Page 16 of Marked By my Boss
“Yeah, it was.”
I’m not sure what to do. Do I hold her?I want to hold her.Do I help her up and into the shower?I want her filthy while I have my way with her.
Fuck! What the fuck am I doing?
“I can help you into the shower, if you want.”
“Oh,” she moans, and pulls the covers up over her frame as though she regrets what’s just happened, “I’ll get in the shower from here. It’s all good.”
Considering I’m her boss and this was insanely impromptu, I nod and leave the room, my pulse pounding, her age and those soft moans burned into my mind.
I’m sick. Really fucking sick. This should be over. I can’t do this again, but something tells me I’m going to.
Chapter Nine
Delilah
I twist the hot water off and step out of the shower, drying myself with a towel before I toss my dress on from yesterday and push the brush through my hair. I have no idea what just happened, but I want more. I want more so badly that my pussy is still throbbing.
That said, I have no idea how I’m going to look this guy in the eye ever again. I’ve heard my boss growl. Hell, I just scrubbed his sticky, white come off my thighs.
Drawing two fingers together against my forearm, I pinch myself as proof that I haven’t been dreaming. Nope, this is reality.
My boss just caught me masturbating in his bed, then spit and came all over me. This is a totally normal Monday.
I glance down at my phone and scroll through my messages, trying to distract myself from reality, but reality hits me smack in the face. I have a few messages from my brother with pictures of the horses on his farm and one from Dave.
I don’t want to click anything that has to do with Dave. I’m currently living in a fantasy land where that relationship never happened, and this baby was immaculately conceived.Because I’m a sucker for pain, I look at the message anyway.
Dave: If you’re not coming home, I don’t want anything to do with this kid. Hell, I don’t even trust it’s mine.
I stare at the message, my eyes unblinking, a terrible, evil ache of happiness whispering through me. Maybe that makes me an awful person. Maybe I should want him to be a part of our daughter’s life. Maybe that’s what’s best for her. But as I stare down at his words, I can’t help but feel relief. Relief from a lifetime of stress my daughter and I would be avoiding if he checked out.
I’m sure the message is an attempt to goad me in to responding but I ignore it in favor of faith. Faith that he’ll be the insecure egotistical jerk I know he is. I ignore it in favor of opening the door to a new life I haven’t discovered yet. A new life I can’t wait to build, though I have no idea what it looks like.
Part of me wants to be single for a long while, wants to go to paramedic school, get my life on track, and build a life I can be proud of. Another part of me wants to fall into Beau’s arms and get lost there forever.
As if that’s reality.
One mutual masturbation session does not equal true love forever. That should be stitched on a pillow somewhere.
I’m barely out of the bedroom when I see him standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, staring blankly out into the bright blue Colorado sky. It’s nearly winter and the snow will be falling soon, but right now we’re still enjoying dark red leaves and cool, crisp air.
“Hey,” my voice shakes when I talk, nervous about what he’s thinking, “I’m really sorry for that. I don’t know what came over me.” I pause, staring down at the ground as I try to collect my rationale. “If I’m honest, I sort of kind of got this little schoolgirl crush on you, and I guess,” I widen my gaze and attempt to meet his, so he knows I’m genuine, “I went too far. I’m sorry.”
He sets the cup down on the table with a clink, steps forward, and pulls me into his arms, his lips on mine in a hurry,deep and hard, like I’m the only thing he’s ever been sure of in his life.
Okay, I wasn’t expecting this response, but I don’t hate it. In fact, I love it!
It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s raw and consuming, like he’s been holding back for too long and finally let the dam break. His hands grip my waist, anchoring me to him, and the world narrows to the heat between us. The press of his chest, the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue, the way he kisses like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he stops.
It’s the kind of kiss that rewrites everything. The kind that says I want you, without apology. The kind that makes me forget every reason I thought this would never make sense.
He pulls away gently, his big, rough hands cupping my face. “You’re not to be sorry ever again. Got it?”
I nod slowly, wetting my lips as I study the gray in his beard. “But—”
“I’ve thought about you so many times. I never acted on it because well… you had a man and you work for me. But now… I don’t know how I pretend anymore, especially when all I want is more of you.” His voice is steady, but there’s a tremble beneath it like he’s worried about saying too much and terrified of saying too little.
