Mistresses: After Hours With The Boss. Maisey Yates

her lips still pressed against his.

      The silence that followed seemed to last forever. He might reject her. He probably would. But this was the first time she’d ever been willing to take the chance. It felt like a chain had been loosened on her, like she could move more freely.

      He slid down from the counter, locking his arm around her waist and drawing her hard up against his body. “You want to kiss me? Or you want more?”

      “M-more.”

      “I have to hear you say it,” he said, his tone stretched, tortured.

      “I want to … to sleep with you tonight.” A sudden, horrifying thought occurred to her, and her stomach sank to her toes. “Unless you don’t want to.” Why would he? He’d pulled away from every kiss they’d shared. He was a bronzed god of a man with a physique that looked too good to be real. A man with tons of sexual experience. A man who could have, and had had, any woman he wished. For a crazy moment she’d been convinced she could have this, could have him. But maybe she’d been fooling herself. Again.

      He chuckled, rough and humorless. “How can you think I don’t want you?”

      “I’m average, remember?”

      He moved his hand up to her hair and pushed his fingers through it, tugging on a pink strand, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “I have never seen anyone quite like you. Which means the description cannot be accurate.”

      “You hate my hair.”

      He shook his head. “It’s growing on me.”

      He pressed his other hand against her lower back and brought her into closer contact with his body. With the evidence of his desire for her.

      Her eyes widened. “You do want me.”

      “I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to believe. But by the end of tonight, it won’t be.”

      She wished she had a witty reply, something to defuse the tension. Something to loosen the knot in her stomach and lessen the ache between her thighs. To lessen the importance of the moment. But there was nothing. Her brain was too busy spinning around all the ways he could show her.

      Never before had discovering what she’d been missing with sex been so important. Been so essential. But it was now.

      He kissed her again, intensifying it. He moved his hand down to the waistband of her pajama pants and let his fingertips drift beneath the flannel fabric, and down low so that he was palming her butt, his touch hot and rough and perfect. He squeezed her and a shot of liquid, sexual heat poured through her, zipping straight to her core.

      She arched into him, rubbing her breasts against his chest, looking for a way to dull the ache there, squirming as the one between her thighs intensified, the hand on her bottom so close to where she needed him, the nearness making it all the more frustrating.

      “We have to find a bed,” she said, pulling away from him, her breath coming in out-of-control gasps.

      “We don’t need a bed,” he growled, leaning in, kissing her neck.

      “Oh. Oh …” Her mind went blank for a moment as his tongue swirled over the hollow in her throat. “Yes. We do. I don’t feel like … I don’t have the experience to.” She was not going to say virgin. She was going to avoid that word at all costs. “I’m remedial. At this. I need something standard. And soft. In case I fall or something.”

      He stopped for a moment, his dark eyes searching hers. “I won’t let you fall.”

      You might not be able to stop me. The words hovered on the edge of her lips, but she didn’t speak them. She didn’t dare. She wasn’t even sure what they meant. Only that they terrified her down to her bones.

      “I know but … please?”

      He nodded and swung her up into his arms. She squeaked and clung to his neck as he walked out of the kitchen and to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He didn’t put her down until they were in his room, at the foot of his bed.

      “Will this bed do?”

      She nodded, her throat dry. “Yes. Now come here and kiss me. I promise not to get glitter on you.”

      He moved to her, cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb across her skin. “Your wish is my command.”

      He kissed her, deeply, sensually, his hands roaming over her curves. He cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with light contact, making her ache for more. For his flesh on hers. His mouth on her body.

      He tugged her shirt up over her head. The cold air hit her breasts, and she didn’t have any time to feel self-conscious about what he was seeing. He tugged her against him and she gasped as her breasts brushed against his chest, the heat of his skin warming her through her whole body, his chest hair abrading her sensitized nipples.

      She moved her hands over his back, his muscles shifting and bunching beneath her fingertips.

      He pushed her flannel pajamas and underwear down her hips, letting them pool at her feet. She was thankful he hadn’t paused to look at her panties. A sexual interlude had been the last thing on her mind when she’d selected the purple cotton garment after her shower that evening.

      She wanted to take his clothes off him, but her hands felt heavy suddenly, clumsy. She wasn’t sure if it was her move or not. Or if he liked it when a woman undressed him. Or … anything.

      He was so perfect, so beautiful, just like the moment. She didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.

      Thankfully, he was more than ready and willing to discard his own clothes, and after he disappeared into the bathroom briefly, he returned, fully erect, more gorgeous than any man had a right to be, and carrying a box of condoms.

      She couldn’t stop staring at him. At the thick erection that stood out from his body. She’d never seen a naked man in person before, and pictures of classical statues really didn’t do them justice. Or at least, they didn’t represent Dante.

      “I want to touch you,” she said, shocked at her boldness. But for some reason, the moment he’d come back into the bedroom, all of her nerves had evaporated. She was standing there, naked, and he was there, naked. And they were about to share the most intimate connection two people could possibly share.

      There was no room for fear. Or shame, or awkwardness. She was sure. It was such an unusual feeling for her. And yet, with him, in the moment, everything felt right.

      “Feel free,” he said, his voice rough.

      She moved to him, ran her fingers from his chest down to his abs, to the dark line of hair that led from there and to his hard, thick shaft. She wrapped her fingers around him, testing his weight.

      “What do you like?” she asked, her heart thundering hard, her stomach quivering.

      “This,” he said, his breath hissing through his teeth.

      “Just me touching you?”

      “Yes,” he said. His breathing increased, his chest rising and falling quickly.

      “And this?” She squeezed him gently and was rewarded with a groan that bordered on tortured.

      “Yes,” he bit out.

      “Harder?”

      He put his hand over hers and stilled her movements. “Only if you want me to come right now.”

      She pulled her hand back. “No. Not yet. You aren’t allowed yet.”

      “I thought not.” He captured her lips in a fierce kiss, bringing her down onto the bed with him.

      She looped her thigh over his hip, opening herself to him. She moved against him, each brush of his arousal against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs sending a streak of white heat through her.

      He lowered his head and sucked her nipple