Boss Man Bridegroom

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Sex scene?” I ask, my throat closing up on me.

  “Mmm . . .” She nods and shifts in the tub, one of her hands disappearing under the bubbles.

  What the fuck is she doing with that hand?

  And is she going to do something with that hand while I’m brushing my teeth?

  Either way, I’m not staying long enough to find out. Like a madman, I brush my teeth, turning my back toward her so I don’t see any movements, and then I’m out of there before I can be caught staring.

  In my closet, I get rid of the rest of my clothes, and consider going to bed naked like normal, but then I think better of it. I pull on a fresh pair of boxer briefs. If she wasn’t in the bathroom, doing whatever it is she’s doing, I’d take a shower to cool off from my long day of agony. Not getting that luxury today, which reminds me, I need to fire the construction crew who’s redoing my guest area. They are taking way too fucking long. At the time, I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal, that was until I found myself a fake bride. Now I’m wishing I put more pressure on them to finish things up.

  Feeling tortured with no relief, I head for my bed but forgot about my contacts.

  Fuck.

  I glance toward the bathroom. Is she . . . done?

  If I wasn’t waiting on my new batch of contacts to come in, I’d chuck these and call it a day, but I don’t have any spares, and I left my glasses at my office.

  Annoyed, I walk to the bathroom and knock on the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah,” she calls out. That seems promising.

  It does until I walk in and see her with a towel wrapped around her torso with her hair piled on top of her head. The towel rides low on her breasts, almost dangerously low, because with one flick of my finger the terrycloth would be on the floor.

  Turning my attention to my contacts, I work on taking them out while Charlee lotions her body next to me with the sweetest lavender lotion I’ve ever smelled.

  Christ, that smells fucking incredible.

  She props one leg on the bathtub, her towel riding high, and she spreads the lotion over one long limb and then she repeats the treatment to her other leg. I’m mesmerized, not paying attention to my contacts whatsoever.

  When she stands, she catches me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Checking you out.” As I’ve said before, I’m honest. And I have no other excuses to give her. She’s gorgeous.

  “Well, stop it. I’m still mad at you.”

  Setting my contact case down, I say, “Why are you mad at me?”

  She steps beside me and grabs her toothbrush, her bare shoulder rubbing against mine. “Because, the mere suggestion that I plan everything on my own is insulting.” She cutely sticks her chin in the air and starts brushing her teeth. I prop my hip on the counter and watch her frantic movements as she jiggles her toothbrush in and out.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to plan the whole thing, just get started.” She spits and rinses.

  “Still, I was trying to be nice and help you out, and you just kicked me out of the office as if I didn’t mean anything to you. I am your fake fiancée and executive assistant. You can be nicer. I thought that’s what we were going to be, nicer.”

  “I didn’t think I was mean.”

  “You were,” she says, trying to walk past me, but I snag her hand, stilling her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice low, my libido ramping and ready to go. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  She looks up at me, probably shocked that I apologized. “Oh . . . well, thank you.”

  She goes to walk away again, but I keep my hold tight on her. “I was frustrated.” We’re standing side by side, each facing a different direction, our gazes locked on each other. The temptation to loop my finger through her towel is strong.

  “With work?”

  I lick my lips. “With you.”

  “Wh-what did I do?” she asks, her voice growing raspy. Her chest rises and falls at a faster pace, more exaggerated, as if anticipation is consuming her.

  I drag my finger up her arm, fascinated by the goosebumps that rise along the trail of my finger. Don’t do it, Rath. Don’t cross that line.

  “That skirt,” I say, my voice gruff, strained. “You were fucking flaunting it in my face all day.”

  Her eyes widen. I realize right then and there, she wasn’t doing it on purpose, because if she was, she’d have a sly smile on her face, not a surprised look.

  “I wasn’t trying to.”

  “Well, you did,” I say, my body itching to take her against the wall. To lift her up on the counter and spread her legs, to let that towel drop to the floor so I can taste her hard, delectable nipples. “You drove me crazy, all fucking day. And by the time dinner rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed you gone.”

  “Oh.” She bites down on her bottom lip, making me insane with need instantly, especially when I watch her teeth roll over her plump lip.

  “And now, you in the tub, bubbles barely covering your fucking tits, your gorgeous leg out on the tub, your hand lowered under the bubbles.” I step in closer, moving her so she’s facing me now. “Were you touching yourself?” She doesn’t answer, just lifts her eyes barely to look at me. “Are you trying to drive me insane?”

  “It’s not my intention.”

  “You’re telling me, tempting me in this skimpy towel isn’t intentional?”

  Something flashes in her eyes, and there’s a light tug on the corner of her lips that makes me growl out in frustration . . . as I push her against the wall of the bathroom, my hands on her hips, her shocked breath escaping her as I hold her still.

  “I fucking knew it. You’re trying to torture me. Why?”

  Her breath picks up, and her eyes search mine. “Payback.”

  “Payback for what?” I growl.

  Her eyes motion down my torso and back up. “For that.”

  “Because I’m shirtless?”

  “Yes. You think that’s easy for me, to have you walking around without a shirt on? It’s not.”

  My breath comes out in short bursts, my heart is beating a mile a minute, while my dick hardens with every lift and lowering of her breasts behind her towel. I move my hands from her hips and connect with her wrists. Slowly, I raise her arms above her head and pin them against the wall.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Reminding you that I’m still in control, despite you thinking you are. Don’t forget I’m your boss, Charlee.”

  “You might be my boss in the office, but you’re not my boss in the bedroom.” She pushes against my arms until I free her. She sidesteps away, exits the bathroom, and then drops the towel so I’m exposed to her backside. Her ass is more perfect than I could ever have imagined. My hands itch to grab it, to teach her a lesson, but the farther she walks into the room, the more she fades into the dark. Then she does something I was not expecting: she slips into the bed, with her back toward me.

  Fucking naked, in my bed . . . in our bed.

  Turning away, I grip the bathroom counter and stare into the mirror. My shoulders are practically kissing my ears from how tense I am. My jaw is clenched so tight, I’m afraid I’ll crack a molar, and my dick is as fucking hard as stone, pressing against the fabric of my boxer briefs. Holy fuck. Why is she doing this? What the hell does she mean by this? Why are women so hard to understand? Does she want me to make a move? She must know how enticing she is. She must. In my horny state, am I meant to understand this? I mean, I heard her words earlier today, but surely that doesn’t mean she wants me to fuck her. “If you’re going to be married to me, you’re going to give me one hundred percent of you, do you understand?” Nope. I don’t understand. Fuck.

  I quickly take care of my contacts trying to gain back any semblance of self-control before I jump into bed, but the longer I stay in the bathroom, the longer the anticipation of slipping under the sheets is killing me, driving me to the brink of insanity. I turn off the bathro
om light and let the city light illuminate the room. It casts a silhouette on her body as I climb in. I consider taking my boxer briefs off as well but don’t want to freak her out. Nor do I want to assume anything.

  Swallowing hard, I ask, “Comfortable?”

  “Mmm . . . very.”

  Fucking hell, that sound of contentment, it makes my dick bob to the sky, eats away at my restraint. Do I reach out to her? Touch her? Skim her back? Allow myself to give in to the sweet torture I’m feeling, the ache that’s thrumming through my bones?

  I lie on my back, hands propped behind my head, and stare at the ceiling, a million questions running through my head, but one prominent one standing out.

  I won’t fuck my assistant. I promised myself I wouldn’t. Which means . . .

  I’m not going to do anything. She’s naked, and that’s her choice. I’m not going to take advantage of it no matter how painful it is.

  Not going to happen.

  “Good night, Rath.”

  I bite down on the side of my cheek and calmly say, “Good night.”

  I turn to the side, lower the blinds, and try to get some sleep, despite my raging erection.

  * * *

  “Aah, fuck,” I grunt, as I come down the drain of the shower, my hand pumping viciously. I woke up earlier than my alarm, because not only could I not sleep from my mind racing, but I had the biggest hard-on that I needed to take care of.

  I lean against the tile, letting the water cascade down my body while I catch my breath. Two nights. I’ve made it through two nights of not touching her. I should win a goddamn medal for my victory.

  I rinse off again, dry off, and wrap the towel around my body. By the time I make it out of the bathroom, the blinds are up and Charlee is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing my button-up from yesterday.

  “Good morning,” I say, my voice rough.

  She stands and fluffs her hair out of the shirt. Turning toward me, I notice that she only buttoned the bottom few, but left the rest open, giving me a great view of the front of her stomach and cleavage. Jesus Christ, this woman has by far the hottest body I’ve ever seen and she knows how to show it off to drive a man crazy.

  “Good morning, boss man bridegroom.” She saunters up to me and says, “Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt. Didn’t think it would be decent if I walked into the bathroom naked.”

  Grinding my teeth together, I say, “But sleeping naked is decent?”

  “You’re a heat box. I refused to be stifled again. Plus, your sheets felt amazing on my bare skin.” She pats my chest but stumbles in her confidence when I grip her wrist and gently drag her hand down my chest and over my abs, right to the edge of my towel.

  Her eyes flutter up to me and I silently dare her to remove the towel, testing to see if she’ll make the first move.

  She doesn’t move an inch. Instead, we stare at each other, waiting to see who’s going to slip up.

  When neither of us do, we part and go back to getting ready for work.

  Another long fucking day ahead of us.

  * * *

  “Intimate dinner at Square Top, a ceremony at The Little Church Around the Corner, and then we go back to your apartment after we dance and do all the traditional things.”

  Charlee is sitting on the edge of my desk wearing a skin-tight purple dress with a keyhole that’s far too indecent for work, because all I can see are her boobs. And the hem of the dress, yeah, doesn’t even hit mid-thigh. The fucking thing is a clubbing dress. So why the fuck is she wearing it today?

  I know why.

  I know exactly why. It’s day fucking five and the sexual tension has built so much between us that we’re going to burst. It’s bound to happen at some point. I’m just wondering when. She’s supposed to go back to her place tomorrow to be with her grandma for the weekend, which will provide a much-needed breath of fresh air for me. I can regather myself, focus on not trying to fuck my assistant despite the marriage agreement we have.

  Clearing my throat and pulling my stare off her legs that I want to drag my tongue all over, I say, “Is Square Top willing to make a five-course menu for us?”

  She nods. “Upon our approval. We can set up a tasting whenever we want. They’re thrilled you want to have the ceremony in their private venue.”

  “They’ve been discreet about it?”

  “Yes.” She slips her hair off her shoulder, exposing her neck as she leans more forward, her flowery perfume clouding my senses. “And you’re okay with the church? My grandma made it a requirement.”

  “I couldn’t care less. Whatever makes her happy.”

  Charlee pauses and smiles shyly at me before pressing her hand on top of mine. “This means so much to me, Rath. I’m not sure you understand how much.”

  The soft moment helps me forget for a second about the ache in my crotch and the apparent need I have to rip this woman’s clothes off. “How is she doing? Any news?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing, but she said she’s going to therapy.”

  “What kind of therapy?”

  Charlee shrugs. “She won’t say. I honestly don’t get it. If I was sick, I’d tell my family every last detail so they didn’t have to worry. But she said she won’t say because she doesn’t want me referring to Dr. Google. If anything, we should know so we can help the doctors in case we have more information.”

  “I can understand that, but there isn’t much you can do.”

  “I know.” She sighs and plays with my hand, flipping it over so she can run her fingertips over my palm. “She’s so stubborn. I made my parents promise me not to be that stubborn. Doubt they’ll adhere to their promise.”

  “They never do,” I say, leaning back in my chair but letting her play with my hand. Soft fingertips stroke over my palm, circling, playing with the sensitive skin, the pleasant sensation shooting up my hand and down my spine in waves.

  “I appreciate you putting up with everything though. You’re a wonderful man, Rath.”

  “What am I putting up with?” Besides you flaunting your hot-as-shit body every day and night at me, and then capturing me with your beautiful heart.

  “Grandma wanting a church wedding.” Her fingers move up my wrist and then back down. “Grandma wanting us to cut a cake.” She skims my palm. “Grandma making sure we have a good photographer.” She looks up at me and bites her bottom lip. “Pretending to set up a honeymoon.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m going on that honeymoon. I’m going to need a trip to Fiji after this. You’re welcome to join.” She stills. She looks to the ground with a frown on her beautiful face. Shit. Did I say something wrong?

  But then, as I’ve seen her do before when she’s not quite comfortable, she takes a deep breath, as if she’s finding her center—her control—and then looks up at me with a smirk. “I do enjoy walking around in a two-piece.”

  I bet you do.

  She sighs and lifts from my desk. “Better get back to work. Thanks for taking a look at these.”

  My teeth pull on my bottom lip as she walks toward my office door, the skirt of her dress riding high on her backside.

  “I’m assuming you’ll be late again tonight?” she calls over her shoulder.

  I nod, unable to speak, my tongue dragging across my teeth.

  “Okay, catch you later then.” She winks and shuts the door.

  I let out a long pent-up breath, ready to fucking snap.

  One more night.

  * * *

  Just like every other night this week, Charlee got home before me, took a bath, and then crawled into bed naked. Tonight, I got a chance to take a shower and jerk off before I climbed into bed, which is a miracle on its own given how exhausted I am.

  I’ve barely gotten any sleep this week, staying as still as possible so I don’t bump into Charlee or accidentally touch her. And right about now, I’m ready to crash into my pillow. I throw on a pair of boxer briefs, grateful I already brushed my teeth and took care
of my contacts—among other things, thank fuck—and turn off the bathroom light. When I see Charlee sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to me, I stop. Her body’s framed in a dim light, and she’s stretching her neck side to side.

  I take her in, the slenderness of her body and the roundness of her hips and ass. Speaking of her ass, there it is plain as day, covered in nothing. And just like that, my exhaustion disappears and my body feels alive again. Is she truly doing this as payback? How does this not bother her? How?

  Cautiously I walk toward the bed and say, “Sore?”

  “Yeah. Tense.”

  That makes two of us.

  I press the button to lower the blinds, casting us in complete darkness.

  “You should book a massage for tomorrow,” I say, lying flat on my back. I try not to look at her, but why am I pretending? I glance, but can’t really see anything in the pitch-black. So, I continue to face her as she shuffles around on the bed.

  “Yeah, maybe. God, my shoulders are so tense.” The bed dips and I feel her scoot back. “Rath, I know this is asking way too much, but could you please just rub my shoulders for a few seconds?”

  “Right now? With you not wearing anything?”

  “You can’t see anything. It’s so dark in here.”

  She’s right, I can’t see a fucking thing, so there should be no harm in rubbing her shoulders.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Thank you.” I kneel and scoot toward her until my knee softly connects with her back. “Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?”

  “No. You’re good. Where are your hands?”

  They skim up her back to her shoulders. She takes them and positions them where she needs to be worked. “Yes, right there,” she breathes, the sound so fucking sensual that I’m already starting to lose self-control. “Thank you.”

  “Yup,” I cough out, trying to tamp down the croakiness in my voice.

  “I lotioned, so I might be a little slippery,” she warns, her voice almost seductive.

  Jesus. Christ.

  “No worries.” I press my hands into her warm skin and marvel at how smooth it is.