Mistresses: After Hours With The Boss: Her Little White Lie / Their Most Forbidden Fling / An Inescapable Temptation

“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 deep into his mouth. A raw moan escaped her lips and she gripped his shoulders hard, her nails digging into his skin. He lifted his head, letting it fall back. She gripped him harder and he winced, his hold tightening on her back.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

And he obeyed, lowering his head to her breasts again, licking her, sucking her, bringing her to the edge and back with the sensual assault from his mouth. He moved his hand from her back, down to her waist, to her hips, holding her hard, kissing a path down her body until he came to the place that was wet and aching for him.

His tongue moved over her clitoris and she lifted her hips off the bed, sensation so deep, so intense hitting her that she couldn’t hold still. He held her, continuing as though she wasn’t whimpering beneath him, as though her body wasn’t trembling, her world crumbling inward, reducing to pleasure, to Dante.

She laced her fingers into his hair, holding him to her, so close now, so close to the peak that she had no desire to fight it. No desire to fight him.

He released his hold on her and his hand joined his mouth, one finger sliding deep inside of her as he flicked his tongue over her clitoris again. The world exploded behind her eyelids. Stars raining down on her, leaving her blanketed in heat and light.

She shook, her body trembling as each wave of release passed through her.

Dante lifted his head and kissed her hip, the space just beneath her belly button. Her stomach. Between her breasts. Then he settled between her thighs, his hardness probing the soft, wet entrance to her body.

He cursed and paused, reaching beside them and picking up the condom box. He fished inside of it for a moment, producing a small packet that he tore open quickly. He rolled the condom onto his length with deft efficiency, and she was grateful he hadn’t asked her to do it.

Then he was back over her, pressing into her. She felt a brief, searing pain as he pushed inside of her, her body stretching to accommodate him.

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes blazing, his expression pained.

She shook her head. And he didn’t speak. Instead, he thrust into her to the hilt, his body coming up hard against hers, making contact right where she needed it, pleasure erasing the pain, slowly, but oh so perfectly.

He retreated, thrusting home again, establishing a steady rhythm that built up tension inside of her again. It was deeper this time, reaching farther inside of her, calling up the need from somewhere new. It was shared desperation, shared need.

She met each thrust, working with him, moving with him, toward completion. Everything blurred, blending together, the room beyond Dante turning fuzzy, insubstantial.

His movements became erratic, evidence of his fraying control, and hers began to shred, too. Her grip on the world loosening. When they fell, they fell together, raw sounds of completion filling the room as they reached the peak.

She held on to him tightly, trying to keep from getting lost in it all. Anchoring him to her.

When his muscles stopped trembling, he let out a long, slow breath and pressed his forehead against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him and held him there. Held his body against hers, skin to skin, every inch of him against every inch of her.