Dirty Boss

by Crystal Kaswell

  This orgasm is more intense.

  "Nick." My breath is ragged as I come down. My thoughts are incoherent.

  "Come here." He shifts our positions so he's on top of me. His hand stays around my wrists as he thrusts into me.

  Faster. Harder. Deeper.

  My sex pulses from the wealth of sensation.

  His groans fill me with a different kind of need. It's as good as my orgasm. Better even.

  I soak in every bit of his pleasure as he comes. His lips part, and they go to my neck. His kiss is soft. Tender.

  "Nick." I arch my hips to feel the pulsing of his orgasm.

  One last thrust and he's finished. He collapses next to me. His lips go to my forehead.

  We haven't kissed. Morning breath. Well, middle of the night breath.

  Nick discards the condom and returns to the bed. He plops next to me and runs his fingertips along the neckline of my dress. "Join me in the shower."

  My nod fails to express my enthusiasm. I take his hand and follow him into the bathroom. I didn't notice the room last time I was here. It's huge with a glass shower the size of my apartment.

  "How many people fit in here?" I pull my dress over my head and leave it on the floor.

  Nick looks at the mess with faux outrage. "I've only tried myself."

  "Really?"

  "I don't bring women home."

  "Where do you bring them?"

  "I used to keep a place."

  "You kept an apartment just for sex?"

  He nods. His fingers skim my cheek. "I didn't want to invite anyone into my home."

  "But you invited me?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want you here."

  I clear my throat, willing my thoughts to stay planted in the lust section of my brain. "Do you have a toothbrush? I want to kiss you but I'm afraid of the garlic in the shrimp scampi."

  His hand on my lower back, he leads me to a marble sink. There's an extra toothbrush, still in its package, on the counter. It's purple.

  Get a grip, girl. It's a toothbrush, not a declaration of undying love.

  Nick watches as I pull off the packaging.

  I hand him the paper so as not to further mess up his perfect bathroom.

  He tosses it into some equally clean, modern trashcan then his attention is back on me.

  "Don't watch me. It's weird." I squeeze toothpaste.

  "We just had sex."

  "Brushing your teeth is a lot more intimate than sex." I motion for him to turn around.

  He doesn't. Instead, he pulls out his toothbrush.

  I stare at him, waiting for him to avert his gaze.

  It's not going to happen.

  Fine. I focus on the mirror as I brush my teeth. After a few moments, my attention shifts to his reflection. I've never watched a man brush his teeth before. It's so domestic.

  For a split second, I imagine a life with someone—getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth, falling asleep in each other's arms.

  The someone shifts into focus. He's tall with black hair and deep brown eyes. He's unmistakably Nick.

  I'm uneasy when I'm finished. I force the feeling away by rising to my tiptoes to kiss Nick. His tongue is aggressive, like he's been waiting as desperately as I have.

  We stand there for minutes, his hands on my lower back, mine around his neck, making out like desperate teenagers.

  When the kiss breaks, he leads me into the shower. There are buttons on the wall. One heats the floor. Another turns on the water. Yet another turns on the water—there are three faucets in here.

  Of all the things to spend money on, why would anyone pick a shower?

  Nick brings his body behind mine. The skin-to-skin contact makes me sizzle. His body feels damn good against mine.

  He drags his fingertips between my breasts, all the way to my belly button.

  "I'm not going to stop you from going again, but if you do, I'll need a note to my boss about why I'm coming in to work late." I place my hand under the nearest showerhead. The water is tolerably hot.

  "You should take the day off. See a doctor for your back."

  "It feels okay now. Something melted away the tension." I step under the shower to wet my hair. It occurs to me that my makeup isn't waterproof.

  Fuck it. I throw my head back and rub my face.

  Nick runs his thumb against the top of my cheeks like he's wiping off my liner. It's strangely intimate.

  He reaches for the shower caddy in the corner and pumps shampoo into his hands. "Turn around."

  I do.

  He runs his hands through my hair, dispensing the shampoo. His touch is soft and delicate. I can't believe I mocked Kat for liking this. It's amazing.

  A groan escapes my lips as he massages my scalp. Water runs over my front. I'm too hot to think anything but yes.

  When he's done, Nick turns me and tilts me under the water. His hand slides around the back of my neck, supporting my head as he rinses my hair.

  He does the same with conditioner. I'm so hot I want to scream.

  His eyes are wide, his expression attentive.

  Nick leans close enough to whisper. "The other shower head is detachable."

  The thought makes me groan.

  "Next time." He rubs me down with soap and rinses me.

  Once I'm deemed clean, I shampoo and condition his hair.

  He's so tall that I can't reach him on my tiptoes. He brings his chin to his chest so I can run my hands through his messy brown hair. I'm of no help with rinsing off his hair, but I certainly enjoy watching the muscles of his chest contract and relax as he throws his neck back. We do the same with conditioner, then I take my sweet, sweet time soaping him down.

  It's my first chance to really explore his body. I run my fingers over the lines of his back and around the contours of his chest. His ass and thighs are just as muscular and they feel just as good against my hands.

  He groans as I drag my hand up his thigh, but I don't stray past his quads. Not tonight. But soon.

  It's like I can feel it in my bones.

  I trust Nick to give me what I want.

  But at 3 AM, I'm not about to contemplate just how much I trust him. Or just how much I want him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There's a purple pajama set in Nick's dresser drawer. It's new, still in the tags, a cozy flannel blend that prioritizes comfort over sex appeal.

  It's mine.

  I towel dry and change into my new outfit. It's strange that he keeps buying me clothing. I'm tempted to refuse—I'm not a doll, and I don't need gifts—but there's something so Nick about all his selections. Classic, beautiful, understated.

  He pulls on boxers and pajama pants. "Come on. I'll make you something to eat."

  My stomach rumbles. I ran out well before I finished dinner. I nod. "You cook?"

  "Yes."

  He presses his palm into my lower back to lead me to the kitchen.

  I lean against the counter and watch him scour the fridge. It's mostly empty. I don't imagine Nick gets many chances to cook, working from 8 AM to 8 PM every day.

  I'm exhausted and I've only been doing it for a few weeks. How does he keep that up constantly?

  He's seamless in the kitchen, heating a pan as he chops and dices. The smell of fresh red peppers fills the room.

  "Do you cook a lot?" I ask.

  He slides a row of chopped vegetables into a sizzling skillet pan. "I cooked when my mom got sick, but I've never been motivated to cook for myself."

  I pour myself a glass of water and attempt to sort out my thoughts. "Did you cook for Shepard?"

  "Until he left for college." Nick focuses intently on the food.

  I study his expression, what I can see with him turned away from me. His lips are curled down. His shoulders are slumped. He's upset.

  I press my palm into my empty glass. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "When we sit down." He cracks half a dozen eggs into a shiny silver bo
wl. "Do you want something to drink?"

  "If we're having eggs, this is breakfast. So coffee." My gaze goes to the coffee maker on the counter. The same as the one in my apartment. "I can do it."

  "Thank you."

  There's a defensive edge to his voice. I bite my lip, trying to focus on my coffee-making at the expense of everything else.

  One drop at a time, the carafe fills. After a few minutes, the room smells like coffee. I fix two mugs and bring them to the thick wood table in the corner.

  The sky is pitch black. The only light coming through the windows is from the apartment complex next door and the streetlights lining Battery Park.

  I watch the smooth current of the river as Nick brings over two plates of scrambled eggs.

  And sriracha.

  "Thanks for breakfast." I draw a question mark on my eggs with the hot sauce then stir them quickly enough he won't see.

  "Thank you for the coffee." He looks out to the river, staring like he's deep in thought. "The truth is I don't know why Shepard is trying to sell the company. But he has every reason to hate me."

  I take a bite, chewing slowly to buy myself time to think. My brain isn't working too well with the lack of sleep.

  "He's always coped with excess. Drinking before Jasmine left him. Other women once she was gone. For a while he was high-functioning, but last September, I forced him into rehab."

  "You can't force someone into rehab."

  "I used some fine print in the Odyssey contract. He didn't want to go, but he knew how much Odyssey could be worth. He wasn't about to lose that."

  "That was the problem you handled the night we met?"

  "Yes. I shouldn't have started a company with my brother. Too personal. But he was good with business. Too good, actually. Our main investor is wrapped around his finger."

  "Oh."

  "Shepard got out of rehab last month. We didn't talk while he was in treatment. His counselor specifically asked me not to visit."

  "Is that the usual policy or just for you?"

  "For me."

  I swallow hard.

  "It would have got in the way of his treatment." Nick looks at the table. "He drank to forget his demons. Once he stopped, they came back full force."

  I don't like where this is going. I take a long sip of coffee to wet my throat, but it's not any easier to talk. "Remembered what?"

  "Our father left when I was about ten. My mother was broken. When she met our stepfather, it was like she came alive again. She was happy. I didn't know much about love, but I knew that she was in love with him."

  I play with the handle of my mug.

  "I was fourteen when they married. Shepard was eleven. He graduated high school early and did college in three years. He's only twenty-four." Nick focuses on the table. "Our stepfather, he was kind at first. My mother was so happy he took an interest. But there was too much interest. I should have realized."

  Oh God. He needs to be in control. He doesn't trust anyone. It must be...

  I don't want it to be true.

  I offer Nick my hand. He doesn't take it. He's half here, half in that memory.

  He forces the words out. "I was fifteen the first time he touched me. I wrote it off as him being drunk, confused, but he kept doing it."

  My stomach drops. I reach for him. Even though his eyes are on the floor, he pulls away. Like it's a reflex.

  "I was as strong as he was. I could have stopped him. I could have killed him. But even so, I was scared of him." Nick clenches his fist. "I didn't say anything. I thought that was better. It would have destroyed my mother."

  I force myself not to use a euphemism. "He raped you?"

  Nick nods.

  I can't breathe. I bite my tongue. When people hear about my accident, they say all sorts of stupid things. I won't do that to Nick.

  "I'm sorry you went through that." I fold my hands in my lap. "Is there... what happened with your brother?"

  "I thought I could protect Shepard if I stayed home, but I was wrong. My brother, he was so ashamed he never told anyone. I caught him. I went to the police, but it was too late. Shep was never the same." His eyes fill with sadness.

  "You're not the one who hurt your brother. It's not your fault."

  "I let that monster stay in our house."

  I move closer. Touching him might startle him, so I offer my hand. This time, he takes it and squeezes hard.

  "I'm so sorry, Nick. No one should ever have to go through that."

  "I could have protected him."

  "He blames you?"

  "It was my fault."

  My heart breaks for him. He really believes it was his fault. No wonder he walks around like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  I bring my other hand to his arm, brushing lightly against it to test his response.

  He leans in to my touch instead of flinching.

  I move closer. I run my fingers over his arm, his neck, his hair. I have to comfort him the way he comforted me.

  I have to help him.

  It's the only thing in the world I know.

  We stay like that for the better part of an hour. When we break, Nick plants a soft kiss on my lips.

  He stares into my eyes. "I was in therapy a long time, but I still—"

  "It's okay. I don't have to touch you."

  "I want you to. I don't want that to have been the last time someone—"

  "You've gone, what, eight years without a woman touching you?"

  "More or less." He runs his fingertips over my cheek. "It will have to be on my terms."

  I nod. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight. "This isn't casual anymore, is it?"

  "No, it's not."

  I squeeze tighter. I need to make him feel better and there's only one way to do it with words. "You think we're at business casual or all the way at black tie?"

  His laugh breaks up the tension in the room. "Thank you. I needed that."

  It makes me warm, his laugh. Even with all this darkness around us, it makes the world feel light.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nick leaves for work around seven. He arranges a house call. I wait dutifully in front of the TV, all of my attention on Nick's past and none of it on the screen.

  He's suffered deeply. Maybe he doesn't have to hurt that much anymore.

  I don't know what it means to be more than casual. I've never been serious with anyone, never been in love. But there's something about Nick. Every molecule in my body wants to be around him, wants him to be happy.

  The doctor arrives around ten. He checks my vitals, asks me to perform all sorts of exercises, and writes a prescription for more physical therapy.

  There's a change of clothes for me in the bedroom. Jeans, a sweater, flat boots, wool socks. I have no clue how Nick got these here so fast. Or when. But they're perfect.

  I have plans to meet Kat for lunch-break dress shopping. I change into my new outfit and hightail it to the pastel pink boutique.

  I'm ten minutes early, so I sit on one of the benches and pore over Kat's list of sample dresses on my phone. Only two are decent. The rest are totally wrong for her.

  "That is one serious hickey." Kat slides her arm around me in a sideways hug then turns to face me. "And those don't look like work clothes."

  "You know you're supposed to buy a wedding dress six months before the day. You're going to have to buy something off the rack."

  "I'll manage." She moves my hair to inspect my neck. "I can't remember the last time you had a hickey. Had to be Robert. Whatever happened to him?"

  "We broke up after the accident."

  "Oh yeah. What a jerk." She slides her purse off her shoulders to take off her coat. "You want to get coffee before we start looking?"

  "I always want to get coffee, but we'll stain the dresses." I push myself to my feet and find the sales counter.

  "You want to tell me how you got that love mark?"

  "A man used his mouth to apply pressure to my neck. I'm
sure you and Blake have tried it, but if not, I can explain the process step by step."

  The salesgirl waves at us, clearly taking her dear time making her way to the counter. Kat's eyes are laser-focused on me like I need protection.

  "Elizabeth Marie Wilder." Kat taps her toe. "You have something to fess up. I can tell."

  Mercifully, the salesgirl steps up to the counter.

  "We're here for a one o'clock appointment. She wants something with sleeves, lots of lace, no train. Mermaid, a-line, or sheath. It's a garden wedding, so simple." I turn back to Kat with a smile. "I had sex last night. Do you want any additional information?"

  The salesgirl does nothing to hide her eavesdropping. "Right this way, Miss Wilder." She looks at me. "Are you the maid of honor?"

  "Yes." I follow her to the left side of the store.

  "We have a great selection of bridesmaid dresses in the back of the store." She points to a rack of dresses in every color of the rainbow then to the rack of dresses in every shade of ivory. "These are a great independent label. There are more designers as you go clockwise." She hands Kat a dozen clothespins. "If you see any dresses you want to try on, mark them and I'll start a room for you."

  "Thank you." Kat waits until the salesgirl leaves then turns back to me. "With whom did you have sex?"

  "Some guy at a club."

  "What was his name?" She examines a chiffon ball gown.

  I point her to a more subdued dress—an ivory lace sheath. "I didn't ask for his name."

  Kat feels the fabric, deems it unacceptable, and moves to the next rack. "And what did he look like?"

  Out of all the dresses, only one fits her style. I point to it. "It was dark."

  Kat turns to me with folded arms. "What about his body? Not something you could miss during some crazy hot sex."

  "It was good."

  "Specifically?"

  "What are you hoping to prove here?"

  "I'm not sure." She looks at the dress with interest. "It concerns me that you're lying."

  I take a clothespin and mark the dress.

  "Blake told me about your company, how the owners might sell. That must be stressful." She shifts through the dresses, one eye on me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "No. Shit happens at start-ups. Nick is trying to prevent the sale."