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Yes.
I want to crawl to him. Tell him I’ll follow him anywhere.
But I can’t forget that frisson of alarm I felt yesterday, after we made love. This isn’t a man who needs to feel jealousy. This isn’t a man who is intimate in public or calls his bed partner a whore. Or a slut. And yes, I loved it. I love him calling me those names. I begged him to. It makes me feel naughty and hot. Like I was built with one purpose—his pleasure. But it also gives me the punishment, the shame I deserve, and he doesn’t even know he’s delivering it. That isn’t fair. I’m not being fair by seeking that glorious humiliation from him.
He should be with someone who is mentally healthy.
I’d probably murder her in her sleep, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
Being alone with him could prove dangerous, as much as I crave it. He’s my boss, though, at least for now. What choice do I have but to risk speaking privately with him?
“Sure.” I stoop down to pick up my clipboard and hear Byron hiss a breath, probably because he can see down the front of my dress. Against my better judgment—of which I am in very short supply these days—I allow myself a few seconds to linger. To savor the sensation of his eyes caressing my breasts, pushed up in their red satin bra. My attention drifts to his lap, to the growing bulge there, and I straighten once more with a pulse pounding between my legs. “We can talk outside.”
“Great,” he rasps, swallowing. “Lead the way.”
We walk through the sea of movement, through workers arranging partitions, foliage and lights, exiting through a side door. As soon as we’re outside and the exit door closes behind us, Byron has me in his arms, his mouth moving over mine in a frenzy. Once again, my clipboard clatters to the ground and I kiss him back, desperate. So desperate. His taste travels through me like a drug, enlivening my system, my nerve endings. Big hands find my hips, quickly dropping lower to slide up beneath the hem of my dress, running over my outer thighs, scraping up my buns and clutching them tight. “Byron,” I whimper, words getting stuck in my throat. Tell him who you are. Stop deceiving him.
“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” He backs me further into the shadows, breathing heavily against my lips. “Did I not…was it not good for you yesterday?”
I’m almost too stunned to respond. “Not good for me? You are…it w-was heaven.”
His eyelids drift closed in his relief. “It was heaven for me, too, Jane.” He rolls his forehead against mine. “I want to go back there. I need you.”
There is no way, not a single chance, that I can say no to Byron when he says I need you. He’s my world, my infatuation, the very breath in my lungs. My conscience is being drowned out by the utter bliss it gives me to hear him admit he needs me out loud. “Then take me.” I hold on to his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist, slowly rubbing my sex on his erection, purring against his parted lips. “Hard as you want, baby.”
He moans, the sounds stuttered by panting breaths. And he tilts his hips upward, biting his lip as I give him a standing lap dance. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“It’s even better inside,” I whisper, grinding, licking at his mouth.
“Yes. It will be.” His swallow is audible, regret stealing across his features suddenly. “But it’ll have to be after I take you to lunch.”
Confusion punches a hole in my lust. “Lunch? What do you mean?”
“I made reservations for lunch. You and me.” He slides his fingers into my hair, holding my head steady so he can peruse me. A moment passes while he searches for words. “When you left yesterday, I realized I didn’t know where you lived. I didn’t know if you were upset. Or scared. And I had no way of finding out. I’d just…those things I said to you, I needed to care for you afterward and I couldn’t do that. I haven’t felt fucking complete since you walked away.”
My mouth won’t move. Words won’t come out. I’ve never felt more exposed, more vulnerable in my life. What is happening here? “S-so you want to take me to lunch a-and comfort me?”
“Yeah. Is that crazy?” His lopsided smile almost causes my heart to detonate. “I want to know everything about you, Jane.” His entire body seems to flex, his upper lip stiff when he says, “Everything.”
Oh God.
This is even worse than I thought.
I am deceiving this man. I am turning him into a twisted mess, like me.
And he wants to give me legitimacy.
Wants to take me out on a date, maybe even wants me to be his girlfriend. Lord, the very idea of that is intoxicating. A dream I never thought could really come true.
