Dirty Boss (Dirty Rich 2)

Then, his lips are on my neck, and he's moving harder. Deeper.

His fingers slide over my clit with that same rhythm. Almost. Almost…

"Blake." I groan his name as I come.

The release is a rush. I go into free fall. I lose track of everything but the bliss spreading through by body.

He doesn't stop. He keeps rubbing me. Keeps thrusting into me. It's too much sensation. It hurts like hell.

Blake nips at my ear. "Fuck. Kat."

Then it's not too much. It's perfect. This orgasm is fast and hard. It starts high. Builds and builds. Tighter and tighter.

Everything releases as his nails dig into my skin.

I come in waves. I shake. I lose my grip on the wall.

Blake grabs me and throws me on the bed face first. I hold on to my comforter as he pushes my legs apart and slides inside me.

He's mine tonight.

He pins me to the bed as he fucks me.

A few thrusts of his hips and he's there, shaking as he comes inside me.

My breath returns slowly.

Blake collapses next to me. He pulls off my blindfold and pulls me into his arms.

He's staring at me with all sorts of affection.

Like he really does love me.

"You okay?" His voice is soft. Sweet.

I nod. "Great." Physically, at least.

He presses his lips against mine.

It's not raw heat and desire.

It's need. Love. Something like love.

My heartbeat picks up. I get warm everywhere.

I let myself believe it. I let myself hold onto every drop of his affection.

"I hate to rush you, but we should head out." He brushes the hair behind my eyes.

I nod to the door. "You never gave me those five minutes."

He slides off the bed and waits in the living room.

I dress and run a brush through my hair.

Whatever it takes, I'm going to survive the next week.

Chapter Thirty-Four

No limo today. Blake drives a black sports car. It's spotless inside and out. It matches him perfectly.

Supposedly, he wanted to give Jordan the week off.

But I don't buy that story.

I think he wanted privacy.

I'd bet good money that no one has ever seen Blake cry, not as an adult, at least.

The drive is quiet.

This late, the roads are empty. Everything is a blur of asphalt and sky.

I rest my head against the passenger-side door and watch the stars fly by. The farther we get from the city, the brighter they are.

The suburbs sneak up on me. I blink, and we're parked in front of Meryl's house.

It's funny. This place is the picture of idyllic perfection. It's not the kind of place where someone dies.

Blake insists on carrying my suitcase. I let him.

The gesture is sweet. I need the warmth of it.

We move into the house quietly. There's a light in the kitchen and a nurse sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. He nods to Blake like they know each other.

"Miss Sterling is resting," the nurse says. "She asked not to be disturbed until eight tomorrow."

"Thank you." Blake sets our suitcase at the base of the stairs. He turns to me. "You're staying in Fiona's room tonight. Last one on the right."

"What about Fiona?" I ask.

"She's coming up in the morning." He brushes the hair from my eyes. "You can stay in my room when she arrives."

I swallow hard. Sharing a bed with Blake is tempting. And dangerous. That's a quick trip to feelings-ville, that awful place where I'm crazy about him and he cares about me.

"I can't kick you out of your room." I slide my hands into my pockets.

"I insist." He nods to the bedrooms upstairs. "Let me put these away."

I take a seat at the table next to the nurse and offer my hand to shake. "I'm Kat."

"Vincent." He shakes.

"How are things? Is she okay?"

"I can't talk about that."

"Of course." Doctor-patient confidentiality. I know that. "You any good at chess?"

"Not at all."

"Me either. I might have a chance to win a game without a handicap."

Vincent checks his watch. "You're on."

I find the game and set it up on the table. I even give him white.

Vincent stares at the board for a minute then moves one of his pawns two spaces forward. Most of his attention is on his coffee. Well, most of his attention is somewhere else entirely.

Mine, too, but the game is a perfect distraction. I weigh every move like it's critically important.

The stairs creak. Blake.

He sits next to me, rubbing the inside of my wrist with his thumb.

Blake's touch is a perfect bit of comfort. I want to surrender to it. To soak up all of it.

But I can't. Not if he's never going to love me.

I win. Truth be told, Vincent isn't trying. But a win is a win.

Vincent excuses himself, grabs another cup of coffee in the kitchen, and goes to wait in the den.

Blake takes his seat and sets up another game. "You need a drink?"

I shake my head.

We play in silence. No queen handicap. He discards a rook instead.

I keep my eyes on the checkered board instead of looking at him. There's too much in his expression. It hits me someplace deep.

Blake puts me in checkmate. Figures.

"Play another?" he asks.

I nod. Focus on my pieces. They're little plastic things, cheap and flimsy. This is one of those chess sets you buy at the drugstore for five dollars, but then I'm not the type who needs to put a price tag on everything.

This chess set is a priceless distraction.

It's worth everything.

I'm more aggressive this game. We start trading pieces. I ignore my endless strategy contemplation and make the first move that comes to mind. It's pure instinct.

"Check," Blake says.

"What?"

"You have me in check," he says. "Didn't you notice?"

I look down at the board. Holy shit. How did I miss that?

"You won't get me that easily, Wilder." He laughs.

Fuck. That laugh. It makes my knees weak. It makes my stomach flutter. It makes me feel everything.

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He moves his queen in front of his king. Figures the stupid king is sacrificing his wife. Asshole.

Well, fair is fair. I take his queen. "Checkmate."

"Now you're paying attention."

"I was too in the zone to pay attention to you and your wife-sacrificing ways."

"It was the best tactical move." His voice is light, joking.

"You always make the best tactical move, don't you?"

He takes my hand. "Not if it's a poor long-term move."

"But that's always it—it's always strategy."

"It's chess."

"But it's always strategy with you." I pull my hand into my lap. "Should we play again?"

"Kat."

"No. You're right. It's just chess."

"Reconsider." He stares into my eyes. "We don't have to rush."

"Yeah, right, as long as I mention it to your mom tomorrow?"

"That's not it."

He reaches for me, but I push his hand away.

I stare back at him. "I'm not marrying someone who doesn't love me."

He says nothing.

"Goodnight, Blake." I push off the table and walk up the stairs without looking at him once.

The suburbs are quiet. Even at our place way out in Brooklyn, New York City is loud. There are taxis, pedestrians, subways rumbling underground.

Out here, there's nothing. Not even a fan for white noise.

I toss and turn. Sleep isn't happening. I shouldn't have spent the afternoon in a state of near unconsciousness.

There's a soft knock on my door.

I push out of bed and answer.

Blake is standing there in his pajamas. He looks normal. No, he looks hurt. Needy.

"Come to my room," he whispers.

"It's not a good idea."

"Do it anyway." He slides his hand around my waist and pulls me closer. "You shouldn't sleep alone."

"I shouldn't sleep with you."

He presses his lips to mine. "So don't sleep."

Warmth spreads through my body. It's a compelling argument.

But I can't.

I rise to my tiptoes and press my lips to his. "I'm sorry. For everything." I take a step backwards.

He nods with understanding.

Still, it breaks my heart closing the door and climbing into bed alone.

Once again, I wake up alone.

The room is bright. The house is buzzing with conversation.

I brush my teeth, change, and head downstairs. The kitchen and living area are empty. The conversation must be in Meryl's room.