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  With one more slow swipe, I position myself perfectly at her entrance, gripping her waist with one hand to guide her down onto me with ease, growling at the hot, perfect sensation.

  “Fuck, Julian.” Ryan breathes the scolding words into my neck, and I know what she’s asking. Pulling her into a deep kiss, I grant her request, hands settling at her waist to move her small body on me. She is feather-light and easy to maneuver, and I don’t grant her any mercy, lifting her frame until I am almost out of her, only to slam her back down again. The rhythm I set is fast and unforgiving, barely allowing her time to bite out moans, or the soft whimpers I love to hear.

  After several long moments, Ryan pushes my grip from her body with surprising force, landing one delicate hand around my throat, and the other along the top of the chair for leverage. I allow the power exchange tentatively, tangling a grip in her hair and tugging slightly, approvingly. She responds, squeezing against my windpipe as she begins to move up and down on me, riding me fast and shallow.

  It isn’t long before the cabin fills with the sound of her moans, breathless and desperate for release. Ryan’s grip on my neck falls with her efforts to maintain her pace, and I resume my own tight hold on her waist, moving her, driving her over the edge. Screaming into the nape of my neck, she lets go, finishing around me, her walls contracting impossibly tight, eliciting my own release.

  “Fuck.” I growl into her, my fingertips digging into her skin, surely leaving bruises.

  Ryan stills on top of me, her chest heaving against mine as she gasps for much needed air. The quiet room settles around us, and, do not disturb light or not, I am positive everyone onboard the small jet knows what we just did.

  Chapter 16

  Ryan

  “It’s so...” Julian pauses as he steps into my apartment for the first time, searching for the right word as I close the door behind him, “you.” He settles.

  I chuckle, deciding not to tell him that my mother decorated the entire place. To her credit – and his – the warm, earthy vibe has grown on me significantly since I moved in. At this point, I don’t think I could part with any of it, even the oversized lanterns and strange metal fruit.

  Despite the awkwardness of greeting our stewardess after our little in-flight excursion, the landing, and ride back to my apartment, was fairly issue free. I expected the weight in my chest to increase tenfold as soon as I stepped into the city, but so far it has remained steady – not great, but manageable.

  Julian insisted on walking me up, but I think it was a ruse to get to see where I live. Actually, I know it was. He’s disappeared down the long hallway to the rest of the apartment, giving himself a tour.

  Resigning to leave him to his own devices, I instead stroll behind the counter, retrieving a bottle of my favorite red from a hidden wine rack under my kitchen island. Before I have a chance to fish my bottle opener from its designated drawer, Julian’s voice interrupts me.

  “Wine? When we’re celebrating?” I glance up at him quizzically, pieces of the red aluminum seal already torn off into my hand. As soon as he enters my line of sight, I know I’m in trouble. I should have been suspicious that he was holding onto my carryon so tightly. He’d slipped one of the bottles of Dom into it.

  Now, standing across the room, he is holding it out to me, his lips curled into a devious smirk. Turning to the couch, he beckons for me to follow him. To my own surprise, I do. Abandoning the sweet wine on the counter, I walk around the island and take a seat on the couch, as close to him as I can manage without literally being on his lap.

  Julian doesn't look up at me, preoccupied with untwisting the seal on the bottle, but I can see the proud smile running across his lips. He discards the gold foil seal onto the coffee table in front of him, pushing at the edge of the cork with one thumb.

  The soft plug releases from the bottle with a loud pop, dousing my couch and the both of us in expensive champagne. I can’t help the high-pitched laugh that bursts from my windpipe at the sight of Julian’s surprised face. A flicker of disproval flashes across his handsome features before he joins in my joviality despite himself, setting the bottle down to shake the carbonated droplets off of his soaked fingers.

  “Ah well, it’s probably just as well. I’ve got about 49 of these bottles at home anyway.” Julian snickers at me, a hint of suggestion in his voice, reminding me of the promise he made last week pertaining to those very bottles. I grin, goading him against my best interests.

  “Hmm. Sounds like someone has an alcohol problem.”

  “Oh someone does.”

  Hand tangling suddenly in my loose hair, Julian tugs on the knotted waves – not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to command my undivided attention. His grip holds me in place, my head tilted backwards just slightly as to look up at him from our impossibly close proximity. With each rise and fall of his muscled chest I can feel his breath warming my lips and mingling with my own, slowly seeping the oxygen from my lungs.

  Julian’s gaze droops, his deep forest gaze burning a pathway along my skin as it travels to my pout, hanging ajar, waiting for him to take advantage. He moves slowly, his perfectly disciplined muscles barely traveling a fraction of an inch, pausing as the soft, thick surface of his lower lip brushes mine, just barely. So feather-light I’m not even sure if it was real, or I’d imagined it. Like when a starving person begins to hallucinate food everywhere they look. I strain against his grip, trying subtly to initiate the kiss, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he drops his grip, moving away from me with a devilish smirk and a snicker, punctuated by the sound of champagne filling coffee mugs. He grips them both, standing to walk past me and through the apartment to my office, perusing through my book collection with a grin.

  “Nobody likes a tease.” I huff at him, reaching around his body to yank my mug from his grip.

  Julian laughs at me openly. “Oh, I think you like me very much.”

  “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you.” Taking a gulp of my champagne, I scold myself for not having thought of a better retort. What could I have said? He is right, after all.

  Shaking his head, Julian opens his mouth to speak, before something in the corner of the room catches his eye. I follow his line of sight to the object, immediately knowing his intentions.

  “How about a wager, huh?” He gingerly stands, not waiting for me to respond as he walks towards the marble chess set atop my bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. Carefully lifting it, he walks the vintage game back to me with ease, not shifting a single piece on the already set board.

  I wield in the smirk that I’m sure is evident in my eyes. The set isn’t just for show – I happen to be good, very good, at the strategy game. Julian doesn’t need to know that, though.

  “What did you have in mind?” I feign nerves, my voice raising an octave with the act as I shift in my carpet-padded seat on the floor. Julian doesn’t think twice about it.

  “If I win, you admit the thing you’ve been refusing to say since that night in the rose garden.”

  The request catches me off guard, adding a panicked wide-eyed twinge to my smile. I falter for a moment under his gaze – I was really hoping he hadn’t caught that. After a brief pause for recovery, I move on, gliding past the request to inquire about my rewards.

  “And if I win?”

  Julian purses his lips at my timely recovery, a blend of respect and amusement swirling in his eyes.

  “That’s up to you, Miss Blake.”

  He emphasizes my name for dramatic effect, leaning in to breathe his words against my skin. Nobody likes a tease, I think, shaking my head with the smallest of smiles. What do I want that I don’t already have? Usually, in open-ended wagers like this, the possibilities seem endless. Now, in this moment, I can’t think of a damn thing in the world. I graze over my surroundings, searching for inspiration.

  Brushing over the champagne bottle, I could make him abandon his quest for punishment, I suppose. Do I really want that, though? My eyes gl
ide to the first edition Hemingway, still atop my desk. I could force him to take it back, though, I’m not sure how successful that endeavor will be the second time around.

  Laughing at my clear indecision, Julian speaks up. “We could always leave it open ended? To be decided at your discretion, at a later date.”

  My pulse picks up at the intriguing idea. “That's quite a lot of power to hand over,” I observe.

  “Yes, it is.” He confirms. “And while normally, I’d say I hope you’ll abuse it, I must admit I’m in this one to win.”

  I smirk, agreeing to the open-ended wager. “I’ll take black.”

  The game starts off quick, a few pawns hastily sacrificed as each of us takes up a strategic position against the other. After the first few rounds, though, it slows, crawling to accommodate our calculating thoughts, trying to read each other with each flick of a piece along the board.

  After an hour of near silent competition, the game has come down to the wire, fallen black and white pieces littering the pale carpet beside the board.

  “Check,” I mutter, not bothering to look up from the game. Julian responds as I expected, interposing with his bishop. I move my rook up three spaces, anticipating his next move.

  “Check.” He declares, glancing up at me with premature triumph. The corner of my lip quirks, a sliver of my usually well-concealed competitive nature breaking through to the surface. Gripping a knight, I execute my plan, shifting the piece to its rightful last spot.

  “Checkmate.” I sit back on my heels, watching Julian study the board in disbelief that he hadn’t anticipated the move. It’s not his fault, really. I’ve been playing my father since I was old enough to say checkmate.

  With a heavy sigh, he concedes. “Well, I won’t say I’m not disappointed, but it was a good game.”

  I snort at his failing attempt to sound genuine, defeat evident in his face. Sweeping the board to the side gingerly, I sit up on my knees, gripping his shoulders for balance. From his seated position, Julian is a couple inches shorter than me, the tip of his straight nose aligned with my chin.

  I press an innocent peck to it, weaving my fingers into the soft hair at the base of his neck and willing him to raise his lips to my own. He snakes his fingers beneath the fabric of my sweater, settling his strong grip at my waist -- no doubt leaving small thumb-shaped bruises where they sit -- sending a small reminder of who’s really in charge while he obliges me. I don’t mind it one bit.

  The kiss is gentle at first, his lips parted shallow against my own, coaxing me in. I nibble on the full lower half of his perfect pout, emboldened in the rush of my triumph. Julian takes it as a challenge, encircling his arm at my waist and throwing me to the ground beneath him in one swift movement. His gaze penetrates me between kisses, a sad twinge in the dark orbs. I swallow hard, wishing desperately that I could force myself to utter the words he wants to hear. They’re true. I know it and he knows it.

  Julian kisses me hard, reading my thoughts with a pained furrow in his brow, and a strong grip on the side of my face. I return the pressure, screaming my thoughts at him, hoping he’ll hear them like always. It is an unmoving kiss. The kind that screams the words you can’t say, desperate in its stillness. When he pulls from me, I am breathless. As though I’ve been drowning in him forever, and these few gulped breaths will bring me back to land.

  “You first,” I resolve, ordering him.

  His features soften, a peak of gratitude in the quirk of his brow as he consumes me with his still and adoring gaze. Slowly, a smile begins to bloom on his plush lips. Like spring, killing winter with a slow, drawn out swing of its sword. Warmth radiates off of him, filling me as his grin hits full bloom and his eyes drift shut for a split second before opening once more to reveal the glittering oak orbs beneath their lids.

  Julian tilts my chin with a gentle twitch of his fingers, being sure to meet my eyes, studying me as the sweet-honey words drip from his tongue to fill me, spreading warmth to all the cold corners I never knew I had.

  “I love you, Ryan.”

  I mirror his smile reflexively, unable to help the dimpling of my cheeks as my body responds to the serotonin rush without any permissions from my brain. A small unfamiliar giggle escapes my lips, my hand flying to my mouth instinctively, as though to check that the strangely carefree sound actually came from me.

  Julian holds my gaze without motive, basking in my reaction to his own admission. It isn't what I expected – not at all. I thought the words would crash into me like a weight, bringing with them a wealth of expectations and liabilities. In actuality, they are relieving; washing over me like a wave of clarity, dissipating the pressure in my chest that I’ve felt since the first day I came to work for him. It’s an utterly peaceful feeling, like floating. Weightless and secure all at the same time, a complete oxymoron.

  Meeting his smile in kind, I open my mouth, the words escaping effortlessly, like they were never really trapped to begin with.

  “I love you too.”

  The intoxicating moment lasts for an entire lifetime, and only a split second, seemingly at the same time. After a beat of joyful pause, Julian descends, kissing me once more. This time with the unfamiliar fervor of two people in love. It is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

  His tongue swipes lightly across my lower lip, asking me to grant him access. I oblige, opening myself to him completely.

  Chapter 17

  Ryan

  Bright golden light flows through the sheer drapes of my office, assaulting my closed eyes in the early hours of the morning. I can feel the weight of Julian’s limbs, draped around me, and the coarse fibers of the carpet digging into my bare skin beneath us. We must have fallen asleep on the floor of my office sometime during the night. The thin silk sheet that covers us does little to provide warmth. Nuzzling further into Julian’s grip, I struggle to keep my shivering from waking him, refusing to open my own eyes to acknowledge the new day.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” The familiar screech rouses me instantly, my eyes popping open in sheer panic. Julian shifts next to me, taking a moment to register what’s happening before shooting up, one arm drifting to the sheet to make sure that I’m adequately covered. We both sit in stunned silence for several moments, staring at my father, who is somehow standing in the doorway of my office, despite the fact that I very vividly remember locking my apartment door last night.

  “How did you get in?” I question him, unable to move from my spot on the floor out of fear of exposing either one of us.

  “How did I get in?” My father yells my own question back at me, as though it's the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “You’re laying on the floor naked with one of my friends and that’s what you have to say for yourself young lady? How did I get in?”

  “First, we’re not friends.” Julian jumps in calmly, handing me his discarded undershirt from last night. “Second, don't fucking speak to her like that.”

  I pull the shirt over my head quickly, too amped by the moment to register my shock at the sound of anyone speaking to the Christian Blake like that.

  My father’s eyes go wide with equal parts insanity and rage, his somewhat-average stature seeming to grow with each passing second.

  “Get fucking dressed. Now.” He slams the door behind him, leaving no time to argue with the order. Julian grips my upper arms, helping me stand.

  I don’t have the words to speak, shock and anxiety rolling over me in waves. Julian dressed me, then himself. If I wasn’t in such a state of horror, I might have been able to marvel at his ability to look flawless in yesterday’s wrinkled suit.

  “Look at me, Ry?” Gripping the sides of my face, Julian snaps me from my own thoughts. I meet his eyes, but I can’t bring myself to utter a response. “It’s going to be okay, alright? Do you trust me?”

  I pass the smallest of nods at his question, barely moving my head. He understood.

  “Everything is going to be just fine, okay? He’s going to
be angry, but you’ve dealt with that before. We’ll get through this, I promise.”

  I nod at him again, this time with a bit more strength. Taking a deep breath, I lace my fingers with Julian’s – partially for moral support, partially because I feel like I could faint at any moment, and I want him close by to catch me when I do. Julian pauses for a moment at the door, planting a soft, reassuring kiss on my forehead before gripping the chrome handle. With one strong twist and a tug, we are out into the lion’s den, with no turning back.

  My father is standing across from the now champagne stained couch with a white knuckled grip on the back of one of my accent chairs, brandishing a gaze that, by rights, should be burning a hole straight through my ocean-hued accent rug.

  “How did you get in?” I repeat my earlier question, raising my chin defiantly, with more confidence than I would have if I were standing here alone. My father raises his glare to me, biting out his response through a tightly clenched jaw.

  “Your doorman gave me a key. I told you it wasn’t safe to live on your own.”

  “You mean you bribed my doorman to give you a key? Or was it blackmail this time?” With each word that pours from my mouth, a new wave of white-hot rage rolls over me. How dare he be so condescending about my safety, when he’s the one breaking in?

  A low, threatening laugh rumbles in my father’s chest, a familiar sound. There was a time when that laugh would send a chill down my spine, paralyzing me with fear and obedience. Now, the only feeling it gives me is disgust.

  “Yes, Ryan. I bribed your doorman for a key,” my father states, matter-of-factly, “because you’re my fucking daughter, and it’s my fucking right.”

  Julian’s hand tightens around mine – in comfort, or rage, I don’t know. I open my mouth to hurl a counter, but Julian beats me to the punch.