Chapter 12 Roman
TWELVE
ROMAN
A mix of surprise and desire—something I find all too intoxicating—skitters across Addison’s face before she locks it down. She quickly dons her mask of smug confidence and patent indifference. It’s a look that shouldn’t draw me in, shouldn’t turn me on. Hell, it never has before.
Not until her.
Addison Paige is a master at showing the world what she wants it to see.
Much like myself, the woman has different sides—Addison, the ambitious professional, and Addie, the devil-may-care party girl.
But there’s another side to her she keeps hidden behind the walls she’s built. The side that’s stripped of her masks.
It’s the one I saw that night when I took her in the alley.
When she responded to my words, my touch.
When she lost herself in the moment and let her need for control slip away in the wake of shocking, unadulterated pleasure.
She was so fucking perfect in her vulnerability, so pure and honest, and I’ve craved that part of her ever since.
I almost choked on my own tongue when she emerged from her bedroom earlier.
Her outfit shows more skin than it covers, her strappy heels look like they could double as weapons, and her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
She belongs in a goddamn Beyoncé video, taunting men with her sexual power and the goods they’ll never get to taste.
It was all I could do not to say fuck the club, haul her back into her room, and see how many times I can make her come before sunrise.
The self-control it took to keep it in my pants has made me tense.
And an asshole. I hadn’t spoken a word to her on the car ride over.
Even worse, I basically dismissed her as soon as we walked through the door, in a lame attempt at self-preservation.
I tried distracting myself with Misty. She’s a sure thing, with long, blond hair like Addison, and the same slight build.
I thought I might be able to trick my dick into taking his fun with her.
But it didn’t twitch with even a hint of interest. Her hair color is more dirty blond, where Addison’s is like corn silk, her body doesn’t have the toned strength that Addison’s does, and her cloying perfume smells nothing like Addison’s fresh scent.
Nothing about Misty attracts me. Nothing about any woman has attracted me since the night I buried myself inside Addison Paige’s tight body.
The DJ segues into Feel It by Jacquees, made popular as one of the numbers in the last stripping scene of Magic Mike XXL.
It’s a nightclub’s version of a slow song with its lyrics about raunchy sex and a steady, sultry beat that coaxes everyone into moving like they’re fucking upright, slow and dirty.
I slide my thigh between her legs, and for a second, I think her mask is about to slip again as her lips part on a sharp inhale, but she manages to keep her composure. Which only urges me to try harder to make her lose it.
“Sorry, hotshot, but my dance card is already full,” she says, pushing me back a step—which I allow—so she can turn around.
She moves in close to Austin, resting her forearms on his shoulders as she sways her hips to the beat.
Opportunist that he is, my best friend takes advantage of the situation and pulls her in with a hand on her exposed lower back—the place my hand had rested when we walked into the club earlier.
I know how soft her skin is there, and how my fingers settled perfectly in the gentle dip of her spine.
I should feel jealous—a normal man probably would—but I don’t.
If it were any other man, I’d be seeing red.
But Austin and I know each other as well as we know ourselves, and we’ve started more nights of debauchery by dancing with a woman between us than I can possibly count.
This is our thing. Well, one of them, anyway.
And because he knows me, he knew exactly what he was doing when he sucked the cherry from Addie’s fingers then escorted her to the dance floor.
He was drawing me out, issuing a challenge, daring me to come and play.
And so I am.
But as I grip her hips and press in from behind her, matching every sway and dip, I recognize that this feels different than anything we’ve ever done in the past. Because the way I feel for Addie is different.
She’s not a means to an end, a woman whose name and face will be forgotten before the sheets ever have time to cool.
I don’t want her for temporary sexual satiation.
I want her. Period. And it’s an aching need I’m finding more impossible to ignore with every passing day.
I bend my head, speaking directly in her ear so she can hear me despite our deafening surroundings. “No worries, wildcat. I don’t mind sharing with Austin.”
“Well, I mind.”
“You sure about that, Addie?”
I meet Austin’s eyes for a brief exchange, giving him the go-ahead to take things further.
He reads me easily and runs a hand up the center of her body.
He pauses over her collarbone and uses light pressure to ease her back against my upper chest, then moves up the column of her throat to guide her head to rest on my shoulder.
Addie melts into me, her body now completely molded to mine as I control our movements. Austin drops his hands back to her hips. Mine move higher to her sides, my palms meeting creamy flesh, though her top robs my fingers of the same privilege as they wrap over her ribs.
Her eyes are closed, and I suspect she’s as much avoiding the reality of giving in to me as she is losing herself to the music and sensations we’re creating for her.
I want them open. I want to see the same lust burning bright in her eyes that I feel coursing in my veins.
But at the same time, I don’t want to take the chance that it’ll pull her out of the moment, so I let her float in the dark void behind her lids.
“Feels good between us, doesn’t it?” I say, using my voice, my words to help her sink even further. “I bet Austin’s hard enough to nail railroad spikes with his cock right now. Can you feel it, baby, as he grinds it on your pussy?”
She nods, and with our bodies pressed together as they are, I feel it when she trembles. Her nipples pebble against the thin, black fabric of her halter top, and she rubs her ass back against my straining dick, sending bolts of lust shooting straight into my balls.
She’s waving a white flag of surrender as far as I’m concerned, and everything fades away as it really hits me that Addison is getting turned on by the idea of being with two men.
She’s not disgusted or offended, hasn’t hauled off and slapped me or told me to go fuck myself.
No. In fact, as I dip my head to kiss one side of her neck and Austin does the same to the other side, her hands come up to slide into our hair and hold us in place.
The three of us are moving as one in a sea of writhing bodies, our pelvises fused together and circling with the beat of the music that’s become the soundtrack for our mutual pleasure.
Colored lasers swing over the crowd and somewhere a fog machine emits streams of smoke along the floor that unfurl and wrap around us like haze from a dream.
And that’s exactly what this feels like, a dream. A wet dream.
A sudden, overwhelming need to taste her has me turning her face toward mine, and a heartbeat later I slant my mouth over hers.
Addie instantly opens up to me, and I lick inside, colliding with her tongue again and again.
She tastes of chocolate liqueur and cherries, and I want to devour every goddamn inch of her.
There’s a sharp sting at my scalp where her hand has clenched in my hair, and I briefly wonder if she’s doing the same thing to Austin.
My left hand slips under the side of her shirt, my fingertips skating over the soft skin as they move on a clear path up to her breast. Her back arches, pressing into my touch, as I suck on her lower lip and give it a sharp nip.
Just then, the DJ yells into the mic as he segues into faster house music. “Are you all having a good time tonight? Make some noiiiiiiise!”
Cheers erupt around us, startling Addison.
She pulls away from the kiss and stares at me with wide, questioning eyes.
Austin and I both know the moment is gone.
He separates himself from us, drawing her attention to him.
He smiles, kisses her on the back of her hand, and gives her an affectionate wink before disappearing into the throng of dancers.
I drag both hands down my face and try to compose myself. I nearly fucked my employee on a public dance floor. Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? When she glances back up, I see uncertainty clouding those aqua-blue eyes as she waits for me to say something, to make this right between us.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. How about I take you back to the table and get you another drink?”
Her lips thin into a straight line. “How about not.” And then she pivots and disappears, too.
Fuck. Luckily, I’m taller than most people, and I can easily follow her as she makes a zigzag path to get to the periphery of the club. Once I catch up to her, I grab her arm and spin her to me. “Addison, I’m— Goddamn it, I’m sorry, okay?”
She tilts her head and places her hands on her hips, which she cocks out to one side. “What are you sorry for, exactly, Roman?”
“For taking things too far back there. I should have kept my hands—” She raises an eyebrow, and I amend my statement. “My everything to myself.”
“Seriously? You think I’m upset because you got a little physical with me?”
That’s when it hits me. It’s not about what I was doing to her.
After all, even if we shouldn’t be doing anything because of our professional relationship, it’s not like we haven’t already been as intimate as two people can be.
No, this is about what I invited and encouraged Austin to do to her with me.
I took advantage of the moment in all its heady glory and used the music, the dancing, and even the alcohol flowing in her veins to distract her from focusing on something she would normally be uncomfortable with.
I’m pissed as hell at myself for losing control, not to mention my goddamn mind, and I feel sick at the thought of coercing her—or any woman, for that matter—into doing something she doesn’t want to do.
I might have an uncommon fetish, but I’ve only ever indulged it with very willing partners, which is not how I’d classify Addison.
She deserves an apology. A proper one. One that spells out all the ways I fucked up.
But I can’t bring myself to give it to her.
I don’t know if it’s because of my stubborn pride or if I just hate the idea of apologizing for the hottest minutes of my life, when I had the woman I’ve wanted more than any other between me and my best friend, lost to the pleasure of the moment that I was giving her.
I can’t be sorry. Not for that, at least.
“Addison, I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.
I took advantage of you, but it won’t happen again, I swear it.
” Her face falls, morphing from irritation to what appears to be disappointment, but I must be reading that wrong.
She’s probably just tired. “Come on,” I say.
“I haven’t been drinking. Let me take you home. ”
She doesn’t argue with me but lets me lead her out of the club.
The ride to her place is just as awkward and silent as the ride to the club, but for entirely different reasons.
I’ve never been so off-balance with a woman before, and it’s driving me insane.
I insist on walking her to her door, the whole time trying to figure out what the hell I can say to her to fix this so it’s not all fucked up come Monday morning.
This is exactly why I need to keep the line drawn between us. She’s a damn good employee; she’s smart and driven and has great instincts. I don’t want to lose her. Correction: I don’t want the firm to lose her. She’s a valuable asset, and Coop will kill me if I let my dick chase her away.
But I don’t have to worry because once we reach her apartment, Addison faces me before I can say anything. “Look, let’s forget about tonight. I’ll make a conscious effort to work less from home and get a life, and then you won’t feel obligated to drag me to clubs to prevent my inevitable burnout.”
Obligated? The last thing I’d felt when I raced over here to fetch her was fucking obligated.
That may have been the excuse I’d used to convince myself I didn’t have ulterior motives for bringing Addie out tonight, but the truth was far more sordid and self-serving than some misplaced sense of responsibility. “Addie, you aren’t—”
She holds her hand up to silence me. “You don’t need to explain anything, and I certainly don’t want any more apologies. I’d rather just put it behind us and go back to the professional relationship we have in the office. I promise not to act awkward on Monday if you don’t. Deal?”
Jesus, I’m like a cat with nine lives when it comes to this woman.
No matter how many times shit should go south between us, she somehow makes it all okay.
She’s offering me a get-out-of-jail-free card, a chance to go back to the way things were before I crossed a dozen do-not-cross-these lines with her.
I should be heel-clicking happy right now, but all I feel is a sick uneasiness in my stomach, and I don’t know why.
I nod once. “Deal.”
She gives me a smile that doesn’t get anywhere near those sea-green eyes, tells me she’ll see me bright and early Monday morning, then lets herself into her apartment.
I wait until I hear her locks engage before heading back down the hall, and decide that as soon as I get home, I’m trading the glasses of water I’ve been drinking all night for a bottle of Glenfiddich.