Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ADDISON
And I have no one to blame but myself, since all of my stress is from prepping for the case I literally begged Roman to give me.
I mentally slap myself a sarcastic high-five for that one.
Way to go, Addie. Oh, plus there’s that teensy-weensy secret I’m keeping from Roman at Austin’s request. That has me a little on edge, too.
Though my body feels abused, and my nerves are frayed beyond recognition, I know I’d be so much worse if it wasn’t for Roman.
He’s been incredible these past few weeks, doing everything he promised.
When I meet with the client, he stays silent until I look at him, indicating I’d like help, and then afterward he takes me through the places he could tell I struggled.
We’ve spent countless hours doing research and combing through files and reference cases, and he’s helped me build a damn strong case.
In preparation for this Friday’s deposition, we’ve role-played—no, not the fun kind, unfortunately—where he pretends to be his father and does his best to trip me up.
I was terrible at first, nailing every rookie mistake known to man, but with every mistake I made, I learned, and now I feel more confident.
You know, aside from all the vomit-inducing fear every time I imagine Bill Reeves staring me down from the other side of the table and metaphorically burying me under a mountain of legalese I’ll inexplicably forget like I never attended a day of law school.
Shit shit shit.
A quiet groan escapes my lips before I can trap it, drawing attention from Roman, who’s sitting next to me at the conference table answering emails from his laptop. His brows draw into a concerned V. “You okay, babe?”
The endearment is allowed because the door is closed to the room, otherwise that would be a huge no-no. “Yeah, just a little tense. I need to make an appointment for a massage before I end up a permanent hunchback.”
“I can save you the fifty bucks. Come on, turn that way,” he says, indicating I should face away from him.
Since John and Martin are in court and Maggie always knocks before entering, I don’t argue. “It’s cute that you think a massage is only fift—ohmigod, yes, right there, don’t stop.”
His deep chuckle is rich and warm and melts my brain like his strong hands melt my body with every second they’re on me.
It’s always like that, whether it’s Ruthless grabbing me roughly during sex or Roman absently drawing lazy patterns with his fingertips while we’re chilling on the couch or in bed falling asleep.
I basically embody “putty in his hands” when it comes to this man.
The honey badger has been in hibernation for quite some time now, and at this rate, I’m not sure if she’ll ever be back.
“If it’s much more than that,” he says, referring to the cost, “maybe I should start charging you for services rendered.”
“Mmmm, you could do that.” I let my head drop forward and wince when his thumb presses on a particularly big knot.
“And then maybe I’ll charge you for certain desirable services I render.
I’m not sure what the going rates are, but I can head over to Rush Street and ask some of the nice women there what they consider fair. ”
His hands still as he asks, amusement coating his indignant tone, “Did you seriously just suggest becoming a prostitute for me?”
I shrug and instantly regret the motion, but I hold back the pained groan.
I really do need to make an appointment.
Roman has magic hands, but it’s going to take at least a ninety-minute session with a professional to undo the damage I’ve done.
“I’m a very progressive woman—I’m a firm believer that prostitution should be legalized and monitored—and if you’re going to charge me for something that I desperately want, then turnabout is fair play, is it not? ”
I’m having a hard time keeping the smile from my face, so I know he can hear the playful curves softening the sharp edges of my words.
But then he slips one hand forward to wrap loosely but possessively around my throat as his thumb strokes the sensitive skin below my ear, and my smile falls like he physically pulls it from me.
A slight tremor rolls through me when he leans in so close his breath stirs the fine hairs at my temple.
“We don’t subscribe to that idiom, do we, baby?
If we did, I’d be fucking other women. That what you want? ”
I’m caught between arousal from his dominance and rage at his suggestion.
I choose my words carefully, wanting to drive my point home despite knowing he didn’t mean what he said.
“You can strip and dance for other women, let them grope at you, and even let them suck whipped cream off your body. None of that bothers me even the slightest. But the day another woman touches you outside of a P4H job is the day I cut your balls off for letting it happen.”
Laughing, he wraps his arms around me, the chair back between us making the hug somewhat awkward but no less wonderful.
“I’d expect nothing less from my little wildcat.
” He presses a kiss to the place his thumb had caressed mere moments ago, then releases me to continue rubbing my shoulders.
Oh, he is soooooo getting lucky tonight.
We’ve both been so busy lately that sleep has been trumping sex more often than not.
Part of me worries that we’re falling into a rut, or that things are becoming routine.
Another part of me is all, “Yay, things are becoming routine!” Because there has to be a high level of comfort and a certain sense of permanency in order for that to happen.
It means what we have is still progressing, growing.
And that’s not all that’s growing. Roman’s feelings for me have deepened since the night of Janey’s party a couple of weeks ago.
It’s not like he’s dropped the “L” word or suggested we go puppy shopping, so I can’t offer my logical side any concrete proof—I know, it’s very unlawyery of me and makes said logical side weep—and yet I’m just as sure about this as I would be with a bucketful of tangible evidence.
The more confusing puzzle, in my opinion, is the why of it all. Like I said, I noticed a definite change after the graduation party. Which is a nice way of referring to the night Roman directed a man on how to fuck me before tag-teaming me in their other friend’s guest bedroom.
Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy.
I ignore my subconscious’s sarcasm and remind myself that for millions of people it is perfectly normal and healthy.
I have nothing against polyamory or ménage or swinging or anything else that gets people’s rocks off.
As long as they’re of age and everything’s consensual, I’m a huge advocate for letting your freak flag fly.
I’m just not sure how I feel about making something like what we did with Austin a forever kind of thing.
Christ, presumptuous much, Addie?
I need to stop because I’m assuming that Roman and I are a forever kind of thing, but as stated earlier, I have no evidence that points to that outcome other than something that boils down to nothing more than a hunch.
The truth is, the experience was crazy hot—there’s no denying how turned on I was—but I doubt I enjoyed it for the same reasons I suspect Roman does.
As a man who craves dominance, it’s easy to understand why the ménage combined with control over everything pushes his hot buttons.
Men are visual creatures, and watching a live porn acted out mere feet away, with him in the director’s seat, is probably sexual crack.
For me, though, it wasn’t as much about the physicality of things.
Not the visual of me between two men or the indescribable sensations created by twice the kissing, licking, fondling, and fucking.
Don’t get me wrong, all of that was obviously a big factor in the numerous orgasms I had.
As clinical as it sounds, there’s no getting around the fact that our physiology is hard-wired to react to pleasurable stimulation.
Roman told me once that the other man was merely an extension of his own body, and I didn’t get it until I experienced it for myself.
He made sure my gaze was trained on him whenever my eyes were open, and when they weren’t, it was him I saw on the backs of my eyelids.
It was his voice I focused on, listened for, waited on.
Austin spoke, but only in small, concentrated doses.
It was never enough to pull me from Roman’s spell—though admittedly, not much can.
So, even with how insanely phenomenal everything felt, when I think of what it truly comes down to, the mental connection I shared with Roman while he and Austin fucked me is what shot the entire experience into the stratosphere.
And the emotional connection I shared with Roman afterward, when it was just the two of us, is how he ended up owning me, heart and soul, whether he knows it or not.
“Can I ask you something?” he says, breaking the comfortable silence.
I answer him honestly. “Always.”
“Not that I’m complaining, and not that I do it all that often anymore, but I’m curious.
Why doesn’t my stripping bother you? The only people I know who aren’t jealous over stripper significant others are strippers themselves.
” Then, as though he’s submitting evidence to the court to back up his theory, he adds, “It almost came between Chance and Jane.”
“That’s true.” I spin my chair to face him, silently bemoaning the end of my massage.
For now. “Honestly, I was a little surprised myself when I realized it didn’t bother me at the party.
This just proves what a catch I really am.
I mean, I know you’re well aware that I’m one-in-a-gazillion, but now you can brag that you have the coolest girlfriend ever to all of your stripping buddies at the next pole convention. ”