Page 26 of The Boss

But by the time Friday rolled around, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Because I couldn’t wait to get to work and shove my cock into his hungry mouth. I fuckingcravedit.

It should’ve been hard to accept that I was getting off with another man every day, but it was even harder to deny how much I enjoyed it. Chris was too damn good at it—better than anyone I’d ever been with. He was eager, confident, completely unashamed of how much he liked doing it. And Christ, did that make a difference.

I used to think the wholeguys give better headstereotype was a load of bullshit. A joke people made to get laughs. Now I knew better. Knew firsthand just how much skill and enthusiasm mattered. Chris had both in spades, and every time I leaned back and let him do his thing, I felt the stress melt away, leaving me clearer, sharper, more in control than I had been in years.

And now I was addicted.

I felt it the moment I woke up Friday morning—my last day before Chantelle came back. I was excited, anticipating her return, looking forward to the weekend with her. Still, my thoughts went back to Chris. My body was already primed for it, knowing I’d see him soon, knowing I could call him into myoffice whenever I wanted and he’d drop to his knees without hesitation.

I ran a hand down my face, exhaling hard. Now that I knew what his mouth could do, how the hell was I supposed to stop?

* * *

That night, I cooked for Chantelle. A welcome-back dinner, something special just for her. I pan-seared salmon, roasted asparagus, and made a lemon-dill sauce from scratch. Poured her favorite wine, set the table with candles. I wanted the evening to be good, to make her feel cherished, to prove to myself that nothing had changed.

Because it hadn’t. I was still Isaac Steele. Still the same man. Still straight. The thing with Chris… it was just about release. About scratching an itch. Nothing more.

I heard the elevator doors slide open, and a few seconds later, the familiar click of heels echoed through the hallway. Then came the sound of a suitcase rolling over the marble floor.

I rushed to the door and opened it just as Chantelle reached it. She stood before me in a crisp navy suit, her hair free yet immaculate, not a strand out of place despite coming here straight from the airport. Her gaze flicked over me, sharp as ever, before she let out a measured breath and dropped her carry-on handle.

“Hey, handsome,” she said, arching a perfectly shaped brow.

“Welcome back,” I said, stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug. She felt small against me, delicate, but her posture remained poised, her arms resting lightly on my back rather than clinging. Her perfume tickled my nose, heady like a memory of summer. When she tilted her chin up, we kissed—a soft, perfunctory brush of lips that deepened as I took more control.

She pulled away too soon. “You’ll have my lipstick all over your face.”

I didn’t care about the fucking lipstick. But I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and said nothing.

She smoothed a hand over her blazer. “God, I need a drink.”

I stepped aside, letting her roll her suitcase inside. “Long flight?”

“Longweek,” she corrected, already making a beeline for the bar. “Depositions. Meetings. Schmoozing clients. That insane gala on Wednesday. My feet still hurt from those damn Louboutins.” She poured herself a glass of Bordeaux and looked around the kitchen before turning back to me. “The dinner smells delicious.”

“Only the best for you,” I said, coming in for another kiss, but she already moved away, surveying the table. So I poured myself a bourbon, neat, a took a sip.

“And you brought out the candles? I should be going away more often.”

I smiled, eyes cast down on my drink.

“By the way, I heard you’ve been naughty.” This made my gaze snap at her, as she perched on a stool, smirking at me. “Mom said you’ve been avoiding her calls.”

“Er…” I didn’t know how to get out of that one. Because it was true.

Chantelle only laughed. “It’s all right. She’s been driving me insane, too. She’s now convinced wehaveto have white roses because it’s tradition. I don’t even like white roses.”

I huffed out a laugh. “So tell her no.”

“I did. She called me ungrateful and said I had no taste.” Chantelle exhaled, taking another sip. “I swear, at this point, eloping doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.”

That made me pause. “Would you?”

She met my gaze, then laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Isaac.”

Of course not. Chantelle was all about the presentation, about the show. Even now, tired after her trip, she looked polished as ever, her hair sleek, her makeup flawless. She never let herself appear anything less than perfect, even in the privacy of our homes. What was the point of getting married if not to throw an extravagant event to dazzle everyone and make them jealous?

She set her glass down and stood. “Anyway, enough about my week. What about you? I assume you survived without me?”

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