Page 10 of Ruthless Boss

Doubts still haunt me long after I put AJ to sleep and return to my bedroom.

As I brush my teeth, I hear a squeaky sound from Dante’s bedroom.

Is it AJ? Is she up?

The sound is similar to the little noises she makes when fidgeting, about to cry. I haven’t seen Dante yet, so maybe he hasn’t arrived. The man is gone a lot, so I assume he’s never around whenever I need to feed her in the middle of the night—and if he’s asleep, I go in and out of his bedroom without making a peep. I’ve mastered ignoring his strong physique in the big bed.

I rush to his suite, and when I go in, I check her crib.

She’s making baby gurgles in her sleep. I sigh. Maybe the tension from earlier is making me hear things, like people in horror movies or overwhelmed moms. I’m not her mom, but I spend every waking moment of her life with her. Enough time for me to start hearing noises that aren’t there.

I scan the room—Dante is not in his bed, but the door to the en-suite bathroom is open, and steam swirls out. He’s showering.

I eye the door to the hallway.

It’s easy to slip out of his bedroom and return to mine. The appropriate thing to do.

The right thing to do.

But the pulse—the pulse throbbing between my legs says otherwise.

I haven’t wanted to sleep with anyone for a long time. Honestly, I don’t even know what that’d be like. Sleeping with the boss is out of the question; it would only muddy the waters. But peeking quickly—really quickly—as he showers, albeit creepy, would give me enough fuel to have some fun with my vibrator later.

Why not?

He’ll never know.

I tip-toe to the door and carefully pop in my head. I was right. I see the shape of his strong physique and inhale deeply. Man.

Without entering, I shift my weight slightly to my left, tilting my body to get a better view. The water glides down Dante’s body like a river streaming between rock formations. His shoulders are broad, his chest wide and fit, and his abs the result of hours of strenuous exercises. Damn.

My attention dips lower, and the second I see his cock, I almost gasp.

It’s a work of art.

Long, girthy, and smooth, anchored by muscular thighs.

I lick my lips. A part of me feels dirty—filthy. I shouldn’t be watching my boss take a shower without his consent. But knowing it doesn’t make me want to go away. If anything, it only makes me more aroused, pinning me to the spot.

My boobs feel heavy, tingles stinging my nipples.

He leans against the white marbled tile, and one of his hands travels down his body.

I chew my lower lip.

He palms his cock, and my internal temperature rises so high that it would make hell seem like a cool, breezy place. His groan reverberates through the walls, and I smack my lips shut to trap the moan forming in my throat. He strokes his cock, growing in his hand. And growing. And growing.

I touch my chest to ensure my heart won’t find a way out.

He strokes himself viciously, and I can’t look away. Damn. This is heaven. A pornographic heaven, but still.

Then, his gaze collides with mine, and shame washes over me.

A lump forms in my throat, and a hot sensation of panic engulfs my body.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I shouldn’t have done this. I give myself a mental slap, and the adrenaline of getting caught drives me. I take several steps back, willing my legs to do their job and break eye contact. I open my lips but don’t produce a single sound.

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