Page 40 of Under the Mistletoe
I sit in the truck, waiting for Donovan, thinking back to earlier today. When I saw him onstage, his commanding presence had the whole audience captured, and I was completely gobsmacked. Admiration filled me at seeing him able to deliver a speech, one that was motivational and inspirational without even looking at a script or note card.
Then his hand went to my back again as we left and stayed there, like he was marking his territory in front of everyone. Like he couldn’t help it. Like it was always meant to be there. Like he wanted to keep me close.
And now, here I am. Snowed in with the boss with my face flushed at spending the night in his lake house. With him. A cliché so obvious it’s almost comical. And I’m not mad about it. The two trains of thought bash against each other in my mind, almost giving me a headache. The sensible part of me knows that we need to keep this as just a night of work, maybe a shared meal over spreadsheets and strategies. But here, away from the office, just the two of us, it’s going to be difficult to keep our feelings in check.
Donovan opens my door and steps closer, blocking me in. His eyes meet mine, and I still. Every thought I just had of the two of us remaining professional flies completely out the window because the way he’s looking at me now, I know without a doubt I can’t contain my feelings anymore.
“Are you ready?” His voice is low, almost rumbly, and it only adds to my attraction.
“Yes.” I look him straight in the eye, answering the unspoken question that has lingered between us for the past few weeks.
He helps me out, the drop from the truck to the ground significant, and his hands wrap around my waist, lifting me down like I weigh nothing. All those tubs of ice cream I’ve eaten at night make little difference to the man whose biceps bulge under my hands. My body slides down his as I grip on to his arms tightly, the space between us almost nonexistent.
“Be careful. It’s slippery.” He looks down at me, his gaze full of molten heat I’m not sure I can handle. But as his grip on my waist lightens and his hands drop from my frame, my own seek him out and our hands connect as he pulls me toward his home, keeping me close.
The driver jumps in the truck and leaves, the silence encasing us, reminding me exactly how alone we are. His hold on my hand tightens as we step inside, which I’m glad about as my knees start to feel weak. The large open wooden door is just the start of the opulence that hits me. My mind is a racing pile of mush as Donovan stands in front of me, watching me carefully.
“Jessica… I—”
“Kiss me.” The words are out before I can take them back. He pauses, his eyes searching mine.
“What did you say?” He’s clarifying. He’s my boss. We’re about to cross a very firm line. One that we can’t come back from. I swallow, knowing I need to lead at this moment. I need to be the one to strike the match and set us on fire.
“Kiss me,” I almost pant, my voice breathy, and he wastes no time. He takes one step toward me and cups my cheeks, almost pulling me up to my toes as his lips hit mine, and everything else in the world fades to black.
His lips are hot and urgent, his hands strong. As I open my mouth, his tongue dives in, and I’m almost dizzy at the sensation. I quickly grab on to his lapels, steadying myself as we move backward, my back hitting the door, barely making it two steps inside what I’m sure is the most exquisite home I’ve ever stepped foot in.
“Tell me to stop… Jesus, Jessica, tell me to stop,” he whispers against my lips as his kiss deepens. The taste of coffee and chocolate filters through, as does the heat from his hands as they start to roam my body.
“Don’t stop…” I’m barely able to breathe as I push his jacket from his shoulders, and he throws it on the floor.
“We can’t do this,” he says, making no move to stop.
“No, we can’t.” My words brush against his lips, my movements not stopping when my hands find his shirt buttons, and I start to undo them.
“It completely crosses the line of the boss-employee relationship.” His kisses move down my jaw, to my neck, and I lean my head back, opening to him as his hands find my dress zipper at the back of my neck.
“So fire me,” I tell him, because now I can’t think of anything else I want more than this man.
“Fuck…” He pulls down my zipper just as I open his last shirt button. Grabbing his shirt, he pulls it from his body, throwing it down on the floor as I shimmy out of my dress. I’ve never had sex like this. I’ve never met a man I want so badly that I strip to my underwear right at his front door. I’ve never had a man want me as much as this either.
He looks at me as my dress pools at my feet. My black underwear matches because this girl was prepared. Mabel always says to wear your best underwear, it’s your superpower and that lady has never steered me wrong. I take her words as gospel.
His naked chest heaves with his quick breaths. This man is sculpted. I knew he would be. But I’ve never seen anything like it in real life. I lean forward and run my fingers down his torso, his muscles tensing a little before I hit his belt buckle and open it swiftly.
“You're just going to look or…?” I tease, having no idea where this confidence comes from. The few sexual encounters I’ve had have all been mediocre and completely stock standard. Missionary, a few hip thrusts, one person coming, usually not me.
If anything, I should be reserved. But it’s been so long since a man has made me feel something that I’m almost wild for it.
“Look at you…” His hand skirts up my torso, his thumb brushing across my sensitive nipple until he cups my jaw and tilts me toward him.
“You are so goddamn beautiful…” His thumb rubs across my lip as I open his trousers and push them to the floor. Then he’s kissing me again as we step out of the rubble of clothes and he kicks off his shoes. He bends down quickly, grabbing his wallet, finding a condom.
“Let’s go.” His hands palm my ass, and he lifts me to him quickly, my legs wrapping around his waist, where I feel him hot and thick against my core. I grind on him so eagerly that he groans.
“Donovan,” I moan, and he wastes no time, taking us to the large sofa, the one that looks like it costs a million dollars. He sits, positioning me on his lap. I feel the soft fabric on my knees and know that it’s high quality, and we are about to ruin it. I cup his face, bringing it back to mine, not wanting to part from him for a second longer than I need to. Grinding on him again, the friction feels too nice, hitting a spot that hasn’t been hit by a man in a long time.
“I want to take my time with you, but that will need to be later, because right now, I just can’t get enough.” He pulls down his underwear, and I think I forget to breathe. I wonder briefly if I’m dreaming. Because I swear I had the same dream just the other night. Body rippling, the small flick of hair falling across his forehead, cock hard and heavy. I knew he was perfect. Aesthetically pleasing is what people say in the industry. What every woman imagines he would look like naked is exactly how he is.
