The Holloways (Made for Love Book 3.5) (13 page)

He doesn’t hesitate before he grabs himself and lines his dick up with my entrance. I push back, easing my way over him until I’m completely full. His hands slide up my sides before he reaches around and cups my breasts. I arch my back and sigh, allowing him a single moment of control before I take it back.

“Lean back, baby—look at us.” Our eyes meet in the mirror, our gazes locked as his hands pull away from me. He props himself up on his elbows and I wink at him. “Watch me ride you. Don’t look away.”

“Babe, I won’t even blink.”

Balancing on my hands and knees, I pull away from him until he’s almost all the way out before I push myself over him once more. I start slow, admiring our reflection—in love with the way we look as he stretches me open. He
fits
. “Mmmm, Roman, you fit. Only you fit inside of me. Only you make me feel this way.” I start to speed up, the warmth that builds between us increasing my need for more friction.

“You’re so beautiful, babe. Look at you—my gorgeous girl,” he murmurs. When he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, I know he’s holding back—practicing restraint as he keeps his hips from thrusting up into me. He’s giving me this moment, surrendering to my need to be in control, and it makes me love him more. Right here, right now, I forgive him for the way he’s made me feel this week. The truth is, I love every bit of him—
need
every part of him—even his stubborn jealous side. He’s my Roman, and I wouldn't want him any other way.

I moan, rocking back and forth with a growing sense of urgency. I need to come. I need
him
to come. I want to get us there together.

“Oh, Rome,
fuck
, you feel so good.” I slide the hand closest to the mirror up my stomach, grabbing hold of my boob and squeezing my nipple.

“Hell, yeah, babe.” He groans, leaning on one elbow as he runs a hand up my thigh and grips my hip. “So hot. So sexy when you touch yourself.”

“Yeah? You like that, baby?” I murmur, dragging my hand down my torso and in-between my legs. When my fingers make contact with my clit, I push back against him harder, gasping for air as I inch my way closer and closer to my release.

“Fuck, babe,” he grinds out. His grip around my hip tightens. It almost hurts, and I know I’ll have a bruise there tomorrow, but I don’t care. I don’t care at all. He’s close and I can feel it.

“Baby—baby, I’m gonna come. Oh—Roman—
Roman!
” I try holding on, my eyes locked with his in the mirror, but I can’t. As my orgasm rips through my body, I throw my head back, whimpering with every backwards thrust. Then I feel Roman’s grip around both of my hips and he roars as he spills his release inside of me. He slowly guides me forward and back when I no longer have the energy, and then stops as he presses a kiss onto the middle of my back.

“I fucking love you so much,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ve been a jerk and I—I’m sorry.”

I draw in a few deep breaths before I ease my way off of him and turn to kneel between his legs. I run my fingers through his hair, cupping my hands around the nape of his neck as I rest my forehead against his. “I fucking love you so much, too.” I finally say in reply.

“Logan…I just wish—I just wish you didn’t have to put up with him. I just wish you didn’t have to be on guard around him. I just—I wish I could, I don’t know.”

I smile, brushing my lips against his when his words suddenly take on new meaning. “You can’t fight all my battles for me, baby. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t my white knight.”

He sighs resolutely, offering me a nod.

“It’s been a long day. A long
week
. I’m hungry—why don’t we pick up some Thai takeout and some wine and spend the rest of the night in bed?”

He kisses me before he pulls away, a grin lighting up his incredible, pretty brown eyes. “That sounds perfect.”

S
HE LAUGHS, PICKING UP
her glass of water, and I fight a grimace.

I fucking love the sound of that laugh
.

The client speaks, but I don’t listen to what he is saying. He’s not talking to me anyway. His attention is completely wrapped up in the frustratingly perfect creature who sits between us. The details of our contract were discussed before lunch was served, and we consumed our meal going over the vision of the project that he has hired us to begin next week. It’s a big account, one that will require countless hours of work, and I should be grateful that Logan and Mr. Helix are getting along so well.

Should
being the operative word.

Christ, must she be so damn charming?

It’s been almost six weeks since I started my tenure in the Fort Collins office. The transition has been smooth, as I expected; the work has been invigorating, as I always love a new challenge; and I’ve been welcomed with all the respect that I’ve earned. However, working with Logan is worse than I ever imagined.

A year and a half ago, she was fun to play with. Our chemistry was intriguing, a truth not even she could deny. I wanted her. The challenge of enticing her with all that I had to offer, making my intentions perfectly clear, was rewarding, even if only to see her squirm. Her denial made me want her more, and her refusal to succumb to my advances made her all the more alluring.

For her, I would have ignored the ring. I don’t fuck with married women, but for Logan, I would have bent the rules. Perhaps the mere fact that I would be willing to make her an exception is exactly the reason why she’s so completely out of bounds to me. It’s irritating as hell, and putting up with this shit is precisely why there are
rules.

I’ve been out of bounds before. That bitch fucked me over and I’ll never forget it.

Logan isn’t a bitch. Logan wouldn’t fuck me over—or under, or anyway that I might prefer. She’s different in ways I’ve yet to be able to explain. Being in her presence pisses me off, turns me on, and humbles me all at once. It’s a fucking mind game—except, it’s not a game! And that has always been the issue. She’s never been willing to play the game, and yet I feel as though she has won.

She wears victory well.

When the check comes, I welcome the distraction of paying for our bill and look forward to leaving the restaurant to head back to the office. As we stand, exchanging our goodbyes, Mr. Helix helps Logan with her coat. She thanks him, saying something about
Valentine’s Day
and his wife, and then we’re headed in our separate directions—Mr. Helix to his vehicle, and Logan and me to mine.

Valentine’s Day. For years, the fourteenth of February has been an excuse for me to prey on the lonely. If I’m in the mood, picking up a woman on this senseless occasion the masses refer to as a holiday is almost as easy as breathing. Some are so desperate for affection, it’s comical. While there are a few who might find my tactics base or vulgar, I see no reason to feel remorse when, in the end, I always bring these women’s bodies immense pleasure. For one night, I insure that they forget that they are lonely—and is that not a gift?

Love
. They think that’s what they want, but it’s not. Or, perhaps it is. Perhaps they have never experienced the reality of love and the way in which it can tear a man to pieces. It is possible that that they don’t understand what it is they crave because they don’t know what it means to
love
.

I know first hand, and I’m convinced that
love
is overrated.

Though, to fuck—to fuck is divine.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Logan begins, pulling me from my thoughts as I open the passenger side door of my Land Rover for her to climb in. “What happened to your Porsche?”

“Stowed away for the winter.”

“Oh. Of course. That makes sense,” she says, offering me a kind smile.

I shut her in, feeling unnerved as I walk around the back of the vehicle to make my way to the driver’s side. Women feeling comfortable around me is not usual. Either they are extraordinarily professional or incredibly flirtatious; indifferent or weak at the knees. Quite honestly, there is no in-between. Except, Logan has become…
warm.
She is neither hot nor cold; and that smile—I’m not sure what to do with it.

“So, that went well,” she sighs as I start the car, backing out of the parking space.

“Yes. As soon as we get back to the office, we’ll sit down and—”

“Actually, do you mind if we start tomorrow? I have a few things I need to wrap up before the end of the day. I can’t be late getting out of the office tonight.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes before I respond. “I presume you have plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“Do
you?
”

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth before I reply. “Is there an offer attached to that question?”

She scoffs, lifting her hands and then dropping them back in her lap as she looks over at me. Her irritation makes my smirk turn into a full on smile.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what, Logan?”

“Don’t do that—don’t play dumb. You know exactly what you’re doing. Why, at every opportunity, do you insist on indulging in self-gratification at my expense?”

“Pardon?” I ask, giving her a sidelong glance before focusing my attention back on the road.

“I’m trying here, Judah. I’m trying
so
hard. You make it nearly impossible to be nice to you. Do you have any friends? I’m not even kidding—I
genuinely
want to know.”

I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I think of Benjamin. My brother is the closest thing I have to a best friend. We used to spend more time together, when we were both living in Denver, and we have plenty of acquaintances that we share—but
friends?
I don’t trust easily or often. As long as I have a body to keep my bed warm on occasion and a job that sustains me, I don’t see the need in seeking
more
from the people who surround me.

The more you expect, the easier it is to be disappointed.

“I fail to see the significance of your question.”

She huffs out a sigh and folds her arms across her chest. “Two minutes,” she states.

“Two minutes?” I mutter, irritated that she is being anything but clear right now.

“For two minutes, I’m just going to be Logan and you’re just going to be Jude. You’re not my boss, I’m not your employee. I just need
two
minutes. Will you give me that?”

I arch an eyebrow at her, looking into her green eyes as she stares at me with determination. I offer her a curt nod as I pull up to a stop light, curious to hear what she has to say.

“Let’s be honest. You are a
very
attractive man. You might not know this, but around the office, you’re known as the
panty-melter.
When I first met you,
panty-melter
was exactly how I felt about you. Then I got to know you, and you know what? You’re an asshole! At least, I
think
you’re an asshole. Brilliant—I mean, you are a brilliant, genius designer—but an asshole, nevertheless.

“I get it, you know? I mean, I don’t know your story, but I think I get it. I used to be a bitch—like, a
total
bitch. Then Roman happened. I fell in love, I found God, and my inner bitch…she’s in hiding most of the time, too bitchy to be able to handle all the fucking love.

“Then
you
show up! You show up in all of your asshole glory and it’s so obnoxious. You act like you want me, but you don’t. Not really. I’m married and that’s complicated; not to mention, we work together on a permanent basis now. I’m good at what I do—I mean, I’m really good, and you make me better. I think you know that. I think you love that. But instead of just being my mentor, instead of just taking me under your wing and making me the best damn protégé you’ve ever had, you insist on taking it one step further—like my awesome brain isn’t enough for you.

“I’m trying to be nice, here. I really am! You have so much to offer and I appreciate that. Who knows, maybe we could even be friends—that is, if you’re capable of being one. I don’t know—I might like the guy underneath the asshole. He has very good fashion sense, so, you see, we have a few things in common. But you have to stop coming on to me. It’s not funny or sexy or even tempting. So just…
stop.
”