Chapter 11 #3
No woman’s ever said that to me. Not like that. Not without sounding like they were trying to get something. Not with that stunned little wonder in their voice like they just unwrapped a gift.
“You think?” I ask, rough around the edges even when I’m trying not to be, like maybe I don’t believe her. Like I’m waiting for the punchline that never comes.
But she just nods, slow and honest, eyes all over me.
She’s got that dazed kind of look, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen, hair spread messily across my pillow like she’s meant to be here.
One of her hands—small, warm, curious—trails down my stomach, fingers drifting over the gold-blond line of hair that leads from my chest down past my waistband.
Just the lightest touch, but it makes every muscle in me tighten.
“I kept looking away,” she murmurs, voice soft and a little breathless, like she’s confessing something that’s been pressing on her chest for too long.
“When you got out of the shower… or when you walked around the house shirtless. I didn’t want to stare but—” she swallows, blush creeping up her throat, “—every time it felt weird to want my boss like that.”
Fuck.
That hits low. Hot.
I lean in, not kissing her yet, just hovering there, my forehead nearly brushing hers, letting my breath ghost over her lips. Her fingers keep tracing down, slow as hell, almost shy but not pulling back. She’s touching me like she’s allowed to now. Like she’s been dying to.
“You wanted me then?” I ask, voice dropping to a growl, not teasing—serious. Because that shit matters. Her wanting me before she had permission? That means this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment. She’d been thinking about it.
She nods again, lashes lowering like she’s trying to hide her face.
“Brielle,” I rasp, catching her chin between my fingers, tilting her head so she has to look at me. “Don’t hide that. Not from me.”
She meets my eyes, cheeks flushed deep, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I wanted you. So bad. I’d get mad at myself for it. Try to push it down. Tell myself it was just hormones or—loneliness or whatever. But every time you looked at me, or smiled, or said something with that damn voice of yours…”
She trails off, shaking her head.
“I wanted to crawl in your lap like a idiot.”
That draws a low laugh from my throat, rough and warm, but not mocking. Hell, the image of her doing exactly that—sweet, needy, curling into me like she belongs there—has my cock pressing hard against my jeans, twitching with interest.
“You could’ve,” I say, my thumb brushing her lower lip, “Anytime.”
She gives me a look, half laugh, half disbelief. “You’re my boss.”
“Still would’ve said yes.”
She bites her lip, like she doesn’t know what to do with that.
And it’s not just the words. It’s her saying them. Her wanting me when I was sweaty and dirty, dragging myself home late, shirt half-off, stinking like diesel and metal and long hours. She’s seen me. Not dressed up, not cleaned up—just me. All grit and grease and skin.
And she still looked.
Still wanted.
“I thought about you, too,” I murmur, voice gone low and gravelly.
“Way too much. In the kitchen. On the couch. Watching you play with Leon like you were already his mom. Seeing you in those soft little shorts, or that tank top with no bra, and tryin’ not to stare while your tits bounced when you laughed.”
Her eyes widen, breath hitching.
“Yeah, I noticed. You think I’m blind?” I grin, brushing a kiss against her jaw, dragging my mouth down to her neck. “You’d stretch your arms up and that shirt would ride up over your stomach and I’d have to turn away before I embarrassed myself.”
She moans when I bite her neck—lightly, just teeth against skin—and her hips arch, needy.
“But I saw it,” I mutter against her pulse. “I saw it all. And I wanted to take you right there in the hallway.”
She gasps, fingers fisting in my hair.
“But I didn’t,” I add, pulling back just enough to see her face. “Because you deserved more than a quick fuck in the dark.”
She looks dazed. Eyes wide, lips parted, whole body trembling under me like my words are as hot as my touch.
“I wanted you even when I thought I couldn’t have you,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers. “And now that I can…”
I kiss her again—hard this time, teeth and tongue, no hesitation.
“…I’m not holding back.”
My hand snakes around her back, fingers working blind and fast on the clasp of her bra while I keep my mouth on hers—kissing her slow and deep, stealing breath like it’s mine to take. The second the hook gives and that fabric goes slack, I drag it down her shoulders, and damn.
Her tits spill out—bounce, even—and I swear I lose track of everything for a second.
Thought. Breath. Time. They’re just… there.
Heavy and full, gravity pulling them into a soft sway as the bra slips down her arms.
I sit back to take it all in, and it’s like getting sucker-punched in the chest with want.
Big, gorgeous tits, round and perfect, pale creamy skin with big pink areolas like nothing I’ve ever seen outside a wet dream.
Her nipples are stiff and dusky, tight from attention, pebbled hard just from the teasing I gave her through the cotton earlier.
They beg to be in my mouth again. Beg to be sucked, bit, pulled on until she moans herself raw.
And I’m pretty sure I groan, low and guttural, when I finally get the full view.
“So gorgeous,” I mutter, hands instantly going up to cup them both, letting them weigh heavy in my palms.
She just smiles, shy but proud, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip as my thumbs sweep over her nipples. They react under my touch, tightening more, and she shudders.
And then she’s reaching for me.
While I’m still half-worshipping her tits, her hands are at my belt, fingers slipping under the leather, working it loose with more confidence than I expected. Her knuckles brush my stomach, teasing over the trail of hair there, and it makes my cock jerk in my jeans—I’m already so hard it hurts.
Her fingers move fast—button, zipper, metal clinking—and then her hand brushes against the bulge in my briefs, and I hiss.
“You’re not the only one who’s been looking,” she whispers, all heat and wicked under her breath.
And shit, that sets something off in me.
I growl, deep in my chest, and my hands slide down, finding the top of her jeans.
My fingers hook in the waistband, denim rough under my nails, and I yank.
Hard enough she gasps. Not out of pain—just surprise.
I get them unbuttoned, undone, her zipper parting under my hand while she arches her hips up to help, those perfect tits jiggling as she moves.
“Lift,” I mutter.
She does, and I drag her jeans down over her hips, slow and steady, eyes locked to the way her skin peeks out underneath—inch by inch.
My knuckles graze her thighs, the soft meat there making my pulse spike.
I strip them down to her knees, then all the way off, her panties tagging along, until she’s naked from the waist down—legs spread just enough for me to see the wet shine between her thighs.
I’m still mostly clothed, and she’s bare.
And holy fuck, she’s beautiful.
My jeans are open, my cock straining against my briefs, and she reaches again, dragging her hand down the length of me through the fabric. I groan, hips bucking into her touch, and she smiles—shy but dangerous now. Dangerous like she knows she’s got me by the balls already.
“You feel that?” I rasp, fingers digging into the thick softness of her thighs, my grip tight enough to leave heat behind. “You do that to me.”
And I’m not saying it to flatter her. It’s not a line, not some bullshit pillow-talk.
I mean it—every damn word. I’m so hard it feels like I’m gonna snap in half, cock straining against the front of my briefs, pulse thudding low and insistent like it’s synced to the beat of her breathing.
And yeah, I want to be inside her—fuck, I want to bury myself in her, stretch her open slow and deep until she’s clawing at the sheets and moaning my name like a broken prayer.
But not yet.
Not until I get a taste.
I move down her body, slow but with purpose, hands trailing over the curve of her hips, lips brushing her stomach on the way, just soft enough to make her shiver.
She lifts onto her elbows to watch me, chest still rising fast, eyes wide and unsure even while her legs spread a little under the pressure of my palms.
She frowns, just slightly, brow pulling as I settle between her thighs.
“What are you doing?” she asks, voice small, uncertain.
I glance up, jaw tight, mouth already watering just from the sight of her—bare, wet, open.
“Tasting you,” I say, matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh… uhm—” she stammers, fingers curling into the sheets like she’s flustered. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”
I cut her off, my voice rougher now. Not angry. Just serious.
“Brielle.”
She stops. Looks at me, cheeks burning.
“I want to taste your pussy,” I say, low and plain, like I’m laying down the law. “Is that okay?”
Her mouth opens. Closes. She blushes even deeper, hands twitching like she doesn’t know where to put them.
“I—uh—it’s just—other guys don’t…”
My jaw flexes. My grip on her thighs tightens, like the idea of those other idiots thinking she’s not worth the effort makes something hot crawl up my spine.
“Then they’re fools,” I growl, voice low and sharp. “You ever been looked at down here, sweetheart? Ever had someone make you come without their dick even in the picture?”
She shakes her head, wide-eyed and quiet, cheeks red like she can’t believe I just said that out loud. Can’t believe I mean it.
But I do.
And when I smile, it’s not soft. It’s crooked, a little mean, a little hungry—because I’m looking at the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen and my patience is hanging by a thread.
I drag her thighs apart a little wider, my palms rough against the smooth skin of her inner thighs, spreading her open until she’s fully laid out for me.
My breath leaves me in a low hiss.