Dirty After Dark (A Billionaire Boss Romance)

by Anne Connor

  “You remind me of a caller I had once. She wanted to know how to tell her boyfriend to make love to her better. Give her what she wanted. Listen to her. The first thing I asked was if she ever tried just talking to him.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she didn’t know how. I told her to use her words. To tell him exactly what she wanted. To show him.”

  “Why does she remind you of me?” I whisper.

  “Because I think you want to ask me for something and don’t know how.”

  “You have all the answers, Mr. Hart. Why don’t you tell me what you think I want to ask?”

  “I think you want me to kiss you right now.” He looks down into my eyes, and I feel myself getting lost in his words.

  “I already told you I want to keep things professional.”

  “Pleasure is my profession.”

  “This internship is important to me. You told me yourself that your interns end up in the gossip pages. What would my future employers think if I had a letter of recommendation from you and they read about us being together? Would I be taken seriously?”

  “I would take you seriously.”

  “You’re not my future employer. Like you said, this is a temporary internship. This isn’t going to turn into something else.”

  “Then why not make the most of it while it lasts?”

  I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat remains.

  “How can I do that?”

  “Ask me a question. Pretend you’re a caller.”

  “Okay,” I say. “What do guys really want?”

  “We just want a kind girl with a dirty mouth. That’s what I want. I don’t know if I can speak for other men. Everyone has their type.”

  “What is your type, Mr. Hart?”

  His eyes focus on mine, then drag down to my lips, to my body, his eyes drinking me in. His chest rises and falls with lust, and he reaches out to put his fingers under my chin, lifting them up to meet his gaze.

  “What’s the next question?” he says softly.

  “What do women really want?” I reply, aching pressure building up between my legs.

  “Women want a man who’ll listen to them. Who’ll take care of them. Who won’t give them shit and won’t take any in return. And oral.” He flashes his big, signature, cocky grin, the one plastered on billboards on the 101. “Women want oral.”

  I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, my breathing shaky and uneasy.

  “What, you don’t want that?” He cocks his head to the side. “I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t like having her pussy eaten.”

  I avert his gaze. I can’t look him in the eye. But I want him to go on. I want so badly for him to keep talking, to keep going, to give me more. Looking down at my hands, I busy myself with the label on my beer as it starts to peel off and crumble in my hands.

  “You do like being gone down on, don’t you?” he chuckles, stepping a little closer to me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Of course. What girl doesn’t like that?” The sharp ache in my clit makes me want to jump on top of my boss, anything to relieve the sweet pain, give myself a reprieve from the overwhelming feeling of desire I feel for him.

  “How do you like it, Sara?” he whispers, hooking his thumbs into the waist of his swim trunks. I brace myself and prepare for him to pull them down, but he pauses. “Tell me how you like it. It’s for research, so I can give better advice to the men who call in and want to know how to go down on their girlfriends and wives.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, shooting my gaze up to him, my cheeks on fire. “I don’t know.” I purse my lips into a straight line.

  “You’re going to have to learn what you like, Sara, if you’re going to be able to give good advice.”

  “I thought you said every person is different.”

  “They are, but you have to be able to give yourself advice, be honest with yourself, before you can counsel others.”

  He puts his fingers under my chin, tilting it up and letting his thumb sweep across my lips.

  “Do you like it slow, or fast?”

  I swallow hard, willing the lump in my throat to go down. I’m getting very wet, but I can’t make myself leave. I’ve never been with a man like this before, and I’ve never had anyone speak to me like this. I feel intoxicated, drinking in his words, gulping them down in big, refreshing sips. But it’s not satisfying me. It’s just making me more and more thirsty. It’s making me crave more - his touch, his lips…

  “I don’t know,” I say again. “Tell me what you think I like.” His thumb slips into my mouth and I part my lips. He presses his finger into my bottom teeth, scraping it along them gently.

  “I think you like it slow. You want to be teased. You want it drawn out. Am I right?”

  I nod as my eyes flutter closed, his thumb leaving my lips as I whimper.

  “You like to keep your panties on, don’t you? You like to feel a man’s breath between your legs, against the fabric separating your skin from his lips. You like to beg for it. You like it to be given to you slowly, not all at once.” His thumb snakes down my chin, to my neck, and he wraps his fingers gently around my throat. “Am I wrong?”

  I open my eyes and shake my head, peering up into his eyes carefully. My eyes linger on his face, coming down to his chest and his abs, and I see the outline of his cock tucked hard against the inside of his tight swim trunks.

  “No,” I say. “You’re not wrong.”

  “And then you like your panties pulled down slow. Some girls want them ripped off fast. Not you. No, you want them pulled down nice and slow, you want to feel the fabric against your skin, the air caress your body bit by bit. And then you want to spread your legs out slow, too. You want to tease the lucky fucker you’re with. And then you want him to go down slow, making love to you with his tongue.”

  I’m soaking wet, and I feel my eyebrows knit together as I gasp for air. Ryan’s thumb rubs the front of my throat gently, but I’m dying inside. One more word, and I might not be able to take it. I might have an orgasm from just his words and his touch of my throat and my lips.

  I can’t do this. I break away from him, standing up and pulling my sarong tight around my waist.

  “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  He steps back, a look of concerned surprise painted on his face, but he says nothing.

  I slip out of the room without looking back and dart further into the dark hallway leading away from the party now raging in the backyard. I see an open door to the left and duck inside. It’s dark, and I close the door behind me quickly but quietly, groping along the wall for a light switch.

  The lights flick on, and I find myself in a large powder room, with just a large vanity with a stone bowl-style sink and a toilet. I realize I’m barely breathing, and I grip the edges of the sink, steadying myself against it, feeling Ryan’s touch on my neck and his words deep inside me, swimming somewhere unknown.

  I look up and see myself in the mirror. My face is flushed pink, my eyes are wide and my chest is heaving with the weight of Ryan Hart finally off my shoulders. I close my eyes and lean back against the door, the thrum of my heart pounding somewhere lower.

  My clit aches, and I know it’s wrong, but I slip my fingers slowly against my stomach. Something, anything to take this feeling away, to feed it, to satisfy it, to give it what it wants.

  I go lower. My fingers glide down, past the waist of my bikini bottoms. Fuck, I should not do this. I stop when I feel the edge of my slit, closing my eyes tightly. I take a deep breath in and let my fingers inch down further, feeling the hard nub, wet and engorged, and I trace against it lightly with one finger.

  I shouldn’t let my mind go where it’s headed. I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it, as I imagine being back in that room with Ryan, his words edging me closer and closer to bliss, until he finally stops asking me what I like and giving me what I want. In my mind, behind the darkness of my tightly closed eyes, he kneels down in front of me and pu
lls my bathing suit to the side, kissing me softly, bringing my clit into his mouth, between his delectable lips. I allow myself to rub myself a little harder, thinking of his tongue swirling against my clit, sweeping over it sweetly, the blissful release right there.

  He looks up at me and then flashes his cock grin before licking my clit with his wet, wide tongue, sending me spilling over the edge.

  I press my fingers hard against my clit as I come, the hint of Ryan’s name on my lips. I feel my body spasm and go rigid, my orgasm flooding my body. I rub harder as I ride the pleasure, the threat of tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I struggle not to moan.

  Finally, my body goes limp and I open my eyes, breathing heavily, unable to move except for the rise and fall of my chest.

  12

  Ryan

  Matt transfers Lexi’s call to me and I hit the intercom button, letting her voice fill my office before I even have a chance to say hello.

  “So I trust you had a chance to look over the contract,” she says. It’s morning in LA but it’s lunchtime in New York, and I can picture her rudely waving over some poor busboy to refill her water glass.

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, pulling her firm’s attorney’s email up on my screen. I looked over every detail of the contract after Sara left last night. I thought she was into it, and I thought we were operating under a veil of perceived professionalism. If some paparazzo prick was taking a video of us from somewhere in the bushes, he wouldn’t have much of a story to print, not compared to some of the shit I’ve been caught on camera doing.

  Ryan Hart and a gorgeous young woman caught talking in a guest room isn’t a very exciting headline.

  After she left suddenly, I went out to the party to find her, but she was gone. I asked everyone if they’d seen her. I checked the hot tub, the bar, to no avail. I don’t know what I said. I thought we were having a good time playing around. I thought I was making her wet and ready for me.

  She was here in the office early this morning, already working in the conference room when I arrived at nine fifteen, poring over the library books Kayla obtained, making outlines and preparing her presentation. I tried to get her attention when I came in, but she’s had her nose diligently in those books all morning, and she hasn’t even looked at me. It doesn’t feel good to be ignored by the girl you’re crushing on hard, even if you haven’t made a clear delineation between what’s appropriate and what is not. Whether I can stay on the correct side of that line or not remains to be seen.

  The contract from Lexi is very straightforward, and I was mostly pleased when I reviewed it. I sent it to Dirty After Dark’s attorney for his review, but I like to know exactly what I’m getting into, so I read every word of it, too.

  Yeah, everything is straightforward. Everything except one thing. It outlines the timeframe I would be required to stay at the party, it says I’d have some degree of latitude when it comes to what I want to talk about to the party-goers (this is where Sara’s presentation would come in), specifies that I’d be entitled to free drinks, states how long I’d be expected to stand on the red carpet outside the club, and verifies what I’d be paid.

  “Lexi,” I say, copying a pasting a clause in the contract into a new email and sending it to her. “Check your email. I don’t remember discussing this part of the contract with you.”

  “Hold on,” she says. She’s probably putting a finger up in the air to shoosh me, even though I’m not there. “Oh, that. I thought you’d like it!”

  “I never agreed to be your date, Lexi,” I say, rolling my eyes. She’s mostly harmless at this point, with several years between us, but this is the kind of petty bullshit she’s known for pulling.

  “But Ryan,” she whines, “I thought it was implied. I told you I wanted to see you!”

  “I’ll see you at the party, but I never agreed to be your date. And you left that line vague on purpose, didn’t you?” I almost call her sweetheart sarcastically, but she can’t take a joke. “You left it vague so you could say that sex was part of the contract, right? Did I guess right?’’

  “Ryan, baby, I just want to spend some quality time with you.”

  “By sneaking it into a contract and hoping I won’t notice?”

  I should pull the plug on this whole thing. Anything Lexi and I have been involved in together has become a shit show. But it’s for a good cause, and I saw how excited Sara was when I offered her the gig, and I cannot take this away from her.

  “I didn’t sneak it in,” she says, taken aback. “It was right there in black and white just like the rest of it was.”

  The contract also does specify that I can bring one staff member along with me, and I decide against telling Lexi the details of me and Sara.

  And anyway, what would I say? That I’m bringing a girl I’m into, and I know she feels it too, but she’s denying her feelings to me, and even worse - to herself? Fuck no, breathing any word of another woman to Lexi would just send her reeling. I’ll submit the name of one of my male interns and pretend I brought Sara at the last minute. It’s not a problem. I’ll just have to spring for a plane ticket for her out of my own pocket, which is not an issue.

  “We done here?” I ask, getting impatient with Lexi. “I have to go. I’ll sign and scan the contract back to you.”

  “Daddy was asking about you,” she offers brightly.

  “How is your old man?” I ask. “Still working?”

  “Yes, he is. He wants to see you too.”

  “I’d love to catch up with him. Will he be at the party?”

  “He’ll be there,” she says. “I’ve got to go. I have to have this waiter fix my order.” Her voice becomes muffled. “I’m so sorry, I thought I said I wanted the dressing on the side, can you please take this back?”

  “Goodbye, Lexi,” I say, clicking the phone off. I get up to stretch my legs, pacing around my office. I glance over to Sara and wish she’d look up at me. I walk over to the glass wall separating my office from the conference room where she’s working. When she looks up, surprised, I wave her over.

  She smiles meekly and leaves the conference room, coming around to my office and slipping in.

  “Close the door behind you, please.”

  I perch on the edge of my desk and motion for her to take a seat.

  “You left the party rather suddenly yesterday. I hope it wasn’t something I said.” She arches an eyebrow and looks up at me, and smirks in spite of herself.

  “As a matter of fact, sir, it was something you said.”

  “I thought you liked it.”

  “That’s the problem. I did like it.”

  The way she calls me sir makes my cock stir in a way it never has before. I’ve had girls bent over my desk before while they call me sir and beg me to get the off, but I’ve never had it as bad for any of them as I do for Sara.

  “Call me sir again,” I say. “I liked it.”

  She looks up at me with an innocent intensity I’ve never seen before.

  “Okay,” she smirks, “sir.”

  “Good. I just got off the phone with my contact in New York. Today I’m signing the contract for the appearance. Would you mind if we went over some of the things you’ve been working on?”

  “I’d like that,” she says, getting up. She’s dressed a little bit differently today. She’s wearing an ass-skimming pencil skirt, paired with a silky black sleeveless top. Her hair is done simply, with the top pulled away from her face, the rest cascading down her back in those signature loose waves. She leads me into the conference room where she’s been working and leans over the table, gathering up some of her books and papers. “Okay,” she says. “So, I was thinking for the appearance we could do something quick and dirty, like a quick tutorial on safe sex. I don’t want to go into too much detail on the history of sex education and everything, because people are at a club to have fun, not get a history lesson. Not that the information wouldn’t be interesting, it’s just not the right forum to go into all the backgro
und stuff. So,” she says, walking over to a board she has set up in the corner, “I thought we could do something about the different types of contraception. Like, for example, condom, birth control pill, IUD, etcetera.”

  She has illustrations and diagrams and write-ups, and I am thoroughly impressed with what she’s been able to accomplish.

  “I think this is fabulous,” I say, walking over to her and the visual aid she’s created.

  “Really?” she says, her eyes bright with relief. “You mean you’re still gonna take me on this trip and everything after what happened yesterday?”

  I pull one of the chairs from the conference table over and take a seat next to where she’s standing.

  “Of course, Sara. What happened yesterday has nothing to do with your position, with the internship. I hope you know that.”

  “Right,” she says. “Of course.” She stands up straight and stiff, with every ounce of professionalism I know she’s trying to muster.

  “Sara, you can relax. You don’t have to always have your guard up.”

  She looks down at me, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling slowly under the silky fabric of her shirt. She looks so vulnerable to me, so unsure. So pretty, and trying so hard to be strong. She doesn’t have to try this hard. She doesn’t have to put on a brave face for me, or for herself, or for anyone.

  “I’m just trying to do what’s expected of me.” She casts her eyes down, meeting mine. I put my hands out and take her waist in my grasp and she gasps quietly, her breath becoming quicker. I can nearly feel her heart beating in time with mine.

  “What do you think is expected of you?” I say. “You know the parameters of the job. You know the assignment that you’ve been given. In the short time you’ve been here, you’ve done better than many of the interns who have spent whole summers with the show. So what else do you think is expected of you?”

  She smiles and draws her eyes down to my lips, then brings them back up to see mine. The shining sun behind her in the distance and the rolling waves of the Pacific makes my heart swell. It’s a strange sensation. I see her standing before me like so many of my other interns have. And like them, she’s excited to be here, but she have something more to prove. Something more to say. Something more to talk about, and I can sense something more behind her eyes. Something she won’t say.