Page 48 of Big & Bossy

I watched as he shuffled out from under the sheets, his boxers clinging far too tightly to his ass, his bulge. He disappeared around the frame of a door, leaving me alone in his massive bedroom, the sound of the faucet turning on and water running filtering through.

Two of the four walls in his room were glass, the blackout blinds sitting on electric wheels at the top of them. What I assumed was usually greenery filled the view, a few auburn leaves left from the change of the season, most of the trees bare and stiff from the cold. Little specks of snow fell between them, coating the already white ground below. It was peaceful and calm. I couldn’t remember the drive here, I’d likely fallen asleep, but based on the view I assumed we were about halfway up one of the mountains just outside of Boulder’s main center.

It was a completely different environment than my plain ol’ neighborhood.

I tried not to let my eyes wander back to the ink on his chest as Jack came back in, his jaw steeled as he walked over to my side of the bed. “Come on, princess,” he said, offering me a hand.

I winced as I sat up, the pain filtering back in and slamming against my left eyeball. I took his offer as I covered my eye with my free hand, planting my feet on the ground, slowly lifting myself out of bed. The world turned on its axis, the wobble of last night still ever-present. I almost lost my footing entirely as Jack wrapped an arm around me to keep me steady, and it definitely wasn’t because of the hangover.

He ushered me into the bathroom, the tile beneath my feet warm to the touch. Of course he has heated floors. The room was grand, about half the size of his bedroom. A large garden tub sat separate from the fully tiled, glass-walled shower that looked like it could easily fit a basketball team. “I’ll find some decent clothes for you while you relax. I doubt you’ll want to go home in your dress.”

I turned, catching another quick glimpse of the tattoo as Jack walked back to the door. “Wait,” I breathed. He paused. Nerves bubbled in my stomach, my chest aching, my head throbbing. “Stay.”

He blew out a breath, the muscles in his arms flexing as he clenched his hands into fists. “You don’t want that.”

“I do.”

“Mandy…”

“Please,” I added, my fingers grasping at the hem of the oversized shirt covering me. I didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. I couldn’t hate him right now. Not after last night and how he’d taken care of me, and definitely not after I’d seen what marked his chest. I couldn’t even try to pretend.

I lifted the shirt up and over my head, baring my upper body to him. Somehow, despite the glaringly obvious fact that I’d had sex with him recently, this felt more intimate. Maybe because in our haste we’d been too turned on to even get undressed. He hadn’t seen me fully naked in ten years, and I could tell that just the sight was enough to fluster him.

The tub, nearly full, was big enough for both of us. “Help me get cleaned up?” I asked quietly.

A beat of silence passed, his eyes hooked on me. But then he moved, feet padding across the floor one slow step at a time. His chest met mine as he pushed me back into the counter, one hand on my cheek. His eyes were wide, his pupils massive as they flicked between my own, his lips parted just barely. “This is a line we haven’t crossed,” he breathed. “If you want this, there’s no going back.”

A knot formed in my throat, big enough to choke me. I nodded.

So slowly, so softly, I felt like I could have imagined it. He placed a little kiss on my forehead as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of the shorts I had on. I could feel his heart hammering against his chest, and with one breath, he pushed the garment down, letting it pool at my feet. He placed his hands under the slope of my rear, lifting me up onto the ledge, and I immediately wished his heated floors had been extended to include the counter too.

I made a move to remove the ring, not entirely sure if I should wear it in water or not, but his hand stopped me. “Leave it on.”

His boxers fell, joining the shorts, and when he slotted himself back between my parted thighs I thought I might pass out. “Jack.”

He lifted me again, forcing my legs to wrap around his waist and my pussy to rest just above his cock. He was hard, but he paid it no mind as he carried us over to the tub and climbed the steps to the bath, stepping into the warm water. Slowly, he crouched down, submerging my lower half, and stretched out his legs in front of him so could sit.

The water was perfect. Not boiling, but enough to warm my body, my bones. He didn’t need to say a word as he tipped me backward, my back arching, my breasts rising and falling with my breath as I soaked my hair thoroughly. I could feel his gaze on them, could feel the heat from his hand as he gripped my waist to give me leverage.

I righted myself, his hands doing every bit of the work for me. I couldn’t choose what I wanted to watch more—his eyes, his mouth, his hands or the panda bear tattoo. My hand found its way back to it, tracing each little individual, simplistic line as he covered my hair in shampoo, working it into every single strand.

“Do you like it?”

I couldn’t decide. A part of me felt so fucking swollen with emotion that I wanted to cherish it forever, stare at it forever, but then another part of me, the more sensible and reasonable side, wanted to scream at him for marking himself as permanently mine. But even that made the butterflies take off in my gut. “Yeah,” I breathed.

“I was worried you’d hate me even more if you saw it,” he sighed. His fingers ran the shampoo through to the ends until he coaxed me back again, my spine curving, my breasts up. He rinsed every drop from my hair.

“I almost did,” I admitted, my voice small, strained from the position. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to calm down, forcing myself to focus on the feel of his body against mine, his hands on me. It felt too right, too perfect. “A part of me still wants to scream at you for it.”

“You can if you want to.” He lifted me back up, my soaked-through hair clinging to my breasts, my back. “I deserve it.”

“You don’t.” I wasn’t sure if I believed the words that came out, but I didn’t give myself the chance to take them back. I didn’t want to.

“You called me it last night,” he whispered. I leaned into him as his fingers traced my jaw, my lips. “Do you remember?”

Thanks, panda bear. It had slipped out in my inebriated state, the nickname so easily finding its home again. I blushed, my lips twitching upward in the smallest smile imaginable.

“It’s okay. It was nice to hear it again.”

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