by Sierra Hill
Wedging it tightly against her mound, I circle my thumb over her clit, making sure to pace it with the pulsing drives of my cock.
“You gonna beg for it, baby?”
She lets out a low wail, her fingertips burrowing into my ass like she’s digging into a cliffside holding on so as not to dive off. The sting of pain lights me up like a flare,
With purposeful pressure, combined with fast jabs of my pelvis, I feel her start to quiver underneath me.
“Please, Brody. I’m almost there.”
“Yeah you are, baby. I’m going to get you there.”
I change the rhythm of my movements, watching her fall apart, as my thumb presses against her clit as if it’s a detonator. Her breasts and chest flush pink, her mouth goes slack and she moans out her release.
Which is the signal I was waiting to receive to finish out my own quest. Shifting my hands under her lower back, I tilt her lower body up for a different angle and begin pounding her into the mattress. The leverage it gives me, and the intensity of the sensation, takes less than three more strokes and the brilliance of ten thousand bright white lights explodes behind my eyelids.
“Oh fuck, yes. I’m coming,” I groan out in an elongated breath.
When the orgasm subsides and I think she’s drained me of every drop, I open my eyes to see tears in her eyes.
I drop her hips to the bed and slide out, reaching immediately over to the bedside table for a tissue, my heart banging wildly in my chest for fear that I’ve hurt her.
“Oh shit, Peyton. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rough at the end. Fuck me.” I hand her the tissue and cradle her head against my chest as I nestle in beside her.
She sniffles and I tug her toward me, kissing her tears to taste the saltiness of her tears.
A few moments pass and her tears seem to dissipate. “It wasn’t that, Brody. I don’t know why I’m crying. I guess it’s just the literal release of all that pleasure.”
Peyton snuggles her face into my chest, and I bury my nose in her hair, the scent of her fragrant shampoo etched into my memory for years to come. In the event that I never get to do this again with her, at least I’ll have that scent to remind me of how perfect she is.
I don’t want to let her go but the condom needs to be handled.
Placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head, I shift off the bed.
“I need to ditch this condom. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
She gives me a watery smile as I turn and slip from the bed. I consider her emotional state and the fact that I’ve never had a woman cry on me after sex. They’ve cried when I left them or told them it was great, but I wasn’t interested in a repeat, but never from the experience of sex itself.
I have to say, it feels pretty fucking phenomenal and has my ego standing up and taking a bow.
When I return to her bed, she’s lying on her side, the sheet pulled up to cover her breasts. While I’d love to tug it back down so I can see her body post-sex, I want to give her the benefit of some privacy after what we just did together.
I put my briefs back on and stand at the edge of the hotel bed, hesitant as to what comes next. Do I slip back in bed with her or does she need space?
She beats me to the punch. “You don’t have to stay the night, Brody. I don’t expect it, and I know you have your presentation tomorrow and need a good night’s sleep.”
“I see how you are. Coercing me up to your bedroom, using me for sex and then kicking me out of your room as soon as you’re done with me? Damn, that’s harsh.” I say this in a teasing manner, but my joke fails to elicit the response I’d intended.
Instead, it appears I’ve inadvertently offended her. Her eyes grow wide and she reaches for my hand, a vulnerability slashed over her furrowed brows.
“No, that’s not what I meant at all. I just don’t want you to think I expect you to coddle me or stay the night just because we had sex.”
I plant a knee on the edge of the bed, lifting the cover and sliding in next to her. She’s warm and soft and feels like a dream come true. Truth be told, I don’t want to leave this bed at all for the remainder of the trip.
Which reminds me of the deadline. The clock is ticking for us.
“Peyton,” I whisper softly, stroking her soft tresses with my fingertips. “I want to stay with you tonight if you’re okay with that. But you call the shots with this, not me. I’m just your willing servant and I’m here to do your bidding. If you want me to go, I go. If you want me to stay, I stay.”
She hides her face in my neck, her breath at my ear. “I want you to stay.”
I smile and add with a cocky drawl, “I knew you would.”
Peyton laughs and tweaks my nipple and I cover her hand with mine.
“Not to get all serious here, but just want to check in. Are you okay? Did I hurt you in any way?”
Her shoulders rise and fall. “It was perfect and everything I’d hoped it would be.”
My chest bursts open with pride at her confession. “I’m glad. It was perfect for me, too.”
She shifts in my arms and we wiggle further down the bed, entwining our legs and arms together as I yank the comforter on top of us. I debate whether I should ask what’s been on my mind since the moment she opened up about her virginity.
“Peyton, if you don’t mind me asking,” I begin, only to be cut off by her response.
“You’re curious as to why I was a virgin?”
“Well, yeah, pretty damn curious.”
She props herself up on her elbow and I do the same, so we’re both now facing each other. I can’t seem to keep my hands off her and play with the soft slope of her shoulder as I run my finger up and down the curve, sometimes slipping and playing with the edge of the sheet over her breast, to which she playfully slaps me away with a laugh.
“It has to do with my upbringing,” she begins and suddenly I worry I deflowered a woman who has just denounced her religious beliefs.
Christ not only am I a rule-breaking boss, but I’m now a sinner, to boot.
Chapter 25
Peyton
There are only two other people who know about my background and family history. Brooklyn and Kyler.
Otherwise, I’ve kept my secrets to myself, hiding who I am and the things I’ve been through. I’ve kept it a secret that my mother abused alcohol and allowed her ex-husband to abuse her. How that drama and the way my stepfather treated me led me to feeling so worthless. And that by the time I was thirteen, I couldn’t find any redeeming qualities within myself and it began a horrible cycle of unhealthy eating patterns that could have cost me my life.
All of these issues kept me away from boys. I didn’t date. I never felt pretty enough, and I had an extremely disformed image of myself when I looked in the mirror. If I didn’t like what I saw, how could some guy be interested in me?
I’m ready to share most of this with Brody, when he jumps in, his voice laden with concern.
“Is it because of your religion? Did you just give up some sort of chastity vow for me?”
The panicked look on his face is cute, and actually pretty priceless. I consider for a split second playing along with this idea but decide against it because it would be dishonest. And I know how much honesty means to Brody.
I chuckle. “No, nothing like that. I think the last time I stepped into a church was when I was twelve and attended my friend’s youth group lock-in.”
He sighs, visibly relieved. “Well thank God for that. I didn’t want to be struck down by lightning for making you break your vows.”
Laughing at his idiocy, I nudge him gently in the shoulder, pushing him back against his pillow. He pops back up, sliding a hand behind my head and pulling me in for a long kiss before he lets me go. I ignore the arousal it sparked for now and continue with my story.
“Anyway, my mother’s relationship with my stepfather was, to say the least, complicated and riddled with abuse.”
This makes Brody stiffen, his e
yes growing dark and menacing. “Did he…”
I shake my head. “No, he didn’t abuse me physically, my mother was the lucky one.” My response is obviously framed with dark sarcasm.
Brody’s fingers brush gently down the nape of my neck, drawing maps of sweet concern over my sensitive skin. Everything about him is so perfect. I never thought I would end up with someone like him. I’d never even known a man could be this gentle, thoughtful and sexy all in one.
“David, my stepfather, was what you’d call a bad boy. My mom met him when I was three. She’d had an affair with her married boss, gotten pregnant with me, and thought he’d take care of her. But instead, he fired her pregnant ass and left her a severance check with barely enough money to last through her pregnancy. She’d really loved him, and he broke her heart.”
My mom rarely ever mentioned my biological father, the man who dumped her and left her like she was a worthless piece of trash. But when she did mention something about how I looked like him or shared certain qualities, she’d say it in a wistful tone.
I fiddle with the edge of the blanket and continue. “Anyway, there she was, a young single mother who was fired by the boss, this debonair and smarmy businessman that everyone thought so highly of, and she ended up with someone just as shady, but who didn’t hide behind a suit coat and a big bank account. This man was a biker and part-time mechanic named Dave.”
Brody hisses. “Fucking asshole.”
I laugh. “Which one? They were both assholes, just in different ways. Anyway, let’s just say my childhood and teen years were not great. I loathed my stepfather. I hated my mom for being with him and drinking to ease her pain instead of doing something about it. And it just led me down a path that was as far away from boys as I could possibly get. It was never a priority of mine to date boys or find a boyfriend.”
I stop at that, not wanting to divulge anything more about my bulimic past or the intensive therapy I went through, or the rehab stay. None of that mattered and if I had my way, it would never have to even come up in conversation with Brody.
He’s quiet for a while, digesting what I’ve told him, his thumb continuing to stroke my shoulder gently, as he runs it down my arm and back and up again until pattern repeats. It feels so good to be touched like this. To be with him. To be able to share a little piece of myself and know he won’t condemn or judge me for it.
After a few moments, Brody rolls on top of me, kissing me gently, washing away my past with every touch of his lips to mine. With every caress of his fingertips over my skin.
He pulls away for a second, saying, “Thank you for sharing that with me. And for the record, I’m honored you chose me for your first time, despite the fact that I’m an asshole boss who just wants to get in your pants.”
I laugh out loud because it’s furthest from the truth. “You’re nothing like the man my mom had an affair with, of that I’m sure.”
He rocks over me, the heat and hardness of his erection sliding against my pussy. I spread my legs so he can grind his heavy cock where I need to feel him. The friction is divinely dirty and feels so good.
Brody suddenly flips us over, so his back is against the mattress and I’m straddling him, my naked breasts dangling practically in his face.
His hand cradles my breast as he lifts it to his mouth and suckles on my nipple. The teasing flicks of his tongue against the sensitive peaks send sparks of sensation directly to my core and I tentatively grind down on his rigid length. The tip of his cock probes upward through his waistband and just that simple glide of hot skin against my clit shoots my hips forward.
Our groans mingle together in unison.
“Not every man is a lying, cheating, dishonorable man,” he adds, before I silence him with my mouth.
“I know. Now shush. No more talking,” I demand, placing two fingers over his lips to quiet him. “We have more work to do.”
Chapter 26
Brody
I wake up sometime around five-thirty in the morning, exhausted after the last round of fucking only an hour before.
Peyton is sound asleep, her face pressed into her pillow, clutched in her hands and bunched up under her head. She breathes softly and sleeps so soundly that I don’t want to wake her, but I need to leave to get ready for a breakfast meeting and my presentation this morning.
I search the desk drawer for something to write a note on and locate the requisite hotel pen and pad of paper. Scrawling out a note to indicate that I can’t wait to see her later and asking her to come find me after the presentation, I fold it once and look for a place to put it where it will be noticed when she awakes.
The corner of the table near the doorway looks suitable, so I set it down, glancing over my shoulder once more at my girl lying in bed. Something akin to a punch in the gut hits me at how beautiful she is and how lucky I am she came into my life.
I long to undress and climb back into that bed with her, wrapping her in my arms just to feel her breathe against me and to inhale her warm, soft scent as I kiss the length of her sleek neck. I’d continue to kiss her until I couldn’t take it any longer and I’d open her legs and slide inside from behind, knowing she’d be warm, wet and ready.
My cock hardens to a degree past comfortable, and I slip my hand down to adjust my pants before I take one last longing look and open the door to the room.
That’s when I come into contact with Ferg, who is dressed in gym clothes, his head buried in his phone with earbuds in his ears. Since my hotel room is literally right next door to Peyton’s, I walk the few steps to my door, trying to avoid his notice, but just as I swipe the card over the reader, Ferg’s eyes pop up to mine. I see the minute he notices I’m doing the walk of shame.
It’s pretty clear I slept elsewhere last night with the fact that I’m only in my socks and carrying my dress shoes in hand with my tux jacket flipped over my arm and I’m still in a rumpled dress shirt.
Ferg quirks an eyebrow and gives me a chin nod, but says nothing, God Bless him. I enter my room and head straight for the mini bar for some water and a protein bar. I’m starved and thirsty from the way we went at it last night.
Quickly devouring the snack and undressing, I step into the large glass door shower, taking stock of how my body feels this morning. I lather up the body wash and soap up my chest and move lower down my belly to my well-used dick, which perks up as I imagine what it would be like to shower with Peyton. To watch the water sluice over her satiny skin as I lick away the wet remnants that trickle over her breasts and bead at the swells of her full tits.
The image is enough to go from semi-to-full mast. I place my palm on the cold shower wall, holding the weight of my body while my free hand slowly jerks my cock until I’m panting and shooting my orgasm down the drain.
Well, that should hopefully get me through my business this morning and keep me sated long enough until I can find some alone time with Peyton.
An unusual sense of discomfort settles in my chest, a worry that I’ve never had before.
How am I supposed to act around Peyton now that we’ve had carnal knowledge of each other? I know how I handle it with women I’ve hooked up with in the past, because I’ve never had to see them again if I chose not to or it was mutually agreed upon that we wouldn’t be an item. I have slept with women in the design community, like Muriel, but I’ve never slept with anyone who worked for me.
This. This is exactly why you don’t fuck anyone you work with.
I drop my head in anguish and regret, reaching for the hanging towel, rubbing it over my wet hair as I think through the messy ramifications of our decision. Of my decision to sleep with my intern.
The obvious and biggest problem is me and my unrestrained desire for Peyton.
There is no excuse for what I did with her last night. I gave myself plenty of opportunities to back out and tell Peyton we needed to put the brakes on it. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Did I take advantage of her and our situation?
Now that I see thi
s in the light of day and realize the complexity of this sexual relationship – office affair – I see the enormity of the consequences it brings on us both while working together. For another two weeks.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I shave the overnight beard growth that’s grown over my jawline like a dark layer of moss in the spring.
Memories of Peyton squirming while my face was buried between my legs, as the rough stubble of my short beard scraped deliciously over her thighs, reminds me of the reasons why I will keep it short.
Doubts creep in, flooding over even the most incredible flashes of last night, that it’s going to be hard as hell to work with Peyton. If every waking thought has been about her just this morning, how the hell am I going to get through the days to come once we’re back in the office together?
Flipping the electric razor off, I scrub a hand over my jaw and face, twisting from side-to-side to ensure I caught everything. Satisfied I did a halfway decent job even with my mind elsewhere, I flick off the bathroom light and head to the closet to get dressed. I’m already scheduled for a breakfast meeting with a former employee and now potential distributor before I need to make my keynote address and then respond to a shit ton of emails before I get things started today.
Since on East Coast time, I can hold off on the email responses for now and I head downstairs to the restaurant to meet up with Charlotte Blankenship, a former employee of Jensen’s. She started out as an intern, similar to Peyton, and then was hired full-time and worked with my father before leaving a few years later when she got a better offer with McAlister. There she ran into a legal issue, or rather, she sued him for harassment, and then used the settlement money she won to start her own distribution company.
Although I don’t know her well, she worked with my father and we were colleagues for a few years after I graduated college.