Mr. Hired Boss (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss Book 4)

by Lindsey Hart

  “Ohmygodthatwasfreakingincredible,” I slur.

  Gabriel stares up at me. “Do you want to keep going?”

  “What do you mean, do I want to keep going? Yes! Yes, I want to keep going! If you do…I’m assuming you do. But if you don’t…”

  “I do. That was sexy as hell, watching you come. I’d like to do it again if it’s okay with you.”

  “Argh!” I have an urge to throw the quilt over myself and hide. “You watched me? God. I probably made weird faces.”

  “Not weird faces. Sexy faces.”

  “Well, I…I get to watch you too then. Make faces. So we’re even.”

  Gabriel grins at me. “You know what? That sounds like a fair deal. Now.” He stands slowly. “How do you want to do this?”

  “You mean, like…no way. I’m not exactly into back door deals.”

  “I meant what position,” he responds dryly.

  “Oh.” Oh my fucking god. Could it get any more mortifying than implying he was talking about, well, you know…back door deals? “Uh, I…well…” I imagine all the many different positions I’d like to try. It makes me sad to think we only have one night. I’m starting to think one night isn’t enough. That a whole bunch of nights isn’t enough. No, not because I’m boneless from the world’s best orgasm. But because…because…well, just because. “On top?” I blurt, to keep myself from thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

  “You or me?”

  “Uh—”

  “That was a stupid question. Definitely you.”

  Gabriel wraps his hands in my dress and tugs gently, pulling it down my waist and legs. I’m still too boneless to get myself in order, but I shouldn’t worry about things like actual bones or coordination because he flops down on the bed beside me and effortlessly picks me up and rolls me onto him. I straddle his still clothed waist.

  Dear lord, why is he still wearing pants, and how fast can I get those off?

  “Yup,” Gabriel sighs in contentment. “You on top is definitely the way to go.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Gabriel

  I’d trade letting Pearl watch me make embarrassing O faces for this view any day. She’s so beautiful that it’s hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s because she’s kind of half sitting on my chest. I can tell she’s nervous, but she takes a steadying breath and shifts down enough that she can start working at my pants. Right, my cock isn’t even out of my pants yet, and I already feel like I could come at any second.

  I have Pearl’s delicious pearl to thank for that. And she was exquisite. I can still taste her spicy musk on my lips and fuck if even thinking about it doesn’t make my balls want to explode.

  “Holy. Shit. Wow. What. The. Fuck. Is. That?”

  I glance down. As if I didn’t already know what Pearl was referring to. “Umm, that would be my dick.”

  She’s ripped my pants and boxers down, and she’s got my dick in her hand. She’s staring at it. Maybe not in a good way. “I know it’s your dick, but what’s wrong with it?”

  “I…nothing?” Now I’m having serious doubts, and having serious doubts when it comes to your cock is never a good thing.

  “It’s huge. Why is it so big? It’s going to hurt. Or feel really good. Err…maybe both? God. I’m sorry.” She finally looks up at my face instead of my cockhead. “Sorry. Yeah, I shouldn’t have said that out loud. That was probably really rude.”

  “I think it’s kind of a compliment. Maybe. If you’re having second thoughts—”

  “No! I just…maybe we should go slow? Ease it in?”

  At the thought of being eased into Pearl’s tight lady parts, my dick flexes so hard in her hand that her lips part a fraction in surprise. “Yes, we’ll go slow,” I grind out between actual gritted teeth. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Should we…uh…I don’t have a condom. Do you want to use a condom?”

  “I don’t have one. So if you don’t have one, and we both don’t have one, unless you’re on birth control, I guess we might have to rethink this.”

  “I am on birth control,” Pearl says. “Rethink it how, though? There aren’t any stores open right now. It’s not like we have a corner store here that we can just run to. What were you going to use? Plastic wrap? A sandwich baggie?”

  “I was thinking more like getting dressed and going back to the reception to find out if anyone could help me out and give me one.”

  “No! What are you thinking!”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head innocently. “Nothing at all. Problem solved because you’re on the pill.”

  “I am. I promise. I know you probably think I’m a crazy liar, seeing what I got you to do this whole weekend, but I’m actually not a liar normally, and I’m not crazy either. That I know of. Anyway, I know it’s been a few years since I dated anyone and you’re probably wondering why on earth I’d still be on the pill—”

  “I wasn’t actually…”

  “Well, I have my reasons. Female reasons, painful monthly cycles. The pill really helps a lot. It regulates things.”

  “Okay, I believe you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright. If you’re positive.”

  “I’m very positive.” My cock flexes in Pearl’s hand in total agreement.

  “Should I get on it then?”

  God. I think she’s going to kill me. There’s a good chance I’m going to explode in her hand, and she’ll need to get a towel or something, and it will be extra embarrassing, but I know that in a few minutes when we’re both over the shock, and she’s not so annoyed with me—if she wanted to give it another go—I’d be ready. I’d rather not embarrass myself, though, so I grind my teeth and hang on. I’m kind of hoping Pearl finds it very delightful to be on top and really enjoys herself. Quickly. So I can get it over and done with, and we can have a few more rounds that are more leisurely and not about me trying to stop my balls from erupting.

  Pearl moves. She’s straddling me still, but she shifts up. She keeps my cock in her hand, and just watching her, even though it’s dark, slowly sink down onto me is enough to make me groan like I’m in serious physical pain. I am in serious physical pain.

  She doesn’t waste any time. She might take it easy to give herself time to get used to my girth, but she sinks down, inch by inch, without stopping. She doesn’t pause until I’m fully seated inside her.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how warm and tight and incredible she feels. Stop. Stop thinking about it.

  “God,” Pearl purrs. “You feel so good.”

  “I apologize in advance if this ends faster than you’re used to.”

  Pearl’s eyes flutter open, and she looks down at me. Then slowly, she starts to move her hips. First back and forth, then in a circular, grinding motion that pretty much feels like someone is pouring hot lava all over my dick. It really hurts, but it also feels really good. Right, so maybe lava isn’t the right analogy. My brain currently isn’t in analogy mode. It’s in oh my god, Pearl is grinding against me, and I’m going to pass out because I’m holding my breath so that I don’t come and wreck everything mode.

  I reach up and caress Pearl’s nipples, which are phenomenal. I taste them. They taste like the rest of her does. Like pure, sugary, sweet, heaven with cherries, real cherries. Fresh ones right off the tree.

  She rocks her hips. Madly. And she sways as she grounds on me and gives me the show of a lifetime. She’s so gorgeous. I wish I could fully appreciate it without having to worry about holding back. Next time. Next round.

  Thank goodness it’s been a while for her too because she starts grinding madly as I grip her hips to guide her. I don’t ram my cock up into her, which takes an arduous amount of strength not to thrust right along with the brutally hot way she’s grinding up there.

  She throws back her head, and I think there’s a good chance death is coming for me swiftly. Are ruptured balls a thing? Will that kill a person?

  And then.
Yes. She finds her spot. Pearl moans and whimpers and rides me hard. She grinds against me wildly, then one hand shoots out and pins my chest down like she doesn’t want me to move. I can tell she’s close. I can already feel her tight passage starting to vibrate around my dick, and it’s totally devastating in an amazing, climax inducing way.

  By some miracle, even though it’s probably only been a minute, Pearl goes wild. She rides me hard and cries out, and her pussy spasms all over my dick. I thrust once, that’s it. It must be a new record. The ol’ one and done. And I come. I come hard. My whole body gets into the action, shuddering and spasming right along with Pearl.

  We didn’t even break a sweat. Not the kind that comes from working out hard, but I think I am sweaty from the effort it took to hold back.

  “Pearl?” I pant when she doesn’t move. She doesn’t say anything. She’s frozen on top of me.

  Finally, she says, “I’ll get something. A towel or some clothes. Uh, did you want to…do you need time to… Holy. Shit. You’re still hard.”

  I bite down hard on my bottom lip and the inside of my cheek. It’s a lethal combination that somehow keeps me from laughing and crying all at once.

  “I know. I’m good. Well, whatever you want to do. If you want to call it a night—”

  “I don’t want to call it a night! I want to, well, do another position. I mean position, not place. Just to clarify.”

  “I get that.” My dick throbs inside her, and she lets out a little surprised gasp.

  Pearl is tiny. At least, in comparison to me. I gently grip her by the waist and easily swing her around, so now she’s on the bottom with her legs wrapped around my waist. Then I flex inside her again, just to watch the bewilderment, wonder, and amazement reflected on her face.

  “How many more times are you good for?” she gasps.

  I arch a brow. “I don’t know. Should we try it out and see?”

  “Definitely,” she breathes. Her hips jack up into mine, her heels tighten on my ass, and she tangles her fingers in my hair and drags my mouth down to hers.

  CHAPTER 18

  Pearl

  Wow. That was…just…wow.

  I could get into all the things I’m thinking and feeling, tangled up in Gabriel’s arms and legs, our skin still sticky together, his even, deep breaths telling me he did the typical thing after a really long day and some crazy good sex and passed out. I could get into it, but the truth is, I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to sorting it out. Compartmentalizing. Whatever.

  I know we said this was no strings. I know Gabriel wants to say single, and so do I. At least, on paper. I thought I did. Ever since I met him, though, I’ve started to have these crazy doubts. Crazy thoughts. Crazy everything. I’ve started to think that maybe things are possible. Things, meaning this. Relationships, giving it another chance. Just because I dated a few assholes doesn’t mean everyone is an asshole. And clearly, things don’t always go to shit. Take my parents and my grandparents. They’re all still together. Sometimes things last.

  Then again, sometimes they don’t.

  But still. Does it mean I should just give up? I have no idea what Gabriel would say if I told him about what I was thinking and feeling right now, and I’m glad he’s asleep. That way, I won’t wake him up. And I’ll have time to think.

  Thinking is usually best done with a cup of tea, so I carefully slip out from beneath Gabriel’s arm and untangle myself from his legs. It sucks to leave him, and I don’t want to. I want to stay right beside him, wrapped up in his warmth and strength. I want to bask in the afterglow I didn’t expect. Savor the orgasms I didn’t really expect either. Bask in the delicious, strange soreness of my body in all the places I’m not used to being sore in at all.

  I want to stay here, but I know I have too much going on upstairs in the brain department to be able to sleep anytime soon. I need a cup of tea, and I need my phone. I need to relax and figure out what the heck is going on with my head. And my heart.

  That might be cheesy and sappy and corny and all the things I don’t do, but whatever. I’m feeling it, and not just because I’m kind of blissed-out at the moment. I’m feeling it because I’m sure it’s real. I never felt this way with anyone, even though I dated some of them for years. I don’t think that time is a good indicator of whether feelings are true and real or not. Or maybe it is to prove they aren’t real, but I think things can be real from the start and stay real too.

  I know. Whoa. Whoa there. These are very un-Pearl-like thoughts. My mind is changing faster than I can keep up, doing a one-eighty, and no, not just because I got laid, and it was good. That’s not the reason.

  I slip quietly downstairs. It’s only just after eleven, and my parents probably won’t be home for hours yet. I’d feel bad for ditching if I didn’t know clean up will probably be tomorrow morning, not tonight.

  I make myself a cup of mint tea and take it to the kitchen table. I sit down heavily and pull out my phone. I threw on a set of leggings and a t-shirt, my go-to for evening loungewear, and, more often than not, what I also usually end up wearing to bed. I can’t count how many times over the years I’ve sat in this exact spot, late at night, thinking about shit down here because I couldn’t fall asleep. The guest room is actually my old room, but my parents renovated after I left the house, so now it looks completely different. But still. The double bed? It was mine while I was growing up. The dressers in there? My set from when I was a kid. There are so many memories here.

  Now Gabriel is a part of those memories, and I can’t just erase him. Can I just let him go tomorrow and never see him again? Would I regret it forever, or is it the right thing to do because this was never supposed to get this far, and no strings attached means no strings attached, not panic after and throw out a few desperate ropes to try and hold on to him?

  I sigh while I wait for my tea to cool down. I always boil the kettle way too long, and the water is usually blistering. I can tell it’s going to be a good five minutes before I can even taste the minty goodness. There’s nothing quite like mint tea to soothe you. Warm milk, which I always thought was gross, wouldn’t even come close.

  Since I have nothing to do but wait, and even though I came down here to think, I pull out my phone for a momentary distraction.

  I stare blankly at the screen for a minute before I find myself bringing up the web browser and typing in Gabriel’s name. His full name. Gabriel Wickert. He said he was thirty-two, so I put in the year he was born as well. What? Lots of people look people up online, okay? It’s natural. I think even prospective employers often do a web search and social media check before they hire someone. I hesitate for a second before I hit enter.

  I guess I just want to know a little bit about Gabriel. About whether this could work. Him. Me. Together. Us? You can learn a lot about a person based on their social media. Maybe he’s secretly an asshole, and I’ll save myself a ton of trouble by just letting him go tomorrow. Or maybe he’s a super nice guy who volunteers and saves kittens from trees in his spare time. Or maybe…

  Holy. Fuck. Nuts.

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  Or maybe…or maybe, Gabriel Wickert, age thirty-two, is actually a billionaire.

  I click on the first article, the one where the headline proclaims something about up and coming software genius, Gabriel Wickert, selling for two billion dollars. My eyes quickly scan down the page, and words leap out at me. Mostly technical stuff I don’t understand. Something about programming. Software. Apps. I know what those are. It’s the figure that keeps getting me. Two. Billion. Dollars.

  I’d like to say this is a different Gabriel, and there’s just the odd chance that someone out there has a strange name, spelled quite differently, as this Gabriel, but nope. There’s a picture of him included with the article. It’s from a few years ago, so he looks just a shade younger, but it is definitely him.

  Holy. Shit. The guy passed out in my bed right now, the guy I just had really stellar, blow your mind
sex with, is actually a billionaire.

  Which brings up a whole set of questions I don’t have answers for. Is that why he wants no strings attached? Because most people only want to use him for his money? Why would he agree to come with me this weekend? Because he could be anonymous here? Because he thought I’d be a good sport? Because he’s seriously creepy, and I was just his latest target? Because he gets kicks out of pretending to be someone he’s not?

  I have no idea.

  But it sure as fuck wasn’t for the money.

  My whole body breaks out into a clammy, nasty sweat. I can practically feel the beads of it rolling down my temples. When I pick up my phone to hit Dean’s contact to panic call him, it nearly slips out of my hand. I have visions of it landing in my scalding tea, which would be the end of me, my phone, and my tea.

  Somehow, I manage to hang onto it. I can’t imagine that Dean is a) sober, and b) will actually hear his phone, but magically, he picks up.

  “Pearl?” he slurs into the phone. There’s so much noise in the background that I doubt he can hear me.

  “I need you to come over here. Now. It’s an emergency.”

  “Where’s here?” I guess Dean can hear me after all.

  “My parents’ place,” I hiss. “Please. Now. There’s something I need to tell you. I’ll wait for you outside on the front step.”

  “I can’t drive.”

  “I know! Walk your ass over here! It’s a fifteen-minute walk, ten if you hurry!”

  “But I’m kind of drunk.”

  “Okay, okay. Damn it. I’ll be right there, and I’ll drive you here, so you don’t magically lose your way in the town you spent just about your whole life growing up in. I’ll be there in five. Wait outside for me. I don’t want anyone else to see me.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you about it when I get there. Just…can you just please go wait out front?”

  “Sure. What if there are people out there?”