Page 8 of The Boss

I set the bottle on the counter, stepping behind her, my hands finding her waist as I pressed a slow kiss against the curve of her neck. She smelled like jasmine and something slightly spicy—maybe saffron from whatever she was cooking.

She hummed but didn’t stop stirring the pan. “Hungry?” she asked, leaning into me briefly before returning to her work.

I was a man of big appetites, and she knew it. “Ravenous,” I murmured, letting my fingers drift along her hip before stepping back to grab the glasses. I liked watching her like this—relaxed, at ease, a different version of the razor-sharp woman who eviscerated opposing counsel in courtrooms across the city.

Dinner was slow and indulgent. She told me about her day—another case, another judge who annoyed her, another victory she accepted with the grace of someone who never expectedanything less. I listened, appreciating the way she dissected every detail, how shrewd she was. When it was my turn, I told her about Chris. About the accident. AboutSullivan’s.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s some major case of bad luck,” she said. “And on his first day, too! Poor guy.”

“He took it well.”

“And you took him to see Ed?”

“Of course. Can’t have my employees looking like disasters.”

She smirked, sipping her wine. “You’re such a control freak.”

I lifted my glass. “I prefer the termgenerous.”

“Some might saysoft,” she countered. “It’s fortunate you look like a brawny brute or some might take advantage of that.”

“Then I guess I have to prove hownotsoft I am.”

We made our way to the bedroom just before midnight. Chantelle stripped with the kind of calculated sensuality that felt almost rehearsed, climbing into bed with a knowing smile. She was warm against me, familiar, her skin silky beneath my hands. We moved together easily, a rhythm practiced and perfected over the two years we’d been together. I knew what she liked, how to touch her, how to make her moan my name in that breathless way that told me she was close.

But afterward, when she curled against me with a satisfied sigh, her hand drifting lazily through my chest hair, I was still restless. My body buzzed with leftover energy, unsatisfied need. One round was never enough. Yet she yawned, already slipping into slumber.

“Ready to tap out?” I asked, my voice low.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Big case tomorrow.” She reached for her silk sleep mask, slipping it on without another word. Within minutes, her breathing slowed, deepened.

I stayed awake, staring at the dark. My body still thrummed, tight with a frustration I couldn’t name. My cock was still semi-hard, heavy on my thigh, aching for attention. But no extra treatswere coming that night—unless I took matters into my own hands.

Eventually, I exhaled and closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

5. Chris

It had been a week since my first shift in the wage cage, and with October settling into its crisp, golden rhythm, I was finally starting to feel like I belonged. The first few days had been a whirlwind—getting my bearings, figuring out office dynamics, learning the ins and outs of my responsibilities. But by now, I’d settled into a rhythm. I’d even put together a whole new wardrobe, several pairs of affordable suits for more casual occasions, when the one I got from Isaac felt like too much. The people in my department were cool enough; I’d already gotten friendly with a few of them, especially Darren, grabbing lunch together or exchanging memes on Slack when the workday got slow. My workload was manageable, and I liked what I was doing. It was a good job. A real one.

The only thing missing, oddly enough, was Isaac himself.

After our trip to the tailor, I hadn’t seen much of him. His office was up in the executive suites, well above my floor, and since he was technically my boss’s boss’s boss, his direct involvement in my work was minimal. A part of me—one I wasn’t quite ready to admit—felt disappointed. Not that I wanted him breathing down my neck, but I’d liked talking to him. Liked the way his presence commanded attention without him even trying. And, yeah, I liked looking at him.

That was why, when I stepped into the elevator that morning and saw him inside, I felt a jolt of something sharp and electric shoot through me.

A bunch of people entered the elevator with me, bodies shifting to make room as I squeezed in. I barely had time to mutter a quick, “Morning,” before the doors slid shut.

Zac gave me a nod. “Morning, Landry.” His voice was low, rumbling. He looked… tense. He was dressed as sharply as ever,dark suit crisp, his white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the strong column of his throat, his shoulders filling up the tight space. He had that look about him—like he’d already been up for hours, busy making powerful decisions before I’d even rolled out of bed.

I had only a few seconds to take him in before the elevator lurched upward. As I turned away in the packed space, my back now to him, I still felt his presence like a furnace behind me, radiating heat that seared my spine. Someone beside me jostled forward, forcing me to draw back—right into Isaac.

My ass pressed against his crotch.

Heat shot through me so fast it made me dizzy. I went stiff all over, willing my body not to react, not to acknowledge the firm, solid presence of him behind me. But fuck, I felt him. The bulk of him. And my brain short-circuited.

When I tried shifting left or right, it only made things worse, because then my ass kept brushing against him. I forced myself to move forward as much as I could in the confined space, throat tight. If Isaac noticed, he didn’t react. Instead, he let out a short, irritated exhale that sent a prickle down my spine.

“Hard day?” I asked, instantly regretting my choice of words.

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