Chapter 4
“Omigod!” I drop back into the water so fast, I forget that I’m holding the bottle. I lift it quickly, but it’s too late. The whiskey has been tainted with chlorine. Oh well. I set the bottle on the side of the hot tub.
I have more pressing things to deal with.
Namely, the fact that my boss just saw my bare naked body. I could’ve worn my bra and thong, but I’ve never skinny dipped in a hot tub in a ten-thousand-square-foot mountain chalet. It seemed like a great way to start my retirement.
I think I might be drunk.
The Dread Lord is staring at me. His eyes are glowing as usual, but his pupils are so wide they’ve turned his eyes black. The gold is only a thin corona around them. His throat works as he swallows.
He pulls his undershirt over his head.
Holy hell. I nearly fall backward into the hot tub because he’s gorgeous. I thought his arms were chiseled, but his abdomen is a work of art. And he’s packing plenty of inches in those tight, black briefs.
No, don’t look at his dick! His giant, throbbing meat stick… Don’t even think of it!
“Like what you see?” He’s suddenly next to the hot tub. Right beside me. I could reach out and touch his eight-pack.
“Benji really works you hard.” Benji is the only one who can yell at the Dread Lord and survive. Sometimes, I listen in on their workouts because the sound of a former SEAL team instructor barking at my boss gives me so much joy. I only got the soundtrack, though, no visuals.
“Did you think that Benji and I were having tea?”
“No, just lots of sex.” I mimic Benji’s Brooklyn accent. “Yeah, that’s good. Give it to me again. Come on now, one more time, yeah, yeah, pump it like you mean it.”
A muscle jerks in his cheek, but the corner of his mouth is turning up, like he’s fighting a smile. “Glad we could amuse you.”
“It’s one of the things I’m going to miss. That and spitting into your espresso.” I have never spat in his espresso.
His eyes narrow. “You’ve been very naughty.”
I gasp like he’s put his hands on me. His words shoot straight to my needy clit.
“An absolute disgrace.” He puts a hand on the side of the hot tub. It’s large and strong and dusted with black hair, and all I can think about is how it would feel if he touched me.
He heaves himself into the water. I retreat until my back hits the side of the hot tub and squeak as he advances on me. The huge hot tub is suddenly not big enough for the two of us. He’s everywhere, with his rock-hard chest and boulders in his shoulders.
He grabs me, moving so fast I don’t have time to shriek.
His hand fists in my hair, drawing my head back. It stings in a way that makes me want more. “What are you going to do to me?”
“What I should’ve done a long time ago.” He lowers his head and stifles my gasp with a kiss.
Those perfect lips claim mine, and I automatically press into him, even though he’s holding my head back by my hair, hard enough to hurt.
I rub myself against his body, and little electrical pulses run through me.
I have never been kissed like this before. I’m in a fever dream. He’s kissing me like he’s going to suck all the whiskey from me, and I moan when I shift my hips and feel his hard length.
“You’re a bad, bad girl.” He takes a break from mauling my mouth to nip at my jaw. Lightning shoots down my legs, and I collapse. He shifts us so that he’s sitting and I’m on top of him.
I grind down, chasing more of that lightning. I’m so close to coming, I’m going to bite him if I don’t get it soon. “The worst. Absolutely incorrigible.” He bares his teeth at me. His hair is mussed, wild. “The way you tempt me, Wellesley.”
What?
“The things you do to me.” He hauls me up by my hair so now I’m kneeling, straddling him. My body bows backward, pushing my breasts toward him. “Slipping your bra off in the middle of a work night.”
“You noticed that?”
His groan reverberates through me and makes my inner muscles spasm with ecstasy.
“I couldn’t notice anything else. These tantalizing little nipples.
” He leans in and licks one, then bites it.
The pain sizzles through me, my orgasm rising.
“I wanted to bend you over right there and punish you for tempting me—”
My orgasm slams into me like a train. “Oh god,” I shout to the ceiling. “Oh fuck.”
“Yes, that’s it. Give it to me.” He pulls me close, loosening his grip just enough that I can rub my pussy against the ridge of his cock.
“You’re so hard,” I moan.
“All for you, Wellesley, all for you.” He still has that punishing grip on my hair—pain pulses through my scalp, adding to the maelstrom of feeling—but now he’s forcing me close. Right where I want to be.
I writhe against him, in the grip of a sudden storm of pleasure.
I rub one out every night fantasizing about him. Let’s be honest, it was always him, not a faceless man. But last night I passed out before my nightly orgasm, so now I’m riding high on a twenty-four-hour backlog of desire.
And here he is, with his powerful body and movie star eyes, and it doesn’t seem real.
“Wellesley.” He says my name like I’m his salvation. For a moment, I’m floating above the clouds.
I lick my Piers-bitten lips. My mind is clearing. I’m in my boss’s lap, naked, and I just used his abs like a sexy washboard to scrub my clit. I feel sexy and beautiful, but… am I? Is this really happening?
Is this really me?
“Holy hell.” My limbs are weak, but I push at him, trying to put some distance between us. “What was that?”
“You know what that was. And it was glorious.” He looks so satisfied, it’s distracting.
What was I trying to say? “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“You’re my boss!”
“You quit, remember?”
“You didn’t accept my resignation.” I push at him again, but he grips my hips, settling me more firmly and straddling his lap. His cock is still hard, and, Sweet St. Nick, I want all that pastrami in my mouth.
He’s looking at me like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. His fingers caress my hips, and sensation shoots through me, making my nipples tingle.
“We can’t do this. What about—” I gulp. A chill trickles through me when I realize what I’ve just done. “What about Scary Sandra?”
“What about her?”
“She’s your…” I falter before saying girlfriend.
I don’t know if Piers dates people. Once, in his early twenties, he was photographed out to dinner with every underwear model from the Victoria’s Secret spring catalog—all twenty-four of them at one long table—but I don’t know if that counts as dating.
I do know that he hasn’t gone out with anyone since I started working for him. “You’re banging her.”
“I’m not banging her.”
I shake my head in horror. What have I done? I’m the other woman... I’m the worst.
“I’m not,” Piers shakes me. “I swear it on Marty’s grave.”
The pressure in my skull pops, leaving me limp with relief. He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it. He never mentions Marty if he can help it.
“What if I told you I haven’t been intimate with anyone in almost five years?”
“What? Why?” My world wobbles on its axis.
“Wellesley,” his voice turns warm. “Are you really asking me that?” He’s looking at me with such tenderness, it can’t be real.
Does scotch cause hallucinations?
“Four years, eleven months, and twenty-seven days I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “I just didn’t know it.”
Four years… That’s when he hired me. The day we met. I’d impressed him with intel about his competitors, and he hired me on the spot.
Does he mean he’s wanted to bang me? From day one?
It’s too much for me to believe. I keep shaking my head.
He stops me with another kiss. “It’s better than I imagined.”
What little strength I’ve gained in the past minute leaves my body, and I collapse against him. My boss has imagined kissing me?
“Is it so hard to believe?” He traces a finger along my collarbone.
“Oh god,” I whimper.
“You can call me Piers. ‘Milord,’ if you’re feeling medieval.”
I hide my face in my hands, and he chuckles.
“I always thought the Dread Lord was a mouthful.” He lifts my wet hair off my shoulder and drops his head to press his lips to my skin. “That’s what people call me, right?”
“Yes.” My answer is muffled by my palms.
“It’s okay, I like it. And that one time you called me ‘sir’ in an email, I had to jack off for an hour.”
His cock is hard under my butt, so… he’s not lying.
I whimper. I can’t deal.
“Enough.” He pecks me on the forehead. “Let’s get you out of this hell broth.
” He lifts me in his arms. I feel so small and perfect, cradled against him.
He carries me out of the hot tub, wraps me with a towel warmed on the rack, and draws me down to settle in his lap again, this time on the couch.
His cock is still hard, and I keep wondering what’s next. But then my brain glitches out.
My boss wants me. He’s always wanted me. Not Scary Sandra. Me. ????? That’s where my brain keeps glitching.
He grabs a bottle of water from the side table and opens it.
“Drink.” He sets the bottle to my lips. He doesn’t let me take it from him, just holds it for me, giving me small sips until I’ve had half the bottle. And I’d be lying if I said that his controlling behavior didn’t make me weak. “More?”
I shake my head.
“Good girl.”
I’ve wanted to hear those words from him for so long, and they sound better than I imagined. I melt. My limbs are boneless when he shifts me onto the couch and tucks another towel around me. “Now don’t move.” He stands up and heads to the sauna room, presumably to get us two robes.
It takes a second for me to figure out how to use my legs, and when I do, I’m as wobbly as a new colt. But I make a break for it. I don’t know what the Dread Lord is up to, and I have no power to resist him. I need to escape!
He catches me before I get to the stairs.
And that’s how I find myself tossed over his shoulder and carried upstairs like a sack of grain.
“Put me down!” I kick my legs, and he claps a hand to my ass. Not hard, but he has a big hand, and any more force and it would sting.
“No. I told you not to move, and you disobeyed me. Bad girl.” His voice has the perfect amount of growl to it, and his hand rubs my bottom, soothing me.
He’s the Dread Lord of all my fantasies come to life.
But not even Fantasies Number One through Seven Thousand, Six Hundred and Twelve prepared me for how I respond to him.
If he sets me down, I’d fall to my knees and beg for his cruelty. There’s no way I can fight him.
So I give up, going limp and letting my head and wet hair hang down to the floor.
He carries me through the house, up to the top floor. From my upside-down position, it takes me a moment to recognize my bedroom. He carries me into the bathroom, right into the shower and leaves me dangling while he turns on the warm spray.
Finally, he sets me down. “Let’s get you clean so I can dirty you up again.”
Santa, save me!
The shower is one of those fancy glass-enclosed ones.
It’s enormous, with a stone bench for sitting, but no amount of space is enough because the Dread Lord is in the shower with me.
Not only is he hanging around, but he takes the hand sprayer down and uses it to rinse me off.
I turn to grab it away from him, and he flips me around so my back is to his front.
His dick pokes me, but he clamps his arm around me so I’m trapped.
And then he directs the spray between my legs. I cry out, writhing, trying to get away, but he holds me tight and uses the jet right above my clit. It really is like being fucked by a waterfall.
Sweet Santa, I thought I had elaborate Dread Lord fantasies, but I never imagined this. This blows even Fantasy No. Sixty-nine away.
It’s not just the pressure pummelling my sexy bits.
It’s also Piers, his muscles bunching as he grips my neck and holds me fast, making me take it.
He knows just how to direct the sprayer, too, so it doesn’t hit my clit directly.
Not too much, just enough to drown me in pleasure.
My muscles clench, cramp, and release. Did I come? I think I just came again.
Piers’s cock is a club in my back, a promise. A threat. But he’s ignoring his own needs, still pummelling me with the spray, driving me toward a third climax.
“Oh my god,” I whimper. “Oh my god.”
“I told you, darling, you can call me ‘Piers. ’ Or Milord if you’re feeling medieval.”
I laugh despite myself. “Shut up.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” He maneuvers me to the wall and presses me against the tile.
“You don’t tell me what to do. I’m still in charge.
” Too late, I realize there are more jets built into the wall.
Now, I’m caught between Piers and a hard spray.
I try to fold in half, to see if I can slip away, but he clamps a hand on the back of my neck and keeps me pinned, cheek to the tile.
The spray batters my clit. I scrabble at the slick marble, and he presses harder into my back. “Be still. You can’t escape me.”
Oh fuck, I’m going to come again. My poor battered clit is tender, overstimulated. But my pussy throbs, and my insides ache, needing to be filled.
“Please,” I beg. “Please fuck me.”
A sharp inhale.
“Not yet. You have to earn that, my sweet Wellesley.”
I whimper. He sounds like all of my fantasies rolled into one.
“Now be a good girl and reach back. Hold your ass open for me.”
He’s not going to show me mercy. My breath hitches on a sob, but I do as I’m told and reach back, parting my ass cheeks so he can direct the spray onto the tender pleats of my asshole.
He teases me, circling my rear hole, getting closer and backing off, until I’m shaking.
My fingers are slipping on my wet skin, and my face is smushed to the tile, but I don’t want him to let up and let me go, never, never, never.
I want it all, and I want him to make me take it.
“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, as he punishes me with pleasure. I come again with a white hot, supernova blast.