Page 5 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
Her hand bucks against me, guiding me to where she wants to be touched. I kiss her hard, nibbling her lip. Her eyes are winced closed, her breaths quick and sharp as I bring her closer and closer to orgasm. With a shriek, she releases, her climax washing over her. Her voice, a mix of moans and whispered curses, is the sweetest symphony to my ears.
Before she can catch her breath, I scoop her up effortlessly. She's light in my arms, her eyes wide in surprise. Without breaking eye contact, I pin her against the wall, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist.
The world narrows to this single point of connection. With every breath, every touch, we push each other closer to the edge.
As I hold Isabella against the wall, the gravity of our situation sinks in. This passionate escapade, spontaneous and wild as it is, still needs a touch of responsibility. "Protection?" I pant out, my forehead resting against hers.
She gives a short nod, her chest heaving with every breath. "On the pill."
The relief I feel is palpable, not just because of the lack of barrier, but because this moment feels like it’s meant to happen exactly like this. The world outside seems to blur as I align our bodies, and when I move inside her, it's a revelation. It feels as though our bodies were crafted to fit together, each curve and contour matching in a dance of perfect unity. She moans as I push inside, her walls stretching out around me as she takes my inches.
There's a synergy between us, a rhythm that amplifies with every thrust, every gasp. The world outside the windows of the penthouse fades into nothingness as we become the sole focus of each other's universe. Her soft moans in my ear become my guiding light, urging me on.
"I can't believe... how good this feels," she manages to say, her fingers digging into my back.
"Neither can I," I admit, my voice a low growl. I shift my angle slightly, eliciting a sharp gasp from her as I hit just the right spot. Watching her come undone beneath me once is breathtaking; watching it a second time is nothing short of a miracle.
“Please Dom,” she moans. “Please.”
I know just what she wants. And with her feeling as good as she does wrapped around me, I’m getting closer and closer to the edge myself. I learn down, sucking on one nipple and then another, her arms wrapped around my neck and her breasts shaking with each hard plunge into her.
The intensity between us is so tangible, it's as if we're riding a wave that's destined to crash. And crash it does. With a final shared climax, we collapse into a sweaty, satisfied heap on the bed.
The aftermath is just as intoxicating. Lying next to each other, our limbs tangled, we watch the city lights twinkling like a million stars. The New York skyline offers a breathtaking view, but I find myself more entranced by the woman beside me.
Isabella traces patterns on my chest absentmindedly, her gaze distant. "This city," she murmurs. "It’s so alive, even at this hour. Endless possibilities, endless stories."
I chuckle, pulling her closer. "You always this philosophical after sex?"
She laughs, a sound that feels like music. "Only when it’s this good."
That earns her a playful nudge, and we fall into a comfortable silence. It's the kind of silence that speaks volumes, where words are unnecessary. As I stroke her hair, my thoughts wander. There's a secret, a piece of news that I've been holding back all evening. Now doesn't feel like the right moment to share it either. Instead, I want to bask in the afterglow of this unexpected connection.
"You're full of surprises, Isabella," I finally say, breaking the silence.
She tilts her head, meeting my gaze. "So are you, Dom. So are you."
***
The steady rhythm of my heartbeat and the soft sounds of the city lulled me into a gentle slumber. When I eventually stir, the first thing I notice is the warm patch of bed beside me, now vacant. Isabella is gone. There's a mixture of disappointment and understanding churning within me. After all, our connection, as fiery and intense as it was, started on a whim.
Blinking away sleep, my gaze settles on a small piece of paper resting on the end table. Picking it up, I can't help but smile as I read her neat handwriting:
"Dom, had fun. Maybe we'll find ourselves on the same rink again... or maybe not. Either way, I guess I learned that puck sizedoesmatter after all.”
- Isabella"
I chuckle, folding the note and tuck it away in the drawer. This was a one-off thing—that’s the message she was trying to get across. So be it. Not a bad way to spend the evening.
I roll onto my back, folding my hands behind my head. A grin forms on my lips as I remember my secret, the little detail about my work that I hadn’t told her.
Maybe our fling wouldn’t be so one-off after all…
3
Isabella
Threemonths.That’sthelifespan of a fling, they say. Or, in my case, the duration it takes to cement a one-night stand as a potent, lingering memory. Here I am at the rink, the echo of pucks and skates on ice barely breaking my focus. The Silver Blades are a cyclone of potential chaos, missing the finesse of my strategies like toddlers miss their mouths with spoons. No matter. It’s my job to get them in line.
