Page 107 of Sexting the Boss

She trails off, shaking her head, then laughs softly, like she can’t believe she’s actually standing in my living room.

My chest tightens. For once, I feel…exposed. But in the best possible way.

“I’m glad you like it,” I say.

She spins slowly on her heel, taking everything in. Then her gaze returns to me, playful and bright.

“Very bachelor-pad chic,” she teases lightly.

I smirk, stepping toward her. “I’ll pretend that’s a compliment.”

She giggles, a soft, carefree sound that draws me closer, pulls me toward her like a magnet.

But then my rational side intrudes, because Sasha’s eyes are a bit too bright, her cheeks flushed from champagne.

I pause, reaching out gently to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into my touch automatically, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

“Are you sure about this?” I murmur quietly. “You’ve had a lot to drink.”

She opens her eyes again, looking up at me through her lashes, a mischievous grin playing at her lips.

“Not enough,” she whispers, stepping directly into my arms. “I’m still thinking.”

I wrap my arms around her waist as she tips her face up toward mine, her warmth seeping through my shirt, burning straight into my chest. Our lips meet softly at first, cautious, careful—but restraint quickly dissolves as her hands clutch at my shoulders, her body molding against mine like she was made for me.

She pulls away just enough to murmur breathlessly, her forehead resting against mine, “Is this insane? You’re my boss. We’ve just texted?—”

“Sexted,” I correct firmly, my mouth curling into a smirk.

She laughs softly, shaking her head again, eyes bright with laughter, desire, and something deeper that neither of us is ready to acknowledge.

“Right,” she whispers. “We’ve sexted. That makes it so much better.”

I tilt her chin up gently with my thumb, needing to look into her eyes, needing to make sure she understands.

“It’s exactly why we should’ve done this sooner,” I murmur.

She smiles, and the nervous tension lingering in her posture finally eases. She relaxes against me, letting out a long, slow breath.

“You’re going to be trouble,” she says quietly, the corners of her mouth curving upward.

I tighten my hold on her waist, pulling her flush against me again. “You have no idea, printsessa.”

Her eyes flare at that, darkening, pupils wide with anticipation.

Then she rises onto her tiptoes and kisses me again, harder this time, deeper, desperate—and every ounce of restraint I’ve been holding on to finally snaps.

Our lips crash together again, hungrier now, the hesitation completely gone. Sasha presses her body against me, molding herself to my chest, her small hands gripping my jacket like she’s afraid I might change my mind.

I won’t. I can’t.

Not with her.

I walk her backward, steering us down the hall toward the bedroom, my hands sliding up her spine, savoring the feel of her warmth through the thin silk dress. My fingers find the zipper, dragging it down slowly, exposing smooth, bare skin. Her breath hitches against my mouth, and a low groan escapes me as the fabric slips from her shoulders and pools around her waist.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

My jacket hits the floor next, her eager hands already undoing the buttons of my shirt. Her fingers fumble slightly, impatient, and it only fuels the heat raging in my blood. I grab the hem of her dress, tugging it down impatiently, letting it drop around her ankles. She steps out of it, kicking off those ridiculous sneakers as she does.

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