Chapter 44 – Pleasing the Boss

He waits until I put the key in the lock, and then takes a step, presumably to leave. Instead, his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, preventing me from turning the knob.

My eyes go down to where he’s grasping me—half expecting to see actual sparks in the air—then raise to meet his. “Give me something,” he says, his voice raw. “Give me something without an exchange. Give me something I don’t deserve.”

I open my mouth to ask what he wants, but close it before the word escapes. Something dislodges in my ch*st, something I can’t name, and I realize I don’t have to say yes. There’s nothing riding on this. He won’t cancel my still unsigned contract. He won’t take the job away.

He wants something for free, and I have every right to say no.

I can see in his eyes that he half expects I will.

So it’s of my own volition when I lean up on my toes to bring my mouth toward his. I keep my eyes open, watching him, making sure it’s okay. He doesn’t flinch, and so I p**ss my l*ps softly on his.

As soon as our mouths make contact, it becomes something bigger. An ember turned into a roaring flame. My l*ps part and his t***ue sl*ps easily inside to find mine. A whimper spills from me as soon as they meet, like I’ve been waiting my whole life to feel this particular invasion. Aching for it, and my p**sy sq***zes in envy.

Within seconds, he backs me up against the door, p**ssing his entire body against mine so that I can feel the heavy pipe of his desire against my belly. Relinquishing my wrist, his hand tangles in my hair. My fi**gers clutch his suit jacket, gripping on for dear life. Trying to bring him closer. Trying to ignore the places they want to explore—the planes of his ch*st, the curve of his jaw, the taut flesh of his ass.

We’re frenetic with our mouths, with the way our bodies lean and shift, looking for relief that can’t be found without turning this scene into pornography. Soon that line is crossed. My sk**t is pushed up around my waist. My leg hitches around his h*ps, and I feel the p**ssure of his c**k against the throb of my c**t. His hand comes under my th**h, helping with the weight of my limb, spreading me farther so that the th**st of his pelvis against mine sends bolts of pleasure throughout my body.

And I want more.

I need more.

My br***ts need his palms. My hands need his skin. My p**sy needs, needs, needs…

And I can’t think straight. Can’t bring to mind the man waiting on the other side of the door. Can’t remember this is all just a sick game for Hadrian or that we’re in a public hallway or that giving him this allowance—this gift—could change everything bet**en us. Could blur the boundaries so much that they no longer exist. Could lead me to the familiar heartbreak of being the only one all in.

It should be those realizations that bring me to push him off of me.

Instead, it’s the sound of a door opening down the hall.

Hadrian doesn’t move quite as fast, trailing my chin with open-mouthed k**ses after I’ve turned my face away.

“Hadrian,” I whisper. Pleading.

His l*ps make it to the crook of my neck before he finally relinquishes his hold on me. Just in time to deliver a smile to my seventy-something-year-old neighbor, Mrs. Clawson. “Good evening,” he says.

I drop my head, unable to acknowledge her. “She thinks I’m married,” I hiss after she passes.

“You are married.” The statement seems to be as much of a reminder for him as it is for me because he steps away as soon as it’s uttered. “You’re married, and your husband is behind that door.”

I almost break down and tell him. Tell him that Elvis never loved me, that it’s mostly a business partnership. That we aren’t real.

But that’s not exactly true. Elvis was real to me. He is real.

And even if he isn’t, it doesn’t make Hadrian real.

“I have to go,” I say, quickly. I turn to open the door, and this time Hadrian doesn’t stop me.

Inside, I head straight toward my bedroom, hoping to hide my swollen l*ps and flushed face, but my luck being what it is, Elvis cuts me off before I’ve crossed the living room.

Pulls me into his arms, actually.

His hands settle on my h*ps, and he turns me as though we’re dancing. Which is when I notice the soft jazz playing through the speakers mounted to the walls.

“You were right,” he says excitedly. “It meant what you thought.”

“What?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Our contracts are in my inbox, sweet girl. It’s happening. We have our show.”

Our show.

All evening, with Hadrian, it felt like my show. So much so that I almost forgot that Elvis was a part of it, that I should be expecting a confirming conversation with him, at the very least.

I’m actually glad that we’re embracing so he can’t see my face when I respond. “Yeah, I know. So great!”

“You saw him?” He pulls away, and I bring my hand up to my mouth. As casually as possible, hoping he doesn’t think anything of it.

“He showed me the studio and explained all the terms and everything.” Then he k**sed the breath out of me in the hallway, and now I just want to get in my bed with my vibrator and get this feeling out of my system.

“Oh.” He stares at me so hard that I’m sure I’m not doing this right.

“It’s amazing. I’m irritated about the way it was handled—did everything go okay with the show?”

“Yeah, yeah. We covered it.”

“Good. Good.” I don’t know what to say or how to extricate myself from this conversation. “You know, it’s been a really exhausting day. Lots of up and down emotions. I was planning on heading to bed.”

Elvis reaches out to my wrist—the same wrist that is still warm from where Hadrian grabbed it—and pulls it down from my mouth.

He sees. I can tell. He knows what a freshly k**sed Brystin looks like. “He’s still…?”

I shrug like it’s not a big deal. I’m not even sure it is anymore, which makes it a different kind of big deal.

For me, anyway.

Elvis seems to have a different kind of reaction. His eyes go dark and hooded, and he gives me that ravenous look that I have spent years longing for. Whenever it appears, I know I’m his. Even if just for the night.

I don’t think I’ve ever turned that look down.

I consider for a moment letting it happen, letting him pull me back into his arms. Letting him relieve that ache bet**en my legs. It wouldn’t be the first time a wife thought of someone else while f**king her husband. It’s kind of one of the benefits of marriage—being able to safely use a partner to fulfill desires without having to explain the source.

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