Tempt The Boss (Tempt 1)

“It’s okay.” I smile up at him after a minute.

“It isn’t okay. This is your life, and it’s now my life.”

I take his hands from my face and push him off me as I jump off the counter. “No.” I grab the towels off the floor. “It’s not your life. It’s mine.”

He grabs the towels from my hand, throwing them back down. “I worded it wrong. I want this, Lauren. I want to be there for you. To be the one who helps you. I mean, I’m pretty sure you can run the world from your phone”—he smiles—“but when you have too many balls in the air, I want to be who you call. I want you to know that I’m here for you not because I have to be, but because I want to be.” Then his smile disappears as he continues, “And when you need your car serviced, I want it to be me who you call to help you, not Noah, not Kaleigh—but me.” He motions to himself with a thumb at his chest.

“Austin,” I whisper, “I’m not going to force my kids and my responsibilities on you.”

He places his finger on my lips, stopping me from talking. “You aren’t forcing anything on me. If anything, I’m forcing myself on you.” He takes a breath and continues. “I want to be there with you when you go to soccer games, if I can. I want to be here with you when Rachel is running around naked. I mean, not to see her naked, that’s weird, but I want to be here to throw you her clothes.” He reaches for me. “And I really want to drive Gabe to hockey; it’s our thing.” He shrugs and gives me a smile. “I want to cook for you guys.” My eyebrows shoot up. “Okay, I want to be here to order out for you guys. Let me be that person for you.” His arms wrap around me, bringing me flush against him.

“Austin, what if you resent this whole thing and then feel like you can’t leave?” I question him. “What if you have a headache and the kids yelling just makes it worse? I’m okay with this thing between us not having a title.”

“I’m not.” His voice is firm. “The last two days, I realized that this is where I want to be. In the middle of the chaos. Ask me,” he whispers.

“Will you come to Gabe’s soccer game tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” he answers, smiling. “Now, can we have dessert?”

“What type of dessert were you thinking about?” I look back at the table of titillation and torture.

“I was thinking bullet, anal beads, and whip.”

“Really? I was thinking nipple clamps, cuffs, and vibrator,” I counter.

“Who wears the cuffs?”

I wiggle my eyebrows at him, while he looks at me with hooded eyes. “Oh, you are definitely wearing the cuffs this time.” His evil laugh comes out. “Let’s go upstairs. I want you laid out.”

He jogs up the stairs after he collects the whip, cuffs, bullet, vibrator, nipple clamps, and anal beads. “Just in case.” He winks.

I follow him up, shrugging off my jacket and shirt as I go. “You’re lucky your junk didn’t burn off in the fire.” I enjoy the view of his ass in those white Calvins.

“That would have been a bigger disaster than your house burning down.” He throws his toys down on the bed.

I slip my wet pants off, leaving me in my matching white lace bra and panties that are both sexy and delicate.

“Leave those on,” he demands, his erection tenting his Calvins as his hand rubs it. The sight makes my knees weak and my pussy wet.

I get on the bed, moving to the middle and crossing my legs. “Okay, what next, sir?” I laugh.

“On your stomach for now,” he orders me. “But first,” he states as he reaches for the cuffs, then cuffs my wrists together in front of me. “On second thought, on your hands and knees, head to the wall.” I get in position, looking over my shoulder to see what he is doing.

He has the whip handle in his hand while he tests it on his other hand. “You trust me?”

“It’s kind of difficult to answer now that I have the cuffs on,” I tell him, “but I wouldn’t have these cuffs on if I didn’t.”

“Good, now, eyes facing forward,” he demands. “Should have gotten the blindfold, too,” he murmurs to himself.

I’m facing the headboard. The anticipation of what’s to come has all my senses on high alert. I feel the bed move and then his heat hitting the back of me.

He opens my knees wider with his hands, sliding them softly up my inner thighs ever so slowly until they get to my pussy, where he starts rubbing me through the lace with two fingers. “Wet,” he groans, and I hang my head. “I bet we can make this pussy wetter. What do you think?” he challenges me. His fingers are now gone but are quickly replaced with the tip of the whip, the square leather tip grazing me. His hand goes to my ass, which is only partially covered since I’m wearing a thong.