Page 8 of Tempted By the Bosshole

Tearing my lips free, I shove his tie aside and reach for the buttons of his shirt.

He grips my wrists. “Not here.”

I whimper. “But?—”

“Shh. I still intend to make you scream, but I’ve decided to take you somewhere I can take my time with you.”

Yes. Every part of me throbs in excitement. For him.

Still, I hate looking desperate. “What if I’ve changed my mind?”

“You haven’t.” He drags his thumb across my nipple again, his touch slow and subversive. “Have you?”

“No,” I pant. “God no.”

“Good girl.”

Those words shouldn’t excite me. But they do, especially when he slants his mouth over mine again. I lose myself in my mysterious stranger, inhaling the seductive scents of amber, sandalwood, and man. It’s not artificial, like cologne. It’s him.

I can’t stop touching him.

The feeling seems mutual when he slides his rough palms down to cup my ass and pulls me closer. I throw my arms around his neck and press myself against him.

God, I’ve never swooned from a kiss. I spent six years with Eric, and I’ve never felt so desperate to be touched.

This stranger is going to ruin me, and I don’t want to stop it.

Abruptly, he pulls free and searches my face. “Anyone you need to say goodbye to?”

“No. You?”

“Already done. Where’s your coat?”

“I didn’t bring one.” The displeasure tightening his face leaves me feeling chastened. “I forgot.”

“Wear mine.” He drapes his around my shoulders, then takes my hand. “We’ll leave down the back stairs.”

The stranger doesn’t give me time to think before he leads me from the party and to an unmarked door. My whole body throbs, single-mindedly focused on pulling off my clothes and begging this man to do his worst.

In the surprisingly dark stairwell, he wraps a steadying arm around me so I don’t fall in my too-high heels. “I’ll bring you back to your car in the morning.”

I’d rather have a way home if I need it. But…where is home now? “Okay.”

Finally, we reach the brightly lit parking lot. I turn and glance up at the stranger.

My jaw drops.

I suspected he would be hot, but this man… I bite my lip to hold in a moan.

He’s a god with a strong face, black eyes, and dark hair salty at the temples. Time and life have worn a frown line between his brows that makes him look deliciously stern. His five o’clock shadow frames a slash of a mouth and dusts a jaw so cut, he’ll probably slice me open. And the way he feels under his dress shirt? He obviously works out a lot.

He’s not just a man; he’s all man.

A wave of heat rolls up my body and settles impatiently between my legs.

He raises a dark brow at me. “Any objections?”

“No.”

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