Page 48 of Broken Boss

I slip through the door, taking in the large room again. Big windows looking out on a perfectly manicured hedge garden that blocks the neighbor’s yard and view. A king-size bed, dark comforter, plush pillows, the wood floor warm beneath my bare feet as I tiptoe in.

A frisson of want wells through me. Unlike the last time, at my apartment, I don’t try to stop it.

I’m finally admitting that I need Chris Sharpe.

The bathroom door is also ajar, steam playing at the edges of the room. Pushing the door open, my desire only deepens as I see his silhouette in the hazy room.

Through glass doors littered with water droplets, his muscled body is barely visible. He’s leaning with both hands against the opposite wall—water spraying over his broad shoulders and down his tapered waist, to the dimples just over his ass.

I bite my lip, warmth flooding my core, and shut the door behind me.

The click catches his attention. He turns quickly, soaked hair spinning droplets out like a crown, his dark eyes on me.

“Autumn.”

My name is a low rumble in his throat. He doesn’t seem surprised, and that only thrills me more. Without a word, I start stripping off my clothes—the oversized T-shirt I have on, the light gray sweatpants, the cream panties underneath. My breasts swing free of the shirt and his gaze drops to them.

I step toward the shower and Chris opens the glass door, making room for me, which isn’t hard. The shower space could easily be a small room in its own right. I’m just out of reach of the spray with more than enough room to move and stay dry, but instead, our eyes locked, I step under the water.

It pours down my back in warm rivulets that make me shudder. Chris keeps his distance, a foot between us, his expression wary as he takes in my naked, wet body.

Catching sight of his body wash, I open it and breathe in the scent of him. I want it all over me.

The creamy soap drips down my chest, breasts, and stomach, foaming as I rub it in leisurely, tipping my head to the side and closing my eyes. The water still rushes over my body, washing it away, leaving trails of bubbles.

Chris curls his lips.

He follows the rivulets down to the apex of my thighs. Just as he moves to get on his knees, I reach out and put a hand on his chest.

“No.”

He freezes.

A small surge of power goes through me. I’ve never felt in control of a man like this, not outside of the court room, but Chris watches me with eager eyes.

In this moment, I’m sure he’d do anything I tell him to.

“It’s my turn.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I kneel in front of him and look up, raking my hair back. It’s soaked, plastered to my lips and neck.

Chris swallows and nods.

He stands with his feet braced apart, cock already stiffening just inches from my lips. My mouth waters at the thought of having him like this. I’m out of the spray of water, but the air is warm and moist, enveloping me, making me feel both protected and bare as he reaches out to touch me.

His fingers follow the line of my jaw. He takes my chin in hand and stares down at me with those eyes like pools of darkness.

My breath quickens. Already, with just a tease of his touch, my pussy is wet. I tilt my hips back, wanting friction, wanting to touch myself.

Instead, I reach out and brace myself on his muscled thighs. I let my lips ghost over the head of his cock and it bounces, throbbing toward me. Tongue poked out between my lips, I take his shaft in hand and lightly lick at the tip, running it over my lips and cheeks.

Chris inhales sharply. With one hand, he leans against the wall over my head. The other barely grazes my shoulder, like he’s afraid to touch me.

I can feel the pulse of blood against my palm as I work him slowly, the water creating a frustrating kind of friction for us both. Rubbing my thighs together, I lean forward and take him in my mouth, bobbing forward until the first few inches of him are slick with my saliva.

He’s the perfect size. I want to do this, I want to please him, and that feeling is thrilling. It only makes me more wet and I moan around the head of his cock before dipping forward again, letting him hit the back of my throat, hearing his low groan.

The tiles beneath my knees are hard, but slippery in places. After a few seconds, the thought that I might lose my balance distracts me, so I dig my fingers into Chris’s ass and use his hard body as leverage to work my mouth over him again and again. With each lick and suck, he gets harder, throbs more insistently, starts muttering and saying things that don’t quite make sense. I’m only half listening, though, lost to the satisfaction of pleasuring him, wanting more of the salty drops I lick from the tip.

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