Falling Under You Page 3

  Boyd stood and put his free hand on my lower back to keep me still. “Goddammit, Norma, I swear, if you move again, I’ll make sure you’re tied so tightly to this table you can’t move and you’ll have to take all the punishment I give.”

  Feisty with frustration, I lifted my head. “Will you spank me again?”

  Instantly, he leaned in, gripping me firmly at the back of my neck, his mouth hot at my ear. “No. You’d like that too much. But if you defy me again, I’ll start over. How would you like that?”

  Now that would be true punishment. One I could not handle, especially not now that he’d spoken to me in such a dominating manner. I’d been on fire before, now I was burning.

  I shut my mouth, knocking once to let him know I understood, wishing I had some way to let him know how desperate I was. I had a signal for yes and a signal for stop, but I didn’t have a signal that said “put your fingers inside me and let me come for the love of God.” He also didn’t know that the only way I’d ever been able to orgasm was with clitoral and G-spot stimulation. There was no way I’d get there until he penetrated me in some way.

  Boyd released my neck, returning to rub the small of my back. “Trust me. I know what you need.” He didn’t, but I’d agreed to let him do this. He’d find out soon that it wouldn’t be enough, even if I didn’t tell him. Even if I didn’t direct his every move.

  And if he didn’t, well, then I could still say I gave it the old college try. I forced myself to let go.

  As if to prove himself, Boyd increased the pressure with his finger on my clit and let his thumb skim across my entrance. My pussy throbbed and my insides clenched.

  Oh, holy hell, I was close—closer than I’d thought possible without him inside me. So agonizingly, torturously close. I began to whimper, my chest so tight that I could barely get a breath as I climbed higher and higher. When I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he dipped his thumb inside my hole, just the tip, and ohmygod, to my delighted surprise, there I was, soaring over the edge into the oblivion of ecstasy. My legs shook, my ass shimmied, my entire being shuddered with the roar of my release, every single cell in my body screaming in pleasure.

  I was still spinning through the clouds, vaguely aware of him tugging my bindings free, when he yanked me by my hair to a standing position, turned me into him, and bent to crush his mouth against mine. His kiss was insistent, demanding. Greedy. His lips were both soft and firm. He tasted like almonds and mint and power, and I’d never tasted anything so good in my entire life.

  My orgasm began to fade, and I was already imagining what the rest of the night would be like. My sister, Gwen, was working. We could go back to my place. Or rent a hotel, if he preferred. Someplace with room service. We’d order champagne and strawberries and do all sorts of kinky things with the whipped cream.

  He began to pull away, and I reached my hands around his neck to hold him still. But he gripped my wrists and pulled them down.

  “You have a lot to learn about what I want to give you.” His voice was controlled and unaffected, despite his erection, a steel rod, against my belly. “I’d like to teach you, if you’re willing to be taught. You decide.”

  Brusquely, he let me go.

  Then he turned and left.

  Chapter Three

  The next day I woke up with my head in the clouds and an ache of desire that I’d never known. Before the fog cleared from my brain, when I was still half asleep and blanketed in images and sense memories from the night before, I let my hand slip lower, lower, to the V between my thighs. I found the lips of my pussy and began to part them, wanting the pressure on my clit.

  Then suddenly I remembered.

  Remembered that this fantastic afterglow had been courtesy of Boyd Barrett. Remembered that he’d changed from a quiet, subservient boy to a taunting, commanding man. Remembered that he was eight years my junior. Remembered he worked for me, and in two short days, I’d have to face him again in the capacity of his boss.

  I could never go into work again.

  Okay, that was an exaggeration. I loved my job too much to even consider leaving it in jest for more than a handful of seconds. The next option—transferring or firing Boyd—was also one I couldn’t think about for long. I’d gone through a series of very bad assistants right before I’d hired him. Each time I’d had to find someone new, the next few months were miserable as I taught them the ropes and got the new hire accustomed to how I liked things. Which I was particular about. Because, yes, I was hard to work for, and I knew that.

  And that was why I could not, would not, live without Boyd. In my office, anyway. And that meant I couldn’t follow through with any other fraternization. Last night should have never happened, and it certainly could not ever happen again.

  Fantasizing about him with my hand down my panties wasn’t going to help nip that in the bud either.

  I groaned and threw the covers off of me, heading for the shower. Usually I ran first, and I still planned to, but I needed something to cool the fire in my veins. Hopefully standing under an ice cold stream of water would do the trick.

  It didn’t.

  I tried running next, opting for ten miles instead of my normal six, thinking maybe I could sweat out the lust like it was a cold. Or was that a fever? Whatever, I came back tired, achy and soaked in perspiration, and the buzz between my legs was stronger than ever.

  I was distracted by it through the rest of the morning. Gwen and I caught up on America’s Got Talent before she planned to go to bed for the day—her job at a nightclub kept her on a strange schedule. Afterward, I couldn’t remember a single thing I’d watched, but I could recall with clarity every moment I’d spent with Boyd the night before. That wasn’t a subject I planned on discussing with Gwen, though. So most of my responses to her were nods and grunts. Then she’d gone to sleep, thankfully, except after that I was left alone with the agony of my desire.

  The rest of the night was more of the same, and Sunday as well. By Monday morning, I’d run over twenty miles, cleaned my entire house, taken five showers, and not thought about Boyd Barrett about a thousand times. Maybe even two thousand times. And now I had to go to work and face him.

  Help me God.

  I decided to go in early. That way I could sneak into my office without having to pass him on the way in. It wasn’t until I was in the elevator on my way to my floor that I remembered I also didn’t want to see Hudson. Several years with a clean, respectable work record, and in one evening I’d shattered my reputation with not one, but two, colleagues. The two colleagues who were the most important to me, no less.

  Jesus, maybe I did need to quit.

  It wasn’t yet seven, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Hudson were already working. Often, he slept in the loft above his office, which made an early appearance more probable than one from Boyd. Anxiety rose in my chest, an odd feeling for me since I was usually composed and calm. As soon as the doors opened, I ducked my head and scurried down the hallway, letting out a sigh of relief when I made it past Hudson’s office without seeing him.

  And then gasping sharply when I ran into him, instead, outside my own office.

  “Norma, I was hoping you’d be here early. I wondered if I could have a few minutes of your time.”

  Oh, fuck. This was it. He was going to bring up Friday night. He’d even come to my office to talk instead of calling me to his like usual, probably so he could remind me of my place. Or for some other psychological reason that I hadn’t figured out yet in my head.

  Strangely, I wasn’t that anxious about it. I was more worried about Boyd.

  Glancing past Hudson to make sure my assistant wasn’t yet here, I said, “Yes, sure. Come on in. Let’s talk.”

  “Excellent.” He followed me into my office and made himself comfortable while I turned on the lights and booted my computer.

  When I was ready, I pasted on a confident smile and said, “Shoot.” I braced myself for the firing, sure that he wouldn’t actually let me go, but
worried I’d want to when he was done.

  But, instead of scolding, he said, “I’m having second thoughts on the Pershing purchase. Can we reevaluate that before we complete the sale?”

  And just like that we were back to normal. Which was why the confrontation with Boyd worried me more. I’d guessed there was a good chance that Hudson would pretend my advances never happened and would treat me just like he always did. He was good at compartmentalizing. The master.

  Boyd, on the other hand…

  I didn’t know yet how he would be, but it wasn’t him I was concerned about—it was me. How the hell was I supposed to face him without blushing? Without feeling squirmy and overheated? Without wanting more of…well, of whatever it was he wanted to give me. Which I absolutely should not want. Or act on. Or even dream about.

  Fortunately, my meeting with Hudson was distracting. And it was brief enough that he was gone before anyone else arrived. As soon as he left, I shut my door. As if that would hide me from Boyd. I laughed at the idea.

  Then I sat down, and when I could finally get myself to focus on something other than my assistant, I threw myself into work.

  It was almost ten when my phone rang. I reached for it without thinking, so when I heard his voice on the other end, I was completely unprepared, even though every call that came into my office went through him first.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten in yet or not.” Of course he wasn’t sure. I usually only kept my door closed when I was out or when I was meeting with someone.

  “I’m here,” I said, my voice squeaky and as uneven as my pulse. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I should have let you know. I came in early to get some extra work done. On the Sallis deal. And the, you know, the other, whatever…” I was a babbling idiot, and I couldn’t stop myself.

  He came to my rescue, attempting to mask any humor he felt from my chatter. “It’s fine, Ms. Anders.”

  Had the way he said my name always sounded so naughty? As if I were a teacher, and he were my student? My attractive, extremely well-built, sexy student. Damn, that was hot.

  No. It was not hot. That needed to be my new mantra. Not hot. Not hot. Not hot.

  “That’s great. Thanks, Boyd.” I slapped a palm over my eyes as my face heated with humiliation.

  “I have some contracts that the courier dropped off for your signature. Should I bring them in to you now?”

  “Should you bring them in?” This shouldn’t be a hard question. “Uh. Yeah. That might be okay.” Except, I was already slick in the panties just from his voice. How the hell would I survive his actual presence?

  “So yes, then?” He sounded so much more confident than I did, even to myself. Bastard.

  Get your shit together, Norma.

  “Yes? I mean, yes. Completely yes.” Confidence. I could do that. That was a thing that I had sometimes. “And just come on in. The door is unlocked.”

  I hung up and sat on my hands to stop from calling him back and telling him I’d changed my mind—about him coming in my office, not about him “teaching me.” But that too. Definitely that too.

  Then the handle was turning, and he was walking into my office looking like the same old Boyd Barrett who’d worked for me for a year now. He wore his glasses, and I suddenly decided that I had a thing for a man in spectacles. And floppy hair. Who was half my age. Okay, three-fourths of my age. Whatever. It felt significant. Significant enough to know it was inappropriate to let him affect me so entirely.

  And now he’d said something, and I had no idea what it was. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d just been sitting there with a dopey look on my face the whole ten seconds he’d been in the room. But now he was looking at me, awaiting a response, his expression showing no hint of what had occurred on Friday night.

  Well, shit. Maybe I was overreacting to the whole thing.

  Regroup.

  I took a deep breath, and as much of an idiot as it made me appear, I asked, “Sorry. My thoughts were elsewhere. What was that you said?” I’d left a lot of room for him to walk in on the comment about my thoughts being elsewhere, but I forced myself to hold my countenance, hold his gaze, and be cool.

  “I just said that I’d marked the pages you need to sign with tabs. Page seven needs a correction before you sign, but I put that on the sticky too.”

  Man, he was perfect.

  Strike that. He was a perfect assistant. And if he was perfect anywhere else, it would be someone else who discovered that. Not me.

  Still, my hand was shaky as I scrawled my name on each marked page while he waited. I scanned the page he’d said needed to be amended, and sure enough, he was right. So perfect. And not hot.

  When I finished, I handed him the stack. “Will you please make sure that Hudson’s team gets that correction?” I waited until I’d finished my sentence before looking up at him, afraid if I didn’t, I’d trip all over my words again.

  Then when I lifted my head, my stare smashed right into his crotch, which—with me seated—was eye-level. Which was ridiculous to take note of because he’d stood right above me like this, how many times? And the crotch had never been an issue before in the least.

  Blushing, I averted my gaze and stared at the now empty space on my desk where the papers had laid just a moment before.

  “Of course. And I’ll bring that section back for your signature before submitting them.” Even with the slightest trace of amusement in his voice, Boyd was every ounce the professional that I should have been. That I usually was.

  “Great. Thank you.” I turned to my computer screen, essentially dismissing him. It felt rude somehow. But I was kind of sure that was how I usually treated him. Wasn’t it?

  Whether he was offended or not, he took the cue. At the door, he hesitated. “Would you like this shut again?”

  I gathered my answer this time before I stuttered a response. “No. You can keep it open.” I didn’t sound certain, but I couldn’t hide behind my door forever.

  “Got it.” He started out then paused, his head half turned away so that I could study him more freely than if he were looking right at me. His jaw was sharper than I’d realized before. Square. Strong and smooth, though Friday he’d had the slightest hint of stubble. I wondered what that might feel like along the inside of my thigh, how it might burn and tickle and drive me crazy.

  Then he was talking again.

  My head snapped to attention. I was pretty sure he’d said something about having one more thing. So I said, “Yes?” Which felt like it would work in a variety of situations in case that wasn’t what he’d said after all.

  He locked his eyes with mine, slamming the breath out of my lungs with the intensity of his stare. “I just wanted to say for the record, Ms. Anders, that this is your court. Here, you’re in charge. Like you’ve always been.”

  It should have been awkward to have to be reminded of my place by my assistant of all people. But instead, it was comforting, which was surely how he’d meant it. His expression was intent. His tone sincere. He wanted us on familiar ground as much as I did.

  And wasn’t he the gentleman for giving us permission to do just that.

  “Got it,” I said, repeating his last words.

  He winked—an action that absolutely did not send a storm of butterflies to flutter in my belly—and disappeared from the threshold.

  Well. That was over. And everything was fine. We’d be fine. Work would go on just fine.

  Also, now I’d learned a few surprising things:

  After this exchange with Boyd, remaining professional with Hudson would be a breeze

  Boyd wouldn’t make our working relationship awkward by bringing up reminders of Friday night or trying to encourage a repeat

  Any move that happened between us would have to be orchestrated by me

  I was also ninety-nine point five percent certain that eventually a move would be orchestrated by me. The question was, how long could I hold out before that?

  * * * *

&nbs
p; The answer was nearly six weeks.

  It was the end of August, and Boyd had accompanied me on a business trip to Montreal for a few days, as he often did. As I’d suspected, things had returned to normal in the office. Boyd had maintained his professionalism, never making sly remarks or even throwing a crude glance my way, though I threw more than a hundred in his direction. We never talked about that night or his proposition. We were good. Stable.

  But I did find myself taking more notice of him in those weeks. His careful attentiveness to his job and my needs as an employer seemed to be layered with more than just the desire to perform well. There was care involved. There was interest. There was affection. All of which grew quietly between us and our glances became longer and more frequent and the magnetic pull between us grew stronger.

  And so, sometime after dinner that evening in Montreal, I found myself outside his hotel room wearing nothing but the white robe that had been provided in my suite. My hand was surprisingly steady as I knocked, and when he opened the door, it was a relief to finally say, “I’m ready.”

  Chapter Four

  Boyd wasn’t wearing his glasses, so when he looked at me standing in front of him, I could easily see his eyes spark and then darken. His mouth turned up into a small smile, and without a word, he stepped aside and opened the door wider to let me in.

  A sudden burst of shyness overcame me. I tightened the belt around my robe and stepped inside tentatively. As soon as the door was shut behind me, he grabbed my wrists and wrapped my arms behind my back as he pushed me against the wall.

  He leaned his forehead against mine. “What took you so long?”

  The agony in his voice matched all that I’d felt in the past weeks, and relief swept through me to realize that I hadn’t gone through it alone.