Baby for the Bosshole Page 16

  He gives me a thoughtful look, although his darkening eyes hint at growing frustration. “Well, if you aren’t coming to my place—”

  I put a finger over his mouth, still wet from our kiss. “We don’t have to do it at your place. In case you haven’t noticed, the office is empty now.”

  The dream I had on Friday simply refuses to let me alone. Me bent over the desk. My ass lifted for Emmett.

  Slick heat gathers between my legs. I want to know how good it’s going to feel. Probably mind-blowing. For some reason, every sexual thing I try with Emmett is amazing.

  The man isn’t just a god of finance. He’s also a god of sex.

  I tunnel my fingers into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss. He wraps his arms around me. This time, when his cock presses against my belly, I rock against him, my mouth fused to his.

  “Tell me you have a condom on you,” I murmur against his mouth.

  “Of course. I am the CEO.”

  “What does being CEO have to—”

  “Condoms Eternally On-hand.”

  I laugh into our kiss, lost in the taste of him, all heat and Emmett. His heart booms hard and fast against the hand I place over it. His excitement is infectiously, exhilaratingly hot.

  I maneuver us around in gentle, dance-like circles until my ass bumps against the edge of his desk, exactly where I want to be. He unzips the professional ivory and gray dress and pushes it down until I’m in nothing but my bra and thong.

  “I will never get enough of this view,” he says.

  His reaction ratchets up my confidence. I’m enjoying the view, too, of his thick cock pressed against his slacks. Smiling, my eyes on his, I unhook my bra and let it fall. He takes a nipple into his mouth with an impatient groan and drags my thong down my legs. Then he travels south, his mouth leaving a hot trail down my belly. He spreads my knees and positions himself between my thighs, his breath tickling my skin, raising shivery goosebumps.

  I should feel vulnerable and weak, standing in his office naked while he’s fully clothed. But the erotic worship in his eyes makes me feel bold. Empowered.

  “You smell great,” he rasps.

  My face heats. When men go down on you, it’s usually because they want you to suck their cock later. A little quid pro quo extra-credit work, rather than something they’re doing because they really want to. And they make sure you know it, if not explicitly then by overtly hinting at it, in case you’re—God forbid—too obtuse.

  But not Emmett. He sighs appreciatively and closes his mouth over my lady parts like he’s dying for it. I gasp as his tongue flicks around, his hands sliding up, up, up until they cup my breasts, his fingers toying with the beaded nipples.

  Intense bliss radiates all over—from my nipples, my clit…from the absolute core of who I am. Everywhere he touches turns into an erogenous zone.

  A climax builds abruptly, slamming into me with a force that leaves me punch-drunk. Air catches in my lungs and my vision dims. Even as I struggle for breath, he rises and kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth. I kiss him back, desperate for more of him. For the pleasure only he can give.

  He grips my ass, digging his fingers in, kneading possessively. I love the rough handling. It says so much about how little control he has left.

  “Your ass is killing me,” he whispers between kisses.

  “I think my everything is killing you.”

  He lets out a laugh, dark with need.

  Shooting him a saucy grin, I turn around and bend over the desk, my arms stretched out, my hands together. I tilt my pelvis, giving him a view of the ass he loves so much.

  He curses under his breath. Bet his underwear is wet with precum.

  “Put your cock in me.” My voice is dreamy with anticipation.

  “You telling me what to do? Who’s the boss here, anyway?” He slaps my ass, the sting wringing a gasp out of me; I’m half surprised and half turned on. “Patience.”

  He undoes his buckles and fastener. There’s the hiss of a zipper and the ripping of foil. Then his cock is pushing at the entrance of my dripping pussy.

  I expected him to drive in hard, like on Sunday. But his movements are unhurried. Smooth. Each leisurely thrust lays another film of honey-sweet pleasure over me, until I’m drowning in the simple, hot joy of having him inside. Sweat mists over my bare skin, and I arch my back, pressing against him, wanting him to up the tempo.

  Instead, he grips my hips and controls the pace completely. His absolute dominance over both himself and my body drives me crazy, until I’m whimpering and begging.

  An orgasm begins to shimmer like the sun rising on the horizon. He drives me toward it as I reach for it. When it finally breaks over me, it isn’t frenzied like before, but as deep and powerful as the vast ocean. And I cry out his name endlessly.

  No matter what happens, I’m never going to regret this fling with Emmett Lasker.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Amy

  Emmett and I disembark from his jet on Friday at three forty p.m. “I still can’t believe you told everyone in the office this was a work trip,” I say.

  “You don’t want anybody to know what we’re really up to, right? And I didn’t feel like waiting until evening. The view’s prettier at sunset.”

  Emmett isn’t showing the least bit of guilt over the lies he fed everyone about needing to do an in-depth review of the distribution partners for Bernie’s water filter venture. There are two in San Diego that Bernie’s considering.

  “Do I need to make a PowerPoint presentation or draft an executive memo?”

  He gives me a blank look. “For what?”

  “So we have some work deliverables to show on Monday? I can probably mock something up that looks decent enough in a couple of hours, as long as you don’t expect perfection from a prop.”

  He waves away my offer. “That’s already taken care of. I told you, all you have to do is show up.”

  Wow. He really meant what he said.

  Well, in that case, I’m just going to sit back and relax. Since he’s a perfectionist, whatever he’s put together probably looks amazing. I’ll just soak up the atmosphere here and think about our dive adventure. I googled some underwater photos, and they looked great. In person should be incredible.

  The drive to La Jolla takes less than half an hour once we load our rental SUV, waiting for us on the tarmac by the runway. I’ve never been to San Diego before—no time—and love how different it feels. A lot more casual and relaxed.

  Emmett’s “vacation home” is more like a mansion. Located on a beach, it has two pools and hot tubs and walls with enormous windows to maximize a gorgeous view of the Pacific.

  I look around the place like a gawking tourist, taking in everything from the cool marble floors to the walls in a shade somewhere between cream and peach. The furniture is mainly ivory, with teal and yellow accents. A spiral staircase sits to the left, and a huge open kitchen to the right. Straight ahead of me is a giant deck.

  I walk out onto the deck and have to put a hand over my eyes despite my sunglasses. The sky is cloudless and an absolutely perfect blue. A gentle breeze carries the scent of salt and ocean. The water moves constantly, reflecting the sun from every possible angle.

  Placing my hands on the warm wooden balustrade, I practice some deep breathing. It’s like emotional toxins that I didn’t know were accumulating inside me are being expelled with every exhalation.

  “Enjoying the scene?” Emmett says, a smile in his voice. He walks up next to me and looks out at the ocean.

  “Love it. I can totally see why Dad wants the view.”

  “He’s thinking about retiring in La Jolla?”

  I shake my head. “No, way too pricey. Florida. He loves the beaches there after living in a landlocked state for so long. And he deserves it. He’s done so much.”

  I shoot Emmett a smile, then take a quick selfie to send to Dad.

  “For a woman who doesn’t do social media, you seem to take selfies pretty seriously,” Emmett says.

  “No, it’s this thing I have with my dad. He doesn’t like it when I send him emojis. Says he prefers to see my face.” I smile. “And I like to make him happy. It’s the least I can do. How about your father?” I ask, stepping over the boundaries into a more personal territory. I know I shouldn’t, especially after telling Emmett repeatedly this is just a sex-only fling. But I can’t seem to stop myself. Maybe it’s because Emmett’s looking at me like every word out of my mouth is fascinating. Or maybe it’s the view. Or maybe it’s this weird tingling sensation in my soul that feels regenerative.

  “Well…” Emmett shrugs. “He bought us Maseratis and Lamborghinis, but doesn’t expect any selfies in return. I think he’d be horrified if we started doing that.” Another shrug.

  “So your Lamborghini was from him?”

  “The one I’ve got now? Hell no. I bought myself a new one. Mom took the old one, even though I told her I’d buy her whatever she wanted.” His expression softens. “She did a lot for me.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say. It feels weird to hear someone talk about his mother as a person who’s capable of putting somebody else’s needs first. I mean, I know such moms must exist, but the idea seems sort of surreal. Like a lottery everyone but me can win.

  But Emmett takes my “oh” as an encouragement to continue.

  “She gave up on love because she kept falling in love with poor guys.”

  That sounds kind of gold-diggerish, but there’s probably more to the story.

  “Dad’s child support was set to end when she married someone,” Emmett adds.

  “You’re a little old for child support…”

  “I mean in the past. Now… Yeah, she thinks love isn’t going to happen for her at this point. There was a painter in Paris she loved when I was in high school, but they broke up because he wanted to marry her, and she couldn’t. When he got engaged to somebody else, she was devastated, although she did her best to hide it.” He sighs, then shrugs like he’s not going to let it bother him.

  “That sounds awful.” His mom’s struggle is like my dad’s—giving up what could make her happy to provide a better life for her child. “But there are billions of men out there. She can find one who’s right for her.”

  The smile on his face is a little tight. “Maybe, if she can find someone who can look past her rep. Social media makes it hard to keep your private affairs private.”

  He’s standing in sunlight with a gorgeous backdrop, but there’s a hint of melancholy. My heart aches for him and his mother. I always thought if you had the kind of money Emmett does, life would be easy. Good things just rolling into your lap while you wipe your nonexistent tears with hundred-dollar bills.

  Knowing that he has worries and feelings like everyone else makes him seem a hundred times more approachable.

  I place my palm over his cheek and go up on my toes. My lips find his in a soft, loving kiss, barely brushing against each other, while we share the same air, endlessly, achingly.

  Our hearts seem to beat in unison. Heat rises, but there’s much more underneath. Something infinitely sweet and lovely that I don’t dare put a name to because it’s too scary. Too life-changing.

  This is just for a few weeks until I go off to another state, three time zones away from SoCal.

  Emmett lifts me and takes me upstairs, where we hold each other and make slow, gentle love that breaks my soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Amy

  “Sleepyhead…”

  I put a pillow over my head.

  “Sleepyyyheeeead…”

  “I’m on vacation,” I grumble.

  “Even so. Time to get up.”

  Emmett sounds entirely too cheery, which is better than the gloomy mood from yesterday when he was talking about his mom. But I make it a rule not to get up early on vacation if I can help it. Having to get up early and hustle is something work makes me do.

  “Give me one good reason,” I mumble.

  He kisses my bare shoulder. “Don’t you want to see the kelp forest?”

  I crack my eyes open. “The kelp forest?”

  “Yup.”

  I gasp and come fully awake. “Scuba diving!”

  He grins. “Exactly.”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” I hop off the bed and rush to the bathroom. “I’m dying to see it.”

  He laughs. “Well, you can’t go naked. So get ready.”

  “Okay.”

  I take a light-speed shower and get dressed. No makeup other than lip gloss, since we’re going to be in the water. Then I toss a cardigan—ocean temperatures tend to be low—and a bottle of sunscreen—because the sun will be high—into my beach tote bag and rush down to meet Emmett on the first floor.

  He hands me a small latte and a light breakfast of toast and banana chunks. Gotta get some carbs to keep my energy up before the dive. “Should we pack some snacks and drinks too?” I ask. The air you breathe while diving is dry, which sucks the moisture out of you.

  “I already packed everything. And I hired a guide for our dive.”

  “You did?” I thought it’d be more private. On the other hand, it isn’t like we can do anything naughty underwater. Can we?

  “We probably won’t need her, but it can’t hurt. Besides, it keeps her employed for the day. And I want somebody to take pictures of us.” He grins. “I already briefed her.”

  “Good call.” The only thing I regret about my dive tour with Dad is that we have only two pictures of us together underwater.

  We drive to the beach. The guide, a lean blond woman named Jessie, is already waiting with my gear. Emmet unloads his own scuba set from the SUV as she helps me put mine on. Surprisingly, there’s no boat in sight.

  “Can’t take a boat out,” Jessie tells us when I ask. “It’s, like, totally against the rules here. Gotta protect the marine life, right? But you can take one out if you dive in another spot.”

  “The kelp bed is only a quarter mile offshore,” Emmet says. “It’s worth the effort. And the water seems pretty calm today.”

  “Okay.” I can probably swing a quarter-mile swim. It can’t be any worse than thirty-five flights of GrantEm stairs.

  We change into our gear, check to make sure everything’s in order and enter the surf, holding our fins. My heart thumps with excitement as my feet dig into the sand. Once the water’s slapping our chests, we put on the fins and start snorkeling out. The visibility is excellent in the blue-green water: fish darting, bits of seaweed dancing.

  The water’s calm, like Emmett said, and the fins make it easy to swim. So it doesn’t take too long before we’re at the kelp bed. We put on the regulators and dive.

  A gorgeous vista unfolds. If I weren’t underwater, I would be sighing with admiration.

  The kelp strands are huge, stretching from the ocean floor all the way to the surface fifty feet above. Their leaves spread out and sway to the current, creating a beautiful light show in the sunlit-filtered water.

  Bright red, orange and gold schools of fish dart among the towering columns of kelp like they’re playing hide-and-seek. They don’t panic or scatter away from us, seemingly not afraid of people at all.

  A turtle glides by, swimming with the cutest and blandest expression on its face, like it’s too cool to care about anything or anybody. I tug at Emmett, who seems to be totally at home in the water, and point.

  He turns, gives me the “OK” signal and then points at something to his left. I stare, mesmerized, as seals cut through the water like living bullets, their bodies sleek and streamlined as they playfully twist and turn. They’re stunning. I’ve seen nature documentaries about wild seals, but watching them on TV simply doesn’t compare.

  None of the sea creatures swim away as we lazily propel ourselves among them, until I spot a small, lobster-looking thing on a rock. It dances back a little, like it can’t decide if we’re harmless or not, raising its tiny claws in challenge. I wish I could communicate that we’re totally harmless.

  Jessie floats by, camera in hand, and takes a couple of shots. Emmett swims up and slips an arm around my waist, which has to be difficult under the circumstances. He signals Jessie, and she takes our picture from several angles.

  More time goes by, and it’s almost like I’m dreaming. The pressure of the water around me and the regular sound of my own breathing, combined with the green-filtered light, make everything seem surreal. Then something that feels a bit too substantial to be a kelp leaf brushes my leg. I turn a little and see an open mouth full of teeth…and a dorsal fin.

  Holy shit! Shark!

  My heart races. A shark in open water can be bad news. An article I read about shark attacks flashes through my head while the ominous theme from Jaws plays in the background. Although the shark isn’t really big enough to eat me, it’s big enough to take a good chunk out of my thigh. And it looks hungry.

  Now I really wish I could speak shark, so I could tell the thing that I’m not very tasty. Plus, I’m covered in a rubber wet suit, which has to taste bad—even to a shark. I swim away, but it lazily circles back around to follow. Another one moves closer as well.

  Can sharks signal their buddies to come join them for feeding? I thought only dolphins could communicate with each other with their clicking sounds.

  Feeling a little panicked, I tug on Emmett’s arm.

  He looks back, and I point at the sharks.

  He waves, not at the shark, but at me. What’s he trying to say?

  I shrug helplessly, but he reaches over and squeezes my hand. The simple motion soothes my frayed nerves. Suddenly, my heart is no longer racing. Emmett puts his free hand out as the shark glides by and strokes its flank. The fish doesn’t show any reaction, content to share its domain with us, and the adrenaline spiking in my veins settles down.

  I feel safe.

  I stare at our linked hands, then at Emmett. And here, in this alien, aquamarine realm, I realize there’s something more between us than just his bossholehood and sex.

  Chapter Twenty-Three