22. Nikki
After the cocktail hour,we were led to a dining room where a delicious four-course meal was served. There were twenty-two guests invited to Garcia’s home for the weekend, and all of them were there to have a good time. I laughed more during that meal than I had in all the other events combined.
By the time we got back to our room, I’d had two glasses of champagne and a glass of red, way too much food, and I was still riding the high from blurting out my idea for the perfume campaign.
Which reminded me—I wanted to double-check that Rome was okay with me doing that. He’d seemed to respond positively when we were downstairs, but he could just as easily think I overstepped my job description.
I tended to get overambitious when I had ideas. I liked working, I liked doing a good job, and I loved collaborative projects. But I knew that sometimes, people in positions of power responded badly to my enthusiasm.
It had happened before. When I worked at the vintage clothing store, I started scouring thrift stores and estate sales to buy for it and then eventually went to my boss with ideas for ways to change the store itself. I’d mocked up a design for an online store and pitched him the idea of expanding into country-wide sales. He told me he’d consider my idea but fired me a month later. Sometimes, when I was particularly bitter about it, I thought he goaded me into spending money on that business degree just to spite me.
So now, as I unhooked my earrings and dropped them onto a mirrored tray on the vanity, I peeked sideways to see if I could broach the topic with Rome.
But he had his back to me and his phone to his ear. I finished removing my jewelry and crept closer, my thoughts beginning to whirl. I’d tell him that it was a one-time thing. I’d explain that the idea just popped into my head, and I had to get it out. I would cross my fingers and toes and hope he understood.
Then I heard what he was saying to the person on the other side of the phone call.
“Yeah, new direction. I want a full new storyboard by Monday. We’re smashing the bottles. Divine feminine energy, but make it angry. Take it to the design department and see if they can link up with Garcia’s people. Good.”
He hung up the phone and turned, freezing when he saw me staring at him wide-eyed. “Everything okay?”
“You’re not mad?”
Rome frowned. “About what?”
“About me blurting out my idea like that.”
His lips tilted into a wry smile. “Babe, anytime you get an idea that saves me millions of dollars in delays and missed launch deadlines, you blurt it out whenever you like.”
I bit my lip as my lungs crowded out my chest. “Okay,” I whispered.
He held my gaze until I looked away and angled for the bathroom. When I closed the door behind me, I let out a long breath.
Maybe I could carve a role for myself that wasn’t just a placeholder. Maybe I could find someone who valued me for my ideas, for my thoughts, for myself.
By the time I re-emerged from the bathroom, my emotions had subsided, and I felt calmer. Until I saw Rome reclining on the bed, one arm curled behind his head, the other holding his phone as he read something on the screen. He wore black-framed glasses, and the sight of him slightly undone on a bed made heat twist in the pit of my stomach.
He lifted his eyes, then let his gaze roam over my nightie and down to my bare legs. When I’d packed for the trip, I mistakenly assumed I’d have my own room. In retrospect, that was a silly mistake—but it meant that I was now standing in a luxurious bedroom wearing a pale pink satin nightie trimmed in white lace. The alternative was sleeping in regular clothes—none of which would be comfortable or appropriate for bed.
“I thought you claimed the floor,” I blurted.
Dark-blue eyes lifted to meet my own. His brow arched. “I changed my mind.”
Suddenly, this whole situation felt perilous. I wasn’t sure I could resist his pull any longer—wasn’t even sure I wanted to.
Sure, he was my boss. But this whole situation was unusual. We kept having to pretend to be a couple at all these public events. Was it any wonder that closeness had muddled the boundaries a bit? All the touches of his hand on my lower back, my waist, my shoulders, the shared looks between client meetings, the way his thumb stroked the outside of my elbow when he wanted to guide me into the next room.
It had been weeks, and I was tired of resisting.
Rome set his phone on the nightstand, then slipped his glasses off. He glanced at the space on the bed next to him, then looked at me. “Do I terrify you that much?”
“I wouldn’t call it terror.”
His lips kicked, and I started moving. I fluffed the pillows—they were divine—then threw back the plush comforter and got under the blankets. My heart thumped and my movements felt jerky. The mattress was soft beneath me, but I couldn’t relax.
Rome was right there, wearing loose pants and a T-shirt. He got under the blankets on his side, and I could feel the heat of his body just inches away from mine. The mattress dipped as he rolled over to turn off his light, and the room was plunged in darkness. After a few seconds, my eyes adjusted to the silvery light of the moon.
The only sounds were our breathing and the rustle of fabric against fabric. I rolled over so my back was to Rome, but my eyes remained open. Sleep was far away. With my gaze, I traced the shape of the lampshade and followed the corner of the wall up to the crown molding. From this angle, I could see a slice of the dressing room, including the tufted ottoman in the center of the room. I noticed the way the moonlight cut shadows across the walls, how it reflected off the ocean outside to throw shimmering light across the walls and ceiling.
But my awareness was all on Rome. On the weight of him behind me. His breathing. His stillness.
My body felt alive, and we hadn’t said a word. We hadn’t touched. But I felt heaviness in my breasts and pressure in my core. I curled my knees up and clenched my thighs as my heart thumped.
His breathing was deep and even, and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Wouldn’t that be funny? I’d lie there, tortured by unrequited lust, and he’d snooze away, unaffected? It would be typical of my life. Always the placeholder, never the chosen one.
Then he shifted. I heard the rustle of fabric and felt the comforter tug as he moved. His fingers curled around my hair, gently moving it away from my neck. My breath quickened. His fingertip was warm as it traced the shell of my ear, moving down my neck and across my shoulder. He slipped it under the thin strap of my nightgown, following the fabric down to the lace trim near my shoulder blade. His touch feathered over my skin, but it still felt intense. My focus narrowed to the scant few inches where our bodies connected.
“Do you wear this kind of thing to bed every night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Silky, lacy things.” His fingers moved back up along the strap, sliding it toward my shoulder. “I need to know if I should edit the fantasies I’ve been having of you.”
I rolled onto my back and arched my brow at him. He was leaning on his elbow, his head propped on his hand. His smile was dangerous.
“I like wearing nice things, and that includes bedtime,” I told him.
He made a rough noise at the back of his throat, his fingers moving to trace the neckline of my nightclothes. “All this time, I thought you dressed up to convey a message. But you don’t, do you? You do it for yourself. Just like you told me.”
I hummed in agreement, and he shifted his hand so his palm rested on my breast. He stroked the silky fabric of my nightgown with his thumb, watching the movement of the fabric under his touch.
It was unbearable. It was delicious. I wanted the moment to last forever, and I wanted him to wrench my thighs apart and bury himself inside me. It no longer mattered who he was or who I was. We were in a cocoon of stillness and moonlight, where the real world wouldn’t intrude. It was a weekend away from reality.
When he plumped my breast and pinched my nipple, I arched into the touch—and that was all the invitation Rome needed. He leaned over me, taking my breast—fabric and all—in his mouth. My fingers twined into his hair as my breaths panted, lightning darting through my veins at the feel of his breath through the satin, the heat of his palm as it moved over my ribs.
“Rome,” I panted, curling my hand into his hair.
He kissed my neck and jaw. “You want me to stop?”
“God, no.”
He let out a harsh laugh—little more than a huff of breath—and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. My knees bent and my thighs spread to cradle him between them, the nightgown pooling at my hips.
Rome’s movements were hurried. He swept his hand down my side and over my thigh, pushing it wider to palm my core. He groaned as his hand met with the heat of me, his fingers dipping beneath the gusset of my panties.
“I’ve wanted you for weeks,” he growled.
I gasped at the feel of his fingers sliding through my wetness. My hips bucked; I needed more. When he buried a finger inside me, I let out a low moan.
“So wet and hot for me,” he said, his cheek creasing as he grinned. “Greedy for my cock.”
I glared at him, even though it was true. Laughing, Rome fell onto his back and took me with him so I was straddling his hips. I leaned my palms on his chest and tried to catch my breath.
His fingers dug into my hips as he pulled me down against him. My eyes flew open at the feel of him there, just a few flimsy layers of fabric separating us.
“It’s not just you,” he admitted, eyes half-lidded. “Feel what you do to me.” He used his grip to grind me against him, bucking up to meet my movements.
My eyes rolled back. “That feels so good.”
His answering groan was harsh. As I rode him, he lifted his hand and wrenched my nightgown down to expose my breasts. I lifted my arms out of the straps and let it pool around my waist, my hips rocking against his hardened shaft.
The way he looked at me intoxicated me. Eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open, he watched the movement of my body like he’d never seen anything so good in his life. One hand guided the movement of my hips while the other swept down my chest, over my breast, down to my waist and back up.
I let out a whimper. I was so close. Heat wound in the pit of my stomach as my movements became jerkier. He met my thrusts with his own—but it wasn’t enough. My core clenched on nothing as I rode him, but my frustration mounted.
Finally, I lifted myself off him and shoved my hand in my underwear.
Rome let out a harsh breath and pushed his own pants down far enough that he could take himself in hand. I knelt there, holding my nightgown out of the way, rubbing my own slickness over my clit while he fisted himself beneath me.
“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his eyes glued on the movement of my hand. “Show me. Show me what you’re doing.”
I pushed my panties out of the way and let my head fall back. It felt dirty and wrong and so fucking good to be doing this with him. I could feel his movements get more frantic beneath me. Little flutters went through me, and a sort of desperation took hold. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. I was so turned on, so out of control, so needy.
I yelped as Rome curled his fingers around my panties and tugged. They came apart, and he tossed the ripped scrap of fabric aside. His control was slipping the leash as much as mine was.
“Do you have a condom?” I shoved my own fingers inside myself, bucking as my hair fell down over my shoulders.
Rome swore. “No.”
“Shit,” I said between breaths. “Okay.”
“Are you on the pill?”
I shook my head. “No.” Hormonal birth control made me a crazy person, and I hadn’t seen the point in taking it when I didn’t have regular sex. I was regretting that now.
He closed his eyes for a beat, then moved his hands to my hips once more. I ground myself against him like before, but without the layers of fabric separating us. We groaned in unison. My breaths became harsh as I rode against his cock, desperate for an orgasm.
He was right there. I could shift the angle of my hips, use my hand to angle him ever so slightly, and I’d feel him where I wanted him most. I wanted to. I was desperate to. But I didn’t.
Rome used his hands to guide my hips, pressing me down against his hard shaft as my desire made our movements slick. His neck muscles were stark, his biceps straining at the fabric of his sleeves.
“I want you so fucking much,” he rasped, his eyes wild.
“I know,” I panted.
He groaned, shoving my hips back and forth as I twisted my hands into his tee for purchase. The mattress groaned.
And I couldn’t take it anymore. Lust had addled my brain to the point where all I could think about was how badly I wanted to come. All I knew was how good he looked and how much I wanted him. I reached between us and angled him upward—then impaled myself. I fell forward, moaning.
His eyes widened as one hand flew to the back of my head, twisting into my hair. “Nikki—” He bit my name off with a groan, his hips bucking beneath me.
I gasped, clinging to him for dear life. Then I was on my back and Rome was holding my knees in the crook of his elbow, driving himself inside me so deep I could think of nothing else.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, eyes wild as he pistoned into me.
I bunched the fabric of my nightgown out of the way and did as he ordered. I felt him entering me, felt the taut skin of his shaft against my fingers, my wetness coating him. Within seconds of my fingers making contact with my clit, my orgasm finally—finally—detonated.
Every muscle in my body clenched as I arched off the bed. I let out a cry through clenched teeth, riding the intensity of my pleasure until it felt like I’d fly apart. Distantly, I heard Rome swearing. I felt his movements become jerky and uncoordinated. I squeezed my thighs against his arms as he held my knees up, his hands finding my ass to lift me up for a deeper angle.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I knew was the most intense orgasm of my life was blinding me to everything but pleasure.
“Nikki—”
I opened my eyes to see Rome clench his teeth. A second later, he pulled out of me and spilled his seed all over my stomach and thighs and sex. All over the hand that was still busy wringing the last notes of pleasure from my orgasm. I trembled, gasping for breath, feeling the heat of his orgasm on my skin. My fingers dragged through it as another, smaller wave of pleasure washed over me.
Finally done, I collapsed onto the pillows as Rome’s gaze took in the mess of my midsection. His thumbs stroked the inside of my thighs, spreading the evidence of his own pleasure over my skin. His breaths were heavy, his cheeks red.
“What the fuck just happened?” he asked, dazed.
The sight of my usually surly, confident, competent boss so out of sorts wrung a laugh out of my exhausted body. I squeezed him with my knees in response.
He let out a long breath, then extricated his limbs from mine and padded to the bathroom. The sink ran for a few seconds, and he came back with his pants on properly and a wet washcloth in his hands. When he ran it over my skin in gentle strokes, the washcloth was warm and damp. I melted onto the bed and let him care for me, still too dazed and pleasantly numb to think about the consequences of what we’d just done.