Page 36 of Bossing My Holiday
“I… I don’t even know how to wrap my mind around that.”
“For now, don’t discount it. That’s all I ask.”
I cup her face and bring it back to mine. I’m not going to fuck her. Not out here and not with Tristan throwing a temper tantrum like a child. He saw me kiss her, and I know how he works. But I want to make her come if she’ll let me.
“This feels wrong,” she murmurs against my lips.
“It’s not. I promise. Complicated, yes. Wrong, no.” I swirl my tongue with hers, kissing her deeper, holding her hips, and rocking her gently against my hard cock. She moans into me, and her arms wrap around my neck as she finally relaxes and allows this to happen.
The apartment is quiet except for our breathing and the occasional creak from behind the bedroom door, where I know Tristan is listening. I smile against Waverly’s mouth as I pull her closer, savoring the knowledge that we have an audience.
“What’s that smile for?” she whispers, her fingers trailing along my jawline.
“Nothing,” I say, but my eyes flick toward the bedroom door, and she follows my gaze, understanding dawning in her expression.
Her mouth forms an O-shape. “Is he...?”
I nod, just barely, and watch as her pupils dilate. I doubtshe’s even aware of her body’s reaction to that. “Should we stop?”
“Absolutely not.” I use my grip on her hips to move her deliberately, the friction between us sending sparks along my spine. Her technical title might be my future assistant, but we both know that’s just the surface of what I want from her. What I hope she wants from me. From us.
Waverly leans down and kisses me, tentative at first, then with growing hunger. Her lips are soft, tasting faintly of the chocolate she had earlier in the shop. I slide my hands up her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her sweater. She sighs into my mouth, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, my tongue meeting hers in a dance we’re still learning the steps to.
The knowledge that Tristan is just behind that door, probably with his ear pressed against it, sends a thrill through me. In one fluid motion, I grip her waist harder and flip our positions, laying her back against the cushions of the sofa. Her dark hair fans out beneath her like spilled coffee, her breath coming faster now. I hover above her, taking in the flush that spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, and disappears beneath the collar of her sweater.
“Braxton,” she breathes, and it sounds like a plea.
I lower myself to kiss her again, more demanding this time. My hand finds the hem of her sweater, and in one fluid motion, I pull it up and over her head. She gasps, still with that hint of uneasiness in her, but it quickly fades as I trace the edge of her bra with my fingertip, watching goose bumps rise on her skin.
“Is this okay?” I murmur against her throat as my tongue swirls patterns against her rapidly bouncing pulse.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. “It shouldn’t be, but I want it.”
The directness of her words sends heat pooling low in my abdomen. I press my hips against hers, letting her feel exactlywhat she’s doing to me. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.
I kiss my way down her neck, across her collarbone, to the swell of her breasts above her bra. My fingers work the clasp, and she arches her back to help me remove it. When I take her nipple into my mouth, she whimpers, her fingers tightening in my hair.
From the other side of the door comes the unmistakable sound of a thud. Tristan is settling in for the show. I smile against Waverly’s skin and raise my head to look at her.
“He’s listening,” I whisper, loud enough that my words might carry through the door. “What do you think he’s doing in there? Do you think he’s listening to the sounds you’re making? Do you think it’s making him as hard as I am?”
Waverly’s eyes widen, and her hips buck against mine involuntarily. “Don’t,” she rasps, her eyes cinching tight, but there’s no conviction behind it.
“Don’t what?” I tease, rolling her nipple between my fingers and watching her bite her lip to stifle a moan. “Don’t tell you how he’s probably touching himself right now, imagining what we’re doing out here?”
Her breath comes in short, sharp bursts now. “Braxton, please.”
I move lower, my lips trailing down her stomach as my fingers work at the button of her pants. I glance up at her, waiting for permission.
She won’t open her eyes, but she lifts her hips in answer, and I slide them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but a pair of black lace panties that match the bra now discarded on the floor. I love that Gerard did this. That he made her get sexy fucking French lingerie.
I take a moment to appreciate the sight of her splayed out on the sofa like a feast.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her reverently. Her body is awork of art I want to spend hours exploring, studying, learning, finding all the places that make her gasp and moan and plead.
I run my hands up her thighs, feeling how silky soft her skin is. The sky is growing dark outside the windows, casting soft glows across her body. I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on before. Ever wanted a woman this much.
When I reach the edge of her panties, I pause, my fingers playing with the delicate lace until her hips shift restlessly, seeking contact.
