Page 55 of Big Boss
I don’t knowwho’s been circulating the myth that middle-aged men are lackluster in bed, but clearly it’s someone who has never met Donovan Tate.
Do you want to know what’s better than spending an entire night trying my very best to get fucked to death by my former boss and one and only lover?
He made me breakfast and served it to me in bed. He even made my eggs over easy even though I know the runny yolk thing is disgusting to him. He dips the precise toast triangle into the golden, delicious goo and gently feeds it to me.
And when a little bit ends up smeared along my mouth, he wipes it off with his thumb and then puts that same yolk-covered thumb inside my mouth.
I must have made some sort of noise because suddenly the plate was on the floor and I was back to enjoying every moment of staring at Tate’s face. His body. The way he looks at me, like I was something he had dreamed up for himself and manifested into his life.
And that’s how I ended up forgetting about breakfast completely and finding some better things to do with my mouth instead.
Eventually, hunger wins, and he tosses me his cell phone. “Can you order up some delivery?”
I nod. I know how he is about reading stuff on his cell phone, and trying to sort out menu choices from the DashEats app is Donovan Tate’s own personal hell.
“What do you want? Thai? Sushi? Tacos?”
He groans and rubs the sharp plane of his stomach. “It all sounds amazing. Maybe one of each.”
My mouth quirks up despite myself. “We couldn’t possible eat one of each.”
He turns toward me and brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “We can and we should. I have a feeling we’re going to need the energy.”
The delivery itself takes almost forty minutes to come. And thanks to Tate’s unique skill set, I manage to orgasm twice while we’re waiting.
“I’m going to be dehydrated, not hungry.” I collapse into the sheets and wait for Tate to come back to bed for a naked picnic.
“Better drink plenty of water then, because after tacos, I’m going to eat your taco.”
My entire face curls up in an involuntary look of deep disgust. He laughs and pins me underneath him.
“Would you rather that I tell you I want to taste your sushi?”
I swat at him. “You’re being gross.”
“Erica Ridley, there is absolutely nothing gross about you or your body, and I’m going to prove it to you for the rest of the day. Right after we Thai one on.”
I groan. “Quit with the dad jokes unless you want me to start calling you daddy.”
His eyes sparkle dangerously, and our lunch gets cold too, but yeah, it’s totally worth it.
There is no schedule or plan for any of this, but instead of making me anxious, I allow myself to settle in to the rightness of being with Donovan Tate.
We spend the entire day and evening like this, cuddling and kissing in between rounds of filthy, disrespectful-but-in-the-best-possible-way sex. And honestly, it’s better than it was that first night.
I tell him so, and he wraps one hand around the shape of my jaw then lets his fingers slide down onto my throat. “Things between us are only going to get better. I promise.”
“Good, because I don’t want any other silent-E celebrities shoving their tongues in your mouth.”
He stares at me for a moment. “That is maybe the strangest thing I have ever heard you say. But okay, Erica. I don’t want anyone putting a tongue in my mouth except you.”
“I don’t even have a fancy silent-E name.” I pout a little because I know he loves it.
“Sure you do. Ridley. It would work just fine without the E.” He pauses and looks at me closely. “You know what else would work really well?”
“Don’t try it with Erica. The E is vital to the success of that one.”
“That’s not it. How about Tate? It has a silent E.” He flutters his big dumb eyelashes at me, and I crack up.
