Page 49 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
I lean against the counter, watching her. "Comes with the territory," I reply with a shrug, trying to keep the conversation light. "Besides, I thought you'd be used to it by now, what with all your successes."
Isabella looks up, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "There's a difference between being recognized for your work and being hounded for... whatever this is." She gestures vaguely between the two of us.
I can't help but chuckle. "You mean our whirlwind romance?" I tease, but I can see it's not really a laughing matter for her. The truth is, I don't mind the attention. It's been a while since I've been in the limelight, and a part of me missed it. But I can tell Isabella's not on the same page.
She sips her coffee, her eyes scanning the headlines. "Just look at this," she mutters, showing me a photo of us from last night, splashed across some gossip site. "They're analyzing everything—from the way we look at each other to how we hold hands."
I take a look at the photo, and even I have to admit, we make a convincing couple. There's a chemistry there, something that goes beyond our fake engagement. It's unnerving, but also... exciting.
"Maybe we're just really good actors," I say, trying to keep the mood light. But Isabella doesn't seem amused.
She sighs, placing her phone down. "I just want to focus on the team, on the arena. This," she waves her hand again, "is just a distraction."
I understand where she's coming from. Isabella's all about her career, her team. But part of this fake engagement is keeping up appearances, and that means dealing with the media circus.
"Look, I get it," I say, my tone turning serious. "But let's just ride this out. Once the arena deal is sealed, we can go back to normal."
Isabella nods, though there's a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. I wonder if she's thinking about what 'normal' will be for us once this is all over.
As we finish our coffee in silence, I find myself oddly aware of her presence. Living with Isabella, even under these peculiar circumstances, has been an unexpected journey. And as much as I hate to admit it, a part of me doesn't want it to end.
I clear the cups, trying to shake off the feeling. "I've got a meeting with the investors today," I tell her, changing the subject. "What's on your agenda?"
She's back in her professional mode, listing off meetings and team strategies. I listen, nodding, but part of my mind is still stuck on that photo—on us.
Isabella's voice trails off into the background as I watch her, her fingers scrolling through her phone with that focused intensity she always has. She's all business, and yet, in this quiet morning light, there's a softness to her that's hard to ignore. My mind, traitorous as ever, starts to wander, painting vivid images of just how that softness might feel under my hands, of peeling away those pajamas to reveal the curves beneath.
I start imagining what it’d be like to step over to her, to put my hands on her hips and bend her over the kitchen counter, to pull those panties down and run my hand over the head of her cunt. She’d tell me it wasn’t a good idea, but the way she’d buck into my hand, the way she’d moan at my touch, would tell me all I needed to know.
I’d pull out my cock and drag it over her lips, her pussy wet and hot for me. She’d muttered one more perfunctory line about how it was a bad, bad idea, all the while reaching back and taking hold of my length, guiding it where she’d want it.
My hands on her waist, I’d push inside, stretching her out and—
A sudden shift in her posture snaps me out of my reverie. She's looking at me now, her gaze sharp, penetrating. "Dom, are you even listening?" she asks, one hand on her hip, the other still clutching her phone.
I can't help the smirk that curls my lips. "Guilty as charged," I admit. "I was just thinking about how... focused you are."
She rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile there, too. "Yeah, I bet you were," she retorts, her tone teasing yet wary. "We can't afford to get distracted, Dom. Not now."
The air between us crackles with unspoken words, with the tension that's been building since the day we started this charade. For a fleeting moment, the space between us feels charged, like we're both on the edge of something neither of us is ready to admit.
But then her phone buzzes, breaking the spell. She glances at the screen, her expression shifting back to business. The air shifts as Isabella's expression tightens, her usually unreadable face giving away a hint of concern. I watch her closely, curious about the sudden change.
"Who was that?" I ask, my tone light but probing.
She exhales slowly, her gaze meeting mine with a mix of reluctance and resolution. "That was my Mom," she says. "Apparently, my parents caught wind of our engagement. They're... less than thrilled about being the last to know."
I raise my eyebrows, a mix of amusement and intrigue coloring my reaction. "Oh? And what does that mean for us?"
Isabella's eyes lock with mine, a certain gravity in her gaze. "It means," she starts, her voice steady, "that they want to meet you. Tonight. They're not the type to be kept in the dark, and apparently, they're eager to meet the man who's 'swept their daughter off her feet.'"
I can't help but grin at the thought. Meeting the parents—a milestone in any relationship, even a fabricated one. "Sounds like a party," I quip, leaning back against the counter. "And let me guess, they're expecting the full Dom Steele charm offensive?"
Her lips twitch in an almost-smile. "Something like that," she replies. "Just be prepared. They're... intense. Think high-powered, high-expectation types."
I nod, my mind already turning over how to handle the situation. Isabella's parents, huh? This could be interesting. "Well, then," I say, pushing off from the counter, "I guess I better brush up on my 'meeting the in-laws' etiquette. Don't worry, Isabella, I'll be on my best behavior."
I have to be—the future of this fake thing of ours is on the line. Time to meet the parents, Dom Steele style.
