Corrupting Cinderella (17 page)

Stopping to stare, I ask, “What’s that?”

“For you, baby doll. I want you to be more comfortable spending time here.”

I’m not sure how to respond. Overwhelming emotions pulse through me. It’s just some furniture, but the knowledge that he did all this while I spent most of the week avoiding him stuns me.

Then his hands settle on my hips, the heat of his body sending tingles over my skin. His lips brush against my ear, and a delicious shiver slides through me. “Want to try it out?”

Do I ever.

Approaching it slowly, I slide my fingers over the supple leather, then bend one leg and press it into the seat. My other leg follows, and I fold my arms over the back of the chair, arching my back.

Only a slight creak of the floorboards tells me Rock is now standing behind me. Fingers lightly trail through my hair and down my back.

“How did you know this was what I had in mind?” he asks in a rough voice.

“Great minds and all that,” I answer with a soft giggle.

His hand rubs up and down my back. “I like this color on you,” he says absently.

My chest tightens. Roxy’s ugly words about me looking ridiculous echo in my head, and I sit back on my heels. Rock gives me a questioning look.

“Roxy said I looked ridiculous in your clubhouse.”

His face hardens, and he reaches out to tip my chin up. “My first thought when you walked in was how fucking beautiful you were.” His fingers skip to my hair, twirling it around. “I like the curls too.”

Lowering my eyes, I focus on my hands clasped in my lap. “Thank you.”

“No more talking about Roxy. I don’t ever want to hear her name pass your lips again. Especially not in here.”

A flutter of fury kicks up in my stomach. Ugh, picturing that little skank in here with my man makes me want to hunt her down and choke her out.

Rock’s gentle tugging on the ends of my hair pulls me from my ass-kicking fantasies. I lift my head back up to meet his gaze. “She’s
never
been in here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Wow. Okay. Don’t want details, but that’s good to know. I let out a deep breath and relax my shoulders.

“Can we continue?” Rock asks.

The low rumble of his voice sends heat streaking through me. Too turned on to speak, I nod.

“Good, because I have a mystery to solve.”

My forehead wrinkles, and I stare up at him. He taps the back of the chair. “Put your hands here like you were before.”

Rising up, I brace myself the way he requested. His big hands slide down my back once more, this time flipping my skirt up. He sucks air in through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he groans.

Nervous, I shift to the side a little. “What?”

I’m not sure if he heard me, because he’s busy stripping off his clothes. Thud, thud go his boots. Clink of his belt. Rustle of his jeans being shoved to the floor. Each noise heightens my arousal.

“Take your dress off,” he orders from behind me.

Straightening up, I pull my hair to the side, revealing the zipper down my back.

Another feral groan from Rock as his warm hand teases the zipper all the way down. He helps me pull the dress up over my head. When I reach to unhook my bra, he stills my hands. “Leave it.”

He traces his fingers along the waistband of my tights, sending shivers of anticipation through my belly. “Were these expensive, baby doll?” he asks, low and sexy, lips brushing against my ear.

“No,” I answer.

“Good.”

He nudges me back into place, with my hands braced against the back. The chair dips as he kneels behind me. His hand on my hip steadies me, spreading my knees, pressing my back down, so my ass is angled up. Both of his hands rub and caress my ass through the nylon. A slight pinch and a loud ripping sound fills the air. Cool air kisses my skin.

His palm nuzzles against my now-exposed pussy. More fabric rips, and I let out a long moan.

An excited quiver radiates from my belly down to my clit. One finger pushes inside and I wriggle against him, seeking more.

“Yes,” I groan.

His finger pushes deeper. Slow pulses, lulling me into a seductive rhythm. He adds another finger and works me steadily until I’m swaying back and forth.

The harsh rushing through my ears drowns out any sounds for a moment, but I feel him position his cock against me and press inside.

From all the buildup, I’m crazy-close to letting go.

“Not yet, Hope,” Rock warns through clenched teeth.

I arch back toward the pounding snap of his hips. His hands tighten around my waist, squeezing hard. Each stroke spirals me higher. Smooth, slick strokes I can’t get enough of.

“Please,” I beg through moans and gasps.

He curls himself over me, reaching to flick circles over my clit. Hot and wet, he drags his tongue along my neck and nips my earlobe.

His relentless thrusting never stops or slows. He keeps driving into me deeper, working me harder. Everything centers around where we’re joined, pleasure drowning me until I can’t hold back any longer. My short, erratic screams echo around us.

“Fuck,” he gasps behind me. His hips jerk against me a few more times. A low grunt and deep exhalation.

I collapse against the chaise, and he follows me down, rubbing my back, pressing kisses along my spine. Straightening my legs, I shift and turn until I’m facing him. He’s on his side, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other propping his head up so he can watch me.

“You owe me a pair of tights,” I tease.

He leans down and silences me with a long, deep kiss. After he pulls away, his sexy mouth twists into one of his irresistible smirks.

“Totally worth it.”

CHAPTER TEN

“Babe, you wanna stay up at the clubhouse or at my house Thursday?”

Since her caseload is still small, Hope’s been taking Fridays off, so we normally spend the night together at one of those two places. Now that the clubhouse is free of girls itching to harass her, she seems more comfortable spending time there, which in turn makes my life easier.

She walks into the living room, nervously twisting her hands. “I, uh, have a thing to go to Thursday night.”

Her tone puts me on alert¸ and I sit up. “What kind of thing?”

She waves her hand in the air. “A lawyer thing. For Mara’s husband? The judge? I normally wouldn’t go—I hate those things—but she asked me to, so…”

“That mean Sophie’s going too?”

“Yes…” Something about the way she answers sparks my interest.

“You going together?”

“No, I’m going with Mara’s friend, Ross. You’ve met him. He uh, isn’t really ‘out’ in the legal community. So, Mara used to go to these things as his date, but you know, since she’s married now, she asked me if I’d go with him.”

I have met Ross. I have no problem with all my girl’s guy friends being gay. No problem. Still, something about her going as someone else’s date, no matter the reason, bothers me.

“You said you don’t do those type of things, so that’s why I didn’t ask,” she says hurriedly.

There it is. That’s why I feel like shit. She’s right. I did make a big point of telling her I would never escort her to something like that. And fuck, I meant it.

But Christ, when I think of the amount of time she’s spent with me in my world, all the shit she’s put up with from the people in my club, doing that stuff because I needed her to. . .is escorting her to some stupid party really that big a deal? In the entire time we’ve been together, this is the first time she’s gone to one of these things. It’s not like she does it all the time.

I’ve been silent for so long thinking this through that Hope drops her hands and returns to the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. She gives up, just like that.

Maybe she’s embarrassed to be seen with me at that type of event? Even with long sleeves and a collared shirt, traces of my ink will be visible.

Well, no, she’s introduced me to her friends. By accident mostly. Even the invitation to Jonny’s show came unintentionally, because I happened to be sitting next to her when Sophie sent the invite. My girl never asks me to spend time with her friends, but I’m always making her spend time with mine. Fuck, she never demands anything from me.

Except honesty.

Which I haven’t completely given her yet.

Pushing off the couch, I find her in the kitchen stirring sauce over the stove.

“Smells good.”

Without turning, she answers with a soft, “Thanks.”

“Babe, I’ll go with you Thursday.”

Her shoulders sag, not exactly the reaction I expected. “It’s okay. It’ll be boring. Clay never went with me to that type of stuff either. It’s not a big deal. I’m used to it.”

I’m not crazy enough to think I’m in competition with her dead husband or anything. Still, her admission pushes me forward. Setting my hands on her shoulders, I pull her back from the stove. She drops the wooden spoon she was using on the counter and turns in my arms.

Her deep green eyes stare up at me with concern. “What’s wrong, Rochlan?”

She’s so serious all of a sudden. Maybe she
doesn’t
want me there.

Truth, give her truth.

“I want to take you.”

She lets out a soft sigh. “Why? You can’t possibly be jealous of Ross. You’ve met him.”

Cupping her cheeks with my hands, I draw her gaze up to meet mine. “It’s not a jealousy thing. You’ve been so agreeable about spending time doing stuff with me, it’s only fair I return the favor.”

Confusion clouds her pretty face, and she looks down at the floor.

“That’s not our deal. I knew your role as President meant I’d have to spend time at the club. You were upfront with me that you didn’t do suits, ties, and schmoozing. I agreed it was okay. I have no right to complain about it now.”

Christ, how she’s twisting the knife in my heart, and she doesn’t even realize it. Throwing my words back at me without any venom. She’s completely honest and serious.

“You’re not asking me, sweetheart. I’m offering. I should do this for you.”

She glances up, and I get a glimpse of cautious optimism that cements my decision.

“It’s at this stupid fancy-pants place. You’ll hate it.”

“Is that your way of asking me if I own a suit?” I tease.

The corners of her mouth twitch up. “No.”

“Are you embarrassed to introduce me to your colleagues?”

Tears shimmer in her eyes, and I want to punch myself. She places her hand on my chest. “No. Please don’t ever think that.”

I should have kept that thought to myself. My girl’s not like that. She’s proved it over and over again.

“You worried your judge friend won’t want me there because of my record?”

She tilts her head as if the thought never occurred to her, and a slight frown darkens her face. “No. It’s not like they’re going to do a background check at the door.”

“You gonna be embarrassed if I can’t cover all my ink?”

She tilts her head to the side, and a hint of a naughty smile curves her lips. “No. It’s sexy, since I’ll be the only one there who gets to see the full picture.”

Well, doesn’t that answer excite the fuck outta me.

Grasping her hand from my chest, I brush my fingers over her knuckles. “What time should I pick you up?”

The second she opens the door Thursday night, I’m thrilled I offered to do this. Her sharp intake of breath and wide eyes as she takes me in is worth the discomfort I’m feeling in the stiff, preppy getup. I’m equally appreciative of her form-fitting navy dress and classy updo. The high heels accentuate her shapely legs, and I’m ridiculously turned on watching her hips sway as she glides over to my SUV. I relish the contrast between this sexy, elegant woman about to mingle with a bunch of uptight lawyers, and the breathy sex kitten I can turn her into when we’re alone.

Although it’s sexy as fuck, the tight skirt means she can’t quite make it up into my vehicle. Fine with me. It gives me the opportunity to wrap my hands around her waist and give her a boost. She breaks into giggles as she smooths her skirt down. Now that I’ve had my hands on her, I want to push that skirt up around her thighs and fuck the living fuck out of her.

Instead, like the good escort I plan to be tonight, I fire up the truck and back it down her long driveway.

No matter how obsessed I’ve been with Hope since the day we met, if you’d told me two years ago I’d be voluntarily throwing on a suit and escorting her to a political fundraiser for a city court judge, I would have knocked you the fuck out. But here I am.

Happy as fuck.

The closer we get to the restaurant, the more nervous she seems.

“Babe, you okay?”

She grasps my hand, holding it tight. “It’s not you. Please don’t think that. I always get nervous going to these things. I hate them.”

Lacing my fingers with hers, we hold hands until I have to put the truck in park. I hand over the keys to the valet and help her down.