Chapter 15 Thatcher
THATCHER
The hot shower did nothing to wash away the bitter taste of disappointment coating my throat. I’d walked along the river for hours after leaving the restaurant, trying to process what had just happened, watching the sun set over the water while my father’s words echoed in my head.
“I’m proud of you, son. Really proud.”
For exactly thirty seconds, I’d believed him. Thirty seconds of thinking, maybe, finally, my father saw something worthwhile in what I was doing. Then came the real reason for his sudden show of support.
“Your brother’s firm has an opening. Junior analyst position. Tobias put in a good word.” He’d slid a business card across the table like it was a done deal. “Real career potential, Thatcher. Benefits, advancement opportunities, the kind of stability your mother would have wanted for you.”
He went right for the jugular by mentioning my mom.
I’d tried to explain about VSE, about how well things were going, about the art I was finally taking seriously again. But his smile had contained that patronizing edge I know too well.
“This assistant thing has been a nice break, but it’s time to be realistic. The position starts Monday. I already told them you’d accept.”
That was when I walked out of the restaurant.
Thinking about it makes my chest tight all over again. I pull on sweatpants and an old T-shirt, my hair still damp from the shower, trying to shake off the feelings I always get whenever I see my father.
I should have known better.
I shouldn’t have left the office.
Especially not after what happened with Pierce in the roof garden.
The memory of him pushing me against the wall and going down on his knees makes me hot all over again. We would have crossed a line.
An even bigger line than the ones we’ve already crossed.
The knock on my door almost makes me jump. I know it’s not Alli because she told me she was on a date tonight when I asked her if I could come over.
I open the door to find Pierce standing in the hallway, looking nothing like the man I see at work.
His usual perfect suit has been replaced by black sweatpants and a soft gray Harvard hoodie that clings to his chest. The sight makes my tongue feel too big for my mouth.
His hair is slightly mussed and wet, like he showered before coming over.
“Pierce.” I can’t hide my surprise. “I…wasn’t expecting… What are you doing here?”
“I know,” he interrupts, words tumbling out in a way that’s completely unlike his usual measured speech.
“I’m sorry for just showing up like this.
I was worried when you left early, and I couldn’t stop thinking that it was my fault.
I got your address from your file. What happened on the roof…
” He runs a hand through his hair. “I handled it badly.”
“Come in,” I say, stepping back.
My apartment suddenly feels impossibly small with Pierce in it. He takes in the space, the sketches covering every wall, the art supplies scattered across the coffee table, the general chaos that is my life.
“This is…” He pauses, studying a drawing of the VSE office building I created from memory. “It’s very you.”
I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not, but the way he’s looking around suggests he’s actually interested, not judging. “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Don’t apologize.” He moves closer to examine a sketch of the rooftop garden. “These are incredible, Thatcher. The detail, the way you capture so much in simple lines…”
Heat creeps up my neck. “They’re just doodles.”
“They’re not.” His voice is firm. “This is real talent.”
The words hit differently than they usually do when people compliment my art. Maybe because Pierce doesn’t give empty praise, or maybe because after my father’s dismissal, I needed to hear them from someone who matters.
“Why did you leave early?” he asks, turning to face me. “Was it because of what happened between us?”
I shake my head. “My father called. Wanted to meet up.” The words taste bitter. “I thought I’d go back after lunch, but…after another lecture about my life choices disguised as career advice, I just…couldn’t.”
Pierce’s expression softens with understanding. “I know all about family expectations.”
“Look at us. Both with perfect younger brothers who seem to do everything right.” I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “My father thinks working at VSE is just another temporary distraction. That I’m wasting my time ‘playing assistant’ when I could be doing something better.”
Pierce sits beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with shower soap. “For what it’s worth, you’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. And I’ve had several.”
“Even with all the disasters?”
“Especially with the disasters.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You make everything more interesting.”
The way he’s looking at me makes heat pool in my stomach. “Pierce…”
“Thatcher.” His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining like that’s what they’re supposed to do, but then, as if he remembers himself, he lets go. “About what happened on the roof.”
“Pierce—”
“And last night. Even in the bathroom before that. I need to apologi—”
“Pierce,” I interrupt, but he shakes his head.
“Please, let me say this. I’m your boss. The power dynamics between us are complicated. What I did, pulling you up there without asking, letting my need for you overcome… It wasn’t right.”
The guilt in his voice makes my chest ache. “Is that what you think happened? That you somehow took advantage of me?”
“Didn’t I?” His eyes meet mine with painful honesty. “I’m the CFO, the person who signs your paychecks. How can you be sure you weren’t influenced by that dynamic?”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Pierce, have you met me? When have I ever let professional hierarchy stop me from doing anything I wanted?”
“But…”
“No buts.” I reach up to cup his face, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “I wanted you long before you became my boss. Have wanted you since that wedding, since watching you try to maintain control while I did my best to make you lose it completely.”
His breath catches. “Thatcher…”
“Everything that’s happened between us has been completely consensual,” I continue. “If anything, I’ve been the aggressor. The sticky notes, finding excuses to touch you, trying to make you smile and get your attention.”
Before I think too hard about what I’m doing, I move to straddle his legs. His hands move to my waist immediately, and my dick reacts to the feel of his strong hands on me.
“What if…? What if I want you to take advantage of me?”
The words hang between us until he lets out a long breath like he’s giving in to a force he’s tired of fighting.
“Why can’t I stop wanting you?”
“I could ask the same question.” I trace the line of his eyebrow. “Don’t you believe me? Don’t you believe that I want to kiss you, fuck you, just be with you?”
“We shouldn’t…”
“I beg to disagree,” I say, leaning over to place a soft kiss on his cheek. He tries to capture my lips, but I turn to kiss his jaw instead. “I can make a very compelling argument. In fact, my argument is getting very compelling right now.”
His breath catches and his fingers press harder against my skin.
“Pierce,” I breathe. “I need you to finish what you started this morning.”
He snaps. He fucking snaps so deliciously, pulling me into a demanding kiss. His hand cups my jaw while his mouth is hard against mine, like he wants to fuse us together.
I try to deepen the kiss—I fucking want to crawl inside this man—when suddenly, Pierce is flipping us, his hands firm on my hips as he rolls me beneath him on the couch. The weight of him pressing me into the worn cushions makes me gasp, and he swallows the sound with his mouth.
“God, Thatcher,” he breathes against my lips, his hands already working at the hem of my T-shirt. “I need to see you.”
I lift my arms, letting him pull the fabric over my head before his mouth is on my chest, leaving trails of fire across my skin. His hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of my tattoos, mapping the planes of my torso like he’s memorizing every detail.
When his fingers reach the waistband of my joggers, he pauses, eyes meeting mine in question. I nod eagerly, lifting my hips to help him slide the fabric down my legs, along with my underwear.
The moment I’m exposed, Pierce goes completely still. His breath catches as he takes in my piercing, the silver ring on the underside of my cock where the head meets the shaft, glinting in the lamplight.
“Fuck, Thatcher.” His voice is rough with want.
“Is it…okay?” The question comes out more nervous than I intended. I’ve had mixed reactions before, and suddenly, Pierce’s opinion matters more than anyone else’s ever has.
His response is wordless but unmistakable. His mouth is on my cock immediately, his tongue exploring the metal with a reverence that makes me arch off the couch. The sensation is incredible. Pierce’s warm mouth combined with the way he plays with the piercing, tugging gently with his tongue.
“Jesus,” I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair. “Pierce, that’s…”
He hums around me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my entire body. My cock is long and thin, curving upward. If I’ve ever felt self-conscious about not being as thick as some of the men I’ve been with, the way Pierce worships it with his mouth puts all doubts to rest.
I’m already close when Pierce pulls back, his lips swollen and eyes dark with want. “What do you need, Thatcher?”
“Finger,” I manage, barely coherent. “I need—”
He doesn’t need me to finish. His hands are already moving, pulling my sweatpants down as far as they can go without taking them off completely. He kisses a trail down my thighs even as his hand reaches up to my mouth. I take his fingers eagerly, sucking them until they’re slick.
The first touch of his wet finger against my hole makes me cry out, my back arching as he circles the sensitive skin. He takes me back in his mouth at the same time, the dual sensation overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Pierce,” I moan, one hand still tangled in his hair while the other grips the arm of the couch. “Fuck, I’m so close…”
He hums again, the sound vibrating through me as his finger presses deeper, finding that spot that makes me see stars. The combination of his mouth on my cock and his finger inside me is too much.
“I’m gonna—” The warning dies in my throat as my orgasm crashes over me, Pierce swallowing everything I give him while his finger continues its gentle movement.
“You’re way too good at that,” I pant when I can finally speak again, my body still trembling from the aftershocks.
Pierce crawls back up my body, his lips finding mine.
“Your turn,” I breathe against his mouth, already pushing his sweatpants down. “Thank you god for sweatpants.”
He laughs. “You mean, ‘Thank you, Pierce, for being so wound up about me that clothes were an afterthought?’”
It’s my turn to laugh. “I vote for clothes always being an afterthought.”
Even though I just came, seeing Pierce above me, his hair mussed and lips swollen from what he just did, has heat pooling in my stomach again.
I free his cock from his underwear, wrapping my hand around him. He’s already hard and leaking, and when I take us both in my grip, the contrast between us—his smooth skin against my metal—makes me gasp with pleasure.
“I need you to come in my mouth,” I tell him. He nods, pupils blown wide. “Tell me when you’re close.”
“So close already,” he admits, and I can feel the truth of it in the way his cock pulses in my hand.
“Climb up and fuck my face, Pierce.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Thatcher,” he groans, but scrambles up my body.
The first taste of him on my tongue makes me moan, the sound vibrating around him as I take him deeper. I put my hands on his ass to give him permission to let go.
“Thatcher,” he gasps, and I can feel him getting closer with every pass of my tongue. “I’m—”
He doesn’t finish the warning before he’s coming, his body going rigid as I swallow everything he gives me. When he pulls back, I look up at him and smile.
“This might be a good time to mention I got tested after that time at the wedding. I’m negative and on PrEP,” I say.
He chuckles. “Same.”
Before I know it, he’s removing both our sweatpants all the way and settling on the couch facing me. His hand reaches to tuck my curls behind my ear.
We lie together in comfortable silence, my head on his chest while his fingers trace patterns on my skin. My couch has never seen such a good show, and I know I’ll have marks on my skin for days, but I can’t bring myself to care about anything except how perfect this moment feels.
“Your father’s wrong,” Pierce says quietly. “What you’re doing at VSE, your art, all of it is important. You are important.”
The words settle the pain that meeting my father created. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For showing up.” I press a kiss to his chest.
His arms tighten around me. “Always.”
I really hope he means it because, boss or not, I’m not sure I can let him go.