The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

I dipped my head, my cheeks flooding with heat. “You know, it’s really unfair that you can come up with such romantic stuff. I’m totally defenseless.”

He lifted my hand and gave it a kiss, then released me to turn his back to take something from a utensil drawer. I watched him in silence, thinking about the first night we’d spent in this very kitchen, sitting on the hardwood floor and eating supermarket baguette. Neil was terrific at big, romantic gestures, but his ability to turn mundane moments into something wonderful often shocked me most of all.

He faced me again, bracing his hands wide on the edge of the counter and leaning slightly forward. One of his palms pinned a long-handled wooden spoon against the brown marble. He regarded me with a glint of amusement in his eyes for a long moment, the lights above us casting shadows on his face and gilding the silver edges of his hair.

I squeezed my thighs together.

“Come over here.”

My knees trembled a little as I obeyed.

“Bend over the counter.”

I glanced around, an uncertain sound sticking my throat. What if Olivia’s piano lesson wrapped up early and Mariposa brought her to the kitchen for a snack? What if my mom just busted into the house again? What if Julia had forgotten her purse and—

“Sophie, don’t make me ask you twice.” He kept his slow-blinking eyes on me.

I faced the island and leaned down, pressing the side of my face against the cold marble. “I thought I wasn’t going to get my birthday spankings until later.”

“Which is why I will not be giving you the full thirty right now.” He and El-Mudad had apparently been planning my birthday sex for weeks. It had been the only bright spot to look forward to. Neil gave the seat of my jeans a little pat. “Pull them down.”

I reached between the counter and my body and unfastened my fly, then wriggled the pants down my legs. I hoped he hadn’t been expecting something devastatingly sexy beneath; I wouldn’t be wearing anything special until I changed after dinner.

He ran his fingers along the seam where the black cotton brief cupped my bottom. “These, too.”

I complied with a giggle. “Anything else you’d like me to do?”

“I’d like you to keep that smart mouth shut,” he said, and the spoon hit my ass with a loud slap.

I stifled my purr of pleasure and arched my back. He jerked the shoulder of my scoop-neck t-shirt down and palmed my breast, grinding against me briefly before giving me another solid smack with the spoon. He cupped me from behind, two fingers gliding effortlessly into my wet, anticipating cunt. I moaned and rocked against his hand.

“That’s the enthusiasm I want to hear tonight,” he whispered in my ear, his body trapping me against the countertop.

Then he released me, leaving me unsatisfied, on shaking legs with my pants around my knees.

I straightened and fixed my clothes. “Well, I’ll have to change my panties, now.”

He shrugged. “Or, you could skip them all together.”

“Tempting.” Except it wasn’t. The last place I wanted to do sexy, no-underwear things was at a family dinner with my mom.

“Our date tonight is at ten o’clock sharp. We need to be sure to be there on time,” he warned.

“Be there? Are we leaving the property?” I’d thought we’d be spending the night in our secluded recreation Pavillon Français, a ridiculous folly built by the previous owners and refurbished into a tiny palace of depravity by my husband. We never used the space for anything but our games of domination and submission; just stepping through the doors could instantly arouse me.

“No, but we have specific plans.” He kissed me on the nose. “Don’t bother dressing to impress tonight. We’re just going to ruin it.”

My birthday was looking way up.

Chapter Two

When the last of our guests had gone, I quickly changed out of my jeans and sweater and into something a lot less comfortable. Neil had purchased an extravagant corset for me on a trip to Paris, and I hadn’t worn it in a long time.

So long, in fact, that I was a bit concerned about how it would fit. My boobs were definitely more significant than they’d been a few years ago. They strained precariously above the top of the corset, no matter how I fiddled with the lacing. I tried to shimmy them in more securely, then gave up; they’d be out before the end of the night, anyway.

I took a moment to admire myself in the tri-fold mirror in our dressing room. The iridescent peacock feathers embroidered on the brocade shimmered from purple to blue to green. I paired the corset with matching green velvet panties and pulled my dark hair up in a high ponytail so perfect it would have made Ariana Grande expire with jealousy.