Page 41 of The Boss' Pet

I roll over to see Marcus in bed next to me, entirely naked. His big, muscular arms are up, his hands folded behind his head. The sheets have been pushed down to his waist, so I can see every inch of his torso. There’s dark hair across his chest and under his arms, and in a tantalizing trail that runs down from his bellybutton and beneath the sheets.

Seeing him like this in the clear light of day makes me feel immediately shy and exposed. I am very aware that I am not wearing anything. Even though he’s fucked me before, it’s different when it happens in some twisted, kinky context.

This is something else. This is almost innocent.

“Good morning,” he smiles.

“Morning,” I mumble, sinking down in the bed and pulling the sheet up to my face.

“What’s wrong, pet?”

I shake my head in response, instead of saying nothing, which would be a lie.

Marcus chuckles and reaches for me, his hand encircling my upper arm as he pulls me close for a cuddle. There is a bit of trapped sheet between us, but other than that, I find myself in full contact with his body. His naked body. I feel his hot skin against mine. I feel how firm his muscles are, and how strong he is. The slightest movement of his body makes all of him flex.

“This is the quietest I have ever seen you,” he comments. “What happened to my sassy little pet?”

“I don’t know.” I practically whisper the response.

He pulls me up further, directly on top of him. My body is much smaller than his, and he makes for a very sensual bed. My breasts are pressed against his pecs. I feel the roughness of his chest hair tickling my nipples in a way that surely should not be as sensual as it is. Everything about this man turns me on.

He runs his fingers through my hair and pulls me down for a kiss, before snuggling me tight again, his big muscular arms wrapping around me.

There is more going on down below. My thighs spread naturally around his waist, which puts the sensitive anatomy between my legs right at the tip of his incredible morning erection.

He pushes inside me with a flexing motion of his hips.

This isn’t twisted kinky play. He is making love to me. He is holding me in a way that makes me feel incredibly cherished and cared for. The pleasure is almost secondary to the emotional connection I feel as he keeps me where he wants me, gazes into my eyes, and fucks me the way I so desperately needed to be fucked the moment I felt his cock press against my inner thigh.

“You are such a good girl,” he praises me. “You were a perfect little pet last night. You did everything I asked of you, and more. And now look at you. Flushed and filled with my cock, wanting more of my come. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

“Yes,” I admit in a soft moan.

This is all I want. This is all I think I will ever be capable of wanting. This feels like all of my desires being fulfilled at once. This is proper, wholesome, romantic love.

“I need to go out today,” I tell him once we’ve rearranged our clothes and brains and I feel more normal.

“Why?” He gives me a sharp look, as if I might be up to something.

“My friends are worried about me. I can’t just fall off the face of the planet.”

“True,” he says. “And I have my own business to attend to. Very well, pet. You may go out for the evening.”

There’s a sassy part of me that makes me want to thank him with more attitude than he would appreciate, but I manage not to.

“I want you back here no later than eight,” he says. “You can call Peter when you want a ride, okay?”

“Does that mean I get my phone back?” He took my phone when he took my jacket off at the Embassy, and he never gave it back.

“Yes,” he says. “Well. Sort of. I got you a new one. All the contacts and messages have been transferred over.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that this phone is obviously as tapped as a phone can get. There’s not a word on this thing that won’t be transmitted directly to him. Fine. And obviously he’ll be able to track me, but he can already do that.

“Thank you?” I try not to put the question mark at the end of the comment, but I can’t help myself.

“You’re welcome,” he says, ignoring my inflection.

“I’m going to need casual clothes, though. Is there any chance some of them made it here, or…”

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