The Boss Vol. 6By: Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott
Hell, who was I kidding? She’d changed my life a million years ago. I’d been trying to survive her ever since.
I tugged out my wallet and flipped it open to the condom I never left home without nowadays. In a few flicks of my fingers, the wallet was back in my pocket and the packet was open. Grace pried down my zipper, not about to wait for me. She never did. That was one of the many things I lo—
Her fingers slicked up my length as she rolled on the rubber. With one touch, I was a goner. Even after these last couple of months, her hands on me were like a miracle. I was a planner in every sense.
I couldn’t have foreseen this. Not after the day I’d gone to Annabelle’s and been turned away. So many fucking years ago.
Yet Grace was here, her eyes so big, her hands so steady as she wrecked me. Pieces of me fell at her feet and she kept right on destroying, her callused skin rubbing against mine a thrill of its own.
Once the condom was in place, she went back on her elbows and braced her heels on the edge of the counter, inviting me to take when I was on the verge of begging. With her, my veneer dropped away, and she left me stripped. I became simply a man who needed so much more than was fucking wise. Always had, when it came to her.
“Not on my knees,” she said silkily, and my gaze flashed to hers. Her chin came up. “But I’m willing to try to let you make that annoyingly arrogant comment to me. Oh, and the stalking. And the lies. And the—”
I was half on top of her with my mouth crushed to hers before she could verbalize the rest. There was no doubt in my mind that I was far in her debt.
Snapping my hips back, I drove forward without checking my thrust. I knew she could take. Her scream proved me a liar, until the blissful relief of her nails raking down my back took away my momentary concern.
As did the madness in her eyes. I wasn’t the only one riding the edge. She was right there with me, her body revving under mine. Insisting on more.
Pushing up her top, I slid my hands beneath to cup her breasts. Gripping them tight, so tight, I stroked into her again and again, watching as the hunger in her gaze flared into desperation. She reached down to touch herself, probably thoughtlessly, and I was riveted by the sight of her pale fingers moving between us. She skated their damp tips up my belly and I swallowed a roar, focusing only on the flush of pleasure coloring her cheeks while I struggled to hold on.
Just another moment. Two.
For her, I’d wait a lifetime.
Almost as long as had passed before I’d had her.
She cried out and squeezed around me, her walls fluttering up and down my length. I would’ve encouraged her with the dirty words that sprang up so often when I was balls-deep inside her, but I couldn’t find my voice. Could do nothing but hold on while she reared up and clamped her arms around my neck, bringing us forehead to forehead.
Trapped in her fever-bright blue gaze, I surged forward one last time. And clasped her soft, giving breasts that much harder while I exploded deep within her pussy.
Even before it was over, she fumbled to take my lips with her own. Our kiss was rough, artless. Sloppy. So goddamn desperate, still.
Sex couldn’t sate what we’d gone way beyond.
She drew back enough to trace shaky fingers over my damp, well-used mouth. “Though I’m a feminist, if you wanted to carry me to bed just now, I might not say no.”
Recognizing the concession for what it was, I gave her back one of my own.
“After that, Ms. Copeland, you just might have to carry me.”
I stared at the ceiling. My body was still crackling in response to his touch.
Lover seemed to tame a word, even if the L-word twined around it in distracting shades of intense reds and hues of blue. That’s what he was. Passionate rage and cool blue.
I was somewhere in the middle.
An amalgam of us both. A steadier version for sure, but that seemed almost boring compared to Blake on either end of the spectrum.
Tonight had been red.
Cool hadn’t even been on the surface of us. I wasn’t sure what to think, to be truthful.
I almost laughed out loud. Truth.
Such a stingy word used in our relationship. My lies, his lies, our lies—and somewhere in there was a truth buried under lines of code—both in computer language and my grandmother’s flowery, dramatic prose—add in worry, and an endless need for Blake to control something…
Well, then you had me, the limp noodle who’d barely survived the aftermath.
And yet I couldn’t turn my brain off.
As focused as he could be about work, about making me insane both in and out of a bed—when we actually used a bed that is—dear God, what he could do with a &&&&&. My nipples beaded up and my breath hitched in muscle memory.