The Boss (Chateau 3)
He opened my mouth with his, gave me his slow breath, his tongue, and then he pulled away. He took away his kiss, his touch, his squeeze. He turned around and headed back to the desk, his strong back a sculpture of muscle. He was the perfect specimen for an anatomy class because every single muscle of his body was defined and chiseled, easily visible even across the room. He fell into the chair at his desk, where his laptop and paperwork lay along with his phone.
I approached his desk and stood there, the flames from the hearth hot on my skin, but not warm enough to replace what I’d just lost. My fingertips touched the edge of his desk, feeling the textured wood underneath my skin. It was hard and rough, just like him. “Everything okay?”
He leaned back in the leather chair, one elbow propped on the armrest with his hand in the air, his fingertips slightly rubbing together like there was a grain of sand there. His gaze darkened at the question. “Wait for me in my bedroom. I’ll be there shortly.” He dropped his gaze and straightened so he could turn his attention to his laptop.
His answer didn’t disappoint me, because it was much better than the cold ones I used to get. I turned around and departed his office.
“Chérie.”
I turned around when I reached the door.
His eyes were on me. “Be ready for me this time.”
I was naked under the sheets when he came to bed.
He got on top of me and sank me into the mattress before his dick did the same inside me. He hooked my legs around his waist, folded me underneath him, and rocked into me deep and slow, his muscular arms anchored on either side of my head as he held his incredible weight on top of me.
My hands planted against his chest as I rocked with him, my legs pulling on his waist to reciprocate his movements. This seemed to be the only position he wanted to have me in because we rarely did it in other ways, but that was fine by me.
His passion was hotter than the fire, his words coming out in French, which was so sexy even though I couldn’t understand a word of it. My hand slid into his short hair as I brought his mouth to mine, kissing him and feeling a little explosion inside my belly just from his taste. He made me writhe every time we were together, showed me how sex was supposed to be, that my experiences up until this moment weren’t experiences at all. Just false imitations, like a knock-off handbag.
He suddenly slowed way down, his French endearments coming to an end. “Chérie.”
My thighs squeezed his hips because I was desperate to keep going, so close to that climax that would make my hips buck entirely on their own, my brain haywire and electrocuting the rest of my body.
His hips stopped, his dick rock hard and sunken deep inside me. “Tell me.” Sometimes in his intensity he looked angry, but he was just passionate, desperate for me. He started to rock his hips again, move through my copious wetness that forced the housekeeping staff to change the sheets daily.
My ankles dug into his ass as I pulled him inside me, wanting the thrusts to get harder. “I don’t want to share you…ever.”
He gave a quiet moan as he thrust into me harder.
“I want to be your only chérie.”
He pumped harder, his eyes deepening into a new level I’d never seen before.
I got lost in the moment, got lost in the sweat and the heat, and I said what came to mind. “You’re the only man for me…”
The moan he gave was so deep and sexy that I dug every one of my nails deep into his skin and came, watching him do the same. He held on to me so tightly my bones could break. He pounded into me mercilessly, grunting throughout. “Fuck, chérie.”
He lay on his back, slightly propped on the pillows, his thick arm around me and pulling me into his side.
I lay partially on top of him, my head on his chest with my arm draped over his hard stomach, looking at the fire in the fireplace. There was a big flat-screen above it, but he never seemed to have it on. The fire crackled just the way it did in the cabin, its warmth reaching us in the bed.
The sheets remained at our waists, and I wasn’t cold because his arm cupped me all the way down to my ass, acting as a warm blanket.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand and looked through email.
I could see the screen, but it was all in French. Couldn’t read a word of it.
He finished reading then set it on the sheets beside him. His rough fingers lightly touched my skin as he looked at the fire, one arm propped behind his head. If I didn’t speak, he would never speak. He preferred silence, the conversations that went unsaid. Sometimes, his hand would glide to the back of my neck, his fingers delicately moving through my soft hair, handling me with a gentleness that continued to surprise me.