The Boss Vol. 3: a Hot Billionaire Romance (3 page)

I
turned
and dragged him forward. His nostrils flared, but he followed. When he figured out where I was going, his shoulders relaxed a fraction, but not his face.

No, that intense face was ever present when I touched him.

I wondered if my own was the same.

We went down a hallway that was near-camouflaged with the blinding white of the walls. There was a tiny nook of space with a door that led to the framing room. I reached behind me for the sliding door, opening it and pulling him inside.

Just a few minutes.

It was all I could spare, and all I could really survive.

He slid the door closed , and the lock seemed so loud. Would everyone know I was back here? I released his tie, backing up until I bumped into the framing table. Canvas and matte board scattered under my palms.

Blake strode across the small space in three strides. He tore at his tie and three buttons opened. Tanned flesh and sepia slashes swirled over his chest. He lifted me up and planted me on the table.

I couldn’t stop myself.

I needed to touch. I leaned into him, and his warm, spicy orange scent hit me just before my tongue swiped over his skin. He gripped my hair, directing my aim up.

I wasn’t through with him. Not here, not in my space. I wanted to touch him. Especially his skin. I pushed open his shirt and snapped out of his hold. I looked up at him as I curled the tip of my tongue over his nipple.

His fingers dug into my neck, but he let me coast around the firm muscles and the dip of stretched landscape to the center of his chest. Smooth. Flawless save for tiny little scars here and there. I traced my nail over the cartography and tiny numbers of longitude and latitude that were almost burned into his flesh. At least the tattoo made it look that way. So delicate and so rich in artistry. And always covered.

I wanted to rip open his shirt and see it all.

I tugged his shirttails out and pushed the fabric off his shoulder. God, so much more to see. I frowned. I knew those maps. It was the coast of Marblehead, Salem, and Manchester Bay. A detailed seafaring compass was open and more numbers were scattered into the design.

My home.

Why was he marked with places near me?

“I’m not who you think I am.”

His words dented the haze of lust. Who had he been before Blake Carson, creator of the glass empire?

He dragged my attention—and my mouth—back to his neck and up to his mouth. The kiss was drugging and mind-erasing. He shifted and a whisper of silk made me open my eyes. And his lips were gone.

“Blake?”

He shrugged his shirt back on, and then wrapped his burgundy-colored tie around my wrists. “You haven’t really grasped the idea of a quickie, have you, Ms. Copeland?”

My mouth went dry as he brought the ends between my hands and tucked them into the curve of my fingers. I could get free if I wanted. Okay, maybe with a little wiggling, but I could get free.

He lifted my joined hands and hooked them around his neck. “Hold on, Ms. Copeland.”

I squeaked when he picked me up, pushing my skirt up before setting me back on the table. It was an old drafting table, and sturdy as hell. I was pretty sure I was just about to find out how sturdy.

“Stockings?”

I swallowed hard as he ran his hands up my inner thighs. Worse. Pantyhose. The seriously most unsexy garments made in the history of man. I squirmed, but he simply drew me closer to the edge of the table. He hovered his lips over mine as he found the seam between my legs and dug his fingers in.

I gasped at the rending of silk and the sudden cool air across the apex of my legs.

“They were in my way.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” I muttered.

He nudged my panties aside. “No.” Then he covered my mouth and he slowly slid two fingers inside of me. I groaned around the invasion of his tongue and fingers at the same time. I wanted to clamp my legs shut, but his hips were in the way.

Too much.

Not enough.

I curled my arms around his neck. Hindered by my bindings, I couldn’t pull myself up higher, push forward for something deeper. I was completely at his mercy.

I tore my mouth away, my cheek pressing against his bearded one. “Quickie, you say?”

“I changed my mind.” His strokes were slow and methodical, and his mouth went from drugging to melting as he sipped from my collarbone and pushed the strap of my dress out of the way. “What else do we have under here?”

“Not fair.” He’d stopped me from exploring, dammit.

He lifted his head until my arms were stretched, and his fingers slipped from my body. He flicked his belt tail free, and the clink of the needle hitting his buckle as he opened his pants sounded so damn loud. “I don’t play fair, Ms. Copeland.”

He ducked lower, dragging his teeth over the brocade top of my dress. The sound of his teeth tugging at the lace and tiny bits of embroidery over my nipples stalled any breath I had left in my lungs.

“Blake.” I tried to hold on to his neck and the longer silky strands of his hair, but he had a plan.

He crouched in front of me at the table and widened my thighs. “You wouldn’t want them to hear you, now would you?” He held a finger—one that just had been inside me—in front of his lips.

“Oh God,” I whispered. With nothing but his shoulders to hang on to, I ended up flat on my back when he tipped my knees up to get closer. When I tried to struggle up again, he pressed a hand over my bunched up dress.

And then he was there, between my thighs. He pushed my panties aside and lapped at me—gently at first. Such a slow and thorough taste that I squirmed from the pleasure and the onslaught of Blake learning every part of me. This wasn’t what we were about. It was the quick and dirty with clothes still on. It wasn’t the fringes of romance where a man wanted to please his woman.

I lifted to his mouth. I didn’t want to. I wanted to push him away, but I lifted for him. I rested my heel on his shoulder as he took more—demanded all. I lifted my tied hands to my mouth and bit into the tie. Anything to muffle the cries that wanted to erupt from me.

I thrashed on the table and he held me down. With just that one hand, he held me still and used his other hand ruthlessly. His thumb along my clit worked in symphony with his mouth until my thighs quaked and the skylight above me was nothing more than a blur of blue and white.

When I didn’t think I could take any more, he finally stood. He pulled me to the edge of the table, and I heard the snap of latex.

Oh, thank God
.

I curled my legs around his hips, digging my heels into the loosened pants, into his hips and the delicious curve of his ass.

“Yes.” The word was a litany in my head and out of my mouth. He swiped the head of his cock along my swollen pussy. I was so beyond ready for him I couldn’t breathe around the pleasure.

I looked down at him, and tried to struggle up so I could get myself wrapped around every bit of him. He wasn’t having any of that. Instead, he stretched out over me and lifted my tied hands over my head.

“Grace.”

His eyes were wild, his lips wet from me, and his control was as shattered as mine.

He closed his eyes as he sank into me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get my arms around his neck and touch him. I arched up under him as he decimated any need to move. His hips drove into me until the table shuddered and I groaned.

“More,” I said.

His eyes snapped open. A single drop of sweat slipped down the curve of his cheekbone to his beard and I reached up for it. I licked there and over to his mouth. My scent was all over him. I wanted it. I wanted to taste my pleasure on his tongue and lips.

I lifted enough to get our lips to align and he moaned deep into my mouth. I inhaled his breath and sucked on his tongue. His fingers tightened on my wrists. I arched, dragging my teeth down his chin to his neck.

“Fuck.” He tried to move away from me, but I wanted a piece of the madness. I was tired of being the one who reacted to him.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and matched him thrust for thrust, stride for stride. “Fuck me harder,” I growled into his neck.

He cursed and curled his arm around my waist before he dragged me up. Just what I wanted. I curled around him and the friction made my brain fuzz. I wanted him insane like me. I wanted it more than I wanted the orgasm that was reaching for me with greedy claws.

This angle let him drive deeper and we both muttered filthy words around each other’s lips. It was freeing. To allow myself to tell him what I needed. Even when I couldn’t quite understand it, he did.

He tucked an arm under my knee and lunged deeper. The whole damn table was banging against the cement. Quiet had gone out the window, but I didn’t care. There was enough banging in the gallery that maybe no one would notice.

Maybe.

Please, God
.

I wrenched at my wrists and the tie finally came free, sliding to the floor. I scraped my nails through his hair and brought his forehead down to meet mine. “More,” I choked out.

“This cunt is mine. I will fuck you until you can’t move, until we can’t hate anymore.”

I held on tighter and shuddered at his harsh words. Was there a way to fuck the hate out? If there was, this man would do it. I quaked around his punishing thrusts. The burn of our bodies rubbing, his sheer size, and the overwhelming exhaustion broke me.

He held me tight as I cried out. As my body was no longer my own. As it indeed became his, and the room faded to a whitewash, then of rushing color behind my eyelids. Mind-bending pleasure flipped me inside out until everything was too much.

“Grace.”

My name melted into the frenzy and I sobbed against his neck. His hips jerked against my thighs, and I held on. He tried to struggle away, but I wouldn’t allow it.

If I had to show him where my madness was, he had to give me his.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, my hands cupping the back of his head as his dark eyes went opaque and he emptied himself in me. And where he would normally withdraw, I didn’t allow it.

I held on to him.

I kissed him.

I let myself love him.

I
wasn’t
sure what to do now.

Fighting and recriminations usually started about now. In fact, I was a little afraid to stop holding him. We didn’t know how to do the after. We kinda sucked at the before too.

We were really amazing at the sex part.

He eased away from me, but for the first time, he didn’t turn away. He cupped my face and kissed me so softly that my vision blurred—again. What the hell was this man doing to me?

I opened my mouth. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but a tentative call of my name killed whatever pseudo-speech I was going to come up with.

“Blake,” I whispered. “Buckle up.”

He frowned down at me, his dark eyes losing that blissful softness. The Billionaire Tight Ass Blake was coming back.

Again, I heard my name being called. “Dammit, Linda.”

His eyebrow quirked. “Who?”

I shoved him back a step and hopped off the table. “Don’t you hear that? Crap. Where’s my shoe?”

“I believe it was digging into my glutes. They should still be on your feet.”

I laughed up at him as I snagged one heel from under the table. “Your ass, Blake. You have my heel prints in your ass.”

“Not the first time either.”

“Right.” I cleared my throat. “I’m not exactly sure what to say.”

Reserved Blake was taking over. I could see the transformation. He took care of the condom with a flash of linen from his inside pocket, then tucked it away in his pocket. But instead of a quick fix of his shirt, he slowly buttoned from the middle of his belly up.

I wasn’t quite sure when I’d loosened more buttons. It might have been when I’d turned into a living vine around him. It might have been when I was ripping at his clothes to get him closer. There had been a lot of insanity in those moments.

I stepped into my shoes and shimmied the skirt of my dress down. My pantyhose were destroyed, but it would be a little obvious that I’d gone from black stocking-clad legs to my fair skin. I just prayed that the runs in the silk would hold out until I could change.

Hmm. I might have another pair in my old desk.

When I noticed he was almost to his neck with his buttons, and the collar was already flipped up, I stepped into him and stilled his hands and brought them to his sides. Deep brown eyes flashed and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. I crouched in front of him.

“Fuck.”

I swiped his tie off the floor. On my way back up, I locked eyes with him as I brushed my nose over the front of his pants. He was still semi-hard for me. When his fingers tightened into fists, I opened my mouth and fanned his rapidly lengthening shaft with my breath.

His muscles locked from thigh to belly and shoulders—all of it was fascinating to watch.

It was because of me. I made him this way, but I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to let this moment go. I grazed my teeth over his cock, flicking my tongue along the outline of his head before I stood.

I wrapped his tie around my palms, dragging that up his length as well. I lifted my arms up, letting one of the ends unspool so I could get around his neck. He was incredibly tall and I was an inch above petite standards.

I draped the tie around his neck, adjusting until the wider end was longer. I’m not sure what it was about tying a tie that made my blood buzz and heat, but it seemed to be even worse when it involved Blake. I kept it simple with a standard Windsor knot. Mostly because of time. Maybe a little because my fingers were shaking.

The intimacy of it quickened my heart rate. His scent left me lightheaded, but it was his stillness that left me breathless. As if I was leashing something too wild to tame.

His eyes were mere slits as he allowed me to dress him. Before I pulled the knot up, I buttoned the last one at the top. His bearded skin tickled the back of my fingers. The linen of his shirt was crisp and stiff, but I finally managed to get the disk through the hole.

I tightened his tie and used the ends to pull him down to me. We watched each other as we kissed. The slow glide of our lips—without the usual crushing bites and sliding tongues—became an exploration.

His hand slid around my hip and up my back. A gentle brush of fingertips up my spine, between my shoulder blades, into the wild knots my hair had become.

I fell into the kiss, closing my eyes as I swayed into his arms. Just as he relaxed into me, the sliding door rattled.

“Grace? Are you in there?”

I groaned. “Phil.”

He gently pushed my hair back, and around my ear. “Phil?”

“Philomena Stanwick.”

“Your former employer.”

I squared my shoulders. “Current. You took care of that.”

“Dammit, Grace.”

I rolled my eyes. “My first name is always said in exasperation.”

“Or when I’m coming inside you.”

The flash of heat and anger in his eyes fired me up again. I backed out of his arms. “Don’t.”

His fingers tightened at his sides again. “You don’t like the truth?”

I so didn’t have time for a Blake temper tantrum. It was brewing now—words like truth and consequences were our triggers after all. I hurried to the door and flicked the lock before sliding the door open an inch. “Sorry, Phil. I was just…”

She looked over my head, then back down at me with a gleeful smile. “Why, Grace.”

“Oh, don’t start.” I pushed her back, following her out into a cloud of Chanel.

She looked over her shoulder at me as I urged her down the small hallway to the Cove Room. “Don’t be embarrassed, dear. You’re single. And I know he is. Boston’s most eligible bachelor. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I sighed. “Because there’s nothing to tell.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that who you were working for?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Why—how? Never mind.” Of course Philomena figured it out.

“Is that why you couldn’t work for him anymore?”

“No. He fired me, remember?”

“So that he could sleep with you?”

“Oh my God.” My chin dropped to my chest. “Can we not discuss this? You obviously needed me for something.”

She craned her neck around to look down the hall, but I moved in front of her to block her from going back to where Blake was. “Yes.” She finally snapped in. “Yes, that lazy little shit Brody isn’t coming with his piece.”

“Phil, why do you keep offering him spots?”

“Because he sells, darling. And he sells big. The stupid child has lost his hunger now that he has money. You’d think he’d want more like the rest of the artists I deal with, but no.”

I rolled my eyes. It was a familiar refrain. I’d kill to be able to sell my work like Brody Nelson did. He wasn’t even twenty and already had more sales and more ego than artists forty years his senior.

The fairness was in the negative numbers by about a million.

Philomena gave a dramatic wave of her hands over the empty pedestal. “I gave him the best placement, of course. I could rearrange the entire show and make this room a showcase for Robert Singer, but I just don’t have the time.”

I have a piece.

The voice was as loud as a trumpet in my head, but I couldn’t get it past my lips.

Not ready.

Not ready.

Ready. It was so ready. Shut up, Negative Nancy voice.

I wrapped my arms around my middle. I never wanted to use my friends as a way to sell my work, least of all Phil, but desperate times…

“I have one.”

Her gaze snapped to mine. “You do?”

I gnawed on my lower lip.
Just spit it out, Grace.
“Just finished last night actually.”

“You’ve always sold well in the past. Can you get it here? How big is it?”

My belly fluttered with nerves and hope. “I don’t want to push it on you.”

“Stop.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “As I said, you’ve always sold well for the gallery. You’re doing me a favor.”

I tipped my head to the side. “Come on, Phil.”

She waved me off and placed her hands on her hips. “What do I have this place for if I can’t help a friend or two? Besides, you’re like a daughter to me. Of course, I want to put your piece in here. I should have thought to do it sooner.”

My eyes prickled. “It’s a little different than my usual stuff.”

Her shrewd hazel eyes lit with interest. “Oh?”

“It’s a bigger piece.”

“Is it a window?”

“No. A sculpture.”

“Then yes, definitely. Can you go get it?”

A wide set of shoulders drew my eyes away from Phil. “I…”

“Do you need someone to help you?”

Blake nodded to me as he strode across the room to the archway. He stopped there and gave me a slow half-smile. Just the corner of his mouth turning up. So very much like the first time I met him. Then he was gone.

“Grace?”

“What? Oh, yes.” I moved forward and caught Phil’s hands. “I’ll go get it now. Thank you.”

“Well, go ahead.” She squeezed my hands back. “And maybe a new dress? Something less…mangled.”

I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “Right. Of course.”

Philomena turned around, and citron and gold sparkled against her all black layers. She waved from the doorway. “Off you go, dear.”

I ran back to the frame room, but Blake had erased any proof we’d been in there. In fact, it was too neat. He’d cleaned off the table, even so far as dumping scraps in the correct recycling bins.

I didn’t know quite what to think about that, so I backed out and closed the door once more. I scooped up my iPad from the empty pedestal and the butterflies returned to nest in my belly.

My sculpture would be there for everyone to see.

Tonight.

Before I lost my nerve, I escaped the Cove Room and dropped the iPad into the charging rack. I pulled out my purse from under the desk and ran into Jax again on the way.

“Where’s the fire, Grace?” He folded his arms. “Actually, looks like the fire has already been put out.”

“Jax.”

He lifted one finger off his forearm. “Hair is a bit wilder, cheeks flushed, and there’s a whole lot less stress in those shoulders.”

“Shut up, Jax.”

He laughed. “I’m jealous. And if it was the same guy who just glowered at me on the way by not five minutes ago, then I’m thinking you need to go for another round. He’s still wound up.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “We are definitely not discussing this. Where’s Linda?”

He grinned. “In recovery.”

“Oh God. You didn’t.”

He threw his head back, his chuckle throaty and delighted. “Not that kind of recovery.”

“Never know with you.” I flipped my keys around my fingers and into my palm. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

I turned around at the door, pushing it open with my butt. “To go get my future.”