Page 53 of #Bossholes

Fuck.

She’s ruined me.

I pull her close, tightening my arms around her, and rest my head on her shoulder. There’s no way I can move, not yet.

“That was…wow.” She rakes a hand through my hair and presses her lips against my temple. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk out of here.”

“Good.” My reply is quick, but I take my time pulling out of her pussy. Before I roll away, I check the sheets, and there’s a small spot of blood beneath her. Nothing significant, but damn if I’m not a little proud of taking her virginity.

“Walking is overrated.” Maverick stands and stalks over to the bed, a condom already in place. “Are you ready for me?”

After a quick glance in my direction, Kinsley nods.

“Turn around.” He takes her in, his tongue running along his teeth, his hand stroking his jaw. “I want you on all fours, gagging on Wyatt’s dick while I fuck you into tomorrow.”

TWENTY-NINE

Kinsley

I wakeup with a groan and stretch my legs under the sheets. My body is sore in places I didn’t know existed.

Last night?—

Fuck.

Last night was everything.

I gave myself, my virginity, to two of my bosses, and while I should be mortified, I’m not. They were everything I didn’t know I needed. Attentive. Bossy. Patient. Demanding. Consuming.

And…gone?

My hands fan out, feeling the sheets around me. Cold. I remember falling asleep on Maverick’s chest with Wyatt curled around my back, our legs tangled. I remember someone stroking my hair, telling me how good we were together.

Could they really just leave after all that? Without saying anything?

Wow.

That’s a slap to the face; I’m not going to lie. Yeah, I told them come Monday I wanted to pretend this never happened, but I thought I’d at least get a goodbye. Was I going to really be able topush this night out of my mind within forty-eight hours? No. But I was going to try.

I really thought they were going to put up some kind of fight.

I’m so naive. Of course this meant more to me than it did to them. They’re fifteen years older than me. They’re experienced. Clearly. And don’t need me following them around after they paid me for sex.

This was a transaction. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Now I understand whey they call it the walk of shame. It’s not about other people seeing you in rumbled clothes; it’s the feeling swirling in your gut.

I sit up and clutch the sheet to my chest. There’s no point sticking around if they’re already gone. I’m sure as hell not going to lay around in this nice hotel bed feeling sorry for myself.

Not going to do it.

I’m slipping out of bed when I see Maverick’s suit still draped over the chair. And that’s when it registers—the shower is on.

While I know I should be excited, shouldn't let my stomach flip, shouldn’t let my heart skip a beat, I can’t help myself.

They didn’t leave.

---