"Nick," I groan.
He thrusts into me, his grip tight around my hips as he holds me in place. I relax my thighs and wrists, soaking in every ounce of sensation, in every ounce of his control.
"Nick."
He goes harder. Deeper. I lose track of everything except the pleasure coursing through me.
"Nick."
His breath gets faster. His eyes press together. He's getting there.
"Nick."
A few more thrusts and an orgasm rises up inside me. No screaming. Nothing to contain it. Nothing to do but feel.
The pressure is almost too much to take. I only manage by biting my tongue. With his next thrust, I go over the edge. My sex pulses, releasing as I come. Bliss spreads through my torso and limbs. It's better looking into his eyes, seeing the relief there.
He does need this. Need me.
I collapse into his arms. He holds me for a moment, his lips meeting mine in a desperate, needy kiss. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, exploring it like I'll never get another chance to kiss him.
He scratches me so hard I'm sure I'm bleeding. I groan into his mouth to contain the burst of pain. That's how good he feels. How desperate he is to contain himself.
I can feel his orgasm in the movements of his body. The way his tongue claims my mouth. The way his nails dig into my skin. The way he thrusts faster and harder.
Then I can feel him, pulsing inside me, filling me. It's the first time I've ever had sex without a condom, and it's fucking amazing.
When he's finished, Nick undoes the binding. He shifts so I'm next to him on the couch. He rubs my wrists. Then he drags his fingers over my hips, inspecting my deep, red scratch marks.
"Come here." He pulls me into his lap, holding me against him and stroking my hair.
God, he feels good like this too. I allow myself a few minutes with my eyes closed and my head pressed against his chest.
My breath and heartbeat return to normal.
I shift off him, onto the other side of the couch. "What are the odds that no one heard us?"
"Not as good as I'd like."
"Was it worth it?"
His gaze goes to the floor. "It won't matter soon." He shifts back into his boxers and slacks. Then he pulls a towel from his desk drawer and hands it to me. "To clean up."
"Oh, yeah. It's a lot messier without a condom."
I wipe off and put my clothes back into position. Even without a mirror, I can tell that I'm not fooling anyone.
My hair is a mess. My makeup is smeared. My neck is throbbing like I have an impending hickey.
Maybe it doesn't matter. It will be easier for us to be together, whatever this is, if the company sells. It's not the end of the world. Even if there's a deep well of pain in his eyes.
I do one last adjustment of my clothes and reach for the door.
Nick stops me. His gaze goes to the clock on the wall. "Our delivery should be at Jasmine's desk."
"Is waiting for you to finish lunchtime quickies another part of her job description?"
"Maybe I'll add it." He smiles. "I'll get it. You look like you just got fucked."
"Wonder why."
"It looks good on you." He pulls open the door.
"I'm going to do some damage control in the bathroom."
He nods. Either he's ready to take our relationship public or he really believes his company is doomed.
God, I hope it's the first.
The women's bathroom is a respite from all the questions swirling around my brain. I have one task and that's looking like I didn't just have sex on the couch in Nick's office. Only my glasses are still on his desk. I can manage okay without them.
I wash my hands, fix my hair and makeup, change back into my bra and underwear. It's about twenty percent better. Not going to fool anyone who's paying attention, but the people around here don't pay much attention.
Nick is waiting outside the bathroom holding a plastic takeout bag in one hand and my glasses in the other.
He slides my glasses on with a soft touch. It's affectionate in a way obvious to anyone looking at us. No one is looking at us, but this isn't like him. He doesn't take unnecessary risks.
He presses his hand against my lower back. "Let's eat this in the conference room."
I nod and follow him to the glass-walled conference room. Anyone who walks by this side of the building can see us.
He passes me a Diet Coke and sets up the plates. It's Thai food again, curry. It smells good.
I stir hot sauce into my green curry. "Thank you."
"Of course." His eyes meet mine. "I want to take you somewhere tomorrow."
"Where?"
"It's a surprise."
"Can I have a clue?"
He shakes his head.
"Doesn't sound like there's any reason why I should agree."
"I'll pick you up at 8 AM."
"How do you know I'll go with you?"
"I know."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nick is at my door at exactly 8 AM.
I invite him in while I finish getting dressed, making a show of pulling on the lacy purple lingerie set.
He sits at my desk chair with his eyes wide and his lips zipped.
"Are you really going to deprive me of clues?" I check the weather on my phone—forties and sunny—and pull on a pair of comfortable canvas sneakers.
"Really." He stands and hands me my coffee.
Once we're on the street, Nick points to a food cart. "Did you eat breakfast?"
I shake my head.
We order egg sandwiches and another round of coffee. There's still something incredibly endearing about seeing Nick in normal clothes. Or seeing him do normal things.
He's every bit as handsome in jeans and a fitted t-shirt.
And every bit as effortlessly in control.
It really isn't fair.
I finish the sandwich by the time we get to the subway. We're heading towards Queens. I look to Nick for a clue, but he's silent.
We spend the ride in plastic seats, my head on his chest, his arm around my waist. We get off way into Queens.
I squeeze his hand as he leads me out of the station and onto the street. We walk for ten minutes, stopping in front of a massive building. It's the entrance to some kind of arena. But it's totally empty.
I squint so I have a better view.
It's a racetrack.
I pull my hand to my side.
No.
No fucking way.
"Lizzy." He grabs my wrist, turning my body towards his. "Think about it before you run away."
"What the fuck is this supposed to be?"
"A safe way to try driving."
"Safe? Have you ever seen a NASCAR race? People crash into the wall at a hundred miles per hour. Their cars burst into flames. I've seen all the clips on YouTube, and I'm not going to die in a fucking explosion."
"You won't be going a hundred miles per hour."
"No." I step backwards until I feel the curb under my heel.
"Look at it for one minute. If you want to leave, we'll leave."
I meet his gaze. It's sincere. Caring. But he... But this...
I can't breathe. I can't think.
I shake my head.
Nick moves closer. He wraps his arms around me.
It's calming.
Fuck him for that.
For all of this.
I inhale everything about him. "Why are you trying to fix me? I live in the city. I don't need to drive."
"You're not broken. I can't fix you." He pulls me closer. "This weighs on you. I don't want you to live with that burden."
"You have a lot of fucking nerve throwing this at me without a warning."
"You wouldn't have come if you knew what we were doing."
"Because I don't want to do it." I release the hug and look into his eyes. "Why can't you surprise me with a weekend in the Caribbean or something?"
"You want to go to the Caribbean, we'll go to the
Caribbean."
"Really?"
"It will be a few weeks before I can get away, but really."
"Okay." I nod. "We'll go after Kat's wedding. Did you... there are going to be a lot of people who follow tech swirling around to take pictures. I know you still want to keep this a secret. But... you could come with me. As my date."
"I'd love to." His voice is soft, sweet.
I look into his eyes. They're sincere. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
I beam. Nick is going to be my wedding date. It's damn normal.
It's not enough to distract me from the horrible possibility of circling a track like a suicidal NASCAR driver, but it is nice.
Really nice.
Even if he's a fucking asshole for this.
I suck a breath through my teeth.
We're so far from casual. Even without a label, I know he's mine, and I'm his. That anything else would be madness.
"Kat will ask if you're my boyfriend," I say.
"You want to make this official?"
"I do."
He smiles. "Then it's official."
My whole body is warm, gooey, the way it gets when I haven't seen my sister for ages.
Nick is my boyfriend, and he's going to be my wedding date.
He's got this crazy idea that I'm going to drive a car, but that's a minor imperfection when everything else about him is so intoxicating.
Okay.
It's a major imperfection.
But maybe he does have a point.
This does weigh on me.
It forces me to stay in the city. I love the city, but I want to travel too. To go places only accessible by car without crumbling into a pile of nerves or downing a Xanax.
I meet his gaze. "I will look at the track, but that's all I'm going to do. You're going to hate yourself for wasting the morning taking the subway to Queens."
He nods, then unlocks the gate with a key from his pocket.
He holds the door open for me, his expression totally inscrutable.
I take a deep breath as I look around the track. It's big, maybe three-quarters of a mile in one long oval shape.
The gray asphalt is worn with tire marks. The stands go all the way around it. There are enough seats for a few hundred people. A few thousand even.
It's no NASCAR track, but it's plenty.
There's a car parked in the middle of the roadway. A black luxury sedan.
I swallow hard. "Should I even ask how you made this happen?"
"I made a few phone calls."
"How much did it cost?"
"Less than it's worth." He pulls keys from the pocket of his jeans and hands them to me. "It's your choice."
There's no one else here. No people I can run over, no cars I can hit. The worst I can do is run into a wall or divider.
I run my fingers over the metal edge of the key. "I'll try sitting in the car, but I'm not promising more than that."
"I have a limo reserved for the day." He looks me in the eyes. "In case you get comfortable being in the car."
"What's the limo for?"
He traces the neckline of my t-shirt. "Motivation." He smiles. "So we only waste fifteen minutes getting back to the apartment."
"Are you implying that I was snippy?"
"I deserved it."
"Fuck yes, you did."
He smiles. "No one stands up to me like this."
"No one stands up to rich, white men. Especially when they're handsome." I take his hand. "I appreciate that you want to help, but next time warn me. Okay?"
"Okay."
I nod. I can do this. In theory.
I squeeze Nick's hand as we walk out onto the track.
The car has an electronic lock. I press the button and it makes that beep-beep sound. The locks click open. I grab onto the door handle and pull it open.
Easy. Totally easy.
My dad let me drive a few times when I was a kid. When we were visiting family outside of the city. It was exciting then, all that power in my hands.
I slide into the driver's seat and fasten the buckle tight.
Nick settles into the passenger seat and closes the door.
Yes, the door. I need to close that. I reach over and slam it shut.
Easy. Totally easy.
My hands are shaking so hard I can't get the key into the ignition. I close my eyes and channel my yoga breathing. Deep inhale to fill up my lungs. Deep exhale to release everything.
I look down at my hand. It's not shaking quite as hard. It's manageable.
I slide the key into the ignition, but I don't turn it. Not yet.
"You okay?" Nick reaches over to offer his hand.
"So far." I dig my fingers into the steering wheel. "Is it even legal for me to drive here without a permit?"
"No."
I look at him. "Who are you and what did you do with the Phoenix Marlowe who interviewed me in January?"
"You do something to me." He places his hand over mine.
"What is it I do?"
"You make me forget my priorities."
I stare into his eyes. "What does that mean?"
He breaks eye contact to look at the track. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah." I bring my hand to the key. I remember how this goes. I press my foot against the brake as I turn the ignition.
The engine kicks with a roar. The dash lights turn on. Cool air blows from the vents.
"Want me to walk you through it?" he asks.
"Please."
"Foot on the brake."
I press against the brake as hard as I can.
"Right hand here." He taps a button on the center console. "Press this as you take the car from park to drive."
"Is this your car?"
"Yes."
"What if I crash it? Your insurance won't cover that."
He laughs. "Are you really worried about my insurance?"
I shake my head. Okay. Hand on the center console, finger on the button. I put the car in drive.
We're at one end of the track. There are about five hundred feet before I have to turn. I can drive in a straight line at ten miles per hour. That should be doable.
Even if my hands are shaking like a goddamn earthquake.
"Take your foot off the brake." His voice is calm, even. "The car will start to move forward, so keep your hands on the steering wheel."
"Okay." My breath races. I can do this. I can drive this fucking car.
I take my foot off the brake. Sure enough, the car rolls forward. My hands dig into the steering wheel. I move it too far right then too far left. After a moment, I'm mostly steady.
"Put your foot on the gas. Softly. Don't press down yet."
I don't quite have the hang of hovering over the pedal. I tap it and the car lurches forward. According to the dash, it's only about eight miles per hour. It feels like a million.
Nerves flutter in my stomach. I'm in a car, and it's rolling forward. I know that I'm not going fast enough to do any real damage, but that does nothing to slow my breathing.
My fingers dig into the steering wheel. For a quick second, I glance at Nick. His eyes are on me. There's some mixture of affection and pride on his face.
I focus on the road.
"Keep one eye on the dash and stay under twenty miles per hour."
As if I would drive any faster than that. I press on the gas as lightly as I can.
The car lurches forward. Slows. Lurches forward. My neck jerks. My muscles tense.
Steady. I need to apply a steady pressure. With one eye on the track and one on the dash, I press down harder.
The car speeds. Ten miles per hour. Fifteen. Twenty.
I manage to steer mostly straight.
My heart thuds against my chest as we get closer to the curve.
Nick places one hand on the steering wheel. "Try to turn. I'll keep you steady."
His voice does something to me. Makes me forget about things I've held onto for a long, long time.
Driving isn't the worst thing in the world. Not on this empty track.
I turn the wheel to the left, leaning into the curve. I'm going too steep. It's no good. I lose control of my breath, my hands clutching the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
Nick evens out the car. We don't crash. We make it all the way through the curve without crashing and exploding in flames.
Of course I know the car isn't going to explode, but that doesn't keep my head free of the image of NASCAR drivers running from their cars with their suits on fire.
How do I have such a vast reserve of terrifying mental images?
The straight part of the track isn't bad. I keep the car at an even twenty miles per hour. My breath isn't normal but it's not quite so strained.
I manage the next turn. The next straightway.
I go around the track half a dozen times. I'm doing it. I'm driving. I'm driving and I'm not crashing.
By the time I reach a dozen laps, I'm too anxious to take anymore. I press on the brake much harder than I mean to. The car screeches to a halt, jerking out bodies forward and back.
I look over at Nick as I take a deep breath.
He's smiling.
His eyes are filled with deep affection. He takes my hand, leading me through putting the car in park. Then he leans over and wraps his arms around me.
His lips hover over my ear. "I'm so proud of you."
"Can we be done with this now?"
"Yes." He shifts back into his seat. "The track is reserved for the rest of the day if you want more."
I shake my head. "That's not happening." I press my foot against the brake as I turn the car off.
My back and neck relax as the engine shuts off. I survived driving, but I'm in no rush to prove I can survive it again.
I undo my seat belt and get out of the car as fast as possible.
Nick slides out of the passenger seat. He moves to me and wraps his arms around me. The hug is so tight it takes my breath away.
I squeeze his waist over his coat. "Can we get a cup of coffee or something before we head home?"
He presses his lips to my forehead. "You don't need more coffee."
"Because I'm shaking or because I'm an anxious mess?"
Nick slides his fingers under my chin, tilting me so we're face to face. "You're not a mess, Lizzy. You're the bravest person I know."
A lightness passes through my chest and stomach. I believe him.
It hardly seems possible that, out of the hundreds of successful people Phoenix Marlowe, tech CEO, knows, I am the bravest.
Dirty Boss Page 19