Page 40 of Sexy Bad Boss

Chapter Twelve

JAMES

I can’t really say the contest was a failure. First, Myra won, and, somehow, the prize turned into drinks with me, not Alex. And now my lovely admin, my favorite person in the world, is perched on my lap and we’re both covered in cookie dough.

Yes, she’s still in my employ, which makes this unethical and immoral and I should be ashamed, but I don’t care right now. I want more. More than a kiss, more than a few licks of heaven. I want Myra wrapped around my pole, and tonight, I’m going to have her. Funny, I had no idea I wanted her this badly, but at this moment, I can’t imagine not sleeping with her.

And I don’t want her to go, either. I don’t want her to move on, to move away, to leave me. I shouldn’t sleep with her, and yet, maybe Garrett was right. Maybe sex is what it will take to convince her to stay. She’s certainly compliant enough at the moment. In fact, unless I’m misreading her signals, she wants this as much as I do.

I don’t know how we’ll make this work in the long run, but right now, all I can focus on is her. Us. This thing that’s happening between us.

Her lips are so soft and plump. Like the juiciest, freshest peach. It’s no hardship to nibble on that fat lower lip, to lick my way inside her mouth, to cup her head and deepen the kiss, extending it on and on. I’m shifting in my chair, my erection rubbing against her ass. Without breaking the kiss, she starts moving, adjusting her position until she’s wrapping her legs around my body so that they’re draped over the back of the chair, resting between the two big wheels.

I drop my good hand to her thigh, below the hem of the skirt that’s bunched almost to her waist to allow room for her legs to spread enough to accommodate me and the wheelchair. The noticeable absence of cotton under my fingers makes them inch north until I’m squeezing her bare ass cheek, the briefest sensation of elastic and lace brushing against the tips. Somewhere along the line, she traded my boxer briefs for a thong, and, holy God, my vision’s going blurry with the sudden loss of blood in my brain as it all travels south at lightning speed, swelling my cock to the point it’s almost painful when she shifts her hips, rubbing along my length.

“My Supergirl,” I whisper, finally breaking the kiss so my tongue can chase bits of cookie dough down her neck to her chest. She arches, dropping her head against her shoulder while I fumble with the buttons on her shirt, releasing the rest of them so I can pull the garment over her arms.

I leave it there, trapping her, and she opens her eyes, her mouth slightly parted while her cheeks go a dusky pink. She doesn’t struggle to free herself from the constraints of the cotton. “You’re my kryptonite,” she whispers.

For an agonizing moment, I pause. I want to ask what she means. My recollection of those movies was kryptonite is a bad thing. It was Superman’s weakness. And Supergirl’s.

I don’t want to be her weakness. I want to build her up, put her on a pedestal, worship everything about her. Her mind, her body, her soul. I need to show her I can make her stronger, not weak.

Lifting my left hand, I cup her breast through the satin and lace of a peach-colored bra, running my thumb across her hardened nipple until she moans and throws her head back again. Then I grasp the stiff material and tug it down, freeing both breasts.

Leaning forward, I lick the shallow valley between them, lapping up sugar and chocolate and a taste that is distinctly Myra. Trailing wet kisses over her breast, I suck one nipple into my mouth while twisting the other between my thumb and forefinger. Her hips are moving, she’s grinding against my cock while clutching the sleeves of my shirt, faster and faster until she lets out a garbled sound and her body stiffens and I can feel the wetness of her arousal soaking into my pants.

“More,” she says on a gasp. “You. More. Inside me. Oh God, please, James.” She’s wiggling, struggling to free herself of her shirt while at the same time scrabbling at the buckle on my pants. I grab her hands in my one good one and press them against the top of her thigh.

“This time, I get to be in control,” I tell her, staring into eyes that widen while her breath quickens. “Which sounds weird since I’m your boss, but we both know you’re the one usually in control in our relationship. But this is different—a different aspect—and I want to be in charge.”

“I—you—”

I press a finger to her lips. “Shh. Let me pleasure you.”

“Oh.” It’s more a release of a breath than an actual word as she acquiesces.

I place my hand on her thigh again, pushing up, taking her skirt with it, until I catch a glimpse of a tiny triangle of peach lace covering her girly bits, that slice of heaven I feasted on earlier today. I want another taste, but don’t have the patience to figure out how to do it while we’re sitting in a wheelchair in the middle of my kitchen.

“Undo my pants,” I tell her while pushing a finger under the elastic and running it along her seam. It slides easily through her arousal, up to circle her nub, and she arches off my lap, clutching my biceps and moaning.

“If you want more, you need to undo my pants.”

Her color is high, her lids heavy over hazy eyes, like she can barely prop them open, and her breath is coming out in short pants. Given that look on her face, I would’ve released my member and impaled her already if not for the fact I’m down a hand.

“Myra.” I pull my fingers away from playing with her pussy and grasp one of her hands, guiding it to the bulge pressing against my zipper. My request—command?—finally clicks and she fumbles with the belt and then the button and finally the zipper, which hisses as she jerks the two sides apart. Impatiently, she flips my boxer briefs over the head of my cock, and it bounces and bobs like it can’t wait to play.

She slides her hand down the length of me, smoothing pre-cum along my shaft to make it easier for her to stroke. I grit my teeth as I harden until I’m practically granite under her touch. “I need—”

“I need you inside me.” Grabbing my shaft, she pushes up on her knees, positions me, and then slides down my length, her inner muscles pulsing as they stretch. When she starts to move with the urgency of the Energizer Bunny, I squeeze her hip.

“Hey, I’m supposed to lead.”

She bounces up and down again and then thrusts out that adorable bottom lip. “But it feels so good.”

“Yes, it does. So let’s make it last a little while.” With my good hand, I guide her at a more leisurely pace, which is damn near killing me because she’s right. This feels…