Boss

Kelsey had never felt anything more reassuring. This, she knew, was the intimacy he’d spoken of.

She wasn’t sure whether or not she dozed, and for a few minutes, she drifted in the altered state between sleep and consciousness.

For a while, he seemed as content as she was to stay there and enjoy the silence.

“Tomorrow night, I want you to come to my house and stay. We can drive in to work together.”

“That seems a little too personal.”

“Not much more than what we’ve already done.”

Though she wasn’t looking directly at him, she heard the smile in his words. “Spending the night is different.”

“I want to introduce you to my spanking bench. Since it will be late, I don’t want you driving home. And if I’ve done a proper job, you won’t be capable of it anyway.”

“You could always take me home.”

“I could.”

She hated that he was always so agreeable. It made it difficult to argue.

“I’d prefer that you stay. We could ride in together Thursday.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“We had an early meeting.”

She cocked her head to look at him.

“Which would be true. I would want to bury my morning erection in your hot cunt.”

Breath whooshed from her lungs. “And now it’s the only thing I can think of as well.”

“And when you pack a bag, be sure to include your butt plug and your slut paddle. I want to mark you as mine.”

* * * *

There was a reason Nathan didn’t fuck his subs.

Even though he’d been home for an hour, had taken a shower, sipped some particularly fine cognac and streamed part of The Godfather, he hadn’t been able to clear his mind.

Nathan changed into a pair of shorts and headed into his home office. The space didn’t contain only a computer and desk, he’d outfitted it with a couple of pieces of cardio equipment, a television and a sound system. Outside of work, he spent more time in this room than anywhere else, including his bedroom.

He set the treadmill for eight miles an hour. When thoughts of Kelsey continued to creep in, he notched it up again.

Surely starving his brain of oxygen would help.

Even when his feet pounded the belt, he couldn’t outrun the events of the night.

His attraction flirted with being a fucking fixation, and it confounded him.

Since he’d been inside her hot pussy and held her in his arms afterward, he’d opened a door to his heart that was better closed. As she’d rightly pointed out, they had a work relationship. Even though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing as far as he was concerned, the fact that he was thinking about her when he shouldn’t be, planning her next experience, waiting for her to get to the office, all that weakened him, made him less able to compartmentalize each part of his life.

He notched up the speed on the treadmill one more time and looked outside at the sliver of a moon, barely visible through the quickly moving clouds.

Twenty minutes later, he wasn’t any clearer, and the burn in his lungs matched the one in his legs.

He slowed to a walk, and when his annoying-as-hell watch pinged to alert him to the fact his heart rate was once again normal, he decided to channel his energy into something productive.

After wiping off with a towel, he went into the playroom. Earlier, he’d put his bag next to the counter, and now he unzipped it and placed the items he planned to use, including her nipple clamps, on a white towel.

As it had been a long time since the equipment had been used, he wiped down the spanking bench before opening the armoire that held his equipment. He pulled out his short flogger, made from supple cowhide, and flicked it several times, testing it and himself before returning it to its hook.

He grabbed a few leather cuffs and attached them to the spanking bench.

Finally he checked his supplies, ensuring he had adequate sanitary wipes, lube, condoms and bottles of water.

That done, he returned to his office and logged into his email. Most he left for the following day, but he confirmed an appointment the next week in Dallas with Connor.

Then he sent a text message to Erin suggesting she check out Andi’s salon. Couldn’t hurt for Kelsey’s friend to be an advocate.

Proving she didn’t sleep much, either, his sister responded within minutes.

On Westheimer? You know that’s one of the pricier salons in the city, right? It costs money to go there. Like more than ten dollars for a haircut.

He shook his head. He paid more than ten dollars for a haircut. Most times. With a grin, he replied.

If her pink-and-blue pastel hair is any indication, she does, indeed, have access to magical unicorn powder at her color bar.

His phone lit up again almost instantly.