“I’m serious. You’re doing the work and making good choices. If he doesn’t like you or wants to put you in some designated box, then fuck him.”
He laughs and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. “God, Leighton, why is it so sexy when you swear?”
I smile and hop down from the counter. “It could end up being a better manager, you know. One who is more on your side than Vega.”
He tilts his head in agreement. “True.”
“Let’s eat your feelings and see that there could be a brighter side to this.” I reach for some chips from the cabinet, stretching, trying to get a finger on the bag, but still having no luck.
“Take off your shirt.” His voice is deeper, more commanding, and my nipples pebble at just the sound of it. I turn to him, and he’s staring at where my tank is rising up my stomach. “Please?”
I drop down to flat feet and turn to face him. His gaze is on my tits. Slowly, I slide my arms out of my pajama shirt, letting the fabric drop to the floor and leaving me in my white tank top.
“You had to go no bra, didn’t you?” His tongue slides out of his mouth and runs along his bottom lip.
The sight of it makes the space between my legs ache in the best way.
I guess the entire manager dilemma is done, and we’re back to us.
I shrug. “You said you wanted to see my tits.”
Using that word feels a little weird. I’ve never been one to talk dirty or be vocal when it came to sex.
“I can’t wait to feel the weight of them in my palms.” He sucks in a breath and crooks his finger at me.
I walk over to him, and his eyes never stray from my tits.
When I get close, he slinks down from the counter. “Do you know how sexy you are?”
I’m not sure how to answer. I’ve never felt sexy except when he looks at me. Cute is the word I hear most often, never sexy.
He brushes his finger over my shirt where my pebbled nipples poke out. I inhale a sharp breath.
“You like that?” His brown eyes seem even darker somehow.
I nod. He does it again, earning the same reaction, except this time my back arches into his hands, wanting more. With his left hand, he palms my breast, running his thumb over my nipple with such soft pressure, my pussy quivers. A wicked grin crosses his face, and he dips his head, taking my right nipple into his mouth through my tank top.
Oh shit, that feels really, really good.
He swings an arm around my waist, lifting me and propping me up on the counter, mouth still on my breast.
“Perfection,” he murmurs against the wet fabric, grabbing the hem of my shirt and slowly pulling it up my body.
I raise my hands, and he tosses it somewhere behind us.
Then he stares at my tits for a moment before lifting his gaze to mine. “Just like I imagined when I was beating off all these years.”
The thought of him masturbating to thoughts of me makes that quiver in my pussy turn into an ache.
I take his hand and bring it to my breast. “They’re yours now.”
His lids grow heavy, and he pinches my nipple. “Fuck yeah, they are.”
Then he takes my hand and leads it down his chest to the waistband of his sweats. He’s going commando, and his hot, thick cock twitches in my palm. “And this is yours.”
I’m not sure I can breathe. This is really happening, right?
He slips my hand out of his pants and picks me up, carrying me over to the couch. But he doesn’t place me on the cushions. Instead, he lets my feet hit the floor and falls to his knees before me.
