Page 86 of Think Outside the Boss

“One wonders if they’re worth it.” He pulls the comforter back, folding it at my waist, and inspects my breasts. His hand switches from one to the other and my laughter makes them bounce.

“Yes,” he finally announces. “From my perspective, they’re worth it.”

“I’m so happy to hear that,” I tease.

He grins as he bends his head, taking one of my nipples in his mouth. A sharp sting of arousal rushes through my body at the heat. “Can’t resist,” he tells me, as he switches breasts.

“You did warn me,” I murmur, sliding my hand into his hair. Closing my eyes as his hand moves down my stomach and over my bare thighs.

“It’s a Saturday morning.”

“That’s right,” I echo. “We don’t have to be anywhere.”

“Your heater’s not running away.”

My breathing hitches as he pushes my legs apart beneath the comforter, his fingers finding me as naked as I’d been last night.

“No,” I breathe. “It’ll be just as broken in a couple of hours.”

“No need to rush.”

“None at all.” My back arches at the smooth circling of his fingers. My pleasure comes easily, a path well-trodden in the past few weeks with him.

“That’s it.” He bites down softly around a nipple and I shudder against him, my fingers knotted in his hair. Lazy, unhurried, unrushed. Intimate.

Tristan in the morning, I’m learning, is a glorious thing.

I try to reach for the hardness resting against my hip, but his fingers stop me. One of them sinks deliciously deep inside me.

His mouth slides up to my neck. “Do you know how good you feel?”

“Mmm.”

“Sore?”

I shake my head, my hands curving around his wide shoulder. “Just a little.”

“Good,” he murmurs, adding another finger. His movements are still light and teasing. I twist my hips and he shakes his head. “I’ll never tire of this, Freddie. Never stop needing you.”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

A hoarse chuckle. Then his hand disappears, leaving me bereft and wanting. He pulls the comforter back and reaches for a pillow. “On your stomach,” he orders, voice rough from sleep and want. I look down at him, hard and aching, and obey. He slides the pillow beneath my hips and I look over my shoulder to see him there, straddling my legs, tightly pressed together.

“Tristan,” I tell him. A plea and a question.

He gives me the wide, unfiltered grin I love the most. The one of a man who loves being in control. And then he pushes into me from behind.

The fit is snug like this, the pressure inside me rising with each disappearing inch. Only when he’s buried to the hilt does he lie down on top of me, elbows on either side of my face to bear his weight.

He’s everywhere. His body on top of mine, touching from foot to crown, his hair-roughened chest against my back.

It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Yes,” I breathe as he starts to move. With my legs still pressed close together, I can feel every ridge of him.

He bends his head and gently bites into my shoulder. Laughter escapes me, one he echoes, before it turns into a groan. I turn my head against the mattress and wrap my arms around his, the muscles taut and bulging as he carries his own weight. Press my lips against his arm.

“Never stop wanting you,” he murmurs, voice pained.

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