d ever expected to hear in his whole life. He’d always thought of himself as being average. Aggressively average, in fact. And to have a woman like Paige say she’d always wanted a man like him? No matter how many pins people took to his ego, he didn’t think it’d ever pop. Or even deflate all that much. But she wasn’t done yet. She was still looking at him with those glittery eyes, which is when he realized her lashes had started sticking together. Like she was blinking back tears. Why?

  “So what’s the problem? Because I’m not seeing—”

  “The problem is that while I see you as a human being with thoughts and feelings, and a right to pursue his happiness and voice his opinions,
I don’t think you see me the same way. Or maybe you do, in the quiet of your own home, in your brain where it’s safely tucked away from all the people you work with, collude with. But the truth is that when it comes down to it, your party, the people you voted for, don’t see me that way. Like that asshole at the gym. And I can’t…”

  She bit her lip, shook her head, swiped at her eyes with the backs of her forefingers. Was it possible that this woman who he thought of as being stronger and more worthy of worship than anyone else was about to cry? Over something that had to do with him? That seemed indelibly wrong. Especially since he’d totally meant to apologize about the whole Eric thing, had even written a reminder on the inside of his wrist in pen so he wouldn’t forget but then he’d been distracted by the whole pegging thing, and— Wait, he could at least ay he was sorry for that now.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about what Eric said. He’s a jerk, and I wanted to say something, but you might’ve realized I’m not so great at talking? That’s why I stick with writing stuff. I wanted to punch him because your ass is—” Maybe complimenting her mouthwatering butt was not a good move right now. Yeah, probably not. He could picture Jamie shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his own nose as Carter relayed the stupid shit he’d said. “You’re beautiful, but even if you weren’t, he shouldn’t say things like that.”

  Paige’s gaze softened with what might’ve been wishful thinking. Like she was willing to be talked into thinking he was a decent person, but needed more from him. As before, he’d do his best to give it to her. Explain why he’d been frozen when he should’ve come to her defense.

  “Eric’s my boss’s son. He’s an asshole and I don’t agree with him on lots of stuff, but I have to tread carefully, you know? Sometimes I have to agree with him and some of the other people I work with to get by.”

  That was reasonable. People could understand having to compromise for the sake of their livelihoods, right? But by the way Paige’s dark brows had drawn together and her mouth tugged into a frown, she didn’t feel that way. For a few seconds, the expression on her face shifted too quickly for him to get ahold of any one of them, but following a determined shake of her head, Paige stared him down.

  “I can’t do it. I need to feel respected, valued, like the person I’m sleeping with sees me as their equal. Maybe we have differing opinions, but my humanity and my rights can’t be called into question. I might have been the one fucking you, but your people are fucking my people—and the rest of America for that matter—over, and over, and over. Your intentions might be honorable, but the results are the same. I’m not even going to say I’m sorry. I’m choosing me, I’m choosing what I believe in. I’m choosing science and equality and helping people. I’m choosing feminism, adequate healthcare for everyone. What are you choosing, Carter?”

  His stomach shriveled at the accusation in her tone. It wasn’t fair. He was doing his job—hell, doing his best not to lose his job by getting into it with his boss’s jackass son, and he’d voted according to his priorities, the same thing everyone else did. And she wanted to punish him for it? He didn’t have to take that. And he didn’t have to stand there and be berated by this self-righteous and indignant person who couldn’t see beyond her own beliefs or have any compassion or empathy for his flaws or his fear for his own career.

  “I guess I’m choosing not to see you again, just like you wanted in the first place. Thanks for the sex, and I’ll see you in class. Bye, Paige.”

  CHAPTER 8

  P aige wrenched the duct tape off the roll and slapped it onto the back of the protest sign to hold the dowel to the back. It had been a long goddamn week. Yes, she was busy with work, yes, she feared for her job, and yes, she’d been preparing for the march, but she also couldn’t get Carter out of her head.

  Why the hell not? He’d made it clear that his fiscal policy convictions were more important to him than say her fundamental human rights, and that was some bullshit.

  The worst part was that she’d thought he was different. That he could be reasonable. That yes, he was fiscally conservative and had more of a libertarian bent than she cared for, but could he not see her argument? Could he not see what he’d voted for? What the party he supported was doing to the country? And more specifically, to women and other people who were already marginalized? It boggled the mind.

  Luckily, it was over. They’d had a night of hot sex including some of the best head she’d ever gotten, and she’d delighted in having his ass. So what if she’d never have those things again? It was better than losing her soul because Carter would support this administration no matter what shit they brought down on Americans’ heads.

  It hurt. It hurt a lot. But she wouldn’t cry about it. She’d channel that anger, that rage, that despair into holding this sign for hours upon hours. Into marching in public and asking for what was rightfully hers. Into exercising her constitutionally guaranteed right to protest. Damn fucking right.

  She grabbed her pink pussy hat. It was too warm for it but she was going to wear anyhow. She pulled it onto her head before taking up her sign and heading out her door to take a hopefully overcrowded subway to the march site.

  THERE WERE a lot of people here. Like, a lot of people, and that was fucking with his resolve a bit. Not enough to turn tail and go home, but yeah, some. He didn’t like that being in a crush of people was enough to make him think about giving up and trying to contact Paige some other time, but one really couldn’t control how their social anxieties manifested, now could one?

  Carter felt queasy and dizzy as he entered hour three of wending his way through the crowd, but tried to swallow it because this was important. Paige was important. And after scribbling a diagram of their interactions on a whiteboard he’d hung over his desk in his room, pacing in front of it, and preparing as he always did for a debate by making himself fluent in the arguments of both sides, he could see how she felt the way she did.

  Hell, he could more than see it. He agreed with her and he wished he could’ve found a way to say so at the time. Which is why he was here. To apologize. Not with flowers or chocolates or jewelry, or even a ham, but with a gesture he hoped Paige would be able to see for what it was. A heartfelt mea culpa, a way to not only say he was wrong, but show it. Put his body where his mouth was, which knowing Paige, was probably more valuable than money.

  Someone with a Bitches Get Shit Done sign jostled him, and it tightened his throat in panic. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t going to die here. Probably. What made him buck up and keep pushing is that he could see the headline: Rising Republican Policy Star Rage-Trampled by Angry Liberals. He didn’t want to be martyred. Not for that at any rate.

  It was possible that searching through this sea of bodies would be fruitless. That he’d never find Paige, and then what would he do? It wasn’t as though he could take some trite selfie and send it to her as proof and everything would be okay and she would give him another shot. He needed to see her, dammit.

  Which is when he did. At least he thought he had, through all the signs, and the hats, and the kids riding on people’s shoulders. But a swishing flash of black braids capped off by a bright pink pussy hat and a sign reading So Bad Introverts Are Here. He exhaled. Yes, he could hope.

  He started pushing toward her, trying not to anger or hurt people, but he couldn’t lose her. Not now that he had her in sight. The closer he got, the harder his heart beat until the hammering of his pulse in his ears was louder than even the crowd of thousands around him. Replaced his crowd anxiety with the unsettling sensation that despite what he’d done, she’d still tell him to fuck off and she’d be right to do so. He should’ve spoken up when Eric was being a jerk, he regretted not voicing his disagreement, and not just for Paige’s sake.

  The push-pull of the crowd meant it took him minutes to make his way through the dozens of bodies standing between him and Paige. But finally he’d made it, and there she was. Wearing her hair in braided pigtails that dangled from under her fuchsia pussy
hat. She was also wearing a Resist T-shirt and some jeans that hugged her butt just right—was it wrong to objectify a woman’s ass during a protest march? He really hoped not, but just in case that was another thing he and Paige disagreed on, he’d keep it to himself.

  She was holding a sign above her head with arms he could see shaking. How long had she been carrying it? How strong was she to have borne it and all the rest of the intangible things she carried? Not to mention having taken on the responsibility of guiding someone through a sexual experience they’d never had before. He hadn’t thought of fucking someone as a responsibility, a promise to that person, but he would now.

  His heart clenched, and not for the first time he was paralyzed by the fear that maybe he wasn’t good enough for her. That she was strong and smart, had earned everything she had, and had put up with boatloads of shit to get where she was. Even if she wouldn’t give him another shot, he wanted to offer her an apology. He needed her to know how marvelous he thought she was and how much he respected and admired her, and fuck yes, thought she was every bit his equal in all the places. The woman he wanted to worship and give himself over to in bed.

  It was hard, but he wasn’t going to throw away his shot. This time, he would say something. So he reached out and wrapped a hand around the dowel of the sign she was carrying. “Can I hold this for you for a while?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Someone was trying to take her sign, and Paige was not having any of that. She’d worked hard on it, had been carrying it for hours, and hell if someone else was going to take credit for it and go viral. Absolutely not.

  She snatched it away from the roaming hand, tempted to beat whomever it was, but when she wheeled around, wielding her sign like a cudgel, she came face-to-face with none other than Carter Cox.