Page 2 of The Boss
He didn’t take the obvious exit. He eased her onto the balcony that circled the ballroom, positioning them so he could hold her close, yet keep the floor in his sightline. The spike of alert still hummed in her pulse and he let the walk stretch, making her sense the way every head turned even if they pretended not to look, how the air changed around him and how he changedit.
Halfway around, Leif saw a man standing below at the edge of a column of light, scanning faces like he’d lost something. Not Dante. Not Severin. Leif didn’t recognize him, which made him far more interesting. Leif shifted Mary behind a bank of palms to watch the man keep searching, gaze raking the crowd with purpose. Only when he turned away did Leif steer her toward the corridor for the private member elevators, where he leased a penthouse suite for off-site deals. He keyed his card and pulled her into the waitinglift.
The doors whispered shut.
Silence pressed close. Her reflection met his in polished chrome, aman built of edges and control and a woman who set both on fire simply by breathing in the same space. The elevator rose. He didn’t touch her. He made her want himto.
“Second thoughts?” he asked at the tenth floor.
She turned, leaned back against the mirrored wall, smoothing the line of her skirt. “I have to admit, this is a first for me, though I doubt it’s one for you.”
He stepped to within a handspan of her and laid his palm on the smooth, hot line of her thigh below the slit of emerald silk. “It’s not. But I’m more than willing to be your first.”
Her breath moved and her mouth softened. “My first one-night-stand, Mr. Severin?”
Hearing his name in her mouth released something feral in him. The elevator chimed. The doors opened into the hush of a private hallway, pale stone and soft runners, acity’s night sky framed in black glass at the farend.
He walked her into the penthouse suite. Lights came up low when they entered, bronze, amber, the kind of glow that made skin look edible. He kept this club residence year-round for business—quiet negotiations, security staging, exits, out-of-town visitors. Control, in his city, meant owning an exit. Floor-to-ceiling windows spread the city out at theirfeet.
Leif shed his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Last chance to lie to me,” he said quietly, turning back. “About your name. What you want. What you’ll take.”
She pushed the door shut with one hand and leaned on it, pulse flickering at the base of her throat. “I may have lied about my name, but I’m not going to lie about what I want.”
“Good.” He closed the distance, caging her against the wood with his body, his forearm braced above her head, his other hand sliding down to the curve of her hip. He waited for the flinch that never came. “Then tell me what you want. What you’ll take.”
Her eyes didn’t waver. “I want you to stop looking at me like you’re going to swallow me whole and just take me.”
Control snapped like a dry stick.
He took her mouth hard. No pretense, no sweetness, the kind of kiss a man gave when he’d been starving for longer than he knew. She met him with heat, opening for him, taking his tongue like she’d been waiting for this particular sin. He tasted wine and something purely her, something bright and a little wild. His palm slid over silk, found the bare, heated length of herthigh again, and pushed higher until the heel of his hand settled possessively beneath the tight edge oflace.
She made a sound into his mouth—half challenge, half surrender. He didn’t force the second. He earned it. His thumb stroked slowly over the damp silk and then slipped beneath it to touch her where she was already wet for him. Her head knocked softly against thedoor.
“Leif.” The way she spoke his name was criminal.
“Bedroom,” he said against her lips, already lifting her.
She wrapped around him with zero hesitation, arms over his shoulders, legs gathered in a bridal carry, the heat of her pressed where he needed it like a promise. He carried her through the dark to the bed, the city burning beneath them, and laid her down on cool linen. The bed looked like sin had been engineered there by men with blueprints and too much money.
He stripped her like a ritual. Not fast. He wasn’t interested in fast. He wanted to watch nerve endings wake under his hands. He wanted to catalog miracles. The zipper whispered and silk puddled. The emerald slid from her shoulders, revealing the pale lace that barely contained the lush curve of her breasts. He cupped one, thumb circling the tight, pebbled point until her breathing changed. Then he bent and mouthed her through fabric until the lace was wet and his tongue knew the shape ofher.
“Take it off,” she whispered, hands buried in his hair now, composure frayed in the most satisfying places.
“Ask me properly.” He lifted his head just enough to look at her, his mouth a breath from her nipple, the heat of it a threat.
Her eyes flashed. “Please.” The word came like satin. “Leif, please.”
Instantly, he slid two fingers under the lace and tugged the cup down, baring her to the air, to his mouth. He took her in slowly, then harder when she arched and gave him more. He sucked until his name broke off her tongue, until her fingers tightened in his hair and she rolled her hips for friction. His pulse kicked again and he linked his palm to her ribs and let his teeth tease a mark that would live on her skin in the morning. Nothing she could hide, nothing she would wantto.
He eased her onto the mattress and knelt between her thighs. He shoved the skirt of her dress higher, then off, leaving her in nothing but ruined lace and heels. He wanted her in the heels. He wanted them to bite into his back when he lifted her hips to his mouth.
“Leif—”
He ripped her panties off. “Spread.” It was a command he issued like a favor.
She obeyed, slow and shameless, and the sight of her—slick, flushed, already trembling a little—hit him like whiskey swallowed too fast. Lifting her legs over his shoulders, he bent and licked a gradual line through heat that made her entire body jolt. Then he settled his mouth and ate her like hunger had a cure. No tease now. No mercy. He found the rhythm that made her sob for breath, and when she tilted her hips to chase his tongue he pinned her there with his forearm and made her take what hegave.
“God, yes! Don’t stop—” She was wrecked and perfect, legs shaking against his shoulders, heels marking his back. He kept her right on the edge until curses turned into a string of pleas and then let her go, let her crash against his mouth, thighs clamping around his head as she came. He didn’t move. He held her there, prolonging it, drinking in her cries like absolution.
