“Just admit your pussy is weeping for my cock.”
“Sure,” she says, pushing her round ass back against my straining dick. “Just as soon as you admit your cock is dying to get inside my pussy.”
Son of a bitch. As much as I want to make her come, proving the command I have over her body, I can’t reward her bratty behavior. That’s okay, though. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s playing the long game.
“So stubborn,” I say in admonishment. Pulling out of her, I finger-paint a path down the side of her neck with her own arousal, then lap it up with my tongue—fuck, she tastes good—nice and slow, ending with a nip to her earlobe. Her sharp inhale makes my dick twitch before she spins around to face me.
“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black,” she says with a flip of her hair. She’s trying her damnedest to appear unaffected, but the fluttering of her pulse below her jaw and the breathiness in her voice are dead giveaways she’s anything but. “But I’ve already copped to drawing you out here, so that’s an admission in itself. You’re the one not being honest about wanting me.”
“I’m not denying that. I’d like nothing more than to help you work out that tension, and I’m arrogant enough to know I’d do it better than any of the pussies who call themselves men inside that club. We can scratch the itch and move on. Just say the word.”
The sound of giggling interrupts us as it echoes from the side of the building, followed by a couple who hastily rounds the corner. As the guy plasters his back to the wall, the girl wastes no time in dropping to her knees. The man looks down at her as she attacks his belt, and even mostly hidden in the shadows, the hunger on his face is plain. My groin tightens even more, their presence touching the edges of my biggest turn-on.
Addison’s whisper brings my focus back to her and the offer on the table. “I’m saying ‘the word.’ Let’s leave them to it and get to scratching. Your place or mine, stud?”
I glance once more at the couple, and an idea forms in my depraved mind. The corner of my mouth tips up on one side as I swing my gaze back to Addison. “Alley.”
Chapter Five
Addison
That single word is uttered like a challenge, and a wicked glint flashes in those stormy irises. The hairs on the back of my neck should be standing on end in warning, but instead my belly tightens and more heat rushes to my flesh, already swollen thanks to the way he worked me up and left me hanging. As badly as I want to come right now, doing it in front of an audience isn’t on my immediate to-do list.
“With Bonnie polishing Clyde’s rifle over there? I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You think they give a shit what anyone else is doing right now? Look at them.” When I hesitate, he leans in and braces a forearm on the wall above me. Grasping my jaw in his free hand, he gently guides my face in their direction, repeating the command. “Look at them.”
The stranger’s head drops back on his shoulders with a groan as the woman closes her mouth around his cock and starts to suck him off. I don’t want to admit it, but there’s something insanely hot about having your own live peep show. As I’m watching them, I can feel Roman’s eyes on me. I’m suddenly hyperaware of every breath I take, the rise and fall of my chest, the friction of my dress against my tightening nipples.
“What is it you’re afraid of, Addison? The fact that they might watch me fuck you?” The dirty words coated in his smooth voice reach out and stroke me, stealing my breath. “Or is it the fact that you might like it if they do?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know how because for the first time in my life, I’m unsure of how I feel. I’m confused, and yet I’m not. If I pay attention to the way my body’s reacting, the answer is obvious: I’m down with whatever he wants to do, no matter if we’re alone or in front of a packed audience at the Rosemont. Except my brain is trying to butt in and remind my body that though I might be more wild child than demure flower, even I have my limits. Don’t I? I’m not so sure at the moment.
Roman’s hand slides down my throat and continues lower, over my breasts and abdomen, until he reaches the hem of my dress then slips between my thighs. Grabbing the crotch of my thong, he yanks hard and tears the flimsy material in half. I suck in a sharp breath but clamp my lips together before I make a sound that could alert the other couple to our presence. “That’s it,” he says with his lips next to my ear as his fingers probe my slick cleft and tease my entrance. “Stay quiet and they’ll never even know we’re here. Think you can?”
Think? Hell no, I can’t think. The second he touched me, all brain activity packed up for an extended vacation, leaving me with nothing but a myriad of sensations, most of which are connected to the throbbing pulse in my clit.
“Open for me, Addison. Let me in.” The way he issues commands in a soft but firm manner tells me he’s very used to getting his way. Now is no different, I realize, as I widen my stance enough for two of his fingers to once again impale me. My mouth drops open on a soundless moan, and my pussy clenches tightly around his thick digits as he fucks me like he has all the time in the world and intends on using it. “Good girl.”
Something in me purrs at his praise, causing my mind to stutter. Since when have I ever yearned for a man’s approval of my behavior? He’s taking away the badger so that all that’s left of me is the honey. Indignation rears up and wars against this strange new desire to obey him, to please him, to hear him praise me yet again, but then he curves his fingers inside me and finds that spot that makes my knees buckle, and I know fighting this battle is futile.
The man is weaving a spell I’m hesitant to break free of. And I can if I want. I can put a stop to this little voyeuristic-almost-exhibition back alley tryst and go back inside to my best friend, get lost in the crowd where it’s safe and familiar, where I’m once again in control.
But I don’t want to do that—I don’t want to break free—and that in and of itself should be more troubling to me than it is. Instead, a mantra of more echoes in my mind. More more more. Give me more.
The man at the end of the alley decides to become an active participant in his blow job. Shoving his hands in the woman’s hair, he holds her head still and fucks her mouth, keeping a steady, unhurried rhythm. I can see his lips moving and hear the faint murmuring of his voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter, though. Watching him take control and imagining the dirty things he might say to his lover sends a bolt of desire pinging to every erogenous zone I have.
Roman’s fingers move between my thighs, plunging deep then circling my clit and doing it all over again, expertly building my orgasm yet again, and if he stops before I come this time, I won’t be held responsible for what I do to him. His firm chest rubs against the straining buds of my nipples through my dress. My skin tightens and tingles until even the humid air lying on my bare flesh feels like a lover’s caress, hurtling me faster toward my climax. My hips rock forward again and again, fucking his hand every bit as it fucks me, chasing the release that’s just out of my reach.
“Look at how she sucks him off with total abandon. Listen to the sounds she makes as his cock hits the back of her throat. It’s a thing of fucking beauty, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I rasp out before I even realize I’ve spoken.
“You’re enjoying watching them. It’s turning you on, making you so wet that I could slide right in and bury myself balls deep inside your cunt in a single thrust.”
Holy hell, pretty please with a cherry on top! I’m so desperate to feel this man’s cock inside me, I no longer care where we are or who’s around. That’s how I’m rationalizing things to myself, because otherwise I’d have to admit that I’m aroused because of the taboo situation and not in spite of. “Do it,” I whisper-plead. “Right now, Roman.”
He pulls his fingers from me, making me jerk when he grazes my sensitive clit, but I manage to bite back the accompanying moan and give myself a mental pat on the back. Seconds later, he’s got his mass
ive erection (yes, massive—I don’t get a good look at it, much to my dismay, but that much I can definitely tell) pulled through the fly of his jeans and sheathed in a condom. He uses one hand to hike my right leg onto his hip, opening me to him where he’s poised and ready at my entrance.
“You sure about this?” he asks with his eyes boring into mine and the hint of a smirk on his full lips. “What about our friends over there?”
“Just shut up and fuck me alrea—”
My words disappear as the air whooshes out of my lungs when he pushes inside, impaling me in one swift motion. And that’s when I remember that all-important rumor about the man called Ruthless. “Oh my God, you’re…you really are…”
“Pierced for your pleasure,” he finishes for me and punctuates it with another deep thrust. “And mine.”
Overwhelming sensations spike through my system as his piercing drags along my inner walls, along my G-spot. I clutch at his bare shoulders, my nails digging into him, and a moan escapes me before I can drag it back in.
The man at the other end of the alley snaps his head up and locks gazes with us, then the woman pauses in her efforts when she realizes her lover is distracted and looks over as well. We’re standing just past the edge of a pool of light, but I’m sure it’s enough to make out our forms, if not some vague details.
Roman touches his lips to my ear and whispers, “Busted,” then chuckles.
I curse under my breath, though I’m not sure exactly what it is I’m cursing because I’m not bothered by this like I expected to be. Then Roman starts a long, drawn out rhythm of pulling out and pushing in, and the other couple follows suit when the man shoves his dick back into the woman’s mouth. The four of us are watching each other, our speeds gradually picking up. Somewhere along the way, we’ve tossed out the rule of being quiet, and the sounds of animalistic pleasure—grunts, moans, and wet flesh slapping wet flesh—echo in the darkness of the alley.
“Fuck, look at you. So damn sexy.”
It’s then that I realize Roman’s focus is on me, not the other couple. I stare up into his dangerously beautiful face, reveling in the way his jaw muscles work, the blown pupils that nearly swallow his ice-blue irises.
Like our leashes snap at the same time, we both move to crush our mouths together, instantly opening to each other, our tongues tangling wildly. I’ve never kissed anyone with a tongue piercing before, but I’m thinking of making it a future requirement, especially when I consider what it would feel like licking between my legs. With one in my mouth and one in my pussy, his description of “pierced for my pleasure” is the understatement of the millennium.
We’re finally forced to break apart to drag air into our lungs. I can hear the stranger’s carnal encouragements to the woman, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Roman, nor does he look away from mine. Our skin shines with perspiration, our breathing is labored, our bodies are drawn taut with desire. As he pistons hard and fast inside me, I feel the familiar tingling of my approaching orgasm, and I want it so bad.
I move my hands to the back of his neck and dig in for purchase. He brings his forehead to mine, hitches my leg higher onto his hip, and fucks me deeper, faster, harder. “Yes, yes, yes, oh my God, Roman, please I’m so close.”
“That’s it, little wildcat,” he growls. “Show him what you look like when you come. How sexy you are when you lose yourself to the pleasure and your tight pussy squeezes the life out of my cock.”
Holy shit, his words, his words. They take me that last little bit and send me flying over the edge just as he shoves into me one last time and groans through his own climax. I lose the thread of all conscious thought as I soar high, my body and mind fragmenting for precious seconds as Roman uses slow strokes to bring us both back down to earth.
Piece by piece, I come back to myself until I’m once again whole. There’s only one problem. I grossly miscalculated the effect Ruthless would have on me. Because the Addison who walked into this alley a half hour ago isn’t the same one leaving it now.
Chapter Six
Roman
“Good morning, Mr. Reeves.”
Glancing up from the email I’m reading on my phone as I enter the suite of my new practice, I offer our secretary/paralegal, Maggie Cartwright, a genuine smile. “Good morning, Maggie. I don’t suppose you’ve considered calling me Roman yet?”
“No, sir, I haven’t,” she says with an indulgent grin as she rounds her desk to hand me my messages and the files I’ll need for my meetings today. Once I have everything in hand, she frowns. “Where’s your protein shake?”
Good question. It’s something I have with me every morning, and yet today I completely forgot it. I’m a creature of habit and stick to a strict daily regimen I’ve had for years. Up at four-thirty, in the gym by five, then showered, dressed, and out the door with briefcase and protein shake in hand to make it into the office no later than seven. But now I’m missing one of those components, thanks to a pair of blue eyes the color of the Caribbean haunting my dreams last night and causing my shower to go long for something that has nothing to do with hygiene.
It’s been two months, and I still can’t get Addison Paige out of my head. It’s like she’s taken up permanent residence in there. I have half a mind to send her a bill for rent, but that would mean opening the lines of communication, and I’ve successfully managed to resist any and all temptation to contact her. I just have to ignore it and continue to bury myself in my cases and get Reeves & Cooper, LLC off the ground and running. It would probably also help if I made some time to meet up with one of my casual, call-me-when-you-want-me “friends,” but I can’t work up enough energy to do anything beyond have a couple of drinks when I get home before falling into bed.
“I was running late this morning and decided to skip it rather than be late for the seven-thirty meeting,” I lie smoothly. After all, I’m a lawyer.
“No worries, Mr. Reeves,” she says, grabbing her purse. “I’ll just run down to the coffee shop and grab you a breakfast sandwich.”
Only in her mid-thirties, Maggie has the most unique way of treating my partner, John Cooper, and me like her superiors and her sons at the same time. “That’s not necess—”
“Don’t even think about arguing. You’re not missing the most important meal of the day on my watch. Go get settled, and I’ll be right back.”
She’s out the door and hitting the call button for the elevator before I can say another word. Chuckling to myself, I head down the hallway to the right of Maggie’s desk, which is my “wing” of the suite, with Coop’s being down the left hall. Each side has a conference room, an office for the junior attorneys we’re hiring, and our much larger office at the end. A small break room with a fridge, microwave, and espresso machine connects the two hallways, accessible from both sides.
The office suite isn’t huge, but Coop and I also leased the suites on either side of it for expansion a couple of years down the road. Until then, we’re sub-leasing them to an accounting firm and chiropractor. And since it’s a new building contracted by Danvers & Son Construction—Chance’s company—we got in during the first phase and were able to design the space to our tastes. It’s what Chance refers to as Anchorman Chic due to the “rich mahogany, and leather-bound books.” Yeah, he’s a dumbass.
I toss the files Maggie gave me onto my desk and drop into my leather chair like a sack of potatoes. I’m normally a well-oiled machine, but lately I’ve been having days where it feels like my gears are grinding together. After the fitful night’s sleep and disruption in my morning routine, I feel like shit and I don’t hold out much hope for the rest of my Monday. Bracing my elbow on the armrest, I press my thumb and forefinger against my closed eyes and pray the grit behind my lids disappears before meeting our new hires.
Two junior attorneys will be joining our practice. They’ll be able to help on our cases, and we can groom them into the kind of lawyers we want representing our firm. Coop did the interviewing and hiring since I wa
s busy wrapping up a couple of cases at Reeves, Rotier, & Davis—my dad’s firm, where I’d practiced since graduating law school. I don’t have hard feelings toward anyone there, my dad included. They treated me well and taught me a lot. But it was time to move on and make my own way. I don’t like answering to others, and I was never going to make partner there. Anyone only ever saw me as “Bill’s son.”
“You look like hell.”
Looking up, I find my partner standing inside my open doorway, impeccably dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, hands in his pockets, and a too-bright grin on his face for such a crappy morning. “Fuck you, Coop. We can’t all wake up with a new woman in our beds every day.”
“Janice wasn’t new, but she is one of my favorites,” he says as he takes a seat in one of the guest chairs across from me. “Maybe you should follow my lead. A night of wild sex might diminish that world you’ve been carrying on your shoulders lately.”
I only grunt in response. We’ve both been stressed, getting this place going, transferring our clients from our former firms, taking care of the mountains of paperwork and everything else that never even crossed our minds that’s required to start a business. It’s been a long couple of months, but we’re finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
Would a night of wild sex relieve some of my tension? No doubt. Unfortunately, the term “wild sex” brings up images of blond hair clenched in my fist, a pink flush across creamy skin, and mile-long legs spread for me in a darkened alley. My cock stirs to life every time I remember the way her breasts rubbed against my chest, the bright flames of arousal in her aqua eyes as she indulged voyeuristic tendencies she didn’t even know she had, and how her hot, tight pussy milked my balls dry when she finally came around me.