Page 38 of The Boss

Not Chantelle.Chris.

My stomach clenched. I went rigid, every inch of me suddenly hyper-aware of where I was, of the way my cock was lodged between the cheeks of his ass. A shiver slithered down my spine, a slow, traitorous thrill that had no business being there. The scent of him—clean, warm, tinged with the faintest trace of last night’s chamomile—lingered in the sheets, in my skin. I’d been holding him all night, spooning him like he was my fucking girlfriend. And worse—worse—was the way my cock twitched at the realization. I swallowed hard, pulse hammering in my throat.

This was wrong. It should have felt wrong.

Why the hell didn’t it?

I yanked my arm back, peeling myself away from him with careful movements. He didn’t stir, his face peaceful in unconsciousness. Deep, even breaths told me he was still asleep. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t realize I’d been grinding up against him like a horny teenager.

Ignoring the stubborn ache in my groin, I swung my legs over the other side of the bed and stood, scrubbing a hand over myface. A cold shower. That’s what I needed. Something to snap me the hell out of it.

I padded naked to the en suite, my erection bobbing with each step, but before entering the bathroom, I couldn’t resist one more look behind, at the sleeping boy in my bed. He was lying on his side, facing me, blond hair messy, head buried in the pillow. He looked younger like this, more vulnerable, and my heart felt heavy at the thought of what could have happened to him in that park.

I forced myself to turn and close the bathroom door behind me. The moment I stepped under the spray, I let out a long breath, tilting my head back, letting the water pound against my skin.

Chris. Alone. Out there in the dark.

I squeezed my eyes shut. It could have been worse. So much worse.

I could’ve lost him last night.

Last night, when he’d stumbled into my room, shaken and fragile, I’d wanted to pull him close and never let go. To promise him he was safe with me.

Protectiveness. That’s all it was. A natural reaction. I braced a hand against the shower wall, my chest tight. Then why did I feel like I’d almost lost something more? Why was my cock still throbbing as the image of his face burned so bright behind my closed eyes? I stroked myself fast, still feeling the echo of Chris’s body pressed against mine, his butt hugging my cock like it was molded to hold it. Even now, the phantom heat of him clung to me, an imprint I couldn’t shake. My hand moved faster, chasing relief that felt just out of reach, like trying to hold onto smoke. When I finally came, my breath shuddered out, my cum swirling down the drain, but instead of satisfaction, all I felt was hollow.

I stepped out of the shower, dried myself off, and pulled on a pair of gray basketball shorts I’d found in the bathroom. Noshirt or underwear. I rarely wore either at home, and right now, I didn’t care enough to bother.

Sneaking out of the bedroom as quietly as I could so as not to wake him, I shuffled barefoot into the kitchen. The tension still sat heavy in my chest, coiled tight like a fucking vise. But Chris was okay. He was safe. That was what mattered.

I set a pot of water on the stove, measuring out oats with automatic precision. He’ll need something warm and nourishing in his stomach when he wakes up. I moved through the motions, taking two bowls and pouring in a dose of vanilla-flavored protein powder, then adding almonds and berries. My body ran on muscle memory while my mind churned, tangled in last night. The way Chris had looked, curled into himself, all sharp angles and fragility. The way he’d clung to me, seeking warmth, seeking safety. My jaw tightened. No one should ever have to feel that vulnerable. Nothim.

My phone sat on the counter, face down. I should call Chantelle. We were supposed to browse for our future house today. I should let her know I wouldn’t make it. The thought was interrupted when I heard movement behind me.

Chris emerged from the hallway, barefoot, wearing nothing but his dark gray trunks. His hair stuck up in unruly tufts, sleep-tousled, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, a little puffy. But there was color in his face again. Life. A hell of an improvement from the way he’d looked last night. He yawned, rubbing his face before blinking blearily at me, his eyes traveling across my bare torso. “Morning.”

I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. “Sleep well?”

Chris hummed and padded over to the kitchen island, dropping onto one of the high stools with a dramatic sigh. “I feel fucking amazing compared to last night.”

I grabbed a couple of bowls from the cabinet. “You scared the shit out of me.”

His expression wavered, something guarded passing through his eyes. But he didn’t look away. “Sorry.”

I didn’t say it was fine. Because it wasn’t. Instead, I grabbed the pot, pouring steaming oatmeal into both bowls before sliding one in front of him. “Eat.”

Chris’s lips twitched like he wanted to argue, but instead, he picked up his spoon and took a bite.

Silence stretched between us for a moment, filled only by the scrape of spoons against ceramic. His eyes kept darting back to me, keen, as if he were studying each hair on my chest. I let him eat a few bites before I asked, “What the hell were you doing in that park?”

Chris was silent. He swallowed, a glimmer of hesitation crossing his face. Then he said, “I was looking for a hookup.”

I went still. For a second, I thought I’d misheard him.

But Chris just sat there, waiting, his expression blank. Like he was daring me to react.

Heat flared in my chest, and not the good kind. “You—” My voice came out rough. My grip tightened around my spoon until the metal bit into my palm. “You went to the park. Alone. At night. To hook up with some random guy?”

Chris scoffed. “Didn’t exactly get that far, did I?”

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