“Addison.”
“What?” If there’s attitude in my tone, it’s because he barked at me first.
“I asked you what you want to drink.”
“And I answered you.” I love being contrary.
Roman arches a brow and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind somewhere between my apartment and the club. “No, you didn’t.”
Rolling my eyes like I’m indulging a child who wasn’t paying attention, I repeat (that is, say for the first time), “I’ll have a chocolate martini.” Smiling, I bat my lashes at him. “Please and thanks.”
The blonde at the end of the booth downs the rest of her drink and pops to her feet. “I’ll go with you, Ruthless,” she says excitedly. “I need to stretch my legs.”
I catch the other girls rolling their eyes at each other. Apparently she isn’t the favorite of the group. In fact, using my keen observation skills, I’d say she’s more of a hanger-on than part of the posse, and the fact that she’s draping herself on Roman’s arm like a cheap suit isn’t endearing her to me, either.
Roman watches me for a few seconds, but if he’s waiting to see whether I unsheathe my claws, he’ll be waiting a long damn time. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I’d like to roundhouse my stiletto into Barbie’s tit. Instead, I smile and say, “Oh, and can you ask for a cherry garnish? You’re the best,” then give an obnoxious finger wave before sliding into the booth and cozying up to Austin.
Roman walks away, and I do my best to hide my exhale of relief that I can drop the act. That was harder than I thought. Which is ridiculous since I shouldn’t care where Roman or Ruthless, or whatever else he calls himself, sticks his dick. If he wants to fuck Bunny, more power to him.
Austin stretches an arm along the back of the booth behind me and lobs his charming, dimpled smile my way. “Glad you made it, darlin’. You remember Liam, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I say to the man sitting across from me. “What woman could forget a sexy ginger like Liam?”
Liam grins and extends his forefinger from the neck of his beer bottle to point at me. “I knew I liked you.”
“Don’t get too excited, O’Donnell. She’s a lawyer; she lies for a living.” Liam flips Austin the bird, which he ignores and continues with the introductions. “And these are our friends, Callie”—the blonde next to Austin—“and Raquel”—the gorgeous brunette sitting on the other side of Callie with her arm threaded through Liam’s. The girls offer me warm smiles and hellos, and I immediately like them both. “And this,” he continues, gesturing to me, “is the infamous Addison Paige, attorney at law and personal weakness of Roman Reeves.”
My sleek ponytail whips me in the face when I snap my head to give him the Whatchu talkin’ ’bout, Willis look. “Personal pain in the ass, maybe, and believe me, I’m trying hard to earn that title. But weakness? Hardly.”
Austin arches a brow. “I’ve known the man half my life, darlin’. I’ve never seen him leave a club to retrieve a woman when he has so many clamoring for his attention already.”
“You mean like Bunny?” I ask wryly, glancing in the direction Roman and his groupie went.
The group laughs, and Raquel says, “That special little snowflake is Misty.”
Callie pauses in raising her glass to add, “Yeah, she’s been on him for hours now. Hoping to be his Friday Night Special.”
“Good for her,” I say. “He only came to get me because he thinks I’ll burn out from working too much and then I’ll be no good to him at the office. Maybe if he gets some action, he’ll loosen up and stop riding my case.”
Austin chuckles. “Unless said action is riding you, sweet cheeks, I doubt he’ll loosen up anytime soon. He’s into you. Hard. Pun mostly intended.”
A chorus of agreement goes around the group. All I can do is stare at them like they’ve sprouted extra heads. “What kind of crazy shit are you guys on and, more importantly, why aren’t you sharing?”
Everyone laughs, and I suspect I’m about to hear more of their argument, but both phones on the table in front of Liam and Austin light up with notifications. Each of them grabs theirs to check the message then lets out a stream of curses.
I can’t help myself. “Oh, no. Is there some kind of stripper emergency cutting your night short?”
Liam tosses his phone on the table in disgust. “That wouldn’t be cause for disappointment. The Blackhawks losing to the Penguins in the last period, however, definitely is.”
“You guys big hockey fans?”
“Huge, but Roman’s the biggest out of all of us,” Austin says. Then he quickly tacks on, “I mean he’s the biggest fan. No one’s bigger than me.” Leaning back, he palms his crotch and waggles his eyebrows at me playfully.
I laugh. “Keep it in your pants, cowboy. You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”
“Done.” He winks.
The man is incorrigible, and I adore him already. “I’ll have to tell my cousin his biggest fans are male strippers. He’ll get a kick out of that for sure.”
“Who’s your cousin?”
“Sam Larsen.”
Both men sit up straighter, their big-as-saucers eyes locking on me like I just told them Santa Claus is real. “No way! You’re related to the Reaper? He’s the best enforcer in the whole damn league.”
“That sounds about right.” It is right. I can probably recite his stats by rote. Not because I studied them, but because I’ve heard my dad list them more times than I can count. He’s the golden boy my father never had, and since Sam’s dad died when he was young, my dad fancied himself a stand-in for his sister’s fatherless kid. He spent more time at Sam’s hockey practices than he ever spent with me. But I don’t hold it against my cousin. He’s a great guy, and we’re really close.
“Ugh, sports talk,” Callie says. “Come on, Raquel, let’s hit the dance floor.”
“Hey, Raquel likes hockey,” Liam argues.
Callie rolls her eyes and snorts. “Liking the sexy way they race across the ice and the caveman displays of pounding the crap out of each other isn’t the same as getting an erection over career stats.”
Raquel laughs and pats Liam on the arm. “She speaks the truth. You guys have fun.”
Liam lets the girls out and his gaze lingers on Raquel’s ass as he slides back in. “You make a cute couple,” I tell him.
“Who, me and Raquel?” he asks in surprise. “Nah, we’re just good friends.”
“Oh, my mistake.” I offer him an apologetic smile, but we both know I didn’t make a mistake. That boy has it bad for his friend, but if he wants to keep that info to himself, who am I to blow his cover? Maybe if I get to know them better I can orchestrate something to help him out. After all, I’m a natural when it comes to matchmaking, as proven by Exhibit A: Jane and Chance, who shall heretofore be known as “Jance.”
I’m just about to turn the conversation back to more neutral territory, aka my cousin the NHL player, when a waitress shows up and places two chocolate martinis with cherry garnishes in front of me then disappears back into the throng of people.
I can feel the awkward stares the guys are giving me as I process why I have not one but two drinks and Roman isn’t attached to either of them. He couldn’t be bothered, or simply had no desire, to come back to the table. And since he agreed to buy my drinks, I have to assume that starting me off with a couple gives him more time before he has to deal with me again.
What. An. Ass.
Searching the room, I find him leaning against a wall, Misty in front of him with his hands resting above her ass. Their heads are bent together. Lovers in an intimate conversation.
A familiar pang echoes in my chest. One I’ve felt every time I’ve fallen short of what my parents wanted, what they expected. I’ve been working my ass off to prove myself to Roman at work, but instead of wowing him with my ambition and tenacity, I’ve been working “too hard,” which in his eyes is doing it wrong. Then I agree to come out with him to correct the situat
ion, but apparently I don’t do this well enough, either, because he’s making it clear that being around me would be harshing his club buzz.
He lifts his head and our gazes lock. Misty doesn’t seem to notice that his focus isn’t solely on her anymore, if it ever was. Her hands rove over the muscles in his shoulders and arms and she begins to feast on his neck. My stomach turns, but I don’t let on for a second that I’m the least bit affected. I refuse to show weakness, and more and more I’m realizing that is exactly what Roman is to me. Austin thinks I’m Roman’s weakness, but it’s very much the other way around.
And I resent the hell out of it.
Tossing him a wicked grin, I raise one of the martinis in his direction as a “thank you” with underlying hints of “fuck you.” Keeping eye contact, I drink heartily and give silent praise to the Revenge Gods when a few drops of condensation fall from the side of the glass to drip between my breasts. Once finished, I use my teeth to drag the maraschino cherry off the plastic toothpick and chew slowly, reveling in the sugary sweet flavor and the fire I see burning in Roman’s ice-blue gaze.
He narrows his eyes at me, and the corner of his upper lip hitches the slightest bit, like a growling junkyard dog. Well, he can suck it, because this junkyard isn’t his to piss on.
Okay, that didn’t sound very good. Mental note: strike all “junkyard dog territory” analogies from future monologues, internal or otherwise.
“Damn, darlin’,” Austin says after a low whistle. “You’re playing with fire, you keep that up.”
If anyone knows about fire, it’d be the Chicago firefighter in the group. But I don’t heed his warning, and I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t care if I get burned…or I’m hoping that I do.
I drain the contents of my second martini in the same fashion as the first, except this time I use my thumb and forefinger to extract the cherry and look away from Roman to offer it to Austin. I expect him to reject it, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever the hell this is between me and his friend. I’d planned to shrug my shoulder, pop the cherry in my mouth, and lick my fingers to fan those flames and push his buttons even harder.
But I was wrong. Really wrong.
Answering my challenge, Austin arches one eyebrow and gives me a saucy smirk. He captures my wrist with a firm grip and then closes his lips around the cherry, spearing his tongue between my thumb and forefinger as he suckles to remove the sticky juice. I’m acutely aware of Roman watching us, but I don’t dare look over at him. Just the fact that he’s watching makes my heart race and my body heat from the inside. I’m afraid if I look, I’ll be able to read his thoughts and I won’t like what I see. Is this exciting his inner voyeur? Is he pissed that another man’s tongue is on me? Or worse, is he maddeningly indifferent to the whole thing and returning his attention to Misty?
Austin releases my fingers with a devilish smile and leans in to speak directly in my ear. “Let’s give him an even bigger show, darlin’. Show ol’ Ruthless what he’s missin’ out on.” Pulling back, he gives Liam a chin-lift. “Come on, O’Donnell. Time to take the lady dancing.”
Liam grins conspiratorially and unfolds from the booth, holding his hand out to me. I graciously accept it, and the three of us head to the crowded dance floor. I’m not super buzzed yet, but slamming two drinks in a row definitely took the edge off. I’m all smooth lines and fluid movements, and as soon as Liam chooses a spot and turns into me, I vow to stop caring what Roman is doing with his new toy. In fact, I might be in the market for a new toy of my own.
The music is loud and rhythmic, sexy and weighty, and I quickly give myself over to the beat rolling through me and the two men surrounding me. Liam crowds me in the front as Austin presses against my back. They must have done this to women hundreds of times, as easy as we move together. Every sway of our bodies, every grind of our hips, it’s all in perfect sync, and I close my eyes and lose myself…
A cool breeze rushes down the front of my body. It startles me into opening my eyes, but as soon as I do, I wish I’d kept them shut. I’m no longer sharing intimate space with a man whose love for another makes him utterly harmless. I’ve been upgraded to a man whose seductive depravity makes him unequivocally…ruthless.
Chapter 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.