Chapter 81 – Pleasing the Boss

Brystin POV

Leaning forward on the barstool, I put my elbows on the kitchen island and prop my chin on my hands, watching Hadrian as he gathers ingredients to make the one and only thing he says he can cook—scrambled eggs with “stuff” added. “While you cook…we should talk about the elephant in the room.”

Big of me to bring it up, honestly. Or maybe self-sabotage. I shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. Shouldn’t be allowed to feel this happy.

Hadrian looks down at the bulge in his boxer briefs. “That’s awfully generous, Brystin, but I like to think a python is a more appropriate analogy.”

I’ve giggled so much in the last twelve hours, it’s embarrassing. But teenage humor deserves teenage giggles, so I sound off another round. “It’s too pretty to be a python.”

“Pretty?” He chokes, and I’m lucky he doesn’t throw the egg in his hand at me. He does use it to point in my direction. “Never, never, never refer to a man’s jewels as pretty.”

“Then never, never, never refer to them as jewels.” I return his smirk with one of my own. “You walked into that one.”

“I did. I did. Truly.” He turns back to the pan, giving me a glorious view of his backside. He’s wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, and holy mother of all…either God’s a woman or he’s gay because Hadrian’s ass is divine. His entire figure, actually. I spent the better part of the night exploring it, and I still can’t get enough.

“Seriously, though, can he be hit by a train?”

I’m so focused on the display that I’ve forgotten what we were talking about. “Hm?”

“Or have a heart attack while in some sordid position.” He peers over his shoulder—his perfectly sculpted shoulder. “I’m sorry about what you’d have to deal with in that case, but it would be worth it to see that fetid piece of shit have to endure the scandal.”

Oh, yes. Elvis.

For once, I don’t feel obliged to defend him. “Then you’d want him to survive the heart attack?”

Hadrian considers. “Yes, but just long enough to go through the scandal. Then he can get hit by the train.” He turns around completely, spatula in hand. “I’m only going to say this once, and I’ll deny it if you ever try to say I said it, but I could probably arrange something like that. No questions asked.”

I manage to only gape for a few seconds. There’s no way I would ever advocate murder, especially not for Elvis, who doesn’t deserve anything so vicious, but it does give me new insight into Hadrian’s life. I already get that billionaire life is kin to royalty—a lifestyle unimaginable by most, including me. Still, for something like that to come out of his mouth with such frank ease is jarring.

The suggestion also makes me feel more tingly than it should. “I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“But I’d do it for you. If you wanted me to.” His smile is genuine, and the butterflies that have taken residence in my stomach decide to put on a rave. It’s borderline too intense, and Hadrian turns it down by a swift turn to humor. “Okay, let’s be real here—it would be for me.”

I laugh. Half-heartedly, though, because what I really need to do is somehow harder. “I should leave him.”

“Uh, no shit you should leave him.” This time when Hadrian turns, he brings the frying pan with him. “I told you my family secrets, and now I have to keep you. You’re mine. Sorry, Elvis.”

“Do you want to keep me?” I ask as he scrapes eggs onto the plate in front of me.

He pauses to stare at me. “If you have to ask that, I’m not doing a good enough job of staking my claim. I’m letting you wear my T-shirt—which is distracting, by the way, though slightly less distracting than you naked. You think I let anyone else wear my things? You think I make breakfast for all the married women who stay over?”

I think the answer is supposed to be obvious, but we’ve never talked about his love life. “I don’t know…do you?”

“No. No, Brystin. I do not.” He finishes scraping the rest of the eggs onto his plate, then picks up his fork before squarely looking me in the eye. “Not only do I not make them breakfast, I also don’t let them stay over. I don’t even bring women here.”

“Never?”

“Well…not never. But mostly never.” He takes a bite of the eggs. “I told you I didn’t really believe in that relationship stuff, and women get ideas when you bring them to your home. Even the married ones.”

And yet he brought me here weeks ago. When I get a chance, I need to covertly ask the internet if a person can die from swoon.

Though, now I’m focused on another detail. “You date a lot of married women?”

We’ve been no holds barred since last night, revealing every little thing the other wanted to know with no hesitation. With this question, however, he seems reluctant. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I suppose I do.”

“You like the challenge? You want to possess what other men possess?” I’m trying to be journalistic about it. Asking the questions without attaching emotion.

“I don’t know that I ever really thought about the husbands much. Though, it does make it…hotter.” He doesn’t have to remind me how many times my marital status added to the sexual tension. “Mostly, I think it felt safer. The married women I hook up with have already given their hearts to someone else. It’s less likely they’re going to try to push them on me.”

I nod while I take a bite, trying to understand. Thinking I do a good job of succeeding.

“Now you—” Hadrian puts his fork up in the air like a pause button while he swallows from his juice glass. “I’ve never not been aware that you were unavailable. It’s the first time I’ve cared. Cared in confusing ways. Like, fuck your commitment to fidelity—as soon as you said it was off-limits, I wanted in your pussy. Well, I wanted in before that, but I wouldn’t have been so obsessed.”

“You were obsessed?” I’m grinning like a fool. “Also, these eggs are really good.”

“Don’t sound so amazed. They’re fucking eggs.” Another sip of his juice. “And yes. Obsessed. At the same time, I felt constant guilt about trying to tempt you to cheat on your husband. I, um. Don’t feel so guilty about it right at the moment, though, so, uh. Don’t go thinking I’m a nice guy or anything.”

I duck my head, feeling like a not nice guy myself. “Elvis and I have an open marriage.”

“Then why…?” He studies me for a second. “You made that a hard limit because you didn’t want to fuck me?”

“I always wanted to…fuck you. I just—”

“I have to interrupt and tell you that it’s such an incredible turn-on to hear you say the word fuck, particularly when you’re talking about fucking me, so feel free to say it often.”

I fight a smile. “We have an open marriage, but I’ve never taken advantage of it.”

“…at all?”

I shake my head. “Not even a stray kiss.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t seem so much surprised as honored.

At the risk of over stroking his ego, I admit the rest. “I haven’t slept with Elvis either, since…since you, really.”

To his credit, he doesn’t act like a cocky bastard about it. “No?”

“I can’t do that. It’s not how I work.”

He nods, and I can see the gears in his head turning, making me die to know what’s going on in there.

“So it was all Elvis’s idea. Of course it was. Like I said—fetid shit. I don’t know how you…” He trails off, but it’s not like I don’t know a hundred ways he could have finished the statement.

I don’t know how either. How I put up with so much, so long. I’m more than ready to move on to whoever I am after him, whoever that is. Hopefully, someone who gets to be with Hadrian, but even if that’s not in the cards, it’s time for me to be done with Elvis.

After several seconds, Hadrian drops his fork and leans over the counter between us so we’re eye to eye. “Let’s get something straight right now, honeybee. I’ve always considered myself a modern man, but I’m going to go caveman here and lay something down for you—I can’t share.”

There goes my feminism because I just swooned again.

“I don’t expect you to share either,” he continues. “Fair’s fair and all that, but mostly, I don’t want anyone but you.”

Oh, wow. “I think I just orgasmed.”

“Is that all it takes? I’ve been working too hard.”

I crumple up my napkin and throw it at him. “Stop it. I love how hard you work on me. It’s…refreshing.”

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