The Boss Project

What if he heard me?

Though I could be quiet, couldn’t I?

Oh my God, what if he was doing the exact same thing right at this moment?

That was it. The thought of his big hand wrapped around his cock was too much to bear. So I closed my eyes, slipped one hand under the covers, and skimmed my fingers over the smooth skin of my belly until I reached the lace of my panties. My clit was already swollen, just thinking about what was to come, so I spread my legs wide and dipped my hand inside. This was going to set a record for how quickly I could get myself off…or so I thought.

But for some reason, I couldn’t get there. Two fingers massaged my clit in small circles. I felt tension build, but it wasn’t enough to push me over. I tried to imagine the fingers were Merrick’s and slipped them inside myself. It felt so damn good. My breathing quickened as I found my rhythm, fingers pumping in and out of my wetness.

Thoughts of Merrick flashed in my mind.

Him lying on the couch with his bulging cock and flat stomach.

That sexy line of hair that led from his belly button down into his underwear.

The V—that damn V. I imagined my tongue licking up and down the deep crease of it.

Merrick standing in his office, fully dressed in a suit with his feet spread wide and arms folded over his chest in a power stance. Lord, he was almost as sexy dressed.

Oh.

Yeah. That’s it.

So close.

I panted as I raced toward the finish line. When I thought I was about to get there, I reached my thumb up to touch my clit, knowing that almost always detonated the impending explosion.

It felt good, great even, but no matter how gently or firmly I rubbed, how fast or slow I pumped into myself, I couldn’t close the deal. I even tried using my other hand to massage my breasts and pinch my nipples, but it was impossible. After a while, definitely longer than I’d ever had to pleasure myself before, I finally gave up.

God, I can’t even do that right.

Frustrated and on edge, I blamed Merrick.

The man had stolen my damn orgasm.

Another half hour or so went by, but I still couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. I thought maybe I’d make some chamomile tea—perhaps the warm drink could help me wind down a little. So I got out of bed and creaked open my door. There was no possible way I could face Merrick after what I’d just done to thoughts of him. Luckily, his bedroom door was closed, and I didn’t hear any signs of moving around. So I slipped out of my room and tiptoed to the kitchen. But when I pushed the door open, I froze.

Fuck.

Merrick was inside, leaning against the counter, and he wore only a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants—no shirt or shoes.

“Hey.” His voice was gravelly.

I couldn’t look at him, so I spoke to his feet. “What are you doing up?”

I didn’t raise my eyes, but I could see through my peripheral vision that he lifted a glass. “Couldn’t sleep. Came out for some water.”

I nodded and went to the kitchen cabinet next to where he stood, still not able to look at him. Though I definitely felt his eyes following me.

“Everything alright?”

“Sure. Just thirsty, too.”

Merrick went silent. He didn’t say a word while I took down a glass, walked to the sink, and ran the water before filling my cup.

“You feel okay?”

I guzzled almost the entire glass before answering. “Fine, why?”