Page 45 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

“Sorry. Yeah, okay. How much do you want me to move?”

“Enough to get at least one rug burn,” I tell him.

“Okay. Can you brace yourself? And please tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will,” I assure him.

“Okay.”

His hips flex once, and I yelp. “Wait!”

“Gah!” His eyes fly open, and his hands leave my hips, going over his head as he flexes his fingers in a signal of surrender. “I’m stopping right now. I’m so sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t that. You feel amazing, honestly. So, so good. You’re not hurting me at all.” He relaxes beneath me, but I can still feel how hard he is inside me. The dichotomy of that threatens to blow my brain apart. “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to change positions or something. Or if this is okay.”

“This is more than okay if you’re okay.”

I kiss him, taking my time. “It’s okay,” I whisper against his lips. He tangles his hand in my hair and brings my face down to his, hard, crashing our mouths together so he can really claim mine. I love being kissed like this and love the way it kind of hurts, and it’s messy and skilled all at the same time, and so, so perfect. It kind of feels a little like he’s claiming me, but it feelsa heck of a lot like he’s asking to be claimed, too, and I’ve never had that with anyone before.

All the intimacy we had came before this, but this is a new level—a physical level that’s beyond even just that. This man knows my secrets, and he knows the hardest parts of my life. I’ve seen him ashamed, gripped by panic, crying, and also his eyes glittering with joy. I’ve seen his generous heart laid bare for me and even for my family, heard him laugh, seen him trying to open a damn jelly jar, and watched pleasure roll through him as he gave it all to me. We shared all that before we shared this, and it’s like we were naked long before we were actually naked, but being really naked is crazy wonderful, too.

Still kissing me furiously, Darius guides my hips gently. He uses one hand on the front while the other is splayed across my back, and I feel so perfectly steadied like that. So perfectly one with him and so perfectly his. He matches the rolling motion, thrusting with me, never giving too much, and not being pushy. He’s polite, a gentleman, and thinking that makes me want to laugh, like snort-laugh, but thankfully, all it translates to is a whimper against his lips. He eats the whimper as I feed it to him, making it his own.

I lean forward a little more and grind my clit against him. I can feel him moving inside me, not just pulsing but thrusting and hitting spots I definitely haven’t discovered on my own. I haven’t been particularly adventurous when it comes to this. In combination with the roll of my own hips and every movement grinding against my clit and sending a thousand white-hot sensations through me, I’m nearly finished.

I throw my head back, straightening up and rolling my hips over and over. I’ve probably gone full-on wanton, but at this point, I don’t care. I’m aware of my loose hair trickling down my back and Darius’ powerful body moving in tandem with mine.He’s all pent-up energy and unleashed strength, and he’s doing it for me, keeping himself in check for me.

“I can feel you pulsing around me,” he groans, talking dirty to me again, telling me the truth, and making me so damn hot that I’m an inferno of flames. I grasp his hips tightly with my thighs and dig my heels into the floor. My knees are scalded by the rug, and I never thought it would count, but maybe I’m earning some points, too. My fingers dig into Darius’ chest, and at this point, all I can do is hang on against the onslaught of pleasure rolling up, curling up, and roiling inside me, a storm about to crash over me that I can see coming this time.

I do see it coming, but the storm gets to me long before I expected it would. It cracks over me, dousing me in a deluge of rain that is hot—so, so hot.

I’m coming over and over again, the heat battling me, or maybe I’m battling it. My body is closing around Darius, pulsing around him, and breaking around him like the storm is breaking over me. He’s thrusting harder, and I can feel him through the haze of pleasure and the thick soup of my brain. I can hear him roar as he comes, and he’s all tight heat inside me. He’s still throbbing so deep that I don’t think he can get any further. The condom keeps me from feeling all of his release, but it still steals my breath, experiencing how glorious he feels below me and how he fits in every way despite all my doubts earlier.

I let all the pent-up emotion I’ve been keeping in for all these years spill out of me on a long exhale before I fold myself forward, collapsing onto Darius and pressing my forehead against his. His hands caress my back, soothing me silently and asking me if I’m okay. I nod just once against him. Our foreheads are kind of clammy together, but I don’t mind it in the least.

He gives me a few minutes to recover, and he’s so careful in helping me off of him. He’s still hard, which is crazy. He circles my waist with one arm and lifts me up. I can’t believe hisstrength as he hoists me into his arms and sets me down gently on one side of his bed.

“Can you stay for a minute?” he asks.

“I’ll stay all night if you’ll let me.” I didn’t mean to say that, but we don’t have much of a night left anyway since it’s probably four or five in the morning now.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

He goes into the en suite bathroom to clean up. I hear water running, and then he’s back with a warm washcloth in hand. My thighs are soaking wet, and my knees are indeed a bright, glistening red. I’m so sore between my legs that I could scream, but it’s a good scream and a good kind of soreness that I’ll probably feel all day.

“It’s okay. I don’t need that.” I’m content to just pull the sheets over myself and let the soreness linger.

He goes back into the bathroom and comes back empty-handed. I’m so happy when he gets into bed that my throat closes up, and my nose burns with unshed tears. I know this is like post-coital bliss or whatever term people use for it. Afterglow or whatever. I’m just being sentimental because of the orgasms.

I know that’s a lie. I don’t have to tell myself lies, and it’s okay to let myself do this. I think.

“We need to talk,” I whisper as he slips his arms around my waist and pulls me close. I tuck my bare bottom up against his groin, and he groans and then groans again when I wriggle away and come back. I realize maybe that isn’t the best position, given he’s like petrified steel at the moment, so I flip onto my side, draping an arm over him and placing my cheek on his chest. “Should I take care of you?”

“Like right now? In that way?”

“Yeah. And you know what way,” I say.

“No.” He runs his fingers through my hair, gently finger-combing the strands. “You’re exhausted.”

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