Page 46 of The Boss

Zac was gone.

I peeled back the covers and sat up, running a hand over my face, trying not to let the thoughts rush in too fast. He could have left early for work. Maybe he had things to do, clothes to change. It didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t have to mean regret. But his absence felt like a missing breath, a note cut off too soon.

And the ghost of his touch lingered everywhere. My body ached in the best way—deep, pulsing soreness that made me shudder when I stretched. Flashes of last night surged through me—Zac’s mouth dragging over my skin, the rough scrape of his stubble along my throat, the way his hands had held me down, pinned me open. The stretch of his cock as it filled my hole, the full weight of him bearing down until I could do nothing but take it.

I wanted it again. All of it.

I made my way to the bathroom on unsteady legs, yearning for a hot shower. But as I stepped inside, I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

Jesus.

Bruises bloomed across my chest, my ribs, my hips—faint traces of teeth and fingertips, evidence of just how hard he’d handled me, how completely I’d let him take me. I dragged my fingers over one mark just below my collarbone, pressing into the tender skin, and despite the unease curling at the edges of my thoughts, a slow grin spread across my lips.

Zac might have left. But he hadn’t done it without leaving his mark.

* * *

By the time I pulled into the parking lot at Nova Systems, I’d convinced myself not to overthink it. Zac leaving didn’t have to mean he was running. We worked together. I’d see him soon enough, and then I’d have my answer.

The second I stepped out of the elevator and into the office, I heard raised voices. No—one voice, sharp-edged and fraying, cutting through the quiet hum of the morning. Zac. Talking on the phone with someone. His door was shut, but the walls weren’t thick enough to muffle the heat in his words.

“I told you, it wasn’t intentional.” His voice was low but forceful, the kind of restrained anger that could turn lethal if provoked. “I lost track of time.” A frustrated exhale, followed by a pause. “I said I was sorry. How many times do I need to apologize?” Then— “Hello? Oh, forfuck’ssake!”

The sound of a phone hitting the desk.

Shit. That didn’t sound good. I hesitated for half a second before stepping up and knocking lightly.

“What?” Zac snapped.

I eased the door open.

He was pacing behind his desk, anger rippling through his frame, one hand braced against his temple like he was trying to shove something back into place. The morning light slanted through the blinds, streaking across his dark suit, the crisp whiteof his shirt, the rigid line of his jaw. He looked as put-together as ever, but I could see the small giveaways—the flex of his fingers, the tight pull of his shoulders, the restless energy coiling beneath his skin. When he saw me, something in his posture shifted, the edges of his frustration softening just a fraction.

I shut the door behind me. “Is everything okay?”

He let out a sharp breath, scratching his beard. “That was Chantelle.”

I leaned against the doorframe. “I figured.”

“She’s pissed because I promised to call her last night, and I forgot.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “I told her I lost track of time. Didn’t mention why. She hung up on me.”

I studied him carefully. The way his jaw flexed. The way his throat worked around unspoken words. Was he blaming me? Or was this the part where regret sank its claws in, making him question everything?

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” I said cautiously.

“I had to go to my place and change,” he replied looking out of the window, still distracted. “You slept so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

I took a tentative step toward him, then another. It scared me to ask, but I needed to know. “So… where does that leave us? Do you wish yesterday didn’t happen?”

His head snapped up. And in two strides, he was in front of me.

The air between us thickened, charged. Before I could react, his fingers curled around my wrist, dragging my hand down to his groin, until my palm pressed against the solid heat of his cock.

“You tell me,” he murmured.

My lips curled into a grin. I rubbed my palm over him, just enough to feel his cock twitch beneath the expensive fabric of his pants. “Seems like that’s a hard no,” I said.

“Hard is a good way to put it.” His breath was rough against my jaw, his fingers flexing around my wrist like he wanted to pin me right here against the door. His gaze drifted from my face down my neck, where a purple hickey peeked from the collar of my shirt, and his other hand brushed my throat. “I did that?”

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