Page 9 of Boss of Me
She glances over her shoulder at him before giving me a half curious, half teasing smile. “Fan of yours?”
“Son of an old family friend.” It’s scary how easily the lie rolls off my tongue. Scary and appalling.
Marlowe seems to buy it, which makes me feel even guiltier.
I motion to the phone in her hand. “All good? No emergencies calling you away?”
She smiles. “None whatsoever.”
A wave of relief washes over me. I’m such a fucking reprobate.
She glances around the noisy bar, her teeth sinking into her plush lower lip. I can’t help wondering how those lips would feel beneath mine, how they would stretch around my cock as she takes me to the back of her throat.
I swallow thickly, lust and guilt waging an epic battle. I should come clean with her. It’s the right thing to do, even if itresults in her storming out on me and vanishing from my life, a decidedly unnerving prospect that makes my chest ache.
“Marlowe—”
She meets my gaze boldly. “Would you like to go someplace quieter?”
“Hell, yes,” I growl, my desire for her overriding any guilt I feel.
When she smiles at me, my heart pounds and my cock swells with anticipation. I quickly pull out my wallet, peel off a few hundreds and drop them on the table, then place a hand on Marlowe’s back to steer her toward the exit.
I need to get her out of here before her real date shows up.
Because if anyone’s taking her home tonight, it’s going to be me.
Chapter Three
marlowe
You only live once.
My sister’s whimsical words echo through my mind as Dawson guides me out into the sultry summer night. I’d slipped away to the bathroom to return Ember’s call and assure her that I was safe. She was relieved to hear that not only was Dawsonnothideous, he was the hottest man I’d ever met in my life.
She’d asked a million questions, even calling back a second time when she remembered something else. Once she was satisfied that I was in good hands, she told me to let my hair down and have an amazing time.
I intend to do just that.
Dawson and I stroll along Sixth Street as music from bars spills out onto the sidewalks. The popular downtown district is packed with tourists and college students enjoying the last weeks of summer break.
Dawson keeps his hand on my lower back, guiding me around questionable-looking spills on the ground. He’s so talland masculine, exuding absolute power and dominance. With every step, he gives off a “don’t fuck with me” vibe that warns the drunk frat boys to give us a wide berth.
When we stop at an intersection, he leans down, his soft lips grazing my temple as he murmurs, “Did you have any particular destination in mind?”
I turn my head to meet his gaze, my pulse racing with excitement. “No,” I say breathlessly, “but I’m open to suggestions.”
His slow, sexy smile makes my stomach muscles curl in delight.
“I know the perfect spot.” He takes out his phone and types a text, his thumbs flying over the keypad. His hands look so big and strong. I can’t help imagining how they would feel on my body, stroking my skin.
He glances up from his phone, his eyes locking with mine. We’re suddenly oblivious to the bustling nightlife around us, the sounds of blaring music and drunken laughter. The whole world fades away, leaving just the two of us facing each other. I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never been drawn to any man. It’s intoxicating and thrilling and scary, unharnessed electricity buzzing beneath my skin.
He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, staring into my eyes. “How old are you?”
I hesitate before answering, “Twenty-three.”
He nods, the movement barely perceptible. Barbara already told me he’s twenty-seven, so I don’t bother asking his age.
