The Boss (The Boss 1)

His tongue stroked against mine, while one hand slid down my arm to lace our fingers together. He broke our mouths apart, dropping kisses along my jaw on a path toward my ear. He traced the edge of my earlobe, and I shivered in his arms.

“I have fantasized about this every day for the past six years,” he whispered, the ragged edge of need apparent in his voice. I almost sobbed in relief to hear those words. It wasn’t just me, then. There had been something incredible between us, and clearly there still was. I hadn’t been crazy, looking for this kind of passion. It did exist.

He held me tight, his arm locked behind my back, holding me on my feet as he nibbled the shell of my ear. The prickly, over-sensitive feeling made me gasp. I leaned heavily against him, my breath speeding up, my muscles tensing as he laved over and over the same, extremely erogenous spot. It was like being tickled, but the feeling shot straight to my groin, and he didn’t let up even as I writhed away from his mouth. I squeezed my legs together, my toes curled in my shoes, and I only realized what was happening when my cunt spasmed with a flood of wetness and grateful relief poured through my muscles. It wasn’t the most mind-blowing, intense orgasm I’d ever had, but it did take the edge off my painful need, and he had managed to do it just by kissing my ear.

“Oh,” I managed on a shaky breath as I looked up at the dark amusement in his eyes. “I think I’m in trouble.”

“Yes, it appears so.” He grinned, boyish and self-congratulatory, and released me, leaving me to stand helpless and shaking as he went to the wet bar. “You had some champagne, then?”

Champagne? I’d just had an orgasm in his arms, from him sucking on my ear. Not from fucking me or fingering me or eating me out, but from tame, backseat-in-high-school necking. And now he was asking me about champagne? I could barely stand upright.

“I did,” I smoothed down my skirt, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

He poured some and came back to me with maddening slowness. “I didn’t see another glass. Do you mind if we share?”

The other glass was upstairs on the marble countertop beside the bathroom sink, but someone could have offered me a million dollars to leave the room and I wouldn’t have. Not when Neil was so close to me, so oddly self-possessed while I was still trembling with my need.

“That is a very pretty dress.” His eyes moved over my body in near reverence. He took a sip from the glass and handed it to me. “Now turn around, so I can get you out of it.”

I turned slowly, my ankles still weak and wobbly from my climax. Neil stepped up behind me, so close that his trousers brushed the backs of my bare legs. He found the zipper between my shoulder blades and smoothly pulled it down. The music stopped, leaving us with only the sound of the metal teeth parting to punctuate the silence. He pushed down my sleeves one at a time, as I shifted the champagne from one hand to the other. His palms followed the path the fabric took, every touch igniting a scorching trail across my skin. The dress fell to the floor, and I shivered. I still wore my black lace bra and my heels. When my hand moved to the clasp at my back, Neil brushed it aside.

“Leave it on, for now. The shoes as well.” The rustle of silk told me he’d taken off his jacket. When I turned, he was unbuttoning his shirt.

“Should we go upstairs?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I sipped from the glass in my hand.

He pulled his arms free and tossed the shirt to the floor. Which was slightly alarming to me, because I knew it probably cost more than my share of the monthly rent. But Neil was standing in front of me, shirtless, and that kind of took precedence over everything else. He was fit, and not just fit for a man who was almost fifty. Brown hair with a smattering of silver lightly shadowed his tight chest, and narrowed into a line down his flat stomach. He crushed me to him, and the shock of his bare skin on mine made it impossible to stand on my own.

He kissed me hard, his hand tangled in my long hair, and when we were both breathless he lifted his head to answer my question. “Not now. I thought I’d lay you down on this sofa and bury my face in your cunt first. Unless you object...”

My jaw dropped. “I remember you being direct, but I’d forgotten how direct.”

He winked and took the champagne from me. After a long swallow, he set the glass on the small table beside the couch. “I haven’t heard an objection. And I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”