Home > Beautiful Boss (Beautiful Bastard #4.5)(8)

Beautiful Boss (Beautiful Bastard #4.5)(8)
Author: Christina Lauren

“Say, I was wondering what you were doing in this tuxedo.” I wrapped his tie around my fist and tugged on it, bringing him closer. “Unless you’re just a really, really snappy dresser. But then, you have this ring on your finger, too . . .”

“I want to be sweet with you,” he said, palm curving over my shoulder and slipping down between my breasts. There was a weight there, a pressure to his touch I could feel even through the thin layers of fabric. Despite the softness in his voice, it screamed of possession, of lust. “I feel like I should be sweet tonight.”

The delicate lamp threw shadows across his face and I pulled on his tie again, stopping when his mouth was just above mine. “You’re always sweet to me, Will. You make me feel loved and respected and cherished, every single day. I love that side of you.”

His smile widened, and I could hear the edge of laughter in his voice when he spoke into the darkness.

“I’m sensing a big but in there somewhere, Plum.”

“But we have eight hours before we need to be up.”

His brows lifted in amusement. “Eight whole hours.”

“That’s right. So you can be sweet the second time.”

It was all he needed to hear. Watching Will lose his restraint was like watching a fuse burn down. He lunged forward and any space that separated us was gone just like that. The heat of his body radiated along mine and I groaned, pushing his jacket off.

“Clothes,” I mumbled between kisses, between the taste of his tongue and the sharp bite of his teeth. “Off.” I pulled on his shirt, fingers fumbling with buttons and his tie, in search of skin.

Will nodded, helping me free him of his shirt before sitting me up just enough to unzip my dress and pull it down. I wanted to tell him to be careful, to remind him how many hours I endured shopping with my mother for this dress, that the fabric was delicate and could easily tear. But I’d never cared less about clothes in my life. I suddenly felt frantic, like when school and work got to be too much and I thought my muscles might burst from my skin if I didn’t get out and run, just move.

It took some maneuvering on both our parts, but with a final tug Will managed to pull the fabric over my hips and down my legs. I bolted up onto my knees, lips seeking skin and greedy hands trying to drag him back down to me.

“I love you so much,” I said between kisses. “Today was so perfect, this . . . tonight . . . all of it. You.”

I could feel his smile against my mouth, our kiss clumsy with teeth and whispered words and so much happiness that we were finally here, together.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he said, a gentling hand on either side of my face as he held me.

“Since the night you came to my apartment?” I asked, but he was already shaking his head.

“Earlier. Maybe since that day on the trail? In your brother’s baggy sweatshirt and—”

“And my terrible bra?” I said, laughing against his jaw. “It will never stop being funny that you had Chloe take me shopping. You must have been mortified.”

“You had to keep holding your boobs and it made me so sad for them. I wanted to offer to hold them for you—offer my support—apologize for how mean you were being to them,” he said, swiping a thumb over my nipple.

“God, I would have lost my mind,” I said, my giggle turning into a soft moan as he increased the pressure. There was one kiss, then a second, one to each corner of my mouth before he tilted my head, thumb pressed to the bottom of my jaw.

He moved lower and I heard him swear when he realized what I was wearing, his finger coming up to touch the delicate lace barely covering my breasts.

“Chloe,” I said, no further explanation needed.

He swallowed and reached up to wipe his forehead with the back of his arm, then took a long, heavy breath, eyes never leaving where my breasts were barely restrained by the soft material. “Remind me of this when her birthday comes around,” he said.

“I’m basically spilling out of it,” I told him.

“Exactly my point,” he said, gently coaxing me back and pressing me to the bed. My legs fell open and he moved to his knees, hips between my parted thighs and his silhouette framed by the large windows. I looked up at him, struck in that moment by how much bigger he was than me, the way his wide shoulders and broad back were enough to blot out the city lights behind him.

I reached up, feeling the shape of him still in his pants, and squeezed, a little too tight, just the way he liked it.

With a grunt he lowered his head, leaning to lick at the hollow of my throat. The ceiling blurred and I closed my eyes, lost to the sensation of his mouth and teeth, the scrape of his chin, the pressure where his fingers worked to make room for himself inside my body.

I gasped, arching my spine against the bed and dragging my nails down his shoulder and across his back, hard, but not too hard. Not sure if he was ready yet. Will liked for it to hurt sometimes, asked for it. It was that thing that pushed him over the edge when he was so close he couldn’t catch his breath or think or even ask for what he wanted. He only knew he wanted more.

Will must have seen the question in my eyes because he swallowed and took a shaky breath. “Make it hurt,” he said.

I twisted my fingers in his hair, desperate and deep and just rough enough that his hips shot forward in surprise.

I rolled Will to his back and lifted my leg to straddle his hips. In the soft light I registered the surprise on his face and the way he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip when I reached up and unfastened my bra.

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