I’D BEND YOU right over that table and bury myself inside you.
Okay, I might hate him—or not—but yeah, I seriously want him to follow through with that threat, which is probably why I spent all of last night tossing and turning between the sheets, imagining that dirty scenario playing out in real time.
No man has ever talked to me like that before. Is it shameful that I liked the deliciously filthy description of what he wanted to do to me, that it fueled all my darkest fantasies? Maybe, but I don’t really care about that. Maybe it’s the fresh Mediterranean air stirring a desire in me, or maybe I want to explore our kiss, expand upon it. I really don’t know, but I’m as surprised as Roman that I suddenly want to get dirty with this man, want to be shameless and wide open to experience what I’ve never experienced before.
Go for it, Peyton.
At least now I know what’s going on with him. There’s an insane pull between us but he has some misguided loyalty to my brother where I’m concerned. I’m a grown woman for God’s sake, and who I choose to sleep with is my business. It’s about to become Roman’s business, too. Oh yeah, he’s about to learn firsthand that Cason has no say in my sex life.
The sound of Roman moving in the bathroom reaches my ears, and I kick my blankets off, my mind visualizing him stripping down to jump in the shower, his hard body hot and naked beneath the stream of water. Sweet baby Jesus, last night, the sight of him in the boxer shorts—the soft cotton the only thing separating my mouth from his very generous bulge—well...let’s just say that eyeful awakened every nerve in my body. I’ve seen naked before, but not that kind of naked. He was all hard muscles and testosterone—the view completely hypnotizing—and it was a quick reminder that I haven’t been touched in a long time, and never by anyone like him.
I slide from my bed, and through the crack in the bathroom door, I catch sight of Roman in the shower, his large body obscured in the steamy glass. What a shame. That thought makes me chuckle. Honest to God, I don’t even know who I am with him. I’m not the type of girl to go lusting after a guy; heck, I haven’t even wanted a man’s hands on me since college—not that any guys were fighting to go out with me, either.
And why have you been flying solo, Peyton?
Oh, maybe because I’ve been hung up on Roman for far too long, and it’s definitely time to do something about it. I’m not looking for a future, but why shouldn’t I exercise my marital rights while we’re pretending? What would it hurt? Neither one of us wants anything more. We both know where the other stands, so why not have a bit of fun?
Why not, indeed?
I hang up a few of my dresses and putter around, a plan forming, taking shape in my mind. I bite back a grin as I think about my next move and all the ways I can press his buttons—sexually. Oh, this is going to be fun and the poor guy isn’t going to know what hit him.
The water turns off, and his footsteps slap on the tile floor. I hum to draw his attention. His movements still behind me, and I bend to get the last of the things from my bag, purposely aiming my ass toward him. My sleep shorts lift, exposing the swell of my ass, and excitement skitters through me when I hear a low rumble, the deep sound reminding me of a wild animal’s hungry growl. I stand and turn, blinking innocently at the man peering at me through the door that has been left ajar. For the first time in my life, I’m suddenly glad I’m afraid of the dark.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound casual as he stands there, in nothing but a towel knotted around his hips. My nipples swell, and I don’t bother to hide them as he grips the doorknob, his eyes dark, fierce like an animal about to take down its prey. “Don’t bother closing it,” I say. “I’m going to jump in the shower behind you. Do you mind if I soap up with your body wash? I forgot to bring some.”
“Peyton,” he grumbles, his voice low and dark as his attention strays from my face and falls to my peaked nipples.
I put my hands on the small of my back and push my hips forward, like I’m stretching out my tight muscles. “Yes?”
“About last night. What I said,” he begins, sounding rattled, unsure. He grabs a fistful of hair as he waves his other hand between the two of us. “We just can’t act on this, okay?”
“This. What do you mean by this?” I ask, feigning innocence as the bathroom door widens to give me a better view of his body. Lord, talk about a big yummy snack. Everything about the man is hard. Every damn inch of him delicious, and there are an awful lot of inches. I resist the urge to throw my hands up and shout out a cheer.
“You know what I’m talking about,” he growls through clenched teeth, a good indication that he’s wound as tightly as I am. Damned if I don’t like that.
Sexual tension arcs between us, sizzles in the air like a live current, as I say, “Just so you know, my sex life is my business, not my brother’s. If I wanted to sleep with you, or bend over so you could bury yourself inside me, the choice would be mine to make.”
His throat works as he swallows. “Don’t you think I have a say in it, too?”
“Yes, of course. I’m just saying. I’m a grown woman, Roman, or haven’t you noticed?” I stretch out a little more and his eyes darken.
“I’ve noticed.”
“What I do with my body is up to me.” I sink down onto the edge of my unmade bed, and by small degrees I inch my knees open. A welcome invitation he’s fully aware of judging by the clenching of his muscles. “The fact is you want me to hate you, and I do, and that creates a huge problem.”
“Yeah, huge,” he mumbles, and I resist the urge to see if he’s currently sporting anything huge.
“Pretending to like each other, or even touch each other in public, will be a hard task.”
“Yeah, hard,” he says, and I bite my bottom lip as I fake a repulsed shiver.
“I’m just thinking about the difficulties we’re going to face.”
“Oh, is that what you’re thinking about?”
“I can’t even imagine how much I’d hate it if you touched me. If you put your hand here,” I say, and lightly run my finger up my inner thigh, “it would be horrible. The thoughts of you using your tongue.” I crinkle up my face. “That would be worse, I’m sure.”
“Peyton,” he says, his nostrils flaring, his control fraying around the edges. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I bite back a smile as his rough voice caresses my body, the air in the room vibrating with the tension arcing between us. He stands before me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as he battles an internal war, one I intend to win. My flesh tightens as I lightly stroke myself, a light feathery caress that stirs the restless desire in me.
“Just don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask again. “Don’t imagine how awful it would be to have your hands on me, your mouth between my legs, devouring me, you mean?”
“Fuck.” His voice is deep, tight, revealing the lust he’s trying to keep in check.
“Right, and fucking.” I roll my eyes as my heartbeat speeds up. “My God, don’t even get me started on imagining how much I’d hate that.”
He stares at me, his pupils dilating, each breath harsher than the one before. “Peyton,” he says again.
“Yes?”
“Maybe...” He begins and stops. He scrubs his chin, agony all over his face.
“Go on...” I encourage, and his gaze drops, watches my fingers dip under the fabric of my shorts. A little whimper catches in my throat as I widen my legs even more to tease him. Tempt him.
As I take in the strength and power of the man before me, a tortured sound rumbles from the depths of his throat and his laser focus centers on the hot spot between my legs. “Maybe you don’t have to imagine it?”
Yes!
“Excuse me?” I say as I study the bead of water dripping down his chest, disappearing into his towel. My throat dries. My God, the man is perfect, and judging by the bulge in that towel, he wants me every bit as much as I want him, and I damn well plan to do my best to make it happen.
Like an animal free of its tether—untamed and feral—he shoves my door open. It hits the wall with a thud as he steps into my room, and pleasure gathers in a knot deep between my thighs as his presence overwhelms the space, making me feel small and delicate beneath his glare. But his size doesn’t intimidate me. No, it actually empowers me, makes me a little more brazen.
I lift my chin, unafraid. “What exactly are you suggesting?” I ask, my voice laced with need. As he stares at me, another thought hits. What if he starts something, only to laugh and walk away? Do I have it in me to survive his rejection twice?
“Why don’t we see just how much you’re going to hate me touching you.” He cocks his head. “I told you I was committed to this charade, and it’s clear we’re going to have to know what we’re dealing with if we want to pull off a fake marriage.”
“An experiment then. Hmm, I think—” My words fall off when he closes the distance between us, pulls me to my feet and grabs a fistful of my hair.
Heat courses through me as he tugs, none too gently. I breathe in his freshly showered skin as his head dips, his lips close to mine. His gaze moves over my face, and his rapid-fire breathing washes over my flesh as his lips twist.
“Do you hate this?” he asks.
“Yes, I hate it,” I say, my voice deep and raspy from arousal.
Kiss me, already.
His big hands grip my sides and slide upward, his touch like fire to my skin. He stretches out his thumbs and brushes them over my nipples, effectively shutting down my brain. I moan and his resulting grin arouses me even more.
“Do you hate this, Peyton?” he asks, his voice a bit shaky. Maybe he’s not as in control as he seems. Do I, Peyton Harrison, his best friend’s kid sister, have the ability to rattle his composure and lance his self-control?
Let’s see if I do.
“Yes, I hate it,” I say, and arch into him.
“I can tell.” His thumbs tease my tight buds, his touch flowing through me, teasing the needy spot between my legs. One hand slides up my leg and he grips my hip, his touch taunting the cleft between my thighs. His fingers bite into my skin, a rough touch that feels far more sensual than a gentle one.
“How about this?” he asks, and plants his mouth on mine. His kiss is hard, deeply brutal and bruising. Everything about it sends a sharp spike of need through me. I moan into his mouth and my hands slip around his big body, taking pleasure in the heat of his skin. His tongue plunders, tasting the depths of my mouth as he rubs himself against my stomach. My God, I love what I do to him.
He tears his mouth from mine and cups my breast. “What about this, Peyton?” he asks as he weighs my aching breast in his hand. “Do you hate this?” My voice disappears on me, so I moan instead. He cups my other breast and kneads me in his palms. “Moan for me. Show me how much you hate it.”
My head falls back and I moan louder. It spurs him on. He dips a hand into my shorts, and with the rough pad of his finger, he circles my clit. “I bet you hate this, too.” I gasp as he strokes me, his finger slick and wet from my arousal as it thrums against my clit. “What about here, Peyton?” He inches a finger inside me, to the second knuckle, and goes completely still when my sex clenches around him. “I bet you’d hate it more if I tossed you onto that bed and put my cock in here instead of my finger.”
“Ohmigod,” I cry out, his rough touch and crass words doing the craziest things to me.
“Would you?” he asks, his finger still unmoving inside me, like it’s some kind of cruel punishment. I try to buck forward, try to drive him in deeper, damn near ready to lose my mind, but he grips my hips and holds me still, a knowing grin on his face.
“I would totally hate it,” I say.
“How much?” he asks.
“I guess I don’t really know. I guess you might have to do it before I can put a measurement on it.”
“Hell,” he growls, his mouth skimming my body as he sinks to his knees. He grips the elastic on my cotton sleep shorts and drags them down, just enough to expose my sex. He inhales me deeply, then exhales and my muscles contract as his hot, shuddering breath strokes my clit. He stares at my sex with heat and hunger, and he wets his lips as he parts me with his finger.
“Jesus Christ, Peyton.” Tortured eyes glance up at me. “So damn perfect,” he says, and I vibrate beneath his admiration. “This sweet little pussy...” He shakes his head as he strokes along the length of me. I practically orgasm and when he glances up at me again, it’s clear he knows how desperate I am for it. “Have you been touched before?”
“Barely.”
“Why?” he asks.
Oh, because you’re the only man I ever really wanted to touch me. “The truth is, Roman, my one and only time was with a sloppy college boy who didn’t know his way around my body.” I take in Roman’s dark eyes and everything tells me he’s a man who knows just how to stroke all the spots that will bring me pleasure. “Guys never really paid attention to me, and that was okay by me because I didn’t really want to be touched after that experience,” I add honestly. It’s true—guys didn’t want me and I didn’t want to be touched, unless it was by this man. I keep that bit of information to myself.
His eyes lock on mine. “You want me to touch you?”
“Yes.”
“To see how much you hate it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll touch you, Peyton.” His fingers sweep over my damp curls. “I’ll touch this sweet little pussy until you’re screaming my name in orgasm, but I have a condition.”
“What?” I ask as he moves his finger a tiny inch. I whimper and put my hands on his shoulder as my flesh tightens.
“I don’t want you to just tell me how much you hate it. I want you to show me, too.”
Fire licks through me. The man wants me to open up for him, bloom under his touch. “I can do that,” I say.
“Good girl,” he says, and I’m rewarded with the rest of his finger. He slides it all the way into my body, and I whimper.
“One more thing, and we need to make this clear.”
“What?” I ask, pretty sure I’d agree to running through fire naked to get him to keep going.
“This is all I can give you.”
“Trust me, Roman. I don’t want more. No kids or family for me. I am not a girl you have to worry about,” I say, eager to settle his worries. I am not going down any road—or aisle—with him, and don’t want anything in return.
I try to widen my legs, but my shorts hug them tightly together, and damned if that doesn’t come with its own excitement. As lust floods my body, something niggles at me. “I need one thing from you,” I whimper.
“Just one.” He ever so lightly moves his finger inside me, tease that he is.
“Maybe more,” I say, my body on hyperdrive, but we’re about to cross a line that neither of us can come back from. Yes, I’m seducing him. In the end, however, I don’t want to be with him if it’s something he’ll never forgive himself for. “Promise me this. No regrets, Roman.”
“Peyton.” His hot breath washes over my tingling flesh. “I’ve struggled enough. Keeping my distance from you has been pure torture.” My pulse jumps at the admission. An agonized groan catches in his throat. “I can’t do it anymore,” he says, his control snapping like a tightwire.
“Can’t?”
“Don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to, either,” I say, and touch his face. “Okay, no regrets. After I sign the contract, we go back to the way things were. A clean slate, okay?”
“Deal.”
“You know, though. You know what I think I’d really hate,” I say.
“No, what?”
“I would probably really hate it if you shoved me to my knees and put your cock in my mouth.”
“Sweet hell,” he grumbles under his breath. “We’re going to find out, right after I devour this barely touched pussy of yours and watch you hate every damn second of it.”
Yes, please.
He slides his wet tongue over me, and I let loose a loud moan, my fingers digging into his shoulder. “Oh, yeah,” I murmur. “I hate that so much.”
His chuckle races over my skin, and my entire body quivers. I move my hips to ride his tongue and this time he lets me. His thick, slick finger slides in and out of me, and I shut my eyes as pleasure dances along my nerve endings.
He flattens his tongue and swipes it over my clit, long leisurely strokes, every movement unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to simply give pleasure. I whimper and move and grind against his mouth. I’m shameless, I know. But goddammit, the man has a magical tongue. A second finger joins the first, stretching me in the most glorious ways. I moan in response, showing him just how much I hate it.
He draws my clit into his mouth. “Ooh,” I say, a hard tremble working its way through my body. I run my hands through his hair, tug on it as he slides his fingers in and out of me. I lose myself in the sensations, so damn wet and slick as he penetrates me, pounding a little harder, I struggle to hang on, never wanting this moment to end.
With his fingers still inside me, he tugs my shorts down and nudges me backward until I hit the bed. He manipulates my body, moving me around easily until I’m on the mattress, my legs spread wide, my body his for the taking.
“Do you hate this?” he asks, his fingers soaked as he pulls them out.
“God, yes,” I cry out.
“Take your top off,” he demands in a soft voice. “Let me see your tits.”
I quiver at his bluntness and remove my shirt. My pink nipples are hard, and he adjusts his hand to apply his palm to my clit as he lifts his head to take one hard bud into his mouth.
“Roman,” I cry out as his fingers resume their pounding and he sucks on me. My muscles clench around his fingers, the glorious things he’s doing to me shutting down my brain until all I can do is feel: his fingers pounding, his palm rubbing and his mouth devouring my nipple. I call his name again and judging by the way his muscles clench, it’s easy to tell he likes the sound of it on my lips. “I hate this,” I say, and he bites down on my nipple, pain and pleasure mingle, bleed into one, and I lift my hips, sensations zeroing in on my sex as my body explodes.
Dizzy, I close my eyes, hyperaware of the way my body is responding. I hold his mouth to my breast, crazed and breathless as I continue to spasm around his fingers, my hot juices slicking down my thighs. Heat spreads through me, my stimulated flesh tingling as I lose myself in the release.
“God, yes,” I say, and he goes back between my legs, his tongue a soft caress on my pussy as he laps me up, long, hungry licks that warn he, too, is about to come apart. I put my hands on his shoulders, move my pussy against his face, and once he’s had his fill of me, he leans back on his heels. I gasp when I see the unchecked need shimmering in his dark eyes, hot, needy...savage.
Lord have mercy.
Unnerved, my body shakes and I take a wheezing breath. This man is going to wreck me, use me like I’m a sacrificial offering, a pawn in a game I can’t win, and leave me strung out like an addict when we’re done. More importantly, I’m going to let him.
Without a word he stands and I wet my lips as he unknots his towel, exposing his beautiful body as the cotton sails to the floor. I take in the gorgeous length of him, thick and heavy and throbbing to be touched. Need flutters through me and I almost climax again.
“I wonder how much I’ll hate your big cock in my mouth,” I say shakily, and sound vibrates in his throat as he briefly closes his eyes, a tremor moving through him.
“On your knees, Peyton.”
I drop and put my knees on the towel. I brace my hands on my thighs and open my mouth for him.
“Have you done this before?” he asks.
“Are you asking if I’ve ever sucked your cock before?” I say.
“Hell, Peyton. Do you always have to be a smart-ass?” I grin. The truth is, there’s a storm going on inside me, and I hide behind humor. His face softens. “Peyton, do you want this?”
“I’ve never sucked your cock before, or any cock,” I say. “But I want this.”
He tugs my bottom lip between his fingers and slides his thumb into my mouth. “Suck,” he says, and I do. His resulting growl is a good indication that he likes what I’m doing. A thrill goes through me. He yanks his thumb from my mouth and wraps his palm around himself.
“Hell,” he growls when I moan. “That is so hot,” he murmurs, and strokes himself. His cock hovers near my mouth as he fists himself, long hard strokes that show me what he likes. “Spread your legs. I want to see your pussy,” he says.
Hands still on my knees, I widen my legs, and he strokes himself from base to tip as his hot gaze caresses every inch of me. “Do you hate what you see?” I tease.
“Yeah, I can’t stand it.” A couple long strokes over his cock and then, “Open your mouth.”
I whimper and do as he says. Putting my hands on his thighs, I wait for him to feed his hard length down my throat.
“You want this in your mouth, Peyton?”
“Yes,” I say.
His eyes squeeze shut for a brief second, and it’s easy to tell he’s fighting for his control. “Are you going to hate it?”
I swallow as his lids flicker open and he stares down at me. “I am,” I say.
“What else do you think you’ll hate?” he asks, circling and teasing my mouth to open more.
“I’ll probably hate spreading my legs wide for you and letting you put this hard cock in my pussy.” Lord, I’ve never said anything quite so dirty before. It almost brings a giggle to my throat.
“Are you going to hate me wrecking you?” he asks, his voice thick, heavy with need.
“Uh-huh,” I say as he pulses against my mouth, reducing me to a hot, quivering mess dying to taste him. His hips power forward, his body flexing, and he finally offers me an inch. I moan around his length and he grabs my hair, his fingers bunching in my curls.
“That’s it,” he groans.
I tighten my lips to suck, sealing them around his bulging veins. While I’ve never done this before, one thing is for certain, I hate it. Yeah, I hate it so goddamn much I want to take him even deeper. I want him to spurt down my throat. I want to taste every drop of his release, knowing it was me who made him this hard, this aroused.
I grip him in my hand, feasting on him like it’s my goddamn job, and his breathing is so ragged and rough, his male scent that much sharper as he fights release.
“Enough,” he says, and I whimper when he pulls from my mouth. “Get on that bed and spread your legs. Let’s see how much you’ll hate it when I’m inside you.”
My legs are so rubbery, it’s all I can do to stand up, get myself on the bed and spread my legs wide. He growls as he lets his gaze roam the length of me. Then he walks backward and my heart lurches. My God, has he changed his mind? Is he going to leave me like this and walk away laughing?
I go up on my elbows, my skin hot and flushed and achy for his touch. “Roman?” I say.
“Don’t move. You stay just like that, Peyton. I’m going to get a condom, then I’m going to fuck the hell out of you once and for all. Will you hate that?”
“Yeah, over the years,” I begin, so breathless it’s a bit hard to talk, “when I touched myself, and thought about you inside me, I hated it.”
“You’ve thought about my cock a lot, huh?” he asks as he tugs on it.
“A time or two.”
“You rubbed that sweet pussy while you thought about it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you come on your finger, Peyton?”
“I did.” I slide my hand down my body, rub my breasts and go lower to swipe the soft pad of my finger over my clit. “I would get so wet.”
“I like how wet you get.”
“That’s what you do to me,” I admit.
“This is what you do to me,” he says, and glances at his cock. “I imagined this so many times in my mind. There are so many ways I want to take you.”
“I bet I’ll hate them all.”
He grins. “Yeah.”
“Roman.”
“Hmm,” he says as I continue to touch myself.
“Condom.”
“Right.” He moans and I slick my finger over my clit as he disappears. A second later, he’s on the bed, ripping into the wrapper and sheathing himself. He falls over me, heavy and strong, and captures my lips. He kisses me hard, claiming my mouth in a frenzied rush. I put my legs around him and lift.
He breaks the kiss and buries his mouth in the hollow of my neck, tasting my skin as he probes my slick opening.
“Please, fuck me,” I cry out, and he pistons forward. A gasp catches in my throat as he rams into me, seating himself high and going perfectly still. His cock stretches my body, hits places, deep places I never knew existed. His head lifts and he stares down at me.
“Worst damn thing I ever felt,” he says, and begins to move his hips, creating need and friction in my core. I wrap my arms around him to hang on, but it’s no use. I’m free-falling without a net and if the landing doesn’t kill me, it will ruin me forever. It’s frightening. Exhilarating.
“Roman,” I say. “I want... I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“You want it like this, baby?” he asks, picking up the pace, hard blunt strokes that force the air from my lungs.
“Yes.” Thank God he knows what I need even when I don’t.
His big hands grip my shoulders, and he presses hot, openmouthed kisses to my neck and chest. His body shifts, the angle forcing him in deeper.
“My God,” I cry out as he hits my cervix. He pounds against me, stimulating, rubbing, penetrating so deeply, hitting me at just the right angle, a full-body orgasm rips through me. I open my mouth but no words come when a deep shudder sends waves of pleasure from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
He goes still inside me and curses under his breath as I shatter around him. “Jesus, Peyton,” he says as I ride the high and bask in each and every glorious pulse. So, this is what sex is like? Damn, I’d have been having it every single day if I knew it was this good. Then again, I’m sure it wouldn’t be like this with anyone other than Roman—and the truth of the matter is, what this man does to me, it’s a bit frightening.
He moves again, and my body tightens around him. “You got me there,” he says, and slides out, only to jerk forward and fill me again. “Right there.”
I scratch my nails along his back, scoring his flesh, like I’m marking him as mine, and he pulses inside me. He finds my mouth again for a deep, bruising kiss as he gives in to the pleasure and comes high inside me. His heart pounds against my chest, his body slick, hot and spasming as he collapses on top of me. He kisses my damp flesh again. His rough tongue trailing along my shoulder, as his one hand goes to my face. He cups my cheek and his head lifts, the tenderness in his gaze a complete contrast to our frenzied sex.
“Peyton,” he says, and I struggle to get my breath.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
I laugh at that, loving that I reduced this man to a quivering mess. “Yeah, we just did.”
He chuckles against my flesh and shakes his head. “Did you hate it?”
“I’ve never hated anything more,” I say.
“We’ll see about that.”