Page 32 of My Sinful Boss
She shakes her head, taking another sip of wine. “It’s disgusting how cute you two are.”
“Hey, you said I was waiting for Brad Pitt to come sweep me off my feet!”
Cassi grins. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”
I look down at my ring—the same one I pulled off my finger and set on his desk the day I discovered the truth, then put right back on.
“He’s better than Brad Pitt.”
Cassie groans dramatically and rolls her eyes, but she can’t suppress the grin. “Disgusting. You two are seriously disgusting.”
Around eight, she helps me put Beth to bed and heads home. I kiss my daughter on the forehead, breathe in her soft little toddler smell, and close the door softly behind me.
The penthouse is quiet as I watch the city lights out the window, standing in the kitchen in one of my husband’s old T-shirts. Yup, it’s the same one I stole five years ago.
That’s when I hear the front door open, followed by his heavy, deliberate footsteps.
“I’m in here,” I call quietly.
He comes through the door and stops, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up to reveal those muscular arms. The look in his eyes always makes me swell. It’s like I could be wearing a paper bag and he’d still cross the room over to me like a man possessed.
“Beth’s sleeping?” he asks, his voice low but strong.
“Yup. Cassi wore her out.”
He crosses the room in three strides. His hands find my hips, and he lifts me up onto the counter like it’s nothing to him. As hesteps between my bare thighs, I feel the texture of his suit pants against my skin.
Along with the bulge of his excitement…
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he whispers against my neck, dragging his lips up to the spot beneath my ear that tickles so sweetly. “I couldn’t concentrate on anything.”
“You say that every day,” I scoff.
“And it’strueevery day.” He lifts the T-shirt up my thighs, exposing bare skin. His eyes widen for a moment, then narrow as he looks down. “No panties?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Good girl.”
It’s been five years, and those two words still hit me like a bolt of lightning. My back arches, pressing me into him, and my thighs open wider. He groans as he looks down. It’s the same noise he made the first day he peeled off my cotton white panties and stuffed them in his desk drawer.
“You’re already wet, angel.” A single finger traces through me, parting my lips. I inhale deeply as he slips one inside. “Five years and this pussy is still soaked for me the moment I walk through the door.”
“Even before,” I correct him, my hips already bucking back against his finger. “And that’syour fault.”
“You’re goddamn right it is,” he growls, curling his finger in just the right way that sends my head tilting back. His thumb finds my clit, and he presses down with that precise amount of pressure and perfect stroke that he’s memorized since the very first time. “Tell me, angel,whodoes this belong to?”
A moan drips from my lips as I grip the counter’s edge. “You know who.”
He slides his finger out of me, and I whimper at the loss.
“Then say it.” His voice drops an octave, causing my bones to tingle and my body to open for him. I’m desperate. “Whoseis it?”
“Yours,” I reply firmly. “Sir.”
He kisses me hard and deep, his tongue claiming mine. I swallow his groan as his hands unbuckle his belt. One quick jerk from his hand, and he’s there, pressing against my entrance, the thick tip of his manhood so swollen and smooth.
Even after hundreds of times of him being inside me, the anticipation still gets my heart going. His size still shocks me. I don’t know why. I should be used to it by now.
