The Boss (The Boss 1)

The pure, molten heat that suffused me had nothing to do with the champagne. I took his hand and pulled him with me to the sofa, where I reclined as I’d been when he’d arrived. He dropped to his knees between my spread legs and rested his cheek against my stomach. The evening stubble on his jaw scratched my skin. I thought of how it would feel against my inner thighs, my labia, and I moaned, raising my hips and silently willing him to reach his destination quickly.

He didn’t need my urging. He lifted one of my legs over his shoulder, then the other, and bent his head. His tongue parted me, and I curled up with a choked exclamation, burying my hands in his hair. He gripped my hips and pushed them firmly against the sofa. I fell back, letting him hold me captive, his big hands pressing me down as he sucked and nibbled. When his tongue slipped inside me I sobbed aloud.

“God, the taste of you,” he murmured against my thigh. “I could stay here all night.”

He pulled my clit into his mouth, the stubble on his cheeks rasping my slick, open flesh, and my body tightened. The stiletto heels of my pumps dug into his back, but if he didn’t care, I didn’t either. I lifted myself against his mouth, and he slipped a hand beneath my ass to hold me. He pressed two fingers of his other hand to my cleft as he sucked me, and with the slightest tilt of my hips they were inside me. He pushed deeper and crooked his fingers, pressing hard against my g-spot. I felt my pulse center under his tongue, felt the edges of his teeth teasing my clit, and white-hot pleasure seized every muscle fiber in my body.

I shouted, “I’m coming!” and fervently prayed I wouldn’t break his neck as my knees clamped on either side of his head. He moved his fingers in and out, rasping over that delicious spot, and all the tight, tense sensation that had built up in me shattered. My legs jerked. One of my shoes flew off. My lungs emptied on a high-pitched wail. If there were a prize for biggest orgasm, I would have won it then declined to attend the ceremony, because the orgasm was reward enough.

I came down slowly, every nerve attuned to my surroundings with intense clarity. The plush sofa under my back, the feeling of Neil’s hair between my fingers and the heat of my sopping wet center against his mouth. He lifted his head just as the touch became too much for me. His fingers remained inside me, though, pulsing and fluttering. I should have been satisfied, bone tired, and I knew I would be, eventually. Not until he’d fucked me, though. Even as his stroking fingers brought me back to the precipice I’d just fallen from, I knew I wouldn’t be satiated until he was inside me.

“Please,” I begged him, trying to drag him up my body. I needed him to fuck me, needed him so deep in me that it hurt. I wanted him to fuck me hard, to wear me out. I wanted to feel soreness in my muscles for days. We’d waited long enough. We’d waited six years, and that was long enough.

He eased his fingers from me and covered my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, not caring that my wet pussy was plastered against his very expensive trousers. He had to fuck me, or I would die, I was absolutely sure of it. We could worry about the dry cleaning bill later.

He kissed me, and I tasted myself on his lips before he raised his head. “We have to go upstairs.” He brushed my hands away from the slender silver buckle on his belt, laughing as he did. “We have to go to the bedroom; it’s where the condoms are.”

I let him help me to my feet and balanced with a hand on his shoulder as I plucked my remaining shoe from my foot before we attempted the stairs. Halfway up, he stopped me and pressed me against the wall, burying his face in my neck to nibble at my throat. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and his hand fell to the clasp of my bra, releasing it. We left it behind on the steps, his shoes, as well. Somehow, we made it to the bed, and I lay naked on the thick white duvet while he unbuckled his belt and slid his trousers and boxers down.

For the first time all night, my resolve somewhat wavered. I remembered Neil being big. He was definitely the most well endowed man I’d ever been with. But in the intervening years I’d somehow lost my perspective on just how big he really was. To say he was intimidating would have been an understatement. Professional porn stars are less well hung.