Page 38 of Bossing My Holiday
“I’m lying here naked on my boss’s sofa, and he’s in the other room and likely listened as my other boss made me come.”
“Yes,” I say slowly, though there’s no hiding the amusement in my voice. “All of that is a fact.”
“This is just… insane. I’m not this girl. I’m not the girl who takes money from her boss to be his fake girlfriend and then lets her other boss eat her out.”
“Forget the money bullshit, Waverly. He would have given you all of that and more if you’d let him. Same goes for me. But you’re here with us now.” I kiss her again, touching her lightly, but I know it’s getting late. “We need to get ready for dinner with Tristan’s parents and grandmother, and I’m covered in my own cum.”
She laughs. “Oh god.” Her hands cover her face, but she’s laughing into them. “This is so messed up. I need a shower too.”
“So go take one.”
“My boss is in there.” Now she laughs harder.
“You could come shower with me, but all of your things are in his room.”
“I’m so going to be fired.”
“Nope. Not even close.” I smack a kiss on her lips, then her forehead, and gather her clothes for her, handing them to her so she can put them back on. She does so quickly and quietly, but she’s not trying to hide herself from me either.
She stands and walks toward Tristan’s door.
“Hey,” I call as she reaches for the knob. She turns, one eyebrow raised in question. “That was fun, but this is also more to me. I hope you know that.”
Her smile is slow and full of promise. “Good. This was forme too.” She disappears into the bedroom, leaving me sprawled on the sofa with a giant, wet, sticky spot on my slacks.
I snicker, unable to hold in my smile. Tristan is likely mad, but he’ll get over it. More importantly, there’s no way he’ll be able to hold back for long. I wonder if they’re talking about it now or skirting around each other. I wonder if he’ll take her and press her against the wall and push his fingers into her so he can feel what I did to her.
Dinner with his parents will be interesting, to say the least. The anticipation of it all has me grinning like a fool as I finally pull myself up and head to my bedroom to clean up. Tonight might just be the beginning of something extraordinary.
12
TRISTAN
Ihear the bedroom door open and close, and a strange flutter hits my chest. Fucking Braxton. That motherfucker. He knew I was listening. How could I not? He can play all the games he wants, but the truth is, she doesn’t want me the way she wants him, and it burns at me.
There is freedom for Brax that I don’t have. It’s always been one of the things I’ve hated envying. He has no family. I have an incredible family, but with them comes pressure. Pressure to perform. Pressure to move back to Paris. Pressure to marry and create heirs—not children, but heirs—and pressure to take over my family’s business.
Brax can have Waverly. But it’s not so simple for me.
I was married to a woman who proved that. I have a family with expectations that prove that.
I finish showering and shaving and towel off. I expect she’s grabbed whatever it is she wanted and left, but when I open the bathroom door, she’s there staring at the wardrobe filled with the things we bought her this morning.
Her gaze slingshots over to me, noting my wet hair and smooth jaw and trailing down over the lines of my chest andabs, stopping when she reaches the white towel at my waist. A heavy blush hits her cheeks, and I wonder if it’s from me like this or that she knows I listened as she orgasmed on my sofa.
“I don’t know what to wear tonight,” she says, her voice high and tight, and a smile somehow unfurls from my lips.
I cross the room and stand beside her, staring into the wardrobe along with her. “It’s just us tonight. Nothing too formal.”
“So… like a dress or pants?”
She’s breathing heavily, her body tense with the large bed behind us, and me only wearing a towel. My cock starts to thicken as if I didn’t just come listening to Brax get her off, but I will it down and clear my throat.
“I think you’d look pretty in the green dress,” I tell her, and she turns to me, her gray eyes on mine.
“You do?”
“You look beautiful in green.”
