Page 28 of Lying to the Boss

“No, I did not get myself off in the bathroom, Tage. Why do you want to know?”

Well, now I feel stupid. But also relieved.

I lunge for him. There’s no other way to explain the way my body moves toward him. It’s like a magnet being pulled. Everything happens so fast.

Our mouths crash together, his teeth digging into my lip and maybe causing blood. I’m straddling him while his hands grasp my ass. I moan into his mouth, feeling him hard beneath me.

“What did I tell you?” he growls out as his mouth moves to my neck.

“Fuck me,” I demand. “I want you to fuck me.”

“See, was that so hard?” he taunts.

“Fuck you.”

“Not happening, Tage.”

He stands, lifting me with ease and walking me… somewhere. I’m placed down on a bed—I don’t know if it’s his or mine and I don’t care. His body falls over me, his mouth still on my neck. My eyes refuse to open, my other senses taking control. Feeling is so much more important than seeing.

My hands run up and down his back, grazing over muscles I didn’t realize he had. I saw the tone of his arms, but feeling them now, I realize they are firmer than they look.

I didn’t do much touching that first night. It was more of him telling me what to do and just taking it, because sometimes that’s what I like to do.

But right now, I need to feel something.

Someone.

Him.

Lane Monroe.

My boss.

“Please tell me you brought condoms and lube.”

He huffs a laugh as he nips at my chin. “Of course I did.”

He doesn’t stop to get them though, just makes his way down my neck again, tugging at the collar to get to my shoulder. He bites me firmly enough that I feel it but then kisses it better.

“Fucker,” I mutter, and he laughs again.

His hand slides beneath my shirt, moving along my stomach and dragging his nails gently down. Goosebumps erupt along my skin, and I moan, my hips lifting off the bed, chasing him.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he says.

“I already did.”

He looks up at me, eyes burning into mine. “Do it. Again.”

I place my hand on his chest, pushing him up. He moves easily, and not because of my strength. I roll onto my stomach and look at him over my shoulder.

“Fuck me, Lane,” I say. “Just like this.”

His hands slide up my sides, his tongue dragging along my spine. He pushes my face into the mattress while his other hand goes over my ass, squeezing and tugging at my pants.

A finger drags through my crease, pressing against my hole.

“I’ve thought about this pretty little hole for weeks, you know.”