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“When will you be done?” Roarke asked.
“Why, you got a hot date?” I teased.
“I did,” he admitted. “Someone talked me out of going.”
“I didn’t talk you out of anything,” I said, but I felt a stab of jealousy. I had no idea why. I’d only just hooked up with him. It didn’t mean anything. I guessed maybe I was just the territorial type after sex.
“Call me after you’re done,” he said, and I looked at the paperwork on my desk. I was halfway through, and I could finish everything later at home. Because Iwasgoing home. I was definitely not going to stay the night at Roarke’s because I was definitely not having sex with him again.
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” I said and hung up.
This was fine. This would be absolutely fine. I’d have a couple of glasses of wine and go home to sleep in my own bed.
* * *
Two hoursand half a bottle of champagne later, I had my ankles around Roarke Brentwood’s ears as he pounded into me and I was crying out his name.
I didn’t even remember how I got here, exactly. It wasn’t the champagne, either, it was just like my brain turned off as soon as Roarke and I got alone together. We had been sitting on either side of each other from the couch and he popped the champagne and it hit the ceiling and made me laugh, and then he slid closer to me on the couch.
The next thing I knew, I was in his bed on his extremely high thread count sheets and he was inside me. I should hate myself, but God, he felt so good.
His dick dragged against my g-spot in all the right ways as he moved his hips, and his hair was falling over his forehead. I grasped onto the headboard bars with both hands, gasping and trying to remember how to breathe as he pumped in and out of me.
“Jesus, fuck,” Roarke cursed. “I’m going to fill you up.”
My head felt fuzzy from the champagne and from his dirty talk.
“Do it,” I whispered hoarsely.
He was wearing a condom, of course, but the thought of it was so nice, how warm it would feel when he spilled inside of me. I’d already come twice and I couldn’t imagine orgasming again but he slid against that spot again, pressing his pelvis up against my clit. I came so hard I could see little explosions behind my eyelids.
“Roarke!” I shouted, and he grunted as he came, his thrusts slowing until he finally stopped and collapsed on top of me.
My hands immediately went to thread through his hair, which was getting longer than it was when I first started working at Webster and Brentwood.
“I’m glad you decided to come and celebrate,” Roarke said.
“Are you being sarcastic right now?” I accused, tugging at his hair.
“Ow!” Roarke lifted his head and pouted. He had such a full, generous mouth. Why was I only noticing this now? “No, I was being serious. Do you just always assume I’m being sarcastic?”
“Most of the time,” I admitted. “It’s not like you’re the most serious person.”
“I’m serious about my work,” he said. “In my personal life, I try not to take things so seriously.”
“Which is why this is all no-strings,” I commented.
“No. It’s all no-strings because like you said, you don’t even like me,” he corrected.
I tilted my head. “Fair enough.”
“I’m not afraid you’re going to fall in love with me.”
I snorted. “That’s good, because I’m not.”
“Great. I’m not going to fall in love with you, either,” he reminded me.
I rolled my eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
