“You didn’t accept my resignation.” I push at him again, but he grips my hips, settling me more firmly and straddling his lap. His cock is still hard, and, Sweet St. Nick, I want all that pastrami in my mouth.
He’s looking at me like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. His fingers caress my hips, and sensation shoots through me, making my nipples tingle.
“We can’t do this. What about—” I gulp. A chill trickles through me when I realize what I’ve just done. “What about Scary Sandra?”
“What about her?”
“She’s your…” I falter before sayinggirlfriend.I don’t know if Piers dates people. Once, in his early twenties, he was photographed out to dinner with every underwear model from the Victoria’s Secret spring catalog—all twenty-four of them at one long table—but I don’t know if that counts as dating. I do know that he hasn’t gone out with anyone since I started working for him. “You’re banging her.”
“I’m not banging her.”
I shake my head in horror. What have I done? I’m the other woman... I’m the worst.
“I’m not,” Piers shakes me. “I swear it on Marty’s grave.”
The pressure in my skull pops, leaving me limp with relief. He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it. He never mentions Marty if he can help it.
“What if I told you I haven’t been intimate with anyone in almost five years?”
“What? Why?” My world wobbles on its axis.
“Wellesley,” his voice turns warm. “Are you really asking me that?” He’s looking at me with such tenderness, it can’t be real.
Does scotch cause hallucinations?
“Four years, eleven months, and twenty-seven days I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “I just didn’t know it.”
Four years…That’s when he hired me. The day we met. I’d impressed him with intel about his competitors, and he hired me on the spot.
Does he mean he’s wanted to bang me? From day one?
It’s too much for me to believe. I keep shaking my head.
He stops me with another kiss. “It’s better than I imagined.”
What little strength I’ve gained in the past minute leaves my body, and I collapse against him. My boss has imagined kissing me?
“Is it so hard to believe?” He traces a finger along my collarbone.
“Oh god,” I whimper.
“You can call me Piers. ‘Milord,’ if you’re feeling medieval.”
I hide my face in my hands, and he chuckles.
“I always thought the Dread Lord was a mouthful.” He lifts my wet hair off my shoulder and drops his head to press his lips to my skin. “That’s what people call me, right?”
“Yes.” My answer is muffled by my palms.
“It’s okay, I like it. And that one time you called me ‘sir’ in an email, I had to jack off for an hour.”
His cock is hard under my butt, so… he’s not lying.
I whimper. I can’t deal.
“Enough.” He pecks me on the forehead. “Let’s get you out of this hell broth.” He lifts me in his arms. I feel so small and perfect, cradled against him. He carries me out of the hot tub, wraps me with a towel warmed on the rack, and draws me down to settle in his lap again, this time on the couch. His cock is still hard, and I keep wondering what’s next. But then my brain glitches out.
My boss wants me. He’s always wanted me. Not Scary Sandra. Me. ?????That’s where my brain keeps glitching.
