Page 70 of My Forbidden Boss

“I don’t want to stop.” I say. I tug his pants over his hips, baring him to me, lean forward and swallow the head of his dick.

He groans as his fingers tangle in my hair. His eyes flutter shut and his head drops back. I can’t keep my hands off him. I palm his thick thighs, his hips, cup his heavy balls, and it’s still not enough. His hips jerk as I play. The salty taste of him fills my mouth when I wrap a hand around the base of his erection and stroke him in time with my mouth. I lick the slit at the top of his head before filling my mouth with him.

“Ah, love. I won’t last if you keep doing that,” he rasps.

“That’s the point,” I say. I lick the underside of his cock from base to tip before he moves away from me. I want him to erupt in my hands. I want to be the cause of his loss of control.

“Then two can play this game.” He pushes my shoulders and I fall to the bed before he’s on me.

His tongue fills my mouth as he tears open my blouse, ripping off the buttons. His mouth slides to my earlobe, and he sucks. Sparks fly through me. Need boils within me and I shift, restless on the bed.

Cool air whispers across my bared front. His hand covers my breast, searing hot. He squeezes gently and my nipple beads into a diamond point. I don’t want gentle. I want fast. Hard.

Him.

I reach between us, cup his balls, and roll them in my palm. The groan that rises from his chest vibrates through me. His hand tightens, shakes, and then he’s kissing a path down my neck, reaching behind me to unfasten my bra. He lifts my bra and then his mouth encases a breast while his fingers pinch the nipple of the other

I jerk because this is exactly what I want. He uses his heavier body weight to press me into the mattress as he devours my breasts. First one and then the other as though he can’t decide which one he wants to suck.

“Want you. So bad. Can’t keep my hands off you,” he pants between my breasts.

“I don’t want you to.” I want nothing else in the world. I’ll have his hands on me whenever he feels like it. He doesn’t have to ask. He can take what he wants because I’ll give him everything.

My body. My heart. My soul. They are his.

To take. To use. To crush.

He kisses a path down the center of my body, unclasps my pants, hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of my underwear before he slides my clothing free from my body. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ask. He dips his head and sucks my clit while he slides a finger inside me and I part my thighs eagerly.

I scream as an orgasm crashes through my body. He holds me while I writhe, overcome with its intensity. He draws it out, laving my clit, sliding his tongue through my seam and thrusting his fingers inside me.

His mouth is wet. His tongue hot. I burn as I climax again.

My arms pool uselessly against my side as he rises above me, his mouth and chin shining with my pleasure. He kisses my stomach, my hips, his hands gliding up my body as though he can’t stop touching me any way he can.

He turns me, bringing me to my knees and kneels behind me. My face is on a pillow, my hips high, open and waiting for him. His cock slides between my parted thighs. He bends over me, his heated chest searing my back. He strokes my hips, my arms, and I turn to kiss him as he slides his thick length into me.

I gasp as he enters me smoothly. No resistance. My body is already pliant from the multiple orgasms he’s given me. I welcome him inside. He whispers how much he adores me. How he can’t believe he has me here in his bed. He promises to look after me. To care for me. How he wants me forever.

They are words of worship. Of devotion.

I offer them back to him and more.

I give him everything. The power is in his hands. He can destroy me.

And because of my weakness, that is my gift to him.

I take and take and take from him. For three days I take. We eat. Sleep. Make love. I gift myself these days. Forget about the darkness hovering on the edge of my joy, bubbling away. Growing harder, higher, rearing up and ready to snatch it away.

We leave our oasis on a weekday morning and fly back to New York. I keep the darkness back, fighting for inches of sunshine while I can, so that when we reach the office and Andrea greets us by walking from behind her desk I’m unprepared.

She hands David a piece of white paper. He takes it from her and reads it. The edges shake. While his frown deepens, the darkness bleeds into my gut. Where there was warmth, there is now is ice.

The church has it wrong. Hell isn’t fire and brimstone, screaming souls and limitless torture. It’s much worse than that.

It’s frigid. Barren. Endless loneliness. The absence of light. Abandonment. Atonement. It’s when David stares at me with disbelief and open hurt in his eyes that he can’t cover fast enough. The light that is snuffed into dimness. The warmth gone. He looks at me as though I’m a stranger.

The darkness surges forward and I’m drowning.

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