Page 17 of Kissing the Boss
His smile is strained. "Wanted to make sure you were taken care of first."
"Your turn," I whisper, kissing him deeply.
His control shatters. With a growl, he stands, still connected, and turns to bend me over the desk. The position is primal, possessive, his body covering mine as he begins to move again.
"This okay?" he asks against my ear, even as his hips drive forward.
"Yes," I gasp, the new angle sending fresh sparks of pleasure through me. "God, yes."
His pace is punishing now, all restraint abandoned. One hand presses between my shoulder blades, keeping me bent over the desk. The other grips my hip hard enough to bruise. The sound of skin against skin fills the office, punctuated by our ragged breathing and occasional groans.
I push back against him, meeting each thrust, wanting to feel him lose control because of me. My name falls from his lips like a prayer, a curse, a confession.
"Cassandra... fuck... I can't hold back much longer."
"Don't," I urge. "Let go. I want to feel you."
His rhythm falters, his grip tightens, and with a final, deep thrust, he groans my name as he finds his release. I feel the pulse of him inside me, his body shuddering against mine, his forehead pressed to my back as he rides out the waves of pleasure.
Our breathing slowly syncs, heartbeats gradually returning to normal. His hand, no longer gripping, now strokes gently up and down my side, a soothing caress that makes me feel cherished.
Finally, with obvious reluctance, he straightens and helps me up, turning me to face him. I expect awkwardness, perhaps regret, but what I see in his eyes is wonder, tenderness, and lingering heat.
He brushes a curl from my face, the gesture achingly gentle compared to the raw passion of moments before. "You okay?"
I nod, suddenly shy despite the intimacy we've just shared. "More than okay."
He smiles. It transforms his face, making him look younger, lighter. I realize I want to see that smile every day, want to be the one who puts it there.
The thought should scare me. It's too soon, too fast, too intense. But as he pulls me against his chest, arms wrapped securely around me, I can't bring myself to care about "too soon" or "too fast."
Outside, the Fall Festival continues, oblivious to the world that's just shifted on its axis in here. Inside, we hold each other, neither willing to be the first to let go, to acknowledge what we've done and what it means.
For now, this is enough—the warmth of his skin against mine, the steady beat of his heart under my ear, the knowledge that whatever happens next, we've crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.
And I don't want to go back.
Chapter 6 – Jonathan
The morning light filters through my blinds, painting gold stripes across Cassandra's bare shoulder. I've been awake for twenty minutes, just watching her sleep, afraid to move and break whatever spell brought her into my bed.
Into my life.
She's curled on her side, facing me, one hand tucked under her cheek like a child. Her curls fan across my pillow in a copper tangle, wilder now after my hands spent hours buried in them. The sheet drapes low across her hip, revealing the soft curve of her waist, the freckle just below her right shoulder blade that I discovered with my lips last night.
I never thought I'd be this man, the kind who watches a woman sleep, who catalogs the patterns of her breathing, who feels something crack open in his chest at the sight of her wearing his faded Whitetail Falls High t-shirt.
Yet here I am, still as stone, afraid to wake her. Afraid this might vanish like morning mist.
In the military, I learned to catalog threats, to assess situations in seconds, to trust the instincts that kept me and my team alive through two tours in Afghanistan. But nothing in my training prepared me for Cassandra Green and the way she dismantles every defense I've built since coming home. How to explain that level of recognition? That bone-deep certainty?
I reach out, unable to help myself, and brush a strand of hair from her cheek. Her eyes flutter open, whiskey brown, warm and drowsy with sleep.
"Were you watching me?" she murmurs, voice morning-rough in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"No," I lie.
Her smile is slow, knowing. "Liar."
