Chapter 41 – Pleasing the Boss

When I can’t manage to hold myself up any longer—I really need to work on strengthening my core—I pull my hand from my clit and set it down on the desk to brace myself. I’m so close to my second orgasm anyway, and don’t need the extra stimulation. Besides, right now I’d rather be focused on him.

Apparently, Hadrian doesn’t find this decision acceptable. “Did I say you could stop?”

“You said to show you how.” I don’t want to admit I have weak abs. “I figured it was your turn.”

He tosses his phone down on the desk next to me, without bothering to pause the video, and with his hand now free, his arm bolts forward and his fingers clasp around my neck, putting just enough pressure on my windpipe that my breathing feels threatened. “Rub your clit, Brystin. I want to feel you come all over my hand.”

Holy fuck.

He keeps his chokehold on me even after my hand returns to finish the job it started, and I wonder if he knows that he’s helping hold me up or if he thinks it’s as hot to strangle me as I think it is. So hot that it only takes a few swirls of my finger over my sensitive bundle of nerves before I’m spiraling into an orgasm that’s twice as powerful as the last.

I throw my head back as the pleasure seizes me. My hand drops from his cock and my cunt clenches tightly around Hadrian’s fingers, slowing him down, but he pushes through, fucking me until he’s wrenched out every last drop of my climax.

Then he scoops the moisture leaking from my pussy and brings it to his cock. He jacks himself quickly and within seconds, he’s grunting out his own climax, shooting his cum onto my pussy.

I swear I could almost come again just from watching that.

We stay like that while we recover. We’re still both breathing erratically when he runs two fingers up my seam, mixing my fluid with his. I watch him, entranced, while my emotions swirl into confusion. I’m unmoored. This wasn’t supposed to be for me. The job was my reward. So why am I so into this?

I move my eyes up to his face to find he’s watching me, and I’m so sure he can see what I’m feeling that I put voice to it. Whisper, actually, but it counts. “Does it ruin this for you if I like it?”

His gaze softens, but his expression remains serious. “No,” he whispers back. “It definitely does not.”

We stare at each other like that for who knows how long. I can feel each beat of my heart like it’s marking the seconds that pass, but I’m too dazed to count, and I think if someone doesn’t say something soon, that I’ll end up kissing him.

And somehow I know that if I kiss him, that will be the end of me.

Something intense is happening in his features as well, but finally—thankfully—he breaks the connection, returning his gaze to the fingers stroking my pussy lips. Dragging our fluids down, he smears some onto the top of the desk. “So you’ll never forget what you were willing to do to make this desk yours.”

Then he picks up his phone and hits stop on the recording. “And this is so I’ll never forget.”

I don’t need a reminder, thank you. This is a memory I’m never forgetting.

As Hadrian zips himself back up, a cramp hits the back of my thigh, and I stretch out one leg, then the other. “Wow. I’m a mess.”

“Hang on.” He looks around, as if there will magically be a hand towel sitting nearby. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he takes off his very expensive Armani suit jacket, and uses the inside lining to clean me up.

“Oh God. You’re going to ruin your jacket.”

“To the contrary. I may never send this suit to the cleaners again.” His eyes gleam like the devil when he brings the messed-up jacket to his nose to inhale. “Smells like you. Like us.”

I shiver at the word us. There isn’t an us, but the way he says it almost makes me forget the fact.

He misinterprets my reaction. “You should get dressed.”

He helps me down from the desk. I collect my clothes while he puts on the cum-streaked jacket. There’s the usual post-awkwardness that occurs after sex with someone new, and I do my best to avoid looking at him while I’m dressing.

Of course every time I glance at him, he’s watching me, as though he’s not feeling awkward at all. When I’m no longer naked, he gestures for me to come to him.

For some reason, I’m nervous as I take the steps toward him. Shouldn’t I be more relaxed now? Shouldn’t he be less intimidating now that I know what he looks like when he comes?

When I’m standing in front of him, he cups my face with one hand, and my stomach flip flops.

But instead of kissing me, he rubs his thumb under my eye. Smudged mascara, I’m guessing, and this gesture is worse than if he’d let me walk out looking freshly fucked. I can’t explain why. It would just be easier if he didn’t care. If he let this remain transactional, and nothing else. So that I can remember that I’m a married woman with no interest in any relationship that provokes feelings.

“You never told me,”—he moves to my other eye—“if you shave for him.”

Him.

Elvis.

I’m already thinking of my husband, so I don’t flinch at the mention, but I wonder if Hadrian needed reminding of Elvis too.

More likely, it’s his usual way of interfering in things that aren’t his business. It isn’t the first time he’s poked me about my marriage, wanting in doors I’ve kept closed.

I stiffen, making sure those doors are locked tight.

But they’re not, and the confession slips out. “He doesn’t like hair in his mouth.”

I swear Hadrian’s jaw ticks before he puts on a smug smile. “What a baby.”

Against my better judgment, I let out a laugh. It’s a bad idea, but I start to ask what he prefers when I’m interrupted by the sound of a door opening and the sound of shoes walking across the cement floor.

I jump back from Hadrian. “I thought you said no one was coming in here,” I hiss before turning my back so I can try to put myself together before I have to face someone. Without a mirror.

Yeah, right.

“I thought it was good enough odds that no one would.” I can hear the shrug in his voice.

“Ah, sorry, Mr. Seymour.” A voice speaks behind me. “I didn’t realize you were here. Just checking up to make sure the room was secured.”

“I’ve got it,” Hadrian says. Then quieter for only me to hear, “The security guard.”

I hear the footsteps retreat, but a blush runs down to my toes when I consider what could have happened if his timing had been worse. I spin back to face Hadrian. “What if he’d come in five minutes earlier?”

“Then I’d be paying out a huge silence fee and reminding my employee about his strict NDA.”

I scowl, not convinced that would fix anything. Sure, SNC could take him to court, but if someone leaked information about Brystin Shaw involved in lewd acts with the CEO, it would spread like wildfire. No amount of money paid could undo that damage.

“I could always have him killed, if you’d prefer.”

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