Page 56 of Bedding Rose
Because it’s precious and personal.
But also because it’s uncertain.
Other than that first night, when my mouth slipped and he responded possessively, the “L” word hasn’t slid out again.
Obviously, it shouldn’t.
It’s too soon.
But we haven’t really been out on a date either. I don’t count ice cream because it turned into … well, what we always end up doing. We couldn’t even finish our cones off without him finishingmeoff.
I don’t know if that’s a bad sign or a good one. If we’re serious or not.
The uncertainty of us—of what we are and where we stand is making me feel a little seasick.
My knees are still wobbly from the ambivalence when I climb up into the passenger seat of the truck and give him a smile.
“Ready?” he asks as soon as I click the seatbelt into place.
I nod.
Angelo drives me to the construction site he’s working at, intending to show me around. I start off full of bubbly expectation about meeting some of his employees. But the way his hand clamps around my thigh and his gaze keeps flickering over to me on the drive has me breathing shallowly. My nipples pebble from those glances and he very clearly notices, because I’m not wearing a bra—just the way he prefers.
His fingers start to stroke my inner thigh as he makes a final turn into the lot, weaving around a still and silent bulldozer. A knot of guys in highlighter-yellow vests are working together in the fading light of the last hour of sunshine, but with the way he’s touching me, I doubt I’ll meet any of them.
I’m absolutely right. He parks and comes around the car, helping me up out of it, wearing his fuck-me eyes, this dark, intense look he gets that I now am quite familiar with. That look alone has the Pavlovian ability to soak my panties.
Part of me wishes this would turn into a real date, but another, far more prominent part of me is ready for all the ways I know he’s going to own my body.
Angelo leads me straight to his office in a portable building. His office is nondescript, with typical industrial carpet, and a box full of safety gear—hard hats and safety glasses and vests—in the corner. The faint scent of sawdust fills the air, not unpleasantly.
His desk is a mess. There’s no computer screen. He’s already told me that he uses a laptop so he can move from site to site. But there are a ton of disorganized papers scattered across the surface. I stare at them as he locks the door behind me, wondering if his apartment is this messy—wondering why I haven’t seen it yet.
“God, I missed you yesterday,” he admits, striding forward and wrapping his arms around my waist as my hands come up to glide over his neck.
“Same,” I murmur softly, eyes tracing the planes of his face as if we’ve been apart a year instead of a day or two, depending on how we count phone sex. I think I might be developing an unhealthy obsession. But at least it appears to be a two-way street on the physical front. On the emotional front? Who knows …
He walks me back toward his desk until my ass bumps the edge of it. “Play my dirty secretary and suck me off.”
He doesn’t ask it as a question, he never does, the bossy bastard, but he leans down to kiss me roughly in a way that I’ve come to see as both dominating and pleading and just plain hot.
“Mr. Walker, I couldn’t …” I playfully push him away, staring demurely at the floor.
“Rose, you want to keep this job, don’t you?”
I gasp, letting my eyes grow wide, glancing up to meet his lust-filled gaze and luxuriating in the way the drag of his eyes over my figure feels like a physical caress. I’ve become a lot less shy about our dirty talk in the past week, though this is the first time he’s wanted to act something out. Instead of being scandalized by it, I find myself intrigued. Maybe even a little turned on.
He raises a solitary brow as he steps away from me and strides around the desk. I turn to watch. He’s only wearing a deep blue polo and jeans, but he has an air of authority and confidence that would make him the perfect boss. I’m more than a little turned on.
If I was his secretary, I really would fuck him. Daily. I’d probably have to reprint every report I ever walked inside to hand to him because they’d get dropped and scattered, bent and folded, crumpled in my clutching fingers as he railed me against this desk that’s now annoyingly between us.
I like this boss fantasy far more than I thought I would.
He pulls out his chair and sits down in it, legs spread wide so that I can see his hardness outlined through his pants. I lick my lips, breath catching in my chest.
“If you want to keep your job, prove it.”
My acting skills falter as I make my way over to him. I forget to be a shy, reticent secretary and just think about the fact that I’m going to get to take Angelo’s cock in my mouth. I never used to like blowjobs; they used to be a necessary evil to get a guy off so he’d leave me alone. But now, they’re a precursor to everything I’ve ever dreamed about. I take the edge off for Angelo and then he eats me out for half an hour until he’s hard and ready to fuck.
