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“Come over,” he murmured, and I nearly gasped I was so surprised.
“What?”
“Come over to my place,” he repeated. “I know you know the address. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
“Roarke,” I started, but it was too late. He had already hung up.
I bit my lip, considering. I’d just been out on a date with someone else. Wasn’t it a little wrong to go and see Roarke? What if I just saw him, talked to him, and didn’t sleep with him?
I snorted at my own stupid thoughts. Yeah, right. As if that was going to happen.
Nevertheless, I found myself putting my heels back on. I was wearing a miniskirt and a red blouse, quite different than my normal attire. I usually just went out in what I wore to work, but I’d thought that it might be a little more fun to dress up for a date.
I made it to Roarke’s in half an hour, since he lived in a penthouse apartment near our office. I buzzed in at the gate, hoping that he wasn’t asleep now, and sighed in relief when he let me in immediately.
I didn’t even knock on the door or ring the doorbell before he jerked the door open, pulling me inside and letting it shut behind me.
He leaned down to kiss me, tasting like some kind of hard brown liquor and mint, like he’d tried to get the smell of it off his breath. It tasted amazing, actually, and he slid his tongue across mine, making my belly tighten.
Roarke kissed rough and hard, usually, but this time it was deep, thorough, as if he was trying to prove something. When he pulled away, he looked down at me with his normally bright green eyes a little dim.
“Was that kiss good enough for you?” he murmured.
I didn’t have time to answer before he kissed me again, harder, hungrier, popping open my shirt and uncaring that it broke and buttons flew across the room. I couldn’t bring myself to care, either, even though this was among my favorite tops.
He was already shirtless, and I spread my hands across his chest. He moaned into my mouth, picking me up easily and taking me to his bedroom. He had a huge, king-sized bed with an amazing view of the city, and he had the blinds open. I didn’t care if anyone saw us, even though they couldn't from this high up.
I wouldn’t care if we were doing this in the street. I wanted him so much I could barely stand it.
Instead of bending me over or pressing me into the mattress like he’d done before, he placed me gently down on my back, kissing down my neck, looking into my eyes when he removed my clothes. He took off everything, my thigh-highs, my panties, painstakingly slowly, trailing his fingers along my skin.
I was trembling, quaking, when he slid his fingers through my wetness, looking into my eyes.
“Magda,” he said softly, my first name, my real name, not my last name. “You’re so beautiful.”
I shuddered again, his words making my stomach clench with need and his fingers doing magic between my legs. Roarke didn’t talk like this. He didn’t tell me I was beautiful, didn’t kiss every inch of my skin. We fucked hard and dirty and quickly, in his office, in a hotel, in his apartment. This was more like making love, and my heart ached with the intensity of it.
Thiswas the intimacy I thought of when I thought of sex, and I didn’t know how to feel getting it from Roarke Brentwood.
I didn’t respond to his praise vocally, but my body did, my back arching, my hips thrusting against his hand. I was near orgasm before he’d ever put his fingers inside me, just his thumb and forefinger slipping along my clit.
“Roarke,” I moaned. “Roarke, I’m going to—”
“Not yet,” he said harshly, moving his hand from me and licking his fingers clean. “I don’t want you to come until I’m inside you.”
That command didn’t help matters, my stomach clenching with how much I wanted to orgasm.
“Roarke, please,” I pleaded, and he smirked at me.
“I’m going to give you what you want, sweetheart, don’t worry.”
Oh, God, a pet name. I was a sucker for pet names, and Roarke had barely ever used them, calling me “Riley” most of the time like a damn football coach or what he really was, my boss.
He shoved down the sweats he was wearing and guided himself into me, slowly instead of quickly and hard like usual. He began to fuck me in long, slow strokes, and I was nearly there already, crying out, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” I moaned, but Roarke didn’t speed up, just continuing to roll his hips slowly, his hands on my upper thighs.
I was still trembling all over, my body reacting to the slow, intimate way he was making love to me, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open until Roarke took my chin in his hand.
