Dirty After Dark (A Billionaire Boss Romance)

by Anne Connor

  “I love when you moan on me,” he whispers, dragging the stubble on his cheek against my face. The slight tingle of pain swirls with the pleasure of what he’s doing to my clit and deep inside my pussy, and it almost sends me right over the edge.

  When I feel I can’t take it anymore, like I’m going to come, he pulls out of me and takes me off the dresser, spinning me around to face the mirror.

  My eyes flash to his, a deliciously devilish grin on his face, as he kisses the back of my neck, making a trail of kisses to right between my shoulderblades, sending a flash of heat zipping down my spine.

  “You like that,” he says, laughing.

  My head tilts back and I lose myself in bliss as he drags his tongue down my back, along my spine. A chill invades my body, swirling with the intense heat inside my belly.

  “You’re going to love this,” he says, grabbing my ass and squeezing it, digging his fingers into my flesh. He bends me over slightly and my chest hits the dresser, the cold, smooth wood touching my hard nipples as he pushes two fingers into my pussy from behind, pushing in and out as he tongues my clit.

  “Oh!” I moan into my arms, my knees becoming weak. “That feels so nice.”

  He curls his fingers up inside me, stroking me with a delectable rhythm as his wet tongue plays against my clit, moving against me, curling along my flesh.

  “Fuck,” I moan, “I’m going to come.”

  “Come on my tongue, sweetheart. Do it,” Ryan growls, pumping at me harder and faster, lapping up my juices like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, shutting my eyes tight and losing myself. His fingers pound into me from behind, sending my body grinding against the dresser, causing the friction in my nipples to feel delicious deep inside my body. Everything in my world is on fire because of him, and it feels amazing.

  27

  Ryan

  “I have an assignment for you, if you choose to accept it.”

  We clank together our champagne glasses forty-five thousand feet up in the sky as we fly over some part of Texas. I’ve always wanted to visit, but for now we have important business to take care of.

  The event was a roaring success. The non-profit Lexi works for was able to distribute a thousand safe-sex kits containing a few different types of flavored condoms, lube, and even a novelty pair of sexy handcuffs.

  The club had record attendance for venues of its size and in the area over the past six months. They’re opening a location in Las Vegas, and their attorneys have already contact my attorney to talk about getting the contracts over to me to sign as soon as possible.

  But this time, they aren’t just looking to book me; they want to book Sara, too.

  But she already knows about that and agreed to it. That’s not the assignment I’m about to present to her.

  “What is it, boss?” She slips into my lap from the aisle where she’s standing, peering out the window. “Are you going to order me to tell my dad the date my show is airing? Because I still haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

  “No, you can handle that on your own. I have something else.” I pull a leather portfolio out of the seatback pocket in front of me. “It’s this.”

  I hand it to her and she slides off my lap, putting her champagne glass on the table in front of us and curling her legs up under her.

  Her eyes flash across the top of the document and scans down the page, flipping over to the next page and scanning up and down again.

  “What is this?” she asks, looking up at me, putting the portfolio down in her lap.

  “It’s a contract. I want to make you an offer. I know I told you at the interview that these internships don’t usually lead to a full-time position, but I’ve decided that an exception needs to be made. I want to give you a full-time job, and it’s not as an assistant. I want you to really be part of the show. Now, I know that you have some other opportunities. I know you were thinking about medical school. So I’ve added a clause that includes the possibility for a sabbatical, or for you to work with the show part time, should you wish to pursue medical school.”

  She shakes her head and takes a sip of her champagne, a smile forming at the corners of her lips.

  “Ryan, I don’t know what to say. I never expected…”

  “I know. I didn’t expect it, either. But the show needs you. You are the missing piece. You are the future of the show.”

  “I would absolutely love to accept,” she says, slipping the pen out of the elastic loop on the top edge of the portfolio. “Yes. I accept.” She signs her name on the last page and I countersign the document.

  “That makes it official,” I say, pulling her back into my lap where she belongs.

  “Very official,” she says, giving me a quick kiss. “Now, I have another question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Name a hidden fantasy. Something you’ve never been able to do, but that you’ve always wanted to.”

  “It’s this,” I respond. “Having you here in my arms. This is my fantasy. My tastes are simple. All I want is the love of an amazing woman. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try. And now I have it.”

  “I’m glad to make your fantasy come true,” she says, smiling up at me sweetly.

  It’s like I said before. I help people with all kinds of problems. I’ve heard cheating spouses hash it out on the air, I’ve done live demonstrations to college students about the correct way to put on a condom using a comically large dildo, I’ve had a visiting lecturer gig in Paris where I got to swim through throngs of European women who never wore panties. I’ve helped young men come out to their parents, I’ve heard about a guy who wanted his girlfriend to pee on him, I’ve even seen two guys have a threeway with a blow-up sex doll.

  But my struggle has been simple. My struggle has been quieter, and it’s nothing I’ve been able to get help with. The most difficult question I’ve ever received is how to find love. There’s no answer for that. There’s no pill you can take or formula to follow to make your heart open up in just the exact way to become home for someone else’s.

  I’m a simple man. All I want is Sara.

  Now...any questions?

  Epilogue

  Sara

  “This isn’t going to work for us.” Matt tosses a hacky sack to me from across the table as he checks the dates on the calendar in my office. “We have the Vegas appearance that week.”

  “And Ryan is going to be in New York for Christmas. Can you do the second week of February?” I squeeze the hacky sack and throw it underhand back to Matt.

  Mr. Craft sighs through the speakerphone, and I can hear him tapping his desk with his fingers. “I shouldn’t have to compete for you guys,” he jokes. “I made Ryan Hart what he is today.”

  “We’re doing our best to fit you in,” Matt sighs, pushing out of his chair and walking over to the window.

  Since joining Dirty After Dark, I’ve taken one of the offices along with Ryan and Kayla. They’re in the studio, finishing up the recording for this week’s show, and Matt and I are trying to finalize scheduling with Mr. Craft for an upcoming appearance back in New York.

  I was able to hire my own assistant, and I knew Matt would be the perfect fit.

  “Shit,” I say, checking my phone and realizing what time it is. “I’m late. Matt, you got this, right?”

  He nods and squeezes the hacky sack, throwing it in the air above his head and catching it again.

  I grab my purse and rush out the door, popping in to the recording studio to say goodbye to Ryan and Kayla. Ryan isn’t there and the recording light is on, so I wave goodbye to Kayla and she gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up.

  I hop on the elevator and pop out downstairs quickly, bursting into the fresh air and sunlight. The sun feels good and warm against my skin, kissing my shoulders and mixing with the breeze coming off the ocean.

  Quickly dashing across the street to the parking lot, I hop in to my new cherry red convertible and take th
e top down.

  I’m not sure where I’m going, exactly. At the first stoplight I grab my phone from my purse and pull up my email to confirm the address. I have a vague idea of where it is, and I drum absently on the steering wheel, just hoping the light will change fast.

  I hug the curves of the road all the way across town, hitting every green light from here on out, cruising along smoothly even though my insides are about to explode with excitement and nerves.

  Slowing down when my phone tells me to, I realize this is it. I drive past security after informing the guard of the purpose for my visit, and after getting my name badge, I cruise into campus.

  I love colleges and universities. One of my earliest memories is of driving around the campus of my mom and dad’s alma mater one early fall afternoon when we were there for a basketball game with another one of the local schools in the area. The game wasn’t even that great; I didn’t care who won. But I loved the smell of the trees and seeing the students on their way to class, clutching their books to their chests and talking as they strolled along the tree-shaded paths.

  I spot the building I need to get to and pull into the small parking lot outside. I check myself out in the mirror quickly before flipping the visor back up and getting out.

  I can do this. I am more than qualified. I have worked hard for this. I have aced my exams. I got stellar grades in college. Hell, my dad even thinks it’s a great idea now.

  Checking my phone again, I confirm the room number and start up the stairs. The building is covered in ivy, the lush greenery snaking up the sides of the old grey and beige stone, where the building is flanked with steeples on the left and right sides of the roof.

  I can’t help but look up, and I close my eyes as the soft wind dances through my hair, whispering possibility into my ear. Drawing the strap of my purse up tight around my shoulder, I put one foot in front of the other and start to climb the steps to the entrance.

  “Sara, right this way.” A familiar voice bounces through the hallway to me, and as I pass through the vestibule of the building and take a left down a hallway, I see the man with the voice.

  My heart flutters as Ryan holds out a bouquet of red roses.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here,” I say as he wraps his arm around me and holds me to his chest.

  “I know,” he says, that gorgeous smile making my stomach flip, as though I’m not already nervous and excited enough. “I just wanted to see you off. I’ll be here waiting for you. You don’t want to be late.”

  Ryan gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and a pat on the butt and leans against the wall covered with flyers looking for roommates, announcements about symposiums and free pizza for volunteers for various events.

  I start to walk away, and the butterflies in my stomach start to fade. I can feel Ryan looking at me, watching over me, there for me just in case I fall. But I know I won’t.

  The dean’s office is clearly labeled with a small placard on the wall just outside the door. I realize how lucky I am to have this one-on-one interview with the dean himself. His secretary told me that he usually has a panel of professors interview candidates once the admissions committee has gone through the applications and identified people they want to learn more about.

  But she said the dean was impressed and wanted to meet me personally.

  I pause just before knocking on his door, glancing down the hallway, where Ryan’s standing tall and proud.

  “Dean Westport?” I say, rapping my knuckles softly on his door. “I’m Sara. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” I take a deep breath and smile. “I hope I’m in the right place.”

  Also by Anne Connor

  The Super (A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)

  He's rich. Arrogant. Dirty-talking. And the new superintendent of my building.

  Molly

  I'm just a girl from Brooklyn, and I've worked hard for what I have. With my dream job and my first apartment, I don't have time to be messing around with the cocky know-it-all who just landed in my building.

  Too bad I can't get him out of my head.

  They call me the bad boy of commercial real estate, and it's a title I've earned. I'm used to getting what I want.

  Drew

  Heiresses. Supermodels. Even a professional ballerina or two. Hell, half of New York City has been tangled up in my sheets.

  But Molly is different. She isn't like every rich girl in this city. Which makes me want her even more.

  When my life completely implodes, I go into hiding by taking a gig as a building superintendent. Crazy, right? I could buy and sell this building without even lifting a finger. I've always been good with my hands.

  It turns out that I might have to do something even crazier to win her over.

  **The Super is a full-length stand-alone novel with a guaranteed HEA!**

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