Mistresses: After Hours With The Boss. Maisey Yates

… come back.”

      It took him a moment to realize that her wide eyes were glued to his bare chest. It gave him a strange sense of satisfaction to know that, in spite of her constant reminders that she didn’t want to sleep with him, she wasn’t immune to him.

      Something that shouldn’t matter.

      “No need. Find your pajamas,” he said. “Don’t mind me.”

      “Right,” she said, sliding into the room and moving quickly to the closet. She opened it and walked in. He watched her rummaging in the corner that had been designated for her clothing. He would have to ask his housekeeper to lay things out more nicely for her. His closet was huge, and his clothes always well spaced out so he could see what he had. There was no harm in crowding things in a little bit for Paige’s sake.

      Although, just when the idea of giving her some substantial room in his home had stopped bothering him, he wasn’t sure. Maybe, stopped bothering him wasn’t the right way to put it. More that it didn’t make his eye twitch.

      “Got them.” She emerged a moment later, clutching a pair of flannel pants and a white T-shirt to her chest. “So I’ll go.”

      He found that he was reluctant to let her leave. If she left, he would be alone with his thoughts, and tonight, his thoughts were on a dangerous path.

      “Those don’t look like I imagined they might,” he said, extending his hand, taking the flannel between his thumb and forefinger.

      “No?” she asked. He noticed that her chest pitched sharply, in time with a sudden breath. That his drawing nearer to her was making her nervous. That he was right in his earlier assessment of her. She wasn’t immune to him.

      “No,” he said. “Something diaphanous and flowing, I thought. Something with glitter.”

      “And slippers with heels and feathers?” she asked, her voice thin and shaky.

      “Also a tiara.” He took a step closer to her, heat firing in his blood. He was thinking too much tonight and being near her made him feel less like thinking, and more like acting.

      He lifted his hands and brushed his finger along her cheekbone. Her mouth dropped open, her lush lips forming an O. Oh, yes, this was simpler.

      He slid his hand around, cupping her head, his thumb stroking her face still. “Even so, this has a certain appeal to it. As does the dress you have on now.”

      “D-Dante …”

      “If we are going to be a couple, do couple interviews and things like that, you will have to look comfortable with me touching you.”

      “I’m comfortable,” she said, the high pitch of her voice proving her a liar.

      He wasn’t comfortable, either. He was shaking, he was hard as hell and he couldn’t fight the need that was coursing through him, not anymore. He had seen her, he had wanted her. Wondered what it would be like to taste all that color and light. To absorb it into himself.

      But he had denied himself. No more.

      Without thought for consequence, without even trying to gentle his movements or ask her if she was all right, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She was so warm. So alive. Her breath filled him, the soft sound of shock she made when he slid his tongue over the seam of her mouth, made his stomach twist.

      Keeping one hand on the back of her head, he curved his other arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Her arms were pinned between them, still clutching her pajamas, keeping him from feeling her body against his.

      He reached between them and tugged the clothes from her hands, scattering them over the bedroom floor. She pressed her hands flat against his bare chest, her palms warm, her touch sending a shock of heat and fire through him.

      He traced her bottom lip with his tongue and she opened to him, offering him entry into her mouth. He felt like drowning in her. Like losing himself completely.

      He didn’t realize he’d starting moving until Paige’s back came up against his bedroom wall. She was pinned between the hard surface and him, her breasts pressing into his chest. So he deepened the kiss. Took more. Demanded more.

      Her hands were still pressed tight against his chest and for a moment, he thought she might be pushing him away.

      No. No, he needed more. He continued to kiss her, devouring her, until she relaxed against him, until her hands crept upward, fingers curling around his neck, clinging to him.

      Yes.

      His heart was pounding, sweat beading over his skin. She dug her fingernails into his neck, holding on to him tightly, pressing in closer so that his heavy length was resting against her stomach.

      There was no room for rational thought. There was no thought at all. Not beyond the next hot, wet slide of her tongue on his. Not beyond the next gasp of pleasure that came from her lips. There was nothing but bright lights bursting behind his closed eyes, and a pounding need to take her, join himself to her. Go deep inside. So deep he would lose himself completely.

      It would be the easiest thing to push her dress up, tug her panties down, free his aching erection and push inside her tight, wet body. Find solace in her release, and in his. To let go.

      He jerked back, his heart thundering, his body protesting. This was not how he operated. Not why he had sex. Not how he allowed himself to live. He couldn’t allow it. Not ever.

      He would never give in to that creeping darkness inside of himself. To the monster that lived in him. The thing that he hated most.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, his words clipped.

      She blinked. “Why?”

      “It shouldn’t have happened,” he bit out. It was inexcusable. The loss of control. The desperation he’d felt. To use her as a salve for his wounds. To let go of everything completely.

      “I see,” she said. She bent down and started collecting her clothes, her movements jerky, awkward. She seemed angry, upset.

      “You think it was a good idea?” he asked, frustration pounding his temples, arousal pounding in his groin.

      “What? Oh … it’s just …” She stood up. “Whatever.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “It was a kiss. It’s not like it was anything serious. No big deal. Lips. Tongue. Not a big … I’m gonna go now.” She sidestepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

      Dante wrenched his belt off and threw it on the ground, stalking into his bathroom and turning the shower on cold. He dropped his pants and underwear and stepped beneath the spray. He let the icy water roll over him, making him shiver, his body shaking from the inside out. It wasn’t about cooling the heat in his body. He was paying penance for losing his control.

      It would not happen again.

      Paige leaned against her bedroom door, her heart sill pounding heavily, her lips still burning. Just a kiss? No big deal? She was getting good at lying.

      She’d never been kissed like that, by a man like him, in her life.

      And of course, the first words out of his mouth had been that it was a mistake. Of course it had been. How could it be anything else? A man like him would not want to kiss a woman like her. Not really.

      Sometimes she felt like she was changing. Finding out who she was apart from the labels she’d been given at home, back in high school. Tonight, she felt like she’d reverted. Back to the painfully awkward girl she’d been.

      The one she still was beneath the makeup and sequins.

      She changed into her pajamas as quickly as possible and tried to ignore just how conscious she was of the fabric sliding against her skin. Of how sensitive she felt. He’d lit her skin on fire, made her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

      The memory of the kiss, of how it had made her feel, took the edge off