Boss Me Hard (Boss Me #2) (3 page)

I hear her draw in a shaky breath, and her green eyes lock on mine. Her lips part, that delicate pink tongue licking the seam, as the flush on her cheeks grows darker. All the blood in my body rushes right to my cock. If I don’t get that mouth on my dick soon, I might just die.

“Did you think about me this weekend?” I find myself asking. I can’t seem to control myself when it comes to her.

She nods, her breasts rising and falling in a jerky rhythm to match her breathing. “I did.” Her voice is airy.

I stand and turn to face her. She’s inches from me, and her breaths puff on my throat. She’s turned on already, and we’re only talking. “Did you finger yourself?”

There’s a throb at the base of her neck that pulses with her heartbeat. It kicks hard. She nods again, eyes locked on mine without shame, without remorse of the secret she’s revealing.

A groan slides from my lips and before I can stop myself, she’s in my arms, my mouth hard on hers, prying those lips open, tongue sliding in. She tastes like coffee, like the sweetest sin I’ve ever craved, and her breasts arch as she rubs against me.

Her hands slide up my neck to finger my hair, and one thigh presses between my legs. I reach down and caress her waist, then the swell of her ass. I grip her hard, pull her tight against me, and her breathy moan against my mouth makes me want to bend her over right here and right fucking now, just rip those pants off and take her.

“I want you, Dane. So much,” she whispers in a tone that makes me feel a hundred feet tall, like she too has this dark hunger that keeps growing and growing.

I move one hand to her front, stroke her pussy through her pants. She shudders against my searching fingers. My mouth slides down her jaw, along her delicate flesh to nip at her throat. Emme is so fucking responsive, not shy about letting me know how turned on she is. It’s heady, makes me want to break her into a thousand pieces and swallow them all just so I can stay full of this feeling.

“Dane,” she says into my ear, her tongue reaching out to lick the shell. Her body has melted against mine, and a sweet feeling of possessiveness fills me. I might come in my fucking pants if I don’t have her right now—

A knock on the door makes us both go still.

Shit.
I freeze up, one hand gripping her ass, the other against the scorching heat of the apex of her thighs. It takes every ounce of strength within me to remove my hands from her hot and willing body. I smooth down her shirt, her hair, then my own clothing.

Emme steps away from me, keeping her eyes locked firmly on my desktop. Her cheeks are still glowing, but her back is straight, and she’s standing tall.

What the fuck am I doing? I didn’t lock the door; I didn’t even plan to kiss her. Instead, I got too caught up in her and lost my senses. That’s so unlike me.

Carl walks in after I tell him to enter, a half smile on his face. His pants are slightly too tight, and his belly is pressed against his strained white dress shirt. The sight of him is like a bucket of ice water splashed over my head, enough to help my dick deflate. “Morning, boss man,” he says in a false jovial tone. “Wanted to drop off that important stuff we talked about on Friday.” He plops a stack of papers on my desk like he’s presenting me with the Holy Grail.

“Got it, thanks.”

Carl shoots a sideway glance at Emme, one brow raised. It’s clear he wants me to tell her to go, so he looks like he’s more important, like I’m booting her out to make time to talk to him.

“I’ll read this over sometime today and talk to you later, Carl,” I say firmly. I give a purposeful nod toward the door.

His lips thin and he huffs, but he turns around and leaves. Thankfully, Carl’s too wrapped up in himself to notice the sexual tension between me and Emme, which is strong enough to slice with a butcher knife.

When he’s gone, her shoulders relax. “I…guess I should go too,” she says. “I’ll email you about the schedule conflict.” Then she’s out the door before I can respond.

Probably for the best anyway. I’m starting to lose my careful control with her, and that can’t lead to anything good.

M
y legs are shaking
like crazy as I make my way back to my desk, and my heart is pounding super hard. I don’t know what just happened in there, but that was utterly unexpected. Not that I mind, of course—I want so very much for him to touch me every damn chance he can. But one minute we were talking about work issues, and the next I was practically begging him to take me on his desk. Startling how fast that escalated.

If only Carl hadn’t come in…maybe I could finally have shown Dane how badly I want to make him come. Despite appearances, he’s still controlling these moments we’re having together. And there’s something about it that frustrates me. I need to touch him, to make him explode the same we he’s done to me.

I want him to think about me long into the night, the way I do about him.

The craziest thing is, I haven’t written about what’s happened between us in my journal. In fact, I haven’t written in it at all. For some reason, I feel like putting it down on paper takes away the essence of what’s happening. Words can’t quite capture the depth of my feelings, the sensations, the sensory details the way I want them to.

This thing with him is moving way too fast, and yet I can’t seem to muster any desire to stop or even slow down. I’m in a free fall, and I know it’s gonna end hard, but right now I don’t see the bottom and I’m not even looking for it. Just that delicious rush of weightlessness that makes every nerve ending in my body hyperaware.

I stare blankly at my computer, my lips almost bruised from the hardness of his kiss. I can still feel him imprinted on me. It takes Herculean effort to shake off the distraction and focus on work. I type up an email to Dane, careful to keep my wording professional, and let him know which two clients are double booked.

Then I move on to answering other client email.

After a few minutes, my inbox pings with a reply from him.

K
eep Sanderson
on the books and reschedule Bateman’s call to next week whenever I can fit him in.

~D

W
ill do
,
I respond, then start to send the email but pause. I add another sentence:
How was your weekend?
And hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

I’ve never just chatted with Dane before, always keeping my messages to him on whatever business topic is being discussed. Will he ignore the question? Will he give me a curt one-word answer? Or will he actually respond?

Suddenly this simple email exchange has far more importance to me than I first anticipated. We’ve moved beyond the words of my secret journal into a whole new territory, but what are the boundaries here? Is this really only a sexually driven connection? Or is there more to us than that?

Because God help me, I want there to be. Which is insane, I know. But I can’t deny that having tasted his mouth, I crave more of him. And not just sexually. I want to know everything—what he thinks and believes, how he spends his time.

What he feels for me…

But if he isn’t interested in that stuff with me, well, I’ll just learn to stuff those desires to the back of my mind, my heart. Somehow.

No response to my email yet. My stomach sinks, and I turn away from my computer to focus on the paperwork on my desk. It was a crazy impulse to push the envelope. He’s made it clear this is just physical, nothing else. I need to accept that and be good with it. Because I can’t just quit this thing now, even if I’m putting my heart at risk.

My email dings, and my heart lurches in response. I try to tell myself not to expect it to be him. When I see it is, I can’t fight the nervous roil in my stomach. I make myself read the message slowly.

M
y weekend was
…well, not the best, not the worst. Had to do some family things I really didn’t want to do. But sometimes you have to suck it up because you have a responsibility.

You?

H
is response is vague
, yes, but I guess I can’t fault him for that—family issues are hard to open up about, especially if it’s something that’s extremely unpleasant. He also asked me about what I did this weekend, which gives me a warm, tingling sensation in my chest. He does want to know me more. I type my response.

S
orry to hear that
. I’ve been in situations like that too, so I know what you mean.

I
pause
. Should I open up to him? He kind of cracked the door a fraction for me to see inside him, hinting there’s more to his personal life than what I normally see—a perfect family, a perfect dynamic. And hell, he already knows all my dark secrets from reading my journal. It’s a bit too late to close that barn door, I suppose. I bite my lip and press on.

M
y brother
—I love him, but he can be difficult. Since his accident, he has these occasional severe mood swings. Most of the time I can deal with it fine, but sometimes…I get tired and stressed, and I lose my patience with him. Then I feel guilty for not being supportive enough. After all, what he went through was traumatic. He lost part of a limb and has to relearn how to do so many things in life that we take for granted. Tying shoes, getting dressed, using a computer. It’s no wonder he’s struggling with dealing.

Anyway. My weekend. I mostly hung out at home. Had a friend come over—we drank wine and watched
Footloose
. It was a lot of fun, actually. I don’t get to relax enough, so I’ve been working on that more.

I’m sure you already know that much though, from…well. Yeah. lol

I guess I’ve rambled on enough. Thanks for listening.

I
hit send
before I chicken the hell out. I didn’t even let myself reread the email. No guts, no glory, right?

A few minutes later, I get a response from him.

I
’ve never experienced
a trauma like that. I can imagine it’s hard for him to cope. But I’m sure he appreciates all you do for him.

My family tension is nothing like yours, though it’s certainly dramatic in its own way. My brother and I…we have issues. And they’re cropping up right now, and I’m struggling to deal with them. It doesn’t help that it’s causing a rift in our family, something I feel increasingly guilty about, though it isn’t actually my fault this happened.

Anyway. That’s life, right? Sometimes we get dealt a shit hand and we have to play those cards.

H
is words are simple
, but I can feel the ripple of pain behind them. The vulnerabilities he’s revealing to me, despite all the things he isn’t saying, despite the way he tries to sound flippant in that last line. What happened between him and his brother? I want to ask but I’m afraid to push too hard. I don’t want this conversation to stop. Not now, when I’m starting to learn about him.

But I do want to lighten the mood some and coax a smile to his face. I send a quick one-liner email.

T
ell
me your favorite way to relax when you get stressed.

A
minute later
, his reply comes in.

I
can’t type
that in a work email.

T
hat makes my cheeks flame
. Instantly I think about his face between my thighs, his tongue stroking me until I came all over his face. And now I’m throbbing in my lower belly, pressing my legs together to fight back the Pavlovian response I seem to have far too often to Dane. But he’s pushing the envelope here with such a suggestive line, and surely he knows it.

I want to push back.

C
an’t
, or won’t?

M
y inbox pings back instantly
.

B
oth
. Some things are better explored offline.

T
hat’s fair
; I guess I understand that. Before I can answer, another email crops up from him.

I
’d venture
a guess as to how you like to relax, but I think I already discovered it…

T
hat makes my lips quirk
. Bastard. I know exactly what he’s hinting at.
You know so much about me,
I type in reply. That journal of mine…I might never live down those erotic, vulnerable words I wrote. And yet, do I really want to? After all, it brought me here, to this place with him. If he hadn’t read it, we would still be stilted and polite, and I’d never have experienced what I have over the last several days.
But I know so little about you,
I add.
It feels unbalanced.

You know more about me than you realize,
his quick response starts.
You’ve seen things in me that no one else has, long before last week. Give yourself more credit on being insightful, Emme. My secrets rest in your hands, just as yours rest in mine.

My heart is pounding so hard it threatens to burst from my chest. He and I, we’re intricately tied now, our hushed activities twisting us around each other. No one else can know, a fact that only heightens the sensations I’m feeling.

And given what he’s writing in these emails, I don’t sense the same level of hesitation on his part that I did before. No, he’s slowly dropping the walls and letting me peek beneath that glossy veneer. Showing me his true depths, the thoughts that occupy his mind. It just makes me want more of him, as much as he’s willing to give…something that could prove to be dangerous to my stupidly hopeful heart.

I fear I’m starting to fall for this man.