Page 17 of The Boss

I have no intention of stopping. I could do this for hours—watching her unravel, feeling her pulse and flutter around my fingers—but she reaches down and wraps her small hand around my throbbing cock. The sudden tight grip punches the air from my lungs, and my hips jerk involuntarily into her fist.

"Vivian…"

"I need you inside me. Now."

Abso-fucking-lutely. I circle the tip of my cock around her entrance and push in. The searing grip of her is almost too much. I have to freeze halfway buried, jaw clenched, breathing through the raw pleasure threatening to end this before it starts.

We find a brutal rhythm fast—nothing like the slow, exploratory night at the bar. This is pure, pent-up hunger, my hips rutting into her. The heavy desk creaks ominously beneath us. Papers flutter to the floor with every punishing thrust. Her legs clamp tighter around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper.

I take her with hard, merciless thrusts, and Vivian throws her head back, crying out my name so loudly I half expect security to burst through the door. I don't care. Let them come. Nothing could stop me from driving into her again and again.

"Touch yourself, love."

Vivian doesn't even hesitate. Her fingers slip between our bodies, circling her clit while I pound into her. The sight of it—her flushed face, parted lips, the way her walls start squeezing around my cock—nearly finishes me on the spot. I grit my teeth, holding on because I need to feel her shatter first.

It doesn't take long. Her whole body locks up before it shakes. Her pussy gushes wet heat around my cock, and the sensation rips my own climax out of me with brutal force. I grab her face and slam my mouth to hers as I spill deep inside her, hips stuttering, every muscle drawn tight.

For the first time in three days, the constant, clawing tension in my chest eases—just a little. Just enough to let me think.

"I might need to replace Levi's desk."

4

VIVIAN

The restaurant doesn't have prices on the menu, which means either the food is genuinely exceptional or they're embarrassed to print the numbers. Knowing Matthew, it's probably both.

I smooth my dress—off-shoulder, midnight blue, fitted, the one I bought for a brand launch last year and never had any other occasion to wear—and try not to fidget with my wine glass. The sommelier poured something crisp and French, and I think I'm better off not knowing how much each bottle costs.

Matthew sits across from me, perfectly at ease in a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly. If he has someone hand-deliver his ties, then I'm pretty sure one of the dozens of designers he employs is tasked with his suits.

The top button of his shirt is undone, and there's something about the hollow of his throat that makes my brain malfunction slightly.

New detail to add to the ever-growing list of things about Matthew Astor that are going to ruin me: the way the low amber lighting catches the edge of his jaw, sharper in shadow, and the faint scar near his left eyebrow I've never noticed before. It's small, barely there, but now that I've seen it, I can't stop looking.

"You're staring, Vivian."

I point at my eyebrow. "You have a scar here."

"Yes, I do, and I have Levi to thank for that."

"He beat you up?"

Matthew snorts, and the sound is so unexpected that my eyes widen. Matthew and snorting don't belong in the same sentence. It's a lot like watching a monk break dance. "Levi wouldn't hurt a fly if his life depended on it."

"So…?"

"He threw his baseball, and I just happened to walk into it."

"Ouch."

The waiter appears with appetizers I don't remember ordering—oysters, caviar on tiny toasts, scallops with what looks like white truffles, and something with gold leaf. I work with luxury brands, but I will never, ever understand people who'll throw money at things that, in my opinion, aren't worth twenty dollars

I'll take mozzarella sticks over gold leaf any day.

Matthew thanks him without breaking eye contact with me, and the waiter melts away. Plus points for Matthew because I always appreciate rich folks who treat the waitstaff with kindness.

I pick up an oyster. "Do you come here often, or is this the kind of place you save for impressing people?"