Falling Under You: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (1001 Dark Nights), Page 6

  I was shaking as he brought my arms in front of me to undo the cuffs. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to ask him to do to me, so much I wanted to beg for him to let me do to him.

  All I could manage was, “Okay.”

  He nodded once, the subtext behind his eyes seeming to understand all that I’d left unspoken.

  Then, he tucked himself away, and said, “Let’s clean you up.”

  Chapter Six

  Boyd took me to his bedroom suite and left me to shower with instructions not to get myself off, which was especially maddening because I hadn’t had the idea until he’d brought it up. Then it felt like the most erotic agony as I washed my body, purposefully ignoring the buzzing between my legs. I’d been dealing with that unfulfilled yearning for weeks now and had assumed that I’d have some relief after agreeing to a relationship with him. But at the moment I was more miserable than ever.

  Yet, I was in a surprisingly good mood. My shoulders felt less tense than usual, even after having my arms suspended for so long, and my body hummed with a tune familiar and long forgotten. There was even a bounce in my step as I toweled off and stepped out of the bathroom.

  The bedroom was empty when I came out. I put on the T-shirt that had been laid on the bed, assuming it was meant for me, and followed the delicious smell of garlic and rosemary to the kitchen. I’d figured Boyd had ordered Italian, and so I was surprised to find him standing behind the stove, an apron over his bare chest and jeans.

  I sat on a barstool and smiled at him across the island. “You cook?”

  He poured me a glass of red wine and then dumped some into the saucepan in front of him before glancing up at me. “Sometimes. Right now I’m cooking for you.”

  “I can’t remember the last time anyone cooked for me. Maybe my mother? After she died, I was the one who made all the meals.” I still made most of the meals for Gwen and me. Or, rather, I ordered most of the takeout.

  “You work too hard all day; you shouldn’t have to cook at night too. I’m glad I get to be the one who changes that.”

  I slanted my gaze at him. His floppy hair hid his brows, and even though he didn’t look up, I could see the grin on his lips. Perfectly shaped lips. Not too full, not too thin. Exactly right for kissing.

  I bit my own lip thinking about the feel of his mouth against mine. “You really are good at that romance thing.”

  “Don’t get too excited. It’s only spaghetti.”

  Yes, except the sauce was homemade. And, from what I could tell, it looked like he was making up the recipe as he went along. And he had me daydreaming about making out when I’d never been big on kissing before.

  Something caught in my chest, and I had to change topics to something less sappy. “So now that I’ve had your cum all over me, I feel like we’re close enough for me to ask how you can afford this amazing place.”

  He glanced up with a chuckle. “You asked me that before you had my cum all over you,” he said, bringing the sauce spoon up to my lips to taste. “By the way, you looked really hot like that.”

  “Mm.” The sauce was good. What he’d said was better.

  It was my turn to grin. “Now you’ve flustered me. I can’t remember what I was saying.”

  “Lies. You don’t forget anything.” He moved the pan of boiling pasta to the sink so he could pour the noodles into a colander. “You were asking about my money.”

  He paused and I wasn’t sure if it was because he was focused on his cooking or because he didn’t want to say more. I was curious, though, so I waited quietly, which was easier than usual to do.

  When he’d finished straining the spaghetti, he grabbed a plate from the counter that he must have laid out earlier, since it already had a serving of salad and a breadstick. “It’s a boring story, actually,” he said, using tongs to drop a pile of noodles on the dish. “I inherited everything. My father founded his own tech company, a very successful tech company. He passed away a few years ago and now it’s all mine.” He scooped a spoonful of sauce on top.

  “You own a tech company?” I asked, taking the plate from him when he passed it over.

  He dished up his own serving next. “I own shares in it. My brother and sister and I all own a third.”

  “Then why the hell are you working for me?”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Noooo.” I stretched out the end of the word so he could know exactly how much I wasn’t complaining.

  He took off his apron and threw it on the counter before grabbing two forks out of a drawer. “Are you judging then?” His tone was playful but pointed. “Is it better to slave away all day and night for a business that I don’t have a passion for just because I have the opportunity to be important in that way?” He picked up his plate and his own glass of wine then gestured for me to come with him.

  “No judging.” I slid off the barstool, teasing him as I followed him to the living room. “Defensive much?”

  “Sorry. I hear this a lot. I have years of preparation with my response.”

  “Then give it to me. The fully prepared response. Not because I’m judging you but because I want to know everything about you.”

  “Now who’s doing the romancing?” He set his dishes on the coffee table then turned to take mine from me. “You don’t need to respond to that. Just let it sit and niggle at you until it’s comfortable.”

  “Go on…” I smirked, aware of the niggle. Not exactly sure how to feel about the niggle.

  Instead of sitting on the couch, as I’d assumed he would, he sat on the floor and leaned back against the sofa. “My father worked his ass off for that company. And for all the money and influence it got him, it also brought him enough stress and turmoil to ruin three marriages and put him in a grave before he was fifty-five.”

  I swallowed, the story sounding too much like one that could be my own.

  But it wasn’t my story. This was Boyd’s story, and I wanted to hear more.

  Curling my legs up underneath me, I sat down next to him. “I’m sorry to hear he’s gone.”

  Boyd shrugged, spinning spaghetti around his fork. “I don’t miss him. I know that sounds terrible, but I didn’t even know him.” He opened his mouth to take his bite.

  I took the opportunity to do the same. We ate quietly for several minutes.

  After a while, when we’d finished half our meal, and as if he hadn’t been silent for more than a second, he said, “That’s the part I’m sorry about, really. That he was never around. He hungered for that success, and he got it, at the loss of everything else.” With his thumb and index finger, he wiped sauce off his lips. “I decided a long time ago I never wanted to be that guy. I’m fortunate to have money. It gives me the opportunity to do whatever I want.”

  I took a sip of wine and raised a brow. “And you want to be the assistant of a pretentious bitch?”

  “Well, I didn’t know what you were going to be like when I took the job.”

  I narrowed my eyes, and he reached out to run the back of his knuckles across my cheek. “I’m joking, Norma. I like working for you. A lot.”

  I took a shaky breath in, my body growing warm.

  Thankfully, he dropped his hand before I overheated. “I like business,” he said. “I know a lot about it. I didn’t have a head for the tech stuff, but I was great with the numbers, and I spent a lot of summers working in the financial department of my father’s company. That’s where I discovered how satisfying it was to put in a full day of meaningful work and then go home and not have to think another second about payroll and unsigned contracts and projects that I should have followed up on. Without that burden, I have time to pursue the thing I’m really interested in.”

  “Which is…?”

  “You.”

  Never mind not overheating. I was in full too heated mode now, feeling more like I was wearing a sweatshirt than a T-shirt. “Be serious.”

  “I am being serious.” He was looking at me—I could feel his st
are—but I couldn’t look at anything but my plate.

  He bent down to catch my eye. “You’re going to have to get used to me saying that I’ve wanted you, Norma. Because I have. And I do. I’m not going to hide that when we’re together like this. Okay?”

  I nodded, not sure if I could speak.

  “Good. And okay, it wasn’t always you, specifically. Before I met you, I’d been interested in pursuing a serious relationship that involves an exchange of power. With that as my goal, and in order to maximize the potential of that sort of situation, I decided I couldn’t have a career that would distract from that. I chose to find a job that didn’t drain all my time and energy so that I could put all of that into this.”

  I studied him a moment. I’d never given much thought to Boyd and his career except to hope that I never lost him as an assistant. It was thrilling to have this view of him. He was magnificent and assertive in so many ways I’d never noticed before. Strong-willed, even. More like me than I had imagined. “You were born with one kind of power and craved another.”

  He considered this, amused. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

  I pondered my own quest for success. “I didn’t have any power growing up. I had nothing. I think I thought that if I was perfect, if I worked harder, excelled at everything I did, that it would make up for all the shit years of being powerless. That I could make a difference for Gwen and Benjamin. That I could make up for the happiness we never had.”

  “Did it?”

  I’d been mulling half to myself and was almost surprised to hear him chime in. It took another second to digest his question. “It’s nice to have things now that I didn’t, I guess. But sometimes I think there’s something missing.” A lot of times, actually.

  “Maybe we can fix that together.”

  There he was with the romance thing again. This time I managed to hold his gaze. “Maybe.” But what I meant was, I’d like that.

  Then, because I’d really like that, I pushed my dinner plate away and scooted closer to him. I was as hungry for him as I’d been earlier—more now, possibly—and I was one to go after what I wanted. Somehow I’d forgotten.

  The scent of him made me dizzy as I nuzzled at his ear. “You know, I can stay tomorrow night too,” I whispered. “If you’d let me know now, I could be ready. Pack a bag or whatever.”

  With a cocky grin, he turned into me, his lips hovering above mine. “It’s your job to be ready anyway.” Oh, yeah. That. “And you really don’t need a bag. You can always steal my clothes.” He tugged at my shirt. “Or you could just be naked. That would be fine too.”

  Yes. Naked would be more than fine. “No bag, then. The point is I can stay tomorrow night.” I tilted my face up, intending to capture his mouth with mine.

  But Boyd only let my lips brush against his before pulling away. “I’m sure you can stay since that’s one of my evenings. But that’s not for you to decide.” He set his plate down on the table behind him. “I’ll ask you over if I want to and when I want to. Got it?”

  He didn’t even raise his voice, but immediately my eyes pricked. I’d been chided and rejected, and now I remembered why I hadn’t gone after what I wanted until now—because that wasn’t how this was supposed to work between us.

  “I did it again, didn’t I?” With a sigh, I lay back on the floor and willed the burning in my eyes to go away. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.” Translation: I’m stupid and small and inadequate and a terrible submissive.

  A tear slid down my cheek.

  Crying? What the hell? I never cried. Not when I thought about my dead mom. Not when my father beat my brother, Ben, to a pulp. Not even when Ben tried to kill himself. Crying was not something powerhouse businesswomen did. It wasn’t something I did.

  Quickly I wiped the tear away, then the next one, hoping they’d gone unnoticed by Boyd.

  No such luck.

  “Hey.” He stretched out over me, drawing my hands above my head, forcing me to look nowhere but at him.

  God, his body touched mine everywhere and it was incredible. He was firm and tight and, um, hung—I was pretty sure that bulge at my hip wasn’t even all the way erect.

  And while I was daydreaming about his girth, he searched my face. “You think that’s not partly why I’m interested?”

  My lips bent into a pout. (At least I was done crying). “You like me because I’m bad at the kind of sex you’re good at?”

  He laughed, an easy sound that was freer than anything I’d heard in a long time. Had I been that happy-go-lucky at his age? I didn’t think so. Had I ever been?

  “Oh, Norma,” he said soberly, brushing the hair from my face. “Stop thinking and listen to me.”

  I peered up at him, suddenly feeling younger just because of the way he looked at me, all serious and knowing. Affectionate, too.

  “I like the challenge, yes.” He placed a kiss on my chin. “And I like that you’re smart.” Another kiss, at the shirt’s collar. “And confident.”

  He gripped the hem of my shirt—his shirt—then pulled it over my head. He paused to admire me, causing my cheeks to get hot.

  “And you’re so strong.” He bent to draw my nipple into his mouth, sucking it to a taut peak before letting go. “And driven,” he said as he moved to repeat the action on my other breast.

  “And you have all this power.” He slid down my body, laying a kiss on my navel, which ironically left me feeling weak and very powerless. “There’s almost no one over you, not just in the office, but the industry.”

  His next kiss landed right above the seam where my clit hid, sending a deep shiver through my body.

  I was a goner, but before I was all the way gone, I managed to ask, “And it turns you on to top someone at the top?”

  Boyd ran his tongue along my slit then answered without looking up. “It turns me on that I can give you the one and only thing you can’t give yourself.”

  “What’s that?” My voice was shaky, threadbare.

  “A break.”

  Then talking was over, and so was pretty much thinking, as he buried his face between my thighs, licking and sucking and nibbling until I was coming. Coming hard and long, like I’d never come before, every muscle in my body trembling with pleasure.

  Even when I was whimpering and spent, he still didn’t let up, tracing designs along my thighs with his fingers before inserting one, then two inside me. He rubbed and stroked and caressed, inside and out, while his lips kissed along my pubic bone. While his hands teased me to orgasm. While he helped me let go, and he gave me a break.

  Chapter Seven

  That was as sexual as we got that night. The rest of the time he did his romance thing where he was very sweet and intimate. I slept in his T-shirt, he in a pair of boxers, my body curled into his, his arms wrapped tightly around me.

  We didn’t get any further the next time he had me over, either. Or the next. He’d go down on me, he’d use his hands, he’d massage my body, we’d make out. It was wonderful and amazing, like I was a teenager holding on to my virginity and he was the man who respected it.

  But it was also frustrating.

  Because I wasn’t a teenager. And I wasn’t holding on to my virginity—not purposefully.

  A month went by. Then it was nearly two, and even though I saw him outside of work a couple of times each week, Boyd still refused to let me pleasure him in any way, saying he wouldn’t let me until I was able to “let go”—his words, not mine.

  As far as I was concerned, I’d let go of a lot. I’d certainly had plenty of orgasms, and didn’t that require letting go?

  Apparently there was more I needed to release. More I needed to be taught.

  I’d like to say that I was a fast learner, because I usually am, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case with Boyd. Being in charge was just such a longtime habit, such a hard one to break, that I casually gave orders and resisted domination without even realizing it.

  Over and over I’d try to de
cide things for us. “I’ll come over tonight,” I’d say. Or, “I’ll pick up Chinese for dinner.” Always, I’d catch myself too late—or not at all—and he’d have to correct me. Which always stung, no matter how gentle his reprimand.

  Sometimes my mistakes were even worse. Twice, I didn’t put on the underwear he’d requested, simply because I hadn’t been thinking, work already occupying my mind as I’d dressed. Both times he sent me home as soon as he discovered my error with instructions not to get myself off.

  Both times I got myself off anyway. It wasn’t like he knew.

  Once, I made other plans on one of his nights without consulting him, not because I’d forgotten or because I’d been flippant about our arrangement, but because I’d honestly assumed he’d understand once I explained the situation. And maybe he did understand because he didn’t make a scene when I explained.

  He also didn’t ask to see me again for an entire week.

  Finally, one October evening before he left for the day—while we were still on my turf—I cornered him at his desk and asked him point-blank if he was still miffed about my alteration of the schedule.

  “Miffed?” he asked, as if the idea had never even occurred to him. “Not at all. It just seemed that our arrangement might not be working out for you, and I was leaving you the opportunity to let it end without any huge upset in our working relationship.”

  “Because I swapped out one evening without asking first?” I was taken aback. Yes, I’d made mistakes, but surely that didn’t mean I was a lost cause. I perched on the edge of his desk, signaling my willingness to talk about it further.

  Boyd, however, stood and buttoned his jacket. “Not because of that one evening. Because time and time again, you step on my authority. As though it’s not really an authority you recognize.”

  “That’s not true at all.” But as I said it, I knew it was a lie. “Well. I mean. It’s not what I intended.”