Tempting the New Boss

by Angela Claire

  The waves of pleasure intensified as he worked her until she shuddered, clutching his head, the spasms rocking her. Quickly, he moved up, bracing his hands on the bed, and shoved his hard cock in her so deep they both gasped. A second lunge and her heels came around to his tight buns, gripping him as her arms went around his neck. She held on for dear life as the rhythm he set hurdled her toward another climax before he stopped, hard and throbbing within her.

  “Mason?” She opened her eyes slowly to find him above her, his dark eyes hooded, the gypsy curls wild around that beautiful face.

  Dropping a light kiss on her mouth, he whispered, “Too fast,” and started up again, lazily, teasing her with sure steady thrusts. “I want to savor being inside you this time. I don’t want to rush.”

  She groaned, frustration at being held off before the peak mixing with a deep full satisfaction at how masterfully he kept her there.

  “I could fuck you all night,” he murmured. “So tight and wet, gripping my cock.”

  She moaned, using her heels to egg him on, faster, but he ignored her until she leaned up and kissed him, her fingers in his hair, her tongue plunging into his mouth, and he let go of his tight control, slamming into her, cupping her bottom with one hand, getting as close to her as he could until they both exploded, panting, and she fell back on the bed. He collapsed heavily on top of her, their bodies sticky with sweat and their hearts beating so fast against each other’s chest she swore she could hear them both.

  “God.” It was all she could manage to say against his ear, his head in the crook of her shoulder and neck.

  “Mmmm.” He pushed himself off her and rolled onto his back, his chest still heaving, the narrow bed necessitating that she turn to the side and snuggle into his arms. He dropped a kiss on her temple, smoothing her hair away.

  After a minute, she took it all in. Whereas she had ridden him the first time they’d made love on the plane and neither of them had much control the second time, Mason had been in complete charge of this entire performance. From stripping her to going down on her so incredibly well that she actually came from it, not something she was used to on the few occasions old boyfriends had consented to do it, until the coordinated, incredible sex, Mason had been a master.

  She lifted her head, suspicious again. “How did you get so good at sex anyway if you supposedly didn’t know rich guys could get any girl they wanted?”

  He ignored the question, rubbing her back. “I want you.”

  “No, really. It doesn’t…fit…with the rest of you. Have you had girlfriends in the past?”

  “No.”

  The answer would not have surprised her earlier, but with her tender bits still throbbing from all his attention, she found it hard to believe. “Why not?”

  He urged her head back to his chest, sifting his fingers through her hair. “I’ve never— It’s hard to explain. Why does it matter?”

  “Because it does.” She heard the drumming of his heart slowing and thought of how he had talked her through the landing. “You were great up there in the plane, too, by the way. Incredible.”

  He let out an impatient sigh. “I don’t know how I got so great at sex, okay? I barely ever have it. And I doubt I am anyway.”

  “No, you are,” she assured him, not bothering to point out she was talking about the comforting-while-they-were-in-danger-of-crashing, not the sex. He was great at both in any case.

  “I don’t know how many siblings anyone has,” he blurted out.

  Way to get her off the subject.

  “I never asked anybody that in my whole life. I never cared. I don’t even know how many Marcia has, or my mother.”

  “That’s a little hard to believe. About your mother, I mean.”

  “Not if you knew my mother. I think she makes it a point to stop speaking to anyone she’s biologically related to after a fixed timespan and then acts as if they don’t exist.”

  “Wow. That’s weird.”

  “I’m weird.” He sighed. “That’s what I’m saying, Camilla. So everything doesn’t necessarily fit with me.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly made it work for you, no denying that.”

  “Camilla,” he murmured. “Camilla.”

  She liked how her name sounded on his tongue in his rough, after-sex voice.

  “Like that. I never remember anyone’s names. Not even a woman’s I’ve slept with, though I know that sounds harsh. Ever.”

  “Thought you said you didn’t do much of that,” she noted, but she was only being snotty now.

  “I don’t, comparatively speaking. Most of the time, I’m too busy for sex. But sometimes, I’m at some party PR makes me go to, but then sends a suit with me to make sure I leave soon and don’t say anything while I’m there. And that’s fine. That’s always been fine. You saw me at the meeting in New York. That’s how it is at those parties.”

  “Okay. When do you get to the sex part?”

  “There are women there,” he stumbled on. “And, well, usually actually, not that I’m at these parties much, but when I am and if I’m thinking about sex which, ah—”

  “Get on with it.”

  “Well, some woman usually comes up to me and asks me to have sex. I know you said nobody’s supposed to do that, but I’m pretty sure it’s happened to me most of the times I’ve actually had sex lately. Unless I just, er, suggest it myself, which goes over a lot better than it did with you, by the way.”

  She neglected to mention to him the billionaire exception to not taking his approach, since it was the corollary to the rich-guys-can-have-whoever-they-want rule. In other words, in the right circumstances, a “Got sex?” approach works just fine for both parties; both come out ahead.

  “What about before you got rich?”

  “I don’t remember,” he hedged. “I only know I’m sure I’ve never had sex with the same woman more than once. Other than during the same sexual encounter.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at the clarification.

  “Do you really have seven siblings?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about my family right now. I don’t want to think about them worrying about me.” Speaking of which. “We should get going.” She started to sit up and he pushed her down, coming on top of her.

  “Not yet. Rest a little more.”

  His cock, which had softened after sex, started to stretch and harden against her bare thigh.

  “I don’t think rest is what you have in mind.”

  He kissed her neck. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  But her lids felt so heavy, and he rolled onto his back again, the circle of his arms around her so warm and comforting she forgot they were in the middle of the woods and had to walk their way out. He ran his fingers through her hair slowly. “Rest for a little bit, Camilla.”

  She lay next to him, humming softly.

  She came awake slowly, not sure how long she had been out. The fire was still going, but Mason wasn’t beside her. Was that what had awoken her? He stood at the window, still naked, his back to her, and the sight of his lean muscles and firm ass awoke something in her that she thought he had already completely, wonderfully satisfied into near numbness. But the warmth between her thighs, her nipples hardening, proved she wasn’t above being greedy.

  She stretched and he turned around, semi-erect, which made her smile. He smiled back at her, glancing down with a rueful shake of his head. “I was trying to let you sleep, but having you naked beside me was more than I could take, I’m afraid.”

  He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting casually on her hip.

  “How long was I out?” she asked, still feeling sleepy.

  “Not long enough.” He urged her down. “You should rest a little bit more before we get started again. At this point, we should just wait till it’s dawn.” After retrieving the bomber jacket, he spread it on top of her, the soft sheep’s wool side of it dow
n. It felt wonderfully cozy. “Were you cold?” he asked.

  “A little.” She would just close her eyes for a second, since her legs still ached from all that walking and her bones felt tired. But then they had to get going. “Shouldn’t you rest, too?” she murmured.

  Though she could barely hear it, she could feel the laughter rumbling through him as he leaned closer with a light kiss along her neck. “If I lay down next to you, Camilla, sleep is the last thing I’ll be getting.”

  “Mmmm, but you must be tired.” Even now, she could feel herself being dragged back down…into the arms of Morpheus…until she registered something cold and alien on the mattress underneath her shoulder. She shot up. “What was that?”

  He leaned over her to pick it up. “Just your pearls.” He dangled the single strand. “I brought them along. They must have come out of my jacket pocket when we were, uh…”

  “Yeah. I’m sure they did.” She held out her hand. “You didn’t need to bring them. They’re not an heirloom or anything. I think I bought them at JC Penney.”

  As she reached for them, he snatched his hand back, keeping the pearls in his fist. “Oh no, you don’t. I’m in charge of these now.” He nudged her onto her back again, and the bomber jacket fell away as he stretched out, leaning toward her, his hard cock against her thigh.

  Her pulse leaped, and she was deliciously wide awake as he let the pearls fall in one looped jumble from his palm.

  “Let’s see how you like being teased by these for a change.”

  Her lids drifted closed, concentrating on the light caress of the cool, smooth pearls against her throat, her shoulders.

  “You were driving me crazy with these,” he whispered as he ran them along the top of her breasts, skimming her nipples slowly only to circle back and do it again.

  She held her breath as he rubbed a pearl harder into her nipple, then bent his head to lick the two. His tongue flicked from her to the bead, again and again until she thought she’d cry out from the light erotic play, before he moved on, draping the strand along her stomach, the outsides of her thighs. She bent her legs, opening them slightly in silent invitation, as he threaded the pearls through her pubic hair, a massage of his own fingers and the cool necklace.

  “Where should I put these now?”

  She could hear the laughter in his voice, and she peeked up to find him on his side beside her, on one elbow, his head propped in his hand as he played with the pearls and her heated body, watching down as he did so. Her breath came faster, excitement building as one lone pearl made it to her clit and he rubbed gently, the slight friction so hot she thought she would jump out of her skin.

  “Do you like that?”

  She nodded and the pearls dipped lower, slipping into her wetness, the cool surface and his hot fingers working the smoothness against her, with her, teasing and then pushing farther. When she felt him nudge the pearls slightly inside her, she moaned, and he leaned over to place his warm mouth on her nipple, pushing farther inside with the pearls, as he licked and sucked her breasts and she shuddered under his dual attentions.

  Jiggling the pearls below, in and out and against her heated flesh, he moved up to her mouth, a long thorough tasting of her, whispering, “Every time you touched those pearls, this is what I imagined.”

  She cried out as he went deeper with his play, relishing the novel feel of his fingers working the rounded beads inside her, against her hot, wet pounding flesh, and then pulling them out to rub slick against the insides of her thighs, the tip of her clit, only to shove them between her legs again and again.

  By the time she came, she was panting, thrashing her head from side to side, begging for release, and he was murmuring, “Okay, no more teasing,” and pulling the pearls out to drape them on her clit, her hips. He ripped open another condom, rolled it on, and in one smooth movement buried himself inside her.

  “Oh, God, that feels so good,” she muttered as he began a hard, driving rhythm that took them both to the top.

  She came down to the feel of the pearls draped over her chest as he took her into his arms, rubbing her shoulders, her back. The exhaustion of the lovemaking and the plane crash and the walk in the mud and rain all jumbled together and culminated in one reverent humble moment of gratitude. She was alive and it was mind-bogglingly wonderful. She drifted into a heavy sleep, swearing it would only be for a few minutes, as they snuggled together, the fleece-lined jacket over them as a blanket.

  Chapter Six

  When pink light filtered through the window they’d broken to get in, Camilla surged up, registering that the fire was reduced to ashes. The cold nip in the air shocked her. They’d slept too long. Much, much too long. She prayed the pilots had gotten to a phone and someone had already told her parents they were okay, if they even knew about the crash in the first place.

  “Mason.” His face in repose evidenced none of the shadows or tension it sometimes did when awake. Firm mouth, with the sensuous lower lip, was only slightly open. Black lashes dusted his cheeks, so long she had to resist the impulse to graze them with her fingers just to feel again how soft they were. “Mason.” She shook his shoulder, and he opened his eyes, coming awake all at once, staring at her.

  “We have to get going.”

  His eyes shifted into a darker blue. She ignored the reaction of his cock farther down, which came to attention right away, and stumbled out of bed. “We slept way too long.”

  Her jeans, which had spent the night in front of the fire, were dry, and she shrugged into them and the rest of her clothes before Mason managed to sit up, elbows on his legs, head bent and hands in his hair as if trying to rouse himself.

  No need for any rousing in the lower part of his body. To his credit he didn’t reach for her, understanding her haste, though he did glance up with an ironic smile. “You couldn’t have put your clothes on before you woke me?”

  She tossed him his pants. “Really. I’m so worried we get somewhere so my parents know I’m okay.”

  He stood and stretched, and she ignored how hot he was in all his nakedness. At least the evidence of her reaction to him was hidden under her layers of clothes now. He pulled his shirt on first, turning away from her, pausing for a minute, rubbing his forehead.

  “Come on. What are you doing?”

  “I’m conjugating Greek verbs to keep from getting down on my knees and begging you to suck me off.”

  She laughed despite herself, shocked and, well hell, a little turned on.

  He peeked back at her over his shoulder. “I’d be quick.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. My heart wouldn’t be in it right now.”

  “Would your mouth?”

  “Mason!”

  “I’m kidding. Just kidding.”

  He reached for his pants, and she tied the clunky boots on and then got two bags of trail mix out of the backpack. When he was dressed, she tossed him one. “For the road. Now will you wear the leather jacket today? It’s only fair. I wore it yesterday. You were probably freezing.”

  “But I’d still be freezing if you hadn’t made the fire. So you deserve it.” He wrapped it around her, dropping a kiss on her lips.

  He shrugged into his own jacket, pocketing the pearls.

  “Am I ever getting those back?”

  “Don’t count on it. Okay, Miss Anderson, let’s get going.”

  As they headed out, she remembered the walkie-talkie in the backpack and said, “Wait a second,” indicating he should turn around so she could extract it. “We should try this. See where Ray and Boyd are.”

  “How do you remember their names?”

  “You should try mnemonics. It might help.”

  “Marcia’s done her best. Believe me. I’m hopeless.”

  She grinned at him. “You just don’t care.”

  “I care when I want to, Camilla.”

  “I’m honored.” She fiddled with the device. “I don’t know why we didn’t try this last night.”

  “We had
other things on our mind.”

  “Hmmm.” She depressed the talk button. “Boyd? Ray?” She waited a minute. Nothing. “Guys? Are you there?”

  Two more tries proved just as fruitless.

  “Come on,” he suggested. “Keep it out and we can try as we walk.”

  All traces of the storm had disappeared, except for the relentless mud. Bright autumn sunshine guided their way through the woods, and an hour or so into their brisk hike, they even found a trail that appeared to be well-kept—still dirt, well, mud really, but a path with no weeds and an occasional sign not to litter. The jacket was too warm to wear after a while, and Camilla tied it around her waist until Mason insisted on stuffing it into the backpack.

  Although the walkie-talkie continued to fail to raise the pilots every time she tried, Camilla was starting to feel some hope.

  They talked casually as they made their way, never feeling they had to, but as things occurred to them.

  Once, as they walked, she glanced at him sideways and muttered, “Suck me off!”

  Not breaking pace, he responded, “Was that a request? I’d be happy to, but you’re in such a big hurry today I didn’t dare suggest it.”

  “No, I’m talking about how you referred to it this morning. ‘Suck me off.’ I think you’re putting me on half the time about what you know and don’t know.”

  “I could have called it fellatio.”

  “Hmmph. That’s what I would have thought you would call it. How come you knew that other charming expression for it?”

  He laughed. “Believe me, Camilla, when a girl first offers to ‘suck you off’ and then shows you what she means, and in my case it was for the very first time, it’s not a turn of phrase a man could forget. Some aspects of popular culture or slang are simply unforgettable.”

  She scowled at him, but he clasped his hand in hers and brought it to his lips, and the courtly gesture went a long way toward making her feel better.

  If it weren’t for the whole “lost in the woods and maybe never finding their way out of it” thing, she might have enjoyed this long space of time to talk with Mason.