Chapter 14
R
oark pulled her down and kissed her again.
Madison's hesitations melted away, her earlier doubts gone; there was only him and now. She'd had her reasons for thinking they should wait, but those reasons were dust, blown away by the strength of what Roark made her feel.
Beautiful and accepted exactly the way she was. And it made her free. Free to enjoy him and everything they did.
She slanted her mouth over his and slipped her hand between his legs, brushing past the length of his cock to run her hand over his balls.
He sucked in a breath, sharp enough to make her lean back and look down at him. “That okay for you?” She parroted his earlier question.
As he managed to nod, she did it again, squeezing gently, and then wrapped her hand around him. She stroked the hard, smooth length of his cock, smiling at his every reaction.
The more she touched him, the more lost to her touch he looked, and the more the pleasure bloomed inside of her.
With her free hand, she reached for his face, cupping his jaw and rubbing her fingertips over his stubble.
“I like your scruff,” she murmured. “It feels . . . nice. Especially just a minute ago.”
Barely a huff of laugh escaped him, as she kept drawing pant after moan from him. She eased down his body and when she wrapped her lips around him, Roark went from breathing heavily to not breathing at all.
Peeking up, she could see him. He bit his lips hard, pinching his eyes closed.
“
Fuck
.” He exhaled.
She wasn't gentle or teasing in her touch or with her mouth. She licked and sucked and took. Roark quivered and shook beneath her, muttering encouragements until some choice profanity fell from his lips.
“You . . .” He waved a hand at her, attempting to sit up.
She stopped but kept one hand wrapped around him. “What?”
“You have to stop.” He held himself up with one arm.
Madison tilted her head to the side. “You sure about that?”
He held his body so tight, he looked like he'd pop. “I'mâyeah. I'm not going to last if you keep doing that.”
“Maybe, but you did this to me.
Twice.
I intend to have the same effect.” Madison leaned to the side, her leg draped over his, brushing the fine hairs on his thigh with her fingertips.
He grabbed the hand she danced along his thigh and pulled her forward, kissing her. “You're having the same effect. Trust me.” He rolled against her so his erection, the proof of her effectiveness, was trapped between them. “But I want to be inside you. I'm not eighteen anymore. You keep up with that and . . .” Roark gave her a knowing look.
She tucked her face into the crook of his neck. “God, I want to too, but I don't have a condomâ”
“I do.” Roark released her and rolled off the bed. He dug through their clothes and into his pants for his wallet. He stood, triumphant, a foil square in his hand.
Madison smiled at the view. She couldn't help it. Sex with Roark was amazing and titillating and everything sex should be. There was no undercurrent of pressure. She was free.
“Amusement is not what I'm going for right now.” He attempted to look stern in all his naked glory.
She grabbed his forearm, tugging him back onto the bed. “You know I'm not laughing at you. It's just . . . I'm happy.”
Roark knelt beside her on the bed and rocked back on his heels, studying her. With his stormy-sky eyes, he saw her. More than she'd shown anyone.
“I'm happy too,” he said.
Her nerves buzzed with so much of what she kept hidden being slowly exposed. She didn't want him to know it all, but there was relief in his understanding a little.
She reached for him, continuously drawn in by the paradox of the no-bullshit businessman and the blithe, playful man.
Their kiss was languid, unhurried, like they had all night to explore. And in truth, they did.
Madison took the foil from his hands, helping him roll the condom on before pushing at his shoulder. She kept shoving until he lay down.
Roark stretched out on the bed beneath her, giant cat-who-got-the-cream smile on his face.
Madison stroked him once more before climbing up to straddle his hips. His hands were a warm, solid reassurance as he caressed her thighs, her hips, her waist.
She rose above him, using her hand to guide him against her core.
Roark's slow, contented inhale made her gaze lock with his.
“Damn,” he said, reaching up to brush her hair back over her shoulder. “You're even more beautiful like this.”
Madison eased down on him, inch by inch, pressing into him until he was deep inside her. The stretch was a tingling need for movement, for friction.
She leaned down to kiss Roark, rocking her hips back and shivering with the pleasure.
“Good?”
Madison hummed against his lips. She kissed his jaw, the slight stubble tickling her lips.
Roark tilted her chin back, kissing and sucking along her neck, just the way she liked.
She rocked back and forth again and again, searching for the rhythm and motion that would make her body sing.
Roark shifted beneath her. Holding on to her waist, he planted his feet, knees bent behind her, his hips tilted. He rocked into her, counterpoint to her movement, and the effect made her grab at his chest.
“Sit up a little,” he said, his voice gravelly, sounding as needy as she felt.
She held herself up, just enough, with both of her hands on his chest, pressing back against him and rolling her hips.
With each roll, he thrust into her, the friction and force
exactly
what and where she needed.
“Dear . . . god.” She moaned, curling her fingers into his flesh.
“Yeah.” He ground out the words in response, gripping her hips tighter.
Madison tossed her head back, grinding down on him with all the strength her thighs and abs could muster.
He thrust into her, the bed shifting back and forth with their efforts. Madison held on, feeling the tension build once more in her spine.
“Yes . . . Like that.”
Below her, the sweat on Roark's brow and over his body made him glow. Life was unfair, that he looked that good when sweaty. Mixed with the flush that crept over his cheeks and down his neck, coloring the top of his chest, he was absolutely edible.
How could he be so strong and capable but also so delicious that she wanted to devour him? “I'm gonnaâ”
Roark nodded stiffly, his jaw already clenching. “Fuck yeah, me too.”
With his words, her orgasm hit her, fast and fully. No slow rise this time, but a blast of pleasure so unexpected she cried out, pinching her eyes shut.
In a haze, she managed to open them and watch Roark come. The line etched between his brows, the look of pure bliss on his face. Even as he rode the last waves of his orgasm, still pulsing inside of her, he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her long and deep and so thorough, she knew. One night with Roark would never be enough.
* * *
Roark went to the bathroom to clean up, then slid back in bed with her, curling on his side to mirror her position. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She tucked the blanket around her, snuggling down, reminding herself to relax. She wanted to be here with him and if he wanted pillow talk, she should be able to handle it.
Maybe.
Better to keep it light though. To talk about what just happened not only meant
talking
about what just happened, but what if it jinxed the whole thing?
What they had was too good to risk jinxing. They were happy, enjoying each other, and he still found her appealing. Too much talking, too much digging around in the life and times of Madison Kline, and all of that would end.
She was pleased they hadn't waited, but the possibility of this going further for longer, left her at a loss.
“I'm glad we didn't wait until after the wedding is over. I think another couple of weeks would've been pretty . . .” He didn't finish the thought.
“Yeah,” she answered, unsure of what to say but knowing she had to say something. “And I . . . I don't think this will affect our work or anything.” She was trying to convince herself as much as him.
“No. Of course not.” He didn't sound so sure either.
“We've got a lot of the work out of the way, and stuff, and . . . we won't let this interfere.” In truth, she wasn't worried about the work. The event would be spectacular. She was worried about them, and how she should behave around someone she was working with and sleeping with. This wasn't what she did. The few lovers she'd had over the years weren't men
in
her life. They were dates, easily compartmentalized and then brushed away if they wanted too much.
“Have you ever . . . ?” Madison slowly raised her eyebrows.
Roark mirrored her expression. “Have I ever what?”
“Have you ever had sex with someone you do business with?”
“No!” He shook his head. “I don't normallyâthis isn't something Iâno. The answer is no.”
“Me either. This isn't how I carry on.” Her foot brushed against his ankle, and she left it there.
“Yeah. But like you said, it won't be a problem.”
“No, of course not.”
“And it won't mess with what we're doing. Daily operations and your planning, everything; it will be business as usual.”
She stopped with her foot on his calf. “So . . . you think this is something we should continue to do, right” Anyone else might not have to ask, because they'd know. But she wasn't anyone. The casual confidence with which some people carried on affairs and even relationships was foreign. She understood doing everything for herself and being by herself. Navigating a tryst with a business partner? She didn't have a clue.
Roark worked his jaw. “Well . . . yeah. I want to. Don't you?”
She smiled, relief washing over her, warming her like sunshine on a cold day. She slid her foot back down to slip it under his ankle. “Very much.”
Roark moved his feet to capture hers between his ankles.
She struggled to pull her foot free, and he laughed at her fruitless effort. “That's cheating. Let my foot go.”
“Only if we're done talking. I can't concentrate with your knee rubbing up my thigh.
That
is cheating.”
She let her mouth fall open. “I was
not
rubbing your thigh.”
“When your foot is halfway up my leg, what do you think is happening with the rest your leg?”
Madison reached over and pinched him, giddy that she'd survived their talk without botching things up.
Roark cried foul as he rolled over and pinned her beneath him. “What if I pinched you?”
“Don't you dare.”
He laughed, holding himself up on one arm.
“You're not going to move, are you?”
“Nope.” He brushed her hair back over the pillow.
She never let her hair down in front of anyone, not anymore. But his reaction to it was unmistakable. “You like my hair like this.” It wasn't a question, but she studied his face, waiting for his response.
“I like your hair, period. I thought the braid tonight was very hot, but then I wasn't sure if that was leftover horniness from this morning, or if braids were really
that
hot and I'd never noticed.”
Madison bumped his leg with hers.
“I'm being serious,” he argued. “I like it up too.”
“Good thing, because I never wear it down while working.”
He nodded, gazing down, giving her plenty of time to say more.
If he only knew how saying that much was difficult for her.
“I used to wear it down all the time, when I first started out, but I learned reactions were better if I didn't wear my hair natural.”
“People react badly to your good hair? Maybe they're jealous.” He grinned.
“No, not like that. It's . . . a lot of people wouldn't take me seriously or I'd get a lot of passive-aggressive attitude. I don't know. People assumed I was either a dingbat or a floozy. You saw Troutman. He's not an anomaly. Whenever I wear my hair up, or at least straightened and pulled back, people take me seriously. Men look me in the eyes. Brides seem to have more confidence in my ability to get their wedding planned. All-around a win, so I went with it.”
He regarded her quietly before he asked, “Are you okay with it?”
Madison shrugged.
She'd never really thought about it, and no one had ever asked. “I . . . I don't know,” she answered honestly. Perhaps she was revealing too much in the simple reply, but it was too late to take it back now.
Roark nodded, accepting her response. “Sometimes you have to go with what works. Do what you've got to do, you know?”
She nodded. Oh, how well she knew.
He smiled and the acknowledgment of her small offering eased her anxiety. “I don't think people would take me seriously with long curly hair either, so we have that in common.”
After holding herself so tight, her laugh burst out. Somehow, with one little joke, Roark made sharing the truth okay.
She kept laughing, shaking her hair so it spread out, a mess around her head.
This wasn't a side of her that anyone got to see. This was something held in check, hidden, and she tried not to feel anything about letting him in.
She tried, and failed.