Page 13 of Broken Boss

His voice is low, a warning. But even in the dark, I can tell his eyes have narrowed. I have to act fast so he doesn’t ask questions; just earlier today I rebuffed him. He must be wondering why I’m suddenly making a move.

“I don’t like to mix pleasure and work,” I explain casually, starting to carefully pull my body into a kneeling position on the seat. “And I wouldn’t want everyone at work to know just how wet you make me.”

Internally, I roll my eyes. How many times have I boosted a man’s ego like this, just to get it over with? My hand wanders north, but before it can get to its destination, Chris reaches out and circles my wrist with his large fingers.

I look up in surprise.

His expression is dead serious. Stern, even.

“This isn’t a game.”

Frowning, I’m not sure how to respond. Based on what I know about Chris, I’d assume this was a game. He’s a notorious love-em-and-leave-em kind of guy, never seen with the same woman twice.

“I know,” I say quietly, pulling my hand back.

He doesn’t yank me closer, scowl, or start yelling. Relief washes over me as his shoulders go slack. It’s quiet in the car, the sound of the two of us breathing oddly calming. Outside, the park is empty except for a lone figure walking across it. This area is residential, but the lot we’re parked in is far enough away from the apartments that no one can see us. Trees tower over the car, blocking the silver light of the moon.

Unexpectedly, Chris reaches out a hand.

“Come here.”

“Wha-?”

With his other hand, he pulls a lever beneath his seat and it slides back smoothly. “Come here.”

It’s the perfect balance of cool and commanding. Without thinking, I start climbing over the seat and into his lap.

The position is precarious, but luckily, the skirt I’m wearing—wine red—is heavily pleated. It lifts and spreads around my thighs as I straddle Chris’s lap, the graze of his fingers on my bare inner thighs making my nipples tighten and peak.

The small space of the driver’s seat crushes us together. My breasts are in his face, and Chris’s eyelids drop heavily as he hums his approval. He buries his face in my tits, one hand moving to my ass and squeezing.

I’m wet immediately.

A surprised, delighted squeak slips out and Chris chuckles against my skin.

“Good girl. I want to know what you like.”

Another gush of damp heat at his words. Squirming, I try to figure out where to put my hands to brace myself. The back of the seat? No. His shoulders? The angle is wrong.

I settle on his chest, feeling his muscles bunch and contract as he uses both hands now to massage my ass slowly, kissing his way up from my chest to my throat.

Something throbs against my leg and I realize…he’s hard. There’s nothing but the fabric of his trousers and my panties between us, and both might as well be nonexistent with how well I can feel the outline of his erection. Unsurprisingly, Chris is the perfect size—not too big, not small. Thick enough to make me lick my lips and pant, canting my hips down to try and grind on him.

“Not yet,” he warns, reaching up to pull the wrapped neckline of my shirt away from my breasts. Deftly, his fingers pull the silk tie and they’re released—spilling out into his palms as he leans back and eyes my body.

My thighs are quaking and a hot blush covers my body. I have to close my eyes, unable to look at his face, because I’m enjoying this and I shouldn’t be.

Maybe that’s what makes it feel so good when he moves one hand and slips two fingers inside me.

There’s just enough friction to make me moan. Thank God his windows are tinted. I start rocking against him rhythmically, the heel of his hand hitting my clit and sending shockwaves of electricity to my core.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, licking and nibbling at my chest through the lace bra still encasing my tits.

Seconds later, Chris goes still.

I do, too, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

There’s no way he suspects that I’m using him—using sex—to get closer to him, right?

---