As I stare up at him, I think about how much has changed over the past two months. How my feelings for him have evolved. When did I stop looking at him as too old? Too off-limits. Too…Beau’s dad?
Because now I only see him as mine. My…something, I don’t know. More than my boss, but not just my lover.
My Sir.
We don’t hurry this time. Instead, he rests on top of me, his elbows framing my face as he strokes my hair and peppers my face, neck, and chest with kisses. Our thirst has been quenched, but our appetite has not been totally fulfilled.
He fishes into his nightstand for another condom, and I watch him put this one on, my eyes fixated on the way his fingers move the rubber over his stiff cock. When he lies back on top of me, he gathers me in his arms, squeezing me tight as he slides inside. And the entire time his body moves in languid, sensual strokes, our lips are locked and our hearts are beating in unison.
I must have drifted off to sleep because I wake up a couple hours later, nestled against Emerson’s chest. He’s awake, stroking my back as he reads something on his phone.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Just after midnight,” he replies, kissing my forehead.
“I should probably go,” I say, but even as I say that, my arm tightens around his body, and I can’t imagine peeling myself out of his warm bed. When he looks down at me, I see a hint of dissatisfaction in his eyes.
“I understand. I wouldn’t want your mother to worry.” Something about that makes me feel so juvenile. I’m twenty-one, and while it’s a pool house in the back yard, I do still sort of live with my mom. That unsettling feeling of not deserving Emerson comes flooding back.
“I’m sure she’s already asleep, so it’s not a big deal, but I do have to work tomorrow.” I give him a tight-lipped smile, and he grins back, stroking my bare stomach with his soft, large hand.
“You can come in a little late tomorrow, I guess.”
“I don’t want to. I’ll be here bright and early.”
“Good.”
Finally, I force myself out from under the covers and slip my skirt back on.
“I guess I have to drive home like this,” I say, showing him my now buttonless blouse.
“Not a chance,” he says with a grimace. Without a shred of clothing on his body, he gets out of bed and pads over to his dresser, where he pulls out a T-shirt. I couldn’t tell you what color or size the shirt is because my attention is laser focused on Emerson Grant’s naked bum.
He turns toward me, and I do my best not to stare at all of his nakedness. I mean…I just had the damn thing in my mouth. Why would I blush about it now?
“Are you okay?” he asks when he notices me not moving to take the shirt from him.
I pinch my lips together and look up at his face. “I’m fine.”
He laughs at me as I pull my blouse off and replace it with his shirt. To my disappointment, he slips on his black boxers before walking me to the door.
“I wish you could stay,” he whispers, wrapping me up in his arms. I breathe in the scent of his skin and his shirt that I’m wearing, and I wish the same thing.
“Me too.”
“But I do look forward to seeing you on your knees in the morning,” he says in a low tone, and a thrill tingles at the base of my spine. I look up at him with lust in my eyes. “Wear something sexy for me tomorrow, Charlotte.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“We’re going to have so much fun now,” he adds, and those words linger on my mind the entire drive home and even after I crawl into my bed, reliving every perfect moment of tonight.
The next morning, I wear the outfit he loves so much—sheer top and tight skirt. I’ve probably never been more excited to go to work. But I guess I never anticipated getting railed and having multiple orgasms at work before either.
I let myself in when I reach his house five minutes early. He’s not in his office, and I consider searching the house for him, but I know he’d much rather find me waiting for him.
After shedding my coat and my shoes, I grab the pillow from the chair and set it in the middle of the room. I kneel on my knees, just as I hear his distant footsteps somewhere in the house.
With my head down, my body lights up in anticipation when I hear the click of his shoes on the floor. He’s quiet a moment before walking up to me, touching my chin and tilting my head back, so I’m gazing up at him—just like he did on that first day.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, and I breathe it in. Those words are a serotonin boost for my soul. They tell me I’m safe, adored, valued, and have nothing at all in the world to worry about.