Page 20 of Ruthless Boss

Lucia releases my hand, and I continue setting the pace. A menacing stir takes form inside of me, swirling in my core, signaling to all my organs that my pleasure can't wait.

"Give me your tongue, baby girl."

She tips her head to the side, giving me access to her. I dip my head lower, my lips searching for hers.

When our lips connect, every part of me sparks with want. I sweep my tongue over hers, and we kiss with the despair of a long overdue lover's reunion.

Excitement shoots down my body. My cock has never been this hard before. A pounding anticipation moves through my chest. I can't wait much longer. I nip her lower lip, and a beat later, she disengages her head from mine, breathless.

"It's happening," she says. "I'm—" she starts, then spams against me, her body trembling as she groans, pleasure coming down on her. "No. Yes. Oh…"

I need a moment or two to register her words. We're both in a haze.

When she stops moving, I remove the vibrator from her, toss it aside, and plant both my hands at her sides. A heady sensation claims me, my heart drumming in my ears—so loud that's the only sound I hear besides my heavy breathing.

I slip my cock all the way from her ass one more time, and then, as a conqueror who's claiming untouched land, I stab it into her. She yelps, surprised. My vision blurs and sweat slides down my shoulders. At last, I unlock the pleasure that's been desperately pounding through the invisible door and come.

"You're not every girl," I say once more before the last shred of rational thought deserts me.

I spill my hot load in her hole like never before. It bursts out of me, filling her, some of it dripping down her thighs. When I'm done, I coax her to lie on the bed and take the spot beside her. Her hair is messy, her face red, and her body trembles. I'm trembling, too, still shaken by the energy and the connection we just shared.

You're not every girl. These words swim in my brain, the current so strong that I hope I won't drown. This is just sex, I remind myself. I've always been excellent, some would say even brutally so, at keeping sex and feelings separate. To change course, especially where AJ's nanny is involved, would be disastrous.

11

Gia

I sigh, and every part of my body tingles. My skin is still hot and sweaty, giving me steady throbs of post-sex awareness in my erogenous zones. Sex with Dante was better than I expected. Better doesn't even begin to cover it—exhilarating, vibrant, and unforgettable is more like it.

You're not every girl. I don't care if he uses this line with other women. It worked on me because, damn, in that moment, I believed them. Ifeltthem. But I need to be realistic.

Dante moves on the bed, and I realize he's still here.

I turn my face to find him sitting and bring myself to do the same, pulling up the sheet with me.

"Are you going back to your room?" I ask, more like a suggestion. I like his presence, which is why he should leave immediately.

I can't get used to him, so I have to forget him. My life is messy enough as is.

"Yes," he says matter-of-factly, like he's not offended.Phew.

"Good. In case AJ wakes up," I add.

"I'm usually the one in a hurry to leave. It's interesting being on the other side," he says in an amused voice.

I chuckle. I bet that most women wouldn't shoo him from their beds minutes after sex. Especially… that kind of sex. He gave me what I needed, and besides the talking, I didn't have to ask. He felt it. He knew it. Thanks to him, I focused on him and the present, not on ugly memories that could ruin the moment. He gave me more than I expected… and the fact that he has that power, that gift, is a curse and a blessing because I can't get emotionally attached. "It's nothing personal. It's just that my life is chaotic in many ways."

He grabs his pants from the floor and slides them on, then sits on the chair across from the bed and stares at me. "Why can't you get pregnant?"

"Why does it matter?" I bite back, my voice so freaking defensive.

He shrugs. "Doesn't. I'm curious."

I shake my head, walking a fine line between telling him enough to make it sound truthful and denying it altogether. Or lying. Each option comes with its own set of problems.

"Is that why you don't like quiet?" he insists.

I bite my inner cheek. "I don't like thinking about things that aren't going to change. Instead of worrying about the past, I focus on the future." I wish I could believe my vague answer. I want to—wish it was true. If only things were so simple. But the more I hide my past, the more the memories slip through the cracks and spill into my brain.

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