Chapter 25 Addison #2
I don’t want to break our kiss, but Roman still has control of my head so I have no choice when he pulls away.
Our breaths saw in and out of our lungs.
I drop my eyes to stare at his full lips, willing them back to me.
When he speaks, his voice gravelly rough, I get lost in watching the way they move to form his words and it takes me a second to realize he’d asked me a question.
Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to meet his. “What?”
“I asked if you thought about me during dinner.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “I’m always thinking about you,” I whisper.
“Is that right,” he says. “Always? Even when you’re with other people, and I’m not around. You’re thinking of me then?”
“In some capacity, yes. Always.”
“I was thinking about you, too.” His hand falls away from my jaw and twists one of my nipples.
I suck in a sharp breath from the shock of pleasure-pain striking my clit like lightning.
My body involuntarily jerks causing most of what was left of my wine to slosh over the rim onto his pristine white carpet.
“Oh shit!” I move to get off his lap, but he holds me prisoner. “Roman, your carpet.”
“Fuck the carpet,” he growls, slapping the glass from my hand. My jaw drops on a gasp at the stain setting in, but he clenches a fist in my hair and redirects my gaze. “I want your attention on me, Addison. Do I have it?”
“Yes, Roman. You have it.” Trepidation skitters through my veins.
He’s always controlling, but this is bordering on volatile.
I search his eyes, but I can’t see into them like I could this afternoon.
He’s closed himself off, but I’ve noticed he does this whenever we play with Austin, and even when he spins taboo stories of fucking me in front of a crowd or bringing in two men to take me however he wants.
They’re fantasies that drive me wild when I imagine them while he’s taking me, but when I think about them later, they’re not nearly as enticing. I’ve promised myself that I won’t worry about Roman’s kink escalating unless it goes beyond mere talk.
I’m hoping the opposite will happen. That in time Roman’s feelings for me will grow strong enough that he won’t even feel the need to continue ménage so often.
A third of our sex life is probably shared with Austin, and while the experiences are always mind-blowing, I don’t want to be involved in a triad—even a part-time one—long term.
A special occasion thing would be fine, but I don’t need it like Roman does.
I told myself earlier that I’ll give it another month. One more month to see where this goes. If he’s not on the same page as me by then, I’ll cut my losses and we’ll end things amicably like we always said we would. But that’s not how I want this to end. I don’t want this to end at all.
We are enough for me. I’m holding out that someday soon, I will be enough for him, too.
Using his hold on my hair, he drags me closer and licks a path up my neck as his free hand slips between my legs. His fingers press and rub the denim over my sex. I moan and embrace the sensations rippling through the lips of my pussy.
“So responsive,” he rasps over the sensitive skin of my throat. “Even with Austin. The second he touches you, you come alive, don’t you?”
“His touch is your touch, remember? You taught me that.”
His lips graze my ear, and his warm breath stirs my hair.
“What if it wasn’t? What if I want him to touch you when I’m not in the room watching?
I wouldn’t even be in the house. It’s just you…
” Roman bites my earlobe and pinches the lips of my pussy together through my jeans at the same time, confusing my pleasure and pain receptors and pulling a mewl of wanton need from my chest. “…and him.”
I try to imagine myself with only Austin, letting him touch me and kiss me without the benefit of feeling Roman’s hungry gaze or hearing his rough commands and titillating observations.
I’m not turned on by that even the slightest bit, but maybe he likes the idea of “catching” us in the act and then enlisting Austin’s help to “punish” me.
That could be hot, as long as Roman comes in before too long.
“Maybe you invite us both over, but you’re running late at court,” I say, helping weave the scenario.
“And maybe Austin wants to get things started for you so that we’re ready as soon as you walk in the door. ”
“That’s not how it works. I’m not a part of this one.”
Roman spins me in his lap so my back is pressed to his front, my thighs spread over his. He lifts my shirt over my breasts then pulls my demi-cups down to expose my nipples to his twisting and tugging. My body writhes in pleasure but my mind is struggling to follow his words.
“I don’t understand. You want another man to fuck me? Without you?”
“Austin’s not just another man. He’s been with you at least a dozen times already.
That’s bound to create a certain bond between you, regardless of what’s between us.
It wouldn’t really be all that different if he fucked you without me.
But I’d know it was happening. I’d make sure he told me, so I’d know every time he’s shoving his tongue and his cock in your sweet cunt. ”
I freeze. “Roman—”
“Or maybe you’d prefer if I didn’t know,” he continues, his gruff words dumping ice water over me.
“Maybe you’d rather fuck him in secret. Or make me watch with no say in what happens and no option of joining in.
Is that it? Do you have cuckolding fantasies, Addison?
Does the wildcat in you want to see me in a position of weakness?
Tell me what excites you. Tell me how we take things to the next level. ”
Holy fucking shit! Yanking my shirt down, I bolt from his lap to stand several feet away from him.
I almost keep going, straight across the room and out the door, but I somehow find the strength to stop.
I can’t look at him yet, though. I need to get my bearings, figure out the game he’s playing.
If this is a game at all. If it’s not—if Roman truly wants to go all Emeril Legasse and kick things up a notch or ten—then my hopes for our future are extremely misplaced. Either way, I have to find out.
Gathering my courage, I turn to face him.
He has his drink in hand again, and I watch as he tosses back the two fingers of liquor and pours himself another double.
This isn’t like him. Something’s wrong, and I shudder to think what it might be.
“What’s going on, Roman? Why are you drinking like you’re trying to find oblivion in the bottom of that bottle? ”
He looks at it and blinks as though he’s surprised so much of it is gone, then shrugs like he doesn’t give a fuck. “Dinner with my dad ended on a really shitty note.”
In an instant, my heart softens. “I’m so sorry. Did you guys get into an argument?”
“No.” His lips twist into a self-deprecating smile. “I was reminded that happiness is temporary.”
My softened heart turns into that brick from earlier and drops to the bottom of my stomach, crushing every light, fluttering thing in its path. “Are you talking about us?”
I jump as he springs to his feet, his massive body unfolding like a striking cobra.
I have a split second to process that, unlike the night we met, I feel more like wounded prey than a “don’t give a fuck” honey badger.
Then, he stalks over to crowd me. I don’t know if he’s trying to get me to back down, to cower in the shadow of his anger, but I won’t do it.
I might be the emotionally weaker one in the room, but I’ll be damned if I let him see it.
“I’ve never hid from you what kind of man I am.
I told you about my depraved needs, and despite not sharing them, you insisted you wanted to try.
Wanted me to show you the pleasure of multiple lovers.
Do you remember that, Addison? That you told me not to worry about the consequences or the fall out. You wanted me to show you.”
“I remember,” I say. “And you did. You showed me, and you were right. I never thought I’d be comfortable with something like ménage, but the times you’ve brought Austin in have been exciting and erotic.”
The muscles in his jaw work as he stares at me with intense ferocity. I have no idea what he’s looking for, no idea what he’s thinking. “I taught you well, didn’t I? You like it when he plays with us. You like the way it feels to have two men pleasuring you, filling you.”
“Yes,” I answer slowly, wary of where this is going.
“I do.” It’s not a lie. He asked if I like it, not if I want it.
Part of me wants to keep reassuring him that I’m fully on board with his sexual needs, that I’m fine with continuing on as we’ve been.
The other part of me is rebelling, wanting me to admit the kind of relationship that I truly want with him.
“I wonder,” he says, tilting his head at me curiously, “just how impressionable you really are.”
Red flags shoot up in my mind. Shitty end to his dinner or not, he’s acting strangely, and I don’t like it. “What are you talking about, Roman?”
“It wasn’t very hard to get you to try something that, by your own admission, didn’t make you comfortable.
I’m merely wondering if experimenting with ménage is like a gateway drug to you.
How far are you willing to go? Can I persuade you to do more?
” He lifts a hand to caress my cheek. His touch is deceptively soft for the harsh slap his words deliver. “Can another man?”
I rear back like I’ve been struck. Does he seriously want more? I’m afraid to even ask for clarification. I will, but not now. He’s not in the right frame of mind to discuss anything. “You know what? You’re drunk and obviously not in a good mood. Call me tomorrow when you’re thinking clearly.”
Turning, I head toward the entry hall. I hear him following me, but I don’t look back. When I reach the console table, I swipe my purse and continue on to the door.
“You don’t like what I have to say so it’s my fault for saying it, is that it? Just like with your parents.”
I freeze and turn around slowly to face him. Keeping a tight leash on the rage bubbling inside me, I speak in a deadly calm voice. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t like what they have to say, so they’re the ones in the wrong. But do you think that maybe—just maybe—you’re the one with the problem?”
It would be easy to make excuses for his piss-poor actions, to brush all the ugliness under the rug, do my best to ignore the lump, and hope I don’t trip over it and regret my shitty housekeeping habits.
Lord knows I’ve made excuses for my parents.
My entire life I’ve excused their disappointment in me because of their own failures.
I felt bad for them and dealt with their condemnation of my personal choices, vowing to prove to them that I can be great in my own right, doing the things that make me happy and give me purpose.
But I shouldn’t have to make excuses for how I’m treated by the people who are supposed to care about me.
I shouldn’t be made to feel as though I’m not enough, that nothing I do is ever fucking enough.
I realize now that their disappointment isn’t a reflection on me.
It’s a reflection on them. When they look at me, they don’t see me.
They can’t, because they’ve placed a mirror in my hands so that all they can see is their own failures staring back at them.
Roman doesn’t see me. He doesn’t see my love for him. I may not have said the word, but I’ve let it shine in my eyes. I’d let my guard down with him, let him see the real me with all my fucked up insecurities. And now he’s using them against me.
He acted like he cares about me, but these aren’t the actions of a man who returns my feelings. He’s not just trying to hurt me. He’s trying to break me.
But I won’t let him.
Not him. Not my parents. Not anyone.
I’m a goddamn honey badger, and if I’m not enough for them, I simply don’t give a fuck. I’m enough for me, and I’m the only one who matters.
“On second thought, don’t call me tomorrow. In fact, lose my number, because I’m calling for a moratorium on whatever this was. Good-bye, Roman.” I yank open the door.
“Addison, don’t you fucking leave, I’m not done with you.”
“Oh,” I say, pausing over the threshold. “And I quit.” Stepping quickly into the hallway, I pull the door closed behind me just as I hear Roman roar and the sound of expensive crystal smashing into the other side of the wood makes me nearly jump out of my skin.
I need to go home, give myself the next couple of days to get all the crying out of my system, and then it’s back to kicking ass and taking names come Monday.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and walk away from the only man I’ve ever loved, because for the first time in my life, I’ve learned to love me most of all.