I faintly consider pushing him away. I’m kissing my boss. He’s a corporate-greed asshole whose child I care for five days a week. This is not a good idea!
But my traitorous pelvis has other ideas as it grinds into him like his dick is a magnet and I’m made of fucking metal.
Oh, my God, he’s hard.
He’s hard because of me?
A rush of heat spreads through my center as his hard cock presses so close to where I need him.
My hands slide up around his neck, scoring over the planes of his muscles while his tongue continues to claim me, his head turning from side to side like he can’t decide which angle he likes better. An image of his cock fucking my throat hits me, and my hands slide from his neck to his arms, my fingers digging into the muscly firmness of him and wanting so much more than a kiss.
His grip skates down to my back to palm my ass as he twirls me until my back hits the ladder that’s secured to the floor above. He hooks one of my legs on his hip and presses his cock into my center. The hard ridge of him thrusting forward as I brace myself on the wood, gasping for air before he finally breaks our kiss.
“Christ, do you have any idea what you do to me?” he pants as if in pain while staring down at my breasts. His hands scale up my ribs to cup the sides of them. He presses inward and forms a long line of cleavage very nearly causing my nipples to pop out of my nightie. He dips his head to press hot, open-mouthed kisses on my chest, running his tongue down the fall of them all the way to the very edge of my nipple but never actually getting to the good part. He murmurs reverently, “I could get lost in these.”
Whimpering, I release the ladder and score my fingers through his damp hair, tugging softly at the longer strands on top. The musky smell of his cologne, the rain, and the arousal pooling between my legs is enough to have me fall apart with just a little tongue play.
He returns to my lips, sealing our mouths together once again as his hand that was holding my leg moves to graze my inner thigh.
“Max,” I moan as my head falls back in total ecstasy.
“Were you thinking of me with that vibrator?” he asks, his voice a growly, sexy rumble that I want to feel on my center as he dances his fingers along my flesh. My skin feels like it’s going to burst into flames.
I squirm with need and rest my head against a ladder step, my chest heaving under the clinging satin. The sinful look in Max’s eyes is something I need to imprint in my brain right now.
“Maybe,” I offer, my voice breathy.
The corner of his mouth twitches, causing another onslaught of butterflies to take flight in my belly. He likes when I think of him?
“I was thinking of you earlier…in my shower.” He leans down and sucks harshly on my breast, causing me to yelp in pain. He pulls back and stares down at the red welt already forming. His eyes look electrified as he gazes back at me. “I stroked my cock and pictured your tits covered in my cum.”
This has to be a dream. I am going to wake up any second and curse Mercedes Lee Loveletter for writing such descriptive books that have turned my imaginations into hallucinations. Seriously, do they make medication for this?
His fingers finally slide upward to brush my bare center, and I cry out, bracing myself on his sculpted pecs that most definitely do not feel like pound cake. They feel like rocks. Hard as stone boulders rivaling his impressive cock that’s going to rip through those cotton pants any second.
He sinks a long, delicious finger inside me and groans, “Soaked.” He drops his forehead to my chest and rolls his face against my cleavage. “Are you soaked for me, Cassandra?”
“Yes,” I cry out as he thrusts into me once again, his thumb scraping over my sensitive bundle of nerves. “All for you.”
He pulls back and bites his lip, looking down at my face as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, watching me fall apart with every thrust.
“Max,” I whimper, unable to look away from the desire in his eyes. I can’t believe I’m about to say this but, “I’m going to—”
“Come for me, Cassandra,” he commands, his voice powerful and everything I want at that moment. “Come on my fucking hand right now.”
“So bossy,” I moan and rock into his touch, feeling light-headed as my orgasm threatens to come barreling through at any second.
His hand then stills inside me, and my eyes pop open to find that his expression has completely shifted. That wickedness, that slight curve of his mouth, that darkened look in his eyes…it’s all gone. And it’s been replaced with the most horrific thing I can imagine at this moment…
Regret.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he croaks, pulling his hand literally out of my body like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on him. I fall forward when he moves away from me quicker than lightning. His arms are bowed out at his sides as he looks around the tiny house like he’s just snapped out of a fever dream. “Fuck, this was stupid.”
“What? Why?” I ask, struggling to stand upright on my wobbly legs, still feeling the aftermath of what his fingers almost accomplished as my sensitive clit throbs from being denied once more.
“You’re my employee,” he snaps, his tone morphing from sexy Max into grumpy CEO. “Fuck, you’re my kid’s nanny. This is ten kinds of fucked up.”
He turns on his heel, and his hands form into tight fists at his sides. Lightning flashes through the windows, illuminating his tortured pose. My God, he looks as though he’s just found out his house is on fire. This has to be about more than just the fact that I work for him.
My voice is weak when I offer, “I was a willing participant.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he thunders back, his eyes haunted. “This was inappropriate. I should have known better.”
The chastising tone of his words pierce through any shred of dignity I had left. I feel dirty and ashamed as he looks at me like I’m the worst mistake of his life. Is hooking up with me really such an appalling concept to him? I realize he can get girls ten times hotter than me, but to act like I’m some kind of disgusting mistake is a degradation I can’t stomach.
“You need to go,” I state through clenched teeth, willing my voice not to shake from the rejection blanketing over top of me.
Max turns around, looking guilty, which only makes this situation ten times worse. “Cassandra, I’m so sorry.”
“Max,” I grind out, holding my hand up to stop him from trying to talk his way out of this. “Just…go.”
He closes his mouth and nods woodenly, giving my body one last glance before tucking tail and damn near running away from me.
I exhale a trembly breath as I huddle against myself, alone in my tiny house. I am a confident female. I look in the mirror every day and I like what I see. I know my worth.
But being so swiftly rejected by Max Fletcher has somehow managed to poke tiny holes in all those confidences I’ve worked my entire life to build.
“You are the dumbest smart person I know,” Dakota jabs, taking a sip of her second cocktail that was delivered smoking inside a glass dome on a platter for dramatic effect.
It’s Saturday night, and we’re currently at a place called License No. 1. It’s a dark, sultry, Speakeasy-type bar located in the stone basement of a historic hotel in downtown Boulder. There’s a live jazz band playing on the small stage, and the place is brimming with couples.