MADS
“Oh fuck.Someone burp me and put me down for a nap,” I whine, rubbing my belly.
The table is littered with the remnants of lunch, and I’m full of homemade fettuccini and a little drunk on Grayson’s limoncello.
Rand nudges my knee. “Nope. You can’t get out of it this easily. Spill it. What's going on with you?”
I let out a labored breath, happy for the helpful numbness.
“I slept with Anthony in Vienna.”
Ford’s hand goes to his mouth. “In Vienna? How romantic.”
“It was,” I half-sob, nursing yet another shot of the good stuff. “He was romantic. It was the best sex I’ve ever had—by the longest shot imaginable—and worse—”
I stop myself, hoping to maintain a modicum of dignity. Not sure why I even try with these two though.
Ford looks between Rand and me, confused. “Worse…?”
Rand reaches across the table and grabs my hands. “It wasn’t just good sex, was it?”
I pout, finishing the shot. “No.”
Rand and Ford look at me expectantly.
With an overly dramatic and forlorn sigh, I admit, “It was the most romantic night of sex ever. In the history of the world, probably.” I pinch my finger and thumb together. “And just the perfect amount of grab-me-by-the-throat-and-bang-my-head-into-the-headboard rough.”
Ford scrunches his nose. “How does that work? Maybe it’s me—I don’t like the idea of rough sex.”
“Ugh,” I whimper. “It was how he held me. It was the words coming out of his mouth. Like, he called me baby—twice—and then wham. Fucked me into the headboard. Then shed a few tears when he came.”
Ford’s eyes widen. “Tears? From Edgerton? Wow.”
I nod. “Yeah. Wow.”
Rand bites his lower lip. “That’s the good stuff.” Examining me, he gestures a circle in my direction. “But why do you look like a man about to go to the gallows?”
I round my eyes and purse my lips. “It's Anthony. How well do you think he took sleeping with his client?”
Ford grimaces almost as badly as Rand. “Not well at all, Mads. He must feel very deeply for you to break his sacred code.”
I rub my hand over my face, remembering that Anthony lives one floor down from Rand. “Have you seen him here in the last couple of days?”
Rand taps his chin, then responds, “I haven’t. But every time I do see him, I wonder what the hell he’s thinking about. I can’t ever get a read on him. I imagine, if you enjoyed your time with him, you must’ve seen under his shell for at least a little bit.”
My nose prickles, and I pinch it tightly, willing the tears to go away. “Exactly. And I can't unsee it. I don't want to. I thought it was purely physical attraction, but…” My words drift off.
Ford leans forward. “But it's not?”
I shake my head. “And have I told you about the way he held me?”
They laugh, and Rand says, “Yes. But do go on.”
I’m pitiful as I swirl the shot glass. “I guess it's possible he does this with all of his lovers, but it felt personal. Like he was holding me tight, like he was all in, making love to me. And he—oh God. He read me like a book.”
You are so fucking dangerous to me.
Rand grins. “What is it about the mob that produces such fantastic lovers?”