Boss Hottie Page 6

  “Mr. Carter, Miss Williams, this is Melanie Richardson.”

  The day goes on like this for hours. Multiple women, all describing in painstaking detail the sexual harassment and advances they suffered from Mr. Kelly. Michael was the same way with all of them, gentle, but firm. I couldn’t help but notice the way he manipulated the tension in the room, willing them to relax for him without a single platitude, or word to the effort. Why couldn’t he do that for me? Why is it that every time I am around him, the only emotion I have is nerves, or excitement, or burning desire? What I wouldn’t give to be able to just silence my thoughts and melt into him.

  Gathering our notes into a neat stack, I leave them in their usual spot on Michael’s office coffee table. The day has been long and taxing, and I am more than ready to be done with work. I shrug my coat over my shoulders, a tad too warm in the inside air, turning to Michael, who’s staring at me with amused confusion.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Um,” I draw out the sound sarcastically, unsure of what wrong I’ve committed, “it’s the end of the day. I’m leaving.”

  “No, it’s the end of the day, we’re leaving. Dinner?”

  I smirk at the use of his earlier tone, despite my concern.

  “Mr. Carter, I don’t think—Oh!” I yelp as he swats my ass a couple times, reprimanding me for the misname.

  Laughing, Michael flips the light switch and tells me he’s not taking no for an answer. Before I know it, we are arm in arm in the elevator. I can feel the anxiety rising in my chest with each ding as the elevator descends floor after floor. I can’t help but be consumed by thoughts of my coworkers, and what they will think if I’m seen out somewhere with Michael. When the doors finally open, the grand window-flooded lobby is unusually grey, a product of today’s bleak weather forecast. There’s something comforting about a gray sky, cozy, even. I am so distracted by it I almost walk right past Harris, who is dutifully waiting for us at the elevator entrance. I am yanked backwards unintentionally as Michael stops walking, interrupting my momentum.

  “We’ll be walking to dinner tonight Harris, thank you. I’ll let you know when we need to be picked up.”

  “Yes sir,” Harris responds apathetically, and with that we’re off.

  As we step into the cool New York air, I smile despite my reservations, and remind him, “you know, I didn’t actually agree to go to dinner with you.”

  “Dessert then?” His smirk confirms the dirty connotation I suspect he is implying. Michael chuckles, then continues. “Relax Sophia, it’s one meal. No strings – scouts honor.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you weren’t a boy scout?” I quip, laughing.

  Holding up his hands in a surrendering position, Michael begins to walk. I follow, curious to what the night will hold, unsure how I feel about the ‘no strings’ proposition.

  Chapter 12

  Sophia

  The restaurant Michael picks is as posh as he is. Industrial lighting and brick walls, but with floor-to-ceiling windows and art that would make Monet himself cry. The hostess nods familiarly at Michael and without a single word leads us to a small corner booth, intimate and decently private. The arrangement forces me to sit beside, rather than across from him. Not that I mind much -- he isn't the type to invade personal space, sitting arm’s length away. Despite the BYO indicator at the top of my menu, I glance up to see a man approaching our table with a bottle that looks suspiciously like red wine.

  “Medi! How are you?” Michael exclaims with a full, genuine smile, getting up to haphazardly hug the man. He is tall, and dark-skinned with a shiny bald head and a white smile.

  “It’s been too long!” They sound like actual friends, “and who is this?” Medi asks, smiling in my direction.

  I extend my hand to him, introducing myself with a friendly greeting. He takes it smiling and, rather than shaking, kisses it.

  “It’s lovely to meet you Sophia,” he spouts in a kind voice, turning to Michael, “I’ve brought over a bottle of your favorite.”

  Michael thanks him too soon, as he turns to me to follow up with, “to dine with this heathen, you might need it.”

  Michael laughs genuinely at the quip returning to his seat.

  “How do you two know each other?” I try to make conversation.

  Taking a small sip of his Merlot he replies nonchalantly. “Got him out of a jam once, helped him open this place,” motioning to the general room, “been coming here for years.”

  I study him in pleasant shock, maybe he isn’t what his reputation wants me to think, after all. He’d done something kind for Medi, and he’s working to help Mrs. Thompson. The waitress soon approaches to take our orders; which Michael gives without allowing me to get a word in. A male habit I have always despised.

  Michael smirks at me, knowing I am annoyed. “Don’t worry, you’ll like what I chose… Not that that’s what your concern is.”

  I hate being controlled or spoken for or ordered. At least, I hate it outside of his bedroom --- even there it’s definitely something that will take some getting used to. I brush off the sentiment, though, as soon as the appetizers arrive. Burrata with balsamic vinegar and watermelon, arancini, and steak bruschetta. There is absolutely no way we can eat all of this and entrees. Not that I won't try. I am half a glass in and feeling slightly tipsy, so, all decorum abandoned, I dig in. He watches me in clear reverence for a moment before joining in.

  “Open,” Michael demands, holding a piece of bruschetta that he’d expertly topped with the burrata leftovers. I comply and am greeted with food bliss. Sometimes I genuinely question if good food might be the meaning of life.

  “That was incredible. You’re a genius.” He grins at me, licking his fingers, before his attention is pulled by the approach of a waitress carrying two absurdly large plates.

  “Oh my God.” I whisper under my breath. Smart man – after all, the way to a girl’s heart is definitely through her stomach. I watch as the waitress grates a generous amount of fresh parmesan onto my gnocchi, thanking her as I dig in, despite the steam still rising from the vodka sauce.

  We are on our second bottle of wine now, and even I can tell my demeanor has relaxed, settling into a buzzed looseness. My laugh comes a bit more freely than usual, and my smile natural, gracing my lips with each new addition to our comfortable conversation. I can’t tell whether my newfound familiarity with Michael is a product of the alcohol, or time.

  “How did you know what I’d like?” I question, interrupting our conversation… He really had taken a risk there, I hate red sauce… but then, of course he somehow knew that. Michael flashes me an arrogant smile between bites.

  “Because I know you have good taste.” I reward the quip with the tiniest of chuckles before averting my attentions once more to the food.

  As the waitress finally returns to clear the table I sit back in my seat, feeling like I might explode, silently thanking God that I didn’t wear tight clothing today.

  “Full?” Michael asks, raising a full eyebrow at my hand, which is currently rubbing my stomach lightly through the fabric of my blouse.

  “I don't think I’ll be able to eat for a week.” My words come out breathy and strained under the alcohol and food.

  He smiles triumphantly before something behind my head catches his eye and sends him into a fit of laughter. Setting his chin on his hand, Michael’s eyes fill with challenge. Just as I open my mouth to question him, Medi arrives at our table filling it once more with a variety of decadent looking desserts. I groan just a little, knowing I wouldn’t possibly be able to resist.

  As I contemplate the potential inconvenience of a later trip to the ER when my stomach inevitably literally explodes, Michael chats with Medi for a moment. When Medi walks away, he leaves two plates of dessert on the table for us.

  “Open.” Michael commands with a small smirk, holding a fork full of tantalizing tiramisu up to me. I shake my head halfheartedly, earning a small quirk of his ey
ebrow before I submit – who counts calories nowadays anyway?

  I close my mouth around the fork and, swear to God, almost moan at the taste. Creamy, light, and just the perfect amount of cocoa powder. The cake is moist, but not mushy and the espresso stings just a bit. I roll my eyes back dramatically and Michael swells with excitement and triumph, taking a bite for himself.

  “I might just become a regular here.”

  Michael grins, satisfied that I enjoyed his restaurant pick so much, “I’ll tell Medi to make this a standing reservation.”

  I furrow my brow at him, laughing slightly at the sheer ridiculousness of my situation. I am out to dinner with the name partner who, until just a few days ago, I was terrified of – I’m not even sure that should be in past tense. This whole situation terrifies me. What if someone sees us? I know what they’ll assume; I’m sleeping my way to the top, I’m getting special treatment, I’m all beauty, no brains – well, brains enough to sleep with my rich and gorgeous boss’ boss’ boss. I kill my glass of wine in an effort to dissipate the growing nerves in my chest, and declare that I couldn’t possibly eat one more bite. Michael nods in response, leaving the table to go find Medi and settle the bill. I take the opportunity to put a serious dent in my glass of water in a futile attempt to sober up.

  When Michael arrives back at the table he drops a very generous tip on the stained wood, holding up my coat to put it on me. A gesture I’ve never actually seen anyone do in real life before meeting him. I stand, very aware of how hard I have to try to remain upright and perfectly balanced, and slide into the coat. He pushes it up over my shoulder, and for the briefest tantalizing moment I can feel the pressure of his fingers against my cool skin.

  “Shall we?” He whispers in my ear, his demeanor changing to take on a more serious tone. It isn’t actually a question, though, because before I can answer he slides his hand down to my lower back directing me out the door with one final goodbye to Medi.

  As we step into the cool autumn air, I turn to him, emboldened by the wine and the intoxicating scent of him, wrapping me in warm tones of sandalwood and fire; not the destructive sort of fire, no, the kind you burn on a cold night to keep yourself warm, wood burning filling the room with crackles. That’s sort of what being around him is like, the air constantly crackling with intensity, electricity, and some unspoken thing that makes my stomach flip each time I catch his perfect sapphire eyes.

  “Michael,” I bring us to a stop outside of the restaurant, ready to turn to walk back down the street to where my car is currently parked, “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  His grip on my waist easily stops my body from turning all the way, his eyes showering me in questions as I continued with my explanation.

  “You’re my boss. Well, not really, you’re more like my boss’ boss’ boss and that’s, well—I mean you understand, right? I’m rather young and I’m not unattractive and it’s just people will think—” Michael cuts off my rambling with a kiss.

  Not a deep intense one, like before. This one is insistent in another way. Trust me, give in to me, I’ll take care of you, his kisses screamed all types of platitudes at me as his soft lips bruised my own, almost knocking my thoughts straight from my brain, almost. I gasp as he pulls away from me, desperate and hungry for more, my self-control rolling from my body in thick waves as the alcohol courses through my veins.

  “I do understand Sophia, but they’re wrong. They’d be wrong. I didn’t pick you because you’re beautiful – and you are beautiful – I picked you because you’re the best. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool, and they’ll have me to answer to.” His eyes bore into me, imploring me to believe him, and I do. Thanking him, I press a small peck into his lips, assuming the night is at its end, or at least it should be. Before I have a chance to turn and make my way towards my car, Michael’s grip tightens.

  “Oh no you don’t. Keys.” He raises the hand not wrapped around me and waits, his eyes smug and commanding, like he’s talking to an insubordinate teenager.

  “Excuse you! I am not even drunk.” I slur my last word a bit, trying and failing to be serious as I burst out in giggles, still not complying with his request and immensely enjoying the growing frustration in his eyes each time I disobey him. He doesn’t falter.

  Chapter 13

  Michael

  “Fine then where to? Something fun, let’s do something fun.” Sophia’s face lights up like a child’s, her previous moment’s anxiety forgotten. I stare at her for a moment, immobilized, thinking about all of the fun things I want to do with her; to her.

  “Just how fun are you willing to go?” I smile wickedly, taking her in -- an idea strikes me.

  “Try me.” Her eyes shine with challenge, making my cock twitch simply imagining all the sinful ways I could show her just how naïve she is to underestimate my affinity for winning. I yearn to see that submissive sheen in her almond shaped eyes once again, the teasing glance of it I received during the last time I fucked her just wasn’t enough.

  Smiling defiantly at Sophia, I hook her slender jacket-clad arm in mine, and start us walking once again down the street. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

  The sun had begun to set while we were at dinner and the sky is a cool violet and gray color now, the budding stars somewhat muted by the city lights. I lead her the few blocks West to a central park entrance, ignoring her peppering of questions.

  When she realizes where we’re going, she stops dead in her tracks, half joking, “is this the part where you kill me? Are joggers going to find my body in the morning SVU style?”

  I laugh out rightly with her. “My plans might be devious, but murder? Really?”

  Her smile falters just the slightest at the mention of my ‘plans’, but it remained. I continued, leading her down a pathway further and further into the secluded sections of the park.

  If it hadn’t been for the alcohol, I had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t have followed me this far. No matter, I have every confidence she’ll enjoy what I have in store for her tonight.

  Finally, I bring us to a halt in an inconspicuous destination, we are surrounded by trees and shrubbery on all sides, not a person in sight or earshot.

  “This was your idea of something fun?” She asks the disappointed question, but her voice is still alight with anticipation.

  “Do you trust me?” My smirk grows with anticipation, longing to hear that three-letter word that will allow me to do what I want. Her thoughts are so loud I can almost hear them, hear her better judgement telling her to say no. She probably should listen. But she doesn’t, granting me a slight, eager nod.

  Chapter 14

  Sophia

  Michael advances, backing me to one of the wider trees. My back hits the bark with a dull thud and his lips meet mine, ignoring the shrubbery brushing against us. His tongue brushes against my bottom lip, demanding entry. I grant it without hesitation. Snaking his hands in my jacket, Michael pulls up my shirt ever so slightly, wrapping his slender fingers around my waist in a solid, comforting grip.

  I giggle into his lips. “What happened to flowers and candles and butterfly kisses?”

  “We’ve got all night, beautiful.” Chuckling, Michael lifts me against the tree, and I wrap my legs around his waist securely. His hands tangle in my hair pulling me closer to his dominating lips. I let him take control of the kiss, reaching down to undo the belt of his slacks. My fingers brush against the sensitive area between his perfect “V,” prompting his head to tilt back, growling in untamed desire at the simple contact. Michael’s lips find my neck, planting warm open-mouthed kisses in the sensitive dip just below my ear.

  “Mine,” he mutters with each sensual kiss, sucking my skin into his mouth leaving love-bites like a sex-crazed teenager. Leaving my jacket intact, and fully covering me from the harsh cold and prying eyes of strangers in the woods, Michael shoves my skirt to my waist in one swift movement. Leaning into the crook of my neck, he takes a breath to calm himself
-- I seize the opportunity to undo his zipper, sliding his slacks down just enough to grip him.

  He is impossibly hard. I run a finger over the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock and he growls into my neck, gripping my hair painfully hard in response. The anticipation is killing me, stealing the breath from my lungs as I bite my lip to keep myself from begging him again. His tip is dripping with pre-cum, begging to be inside me. I brush my thumb over the liquid, massaging him, squirming with my impatience.

  Finally, Michael lifts his head to look in my eyes, his face painfully sinful as he digs his fingers into my hips.

  “You’re in for a long night, beautiful.” He informs me, smirking, pulling my panties aside and dipping two fingers inside me, muttering into my lips. “Fuck, you’re so wet, so responsive.”

  “Don’t be gentle,” I order him, eager for release. With that, he drops me back to my feet, roughly flipping me so that his chest is flush with my back, and I am pressed uncomfortably into the cool bark of the tree.

  I arch my back into him, granting unrestricted access to my center as he pushes my jacket out of the way. His warm lips come to my ear with a warning.

  “Don’t make a sound, kitten.” With that he clamps one hand over my mouth, the other snaking down around my hip, and thrusts so harshly into me I scream into his palm.

  My knees give out under the strain, but Michael barely notices, holding my weight up with ease. His thrusts don’t slow. Fuck I love this feeling. The tantalizing thrill of being so utterly helpless, and at his mercy, a brief reprieve from the pressure of everyday life. If he wants someone to hear me, they will. If he wants someone to see me, they will. If he wants me to beg, and moan and purr for him, he knows exactly how to extract each sound and emotion from me.

  I bite at his palm, reveling in the burn of his hand tangling to pull at my hair as punishment. The strain in my neck is painful, but nothing compared to the heat culminating at my core, threatening to explode.