Chapter 19
NINETEEN
MAGGIE
The dress is Eliza’s idea.
It’s deep green, silk, cut to skim my curves. I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes. It’s so low at the front that I keep tugging it up, convinced that everyone can see my tits. If that’s not bad enough, the back dips low enough that I worry someone might see my arse crack.
Eliza beams. ‘You look incredible, Mags. Stop faffing with it.’
‘I feel half bloody naked.’
The dinner party is already in full swing.
Filled with music from the string quartet and the chinking of glasses.
I only half-recognise most of the people, all looking utterly chic, like they’d just tumbled off Saville Row.
Amongst the strange faces, I see some I know.
Friends of my dad, work associates, politicians and other people with more morals than money.
And then, like a god descending from Olympus, Roman appears on the stairs.
In a tux.
It’s dark and fitted and panty-wettingly snug around his muscled thighs. He looks fucking delicious. My brain feels like it glitches with every step he takes toward me.
He catches sight of me and stops for half a second, just long enough for his eyes to travel over me in a way that’s utterly salacious. By the time he’s in front of me, I may as well have flaring heart eyes jumping out of my sockets.
‘You look incredible, Princess.’
I laugh, because if I don’t, I might melt into the carpet. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’
There’s a subtle shift between us. An ignition.
The night wears on in a thousand dull conversations, noone quite sure who they can talk openly with in a roomful of people.
Roman leads me to the dancefloor. The band is good, and being pressed up against Roman is even better.
We’re close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear as we talk.
Close enough that the line between pretending and not pretending becomes fuzzier with each sway of his hips.
I can’t deny the attraction I feel toward him.
This man that I yanked out of his life and dragged into mine.
This man, who, despite that, doesn’t look at me like I’m broken.
It’s kinda nice.
Then Eddie cuts in.
He doesn’t ask. He just steps between us and pulls me into his arms.
‘My turn,’ he says, and before I can object, he’s guiding me around the floor, his fingers hard against my spine.
I stiffen. ‘Eddie—’
‘Relax, my sweet pea,’ he murmurs, leaning in as I want to dance with him. ‘People are watching.’
Of course they are.
‘I’m not your fucking sweet pea, Eddie.’
I catch sight of Roman, who stands to the side, Eliza’s hand firmly on his chest as she talks harshly into his ear.
I dance because causing a scene might upset my father. Eddie’s grip tightens, and I feel sick when he shudders against me.
‘You know this is inevitable,’ he says. ‘You can play at being difficult, but we both know where this ends.’
‘No, we don’t. You don’t even want me. You want what I represent. The company. My father’s business. It’s never been about me.’
Eddie steers me off the floor and through the sea of people and shoves me into a shadowed alcove. ‘It has always been you, Maggie. You can’t run from who you are.’
‘I will never be yours.’
He doesn’t seem to hear it.
The next moment is a blur of motion. Roman is there, all dangerous eyes and shoving hands. He pushes Eddie back hard enough that he stumbles, and before I can process it, Roman’s fist connects with Eddie’s jaw with a sickening thwack.
The room seems to freeze, eyes turning to the spectacle.
I’d be lying if I said that seeing Roman hit Eddie didn’t give me a bit of a flutter in the nether regions.
Eddie straightens, wiping at his mouth, his eyes ice-cold. ‘You’ll regret that, you poxy English fuck.’
‘Touch her again.’ Roman’s voice shakes with rage. ‘And you won’t get the chance to threaten me.’
Eddie’s gaze flicks between us, then over our shoulders at the crowd. ‘You don’t belong here. She does.’
He turns and melts back into the crowd, throwing a final rage-fuelled look at Roman.
My hands are trembling.
‘My dad won’t throw him out. His family are too important. He won’t want to offend them.’
Roman looks at me with helpless frustration in his eyes. ‘Then what can I do?’
I swallow. ‘Grab some tequila. And dance with me until I’m too tired to think.’
The night blurs into ragged movement and noise. We dance until my feet ache and my head spins, until the world narrows to the solid press of his body. Angst gives way to hazy hedonism as our bloodstreams weigh heavily toward alcohol heavy.
As the night winds down, we end up in one of the quieter corridors, breathless and laughing far too loudly. He backs me gently into an alcove, eyes dark, voice low.
‘God, you’re something else, Maggie.’
‘If it weren’t for Eddie, it might have been close to a perfect night.’ I sigh, leaning heavily against the wall.
‘Let me help you forget that fucker,’ he says, dropping to his knees and looking up at me.
‘You don’t have to,’ I giggle as he tugs at the slit on my dress.
‘But what if I want to? What if I’m dying to taste you?’
‘You can do so much better than me.’ I sink my fingers into his hair and groan as he nips at my thighs.
‘You’re wrong, Maggie. Now let me help you forget.’
When he tugs my panties aside and slides his mouth over my wetness, I lose any misgivings I might have had.
Christ on a bicycle, his damned tongue.
I bite down on my lip to stifle a moan, tightening my fingers in his dark tresses. Seeing Roman here, on his knees, feels like a fever dream, and I can’t help but touch him. To check he’s really between my thighs.
The slide of his tongue across my clit reminds me that this is very much happening. It’s reckless to let him touch me like this while tucked in an alcove, but the way his tongue grazes me has me rooted to the spot. I can barely breathe, far less make rational decisions.
Roman moans, and the deep rumble vibrates against me, weakening my knees. Good lord, it’s been far too long since I’d sought out this particular pleasure. Tipping my head back against the wall, I arch my hips to give Roman more access. More… everything.
‘So demanding,’ he says, grinning up at me. ‘Demanding but delicious.’
As if to prove his point, he rolls his tongue around my tender flesh until I’m tugging at his hair.
‘Holy shit,’ I whimper. ‘Touch yourself too. I need to know you are enjoying yourself.’
I want his throaty moans against me as I come. To help me get out of my head when all of the focus is on me.
‘I’m very much enjoying myself. I could spend the whole night right here.’
‘It’s okay, I know a lot of guys don’t really like it, they just do it to—’
I lose my voice when he nips at me with his teeth. ‘I don’t want you to be thinking of any other guys while I’m tasting you.’
’Please? For me.’
Roman doesn’t reply, sinking his mouth over me and dragging his tongue through my wetness, but I hear him undo his fly. The lusty moan that soon follows fills me with a wash of need.
His eyes flick to mine. A heady sight to look down on, all filthy gaze and slick-mouthed. Moving back, he presses his tongue flat against me, pulling it over me achingly slowly.
My breath comes in a stuttering pant as I quiver against his face.
I peer past my thighs and catch a glimpse of his dick, thick and engorged between his fingers. A whisper of jealousy rises as I think of all the times I’ve heard other women enjoying that lovely dick through the wall.
I want it.
Bad.
But beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m already nearing the edge of desire, my core thrumming with each heady swell of his tongue.
His hand snakes around my ass, pulling me tight to his face as I lose control, my muscles quaking. Bliss flashes behind my eyes as I come hard, riding Roman’s pretty face.
As the waves of desire peak and fade, Roman gives me no reprieve; he holds me tight to his face and thrusts his tongue deep inside me. His body judders as he fucks his hand, and I lean back to watch. I grow sensitive, but he growls when I try to move.
‘While we’re here, this is mine,’ he demands before sliding his tongue right back inside me, lingering in my taste.
I’m taken aback by his almost vicious demand of me, and it ignites something deep in my core.
A sense of filthy belonging I’ve never felt.
Like he actually wants me. Even if it’s only circumstance, alcohol and stress driving him to crave me.
Roman’s muscles knot beneath his white shirt, the tux jacket long lost to our previous dancing. As he comes, he lets out a desperately throaty noise that has me open-mouthed. Fucking hell, the man’s sex on legs. Or knees, I suppose. How anybody believes this fucker is celibate, I’ll never know.
White coats his fingers as he stands while I fix my dress. We stand staring at each other, all harsh breath and tipsy shame. Well, on my part. Roman doesn’t look in the least bit shameful.
Reaching out, I examine his hand, the smooth white coating his fingers.
‘Do you need a taste, too, Maggie?’ There’s devilment in his eyes as he speaks.
I’m tempted, but I could never admit it. It’s bad enough that he knows I hump my bloody pillow while thinking of him. I need no more shame.
My silence has him tipping his head as he studies me.
Then his other hand is in my hair, tugging my head back while he looks at me.
’Open your mouth, Princess.’
I obey with a wave of deviance washing over me.
‘There’s a good girl,’ he whispers while lifting his hand and dragging his cum-soaked fingers over my tongue.
The salty taste makes my stomach roil, and my thighs clench. In equal measure. He watches, fascinated as I press my tongue between the digits, indulging him in his filthy request.
‘You’re nothing like I thought you were,’ he murmurs, before dropping his hand and leaning closer. My breath hitches as he tips my head a little further, his eyes snagging on my cum-tainted lips.
’Oh my god, you little freaks.’ Eliza’s voice cuts through the moment, and Roman steps back, his cheeks flushing as my sister laughs. ’I wondered where the two of you went, only to find you didn’t even make it to your room.’
’Eliza,’ I say, smoothing down my clothes and wiping my mouth. ‘Don’t say anything.’
’As if I’m keeping this story to myself.
I didn’t know you had it in you. Do you know that Fraser and I had a bet that Roman didn’t even know you existed and was just a ploy?
’ Eliza holds up her hands as Roman rights his trousers, barely able to meet my eyes.
‘Well, you sure showed me. Not only does he exist, but you two are a bunch of dirty horn-boxes.’
I’m stumped as to what to say. The fact that they didn’t believe me hurts. Albeit, more so because they were right. I’m predictably pathetic.
Eliza heads off with a laugh, and I turn to Roman with my cheeks three-bars red.
‘I can’t believe she saw that,’ I say, mortified.
Roman drags a thumb over my chin, removing a streak of white that I missed. My mortification monitor increases.
‘Did I have spunk on my chin the whole time?’ I squeak.
‘I think it suits you.’ His eyes darken before he takes my hand and drags me along the corridor.