Page 78 of Bossing My Holiday
The sofa creaks beneath us, the sound almost comical. I have a sudden flashback to Tristan’s mom essentially catching them the first morning here, and I laugh despite myself.
She peeks open an eye, shifting her legs higher up my hips. “Something funny?”
“Just thinking about if Francine walked in here now.”
“Oh, hell.” She laughs too, but it turns into a whimper as I push my knees into the cushions and really move. I reach between us, my fingers finding her clit and circling it with the precise pressure I know she craves. Her reaction is immediate. A sharp intake of breath, her eyes flying open to meet mine with an intensity that burns away all other thoughts.
“Yes. Fuck yes. Keep those eyes on me.”
“Braxton,” she cries, my name becoming a plea.
I feel her beginning to unravel, her body convulsing around mine, and it drives me closer to my own edge. There’s something profoundly intimate about watching someone come apart beneath you, knowing you're the cause of their pleasure. With Waverly, it’s magnified by the feelings I’ve tried so hard to keep in check. The love that has grown steadily despite my best efforts to keep things professional.
I rub her faster, feeling the walls of her pussy spasm around my cock. I thicken, growing harder somehow, and quicken my pace. She comes with a scream she muffles against my shoulder, her teeth grazing my skin, causing a sharp sting. The sensation, combined with the rhythmic pulses of her pussy around me, sends me tumbling after her, thrusting two more times and then stilling as I spill everything I have into her in waves that leave me shaking.
We stay like this, me inside of her, breathing heavily, holding each other close. The apartment is silent except for the distant sounds of Parisian traffic and the hiss of the radiators. I should move. We’re both sticky, and the position can’t becomfortable for her, but pulling out of her is the last thing I want to do.
I start to pump into her again, thrusting gently, but stopping before I get fully hard again. I want to fuck her in the shower. I shift to the side, pulling her with me so we’re lying face to face on the narrow sofa. Her expression is soft, satisfied, but there’s a question in her eyes that mirrors my own uncertainty.
“What happens now?” she asks, giving voice to the thought.
I trace the line of her jaw with my finger, lost in the beautiful contours of her face. “I don’t know exactly. You don’t work for me, so there’s no issue with that. I want you in my life as my girl. Not just like this—though God knows I want this too—but all of it. The messy, everyday stuff. The real stuff.”
She smiles, slow and genuine. “Even without Tristan?”
“Yes. Though I wish we could have both.”
Waverly nestles closer, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder as if it was designed for her. Outside, Paris continues its Christmas, lights twinkling in the waning afternoon light. Soon, Tristan will return, and we’ll have to get ready for the party. A party I seriously don’t fucking want to go to.
“Merry Christmas,” Waverly murmurs.
I press a kiss to her forehead, my heart full of a complicated mixture of loss and hope. “Merry Christmas,” I whisper back and hold her, ready for us to write whatever comes next.
27
TRISTAN
Icome back to the apartment after the longest walk of my life. It’s the right decision. I know it is. Moreover, it’s what I have to do. I went back upstairs and told my father I would take over Ouest Hotels within six months. That I’d go home to Boston, get everything in order, then make the transition here.
The words burned like acid on my tongue, but there was no hiding the delight on his face or my mother’s. I felt good about that. That I could be the son they need me to be. The Ouest heir who follows in his family’s footsteps.
But that doesn’t mean that hearing Waverly say that she was falling for me didn’t flay me open and have me rethinking everything about my life.
For two years, I’ve done everything I could to push her away.
Even to the point where I told myself I didn’t crave her every second of every day. That I was indifferent to her charm and wit. That I didn’t seek her out simply to interact with her. Simply to catch a glimpse of her.
I feel like I’ve never done anything right by her, but I hopethat’s changed now. She has this new job, and she has Brax and is no longer in debt, and her nana is taken care of. She can live in happiness and without worry, and that’s all I want for her.
The living room is dark and quiet, but I hear sound coming from my bedroom. With my heart in my throat and my resolve steeled, I enter to find Wavery with the wardrobe door open and the full-length mirror directly in front of her. She’s wearing a red gown, one I told Gerard I wanted her to have specifically for tonight with a plunging neckline and a low back, and here she is, wearing my fantasy and enacting all my dreams.
“Hi,” I say, my voice caught high in my throat, making me sound like I’m thirteen and my balls are dropping all over again.
She glances over at me and treats me to a dazzling smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hi. Is this okay?”
She does a small twirl, not even being flirtatious or tempting. That’s not exactly Waverly’s style. She’s genuinely asking, and I want to reach my hands into her thick, dark hair and pull her perfect body to mine and kiss her until she knows I fucking love her. That I’m devastated and crushed and hate everything my world is comprised of.
“You look beautiful,” I manage.
