I’m the boss.
His words echo in my mind. God, it’s only been half an hour and I can’t stop thinking about him.
I’m the boss, and you do what I say.
My eyes flash open.
That wasn’t part of the interview.
I close my eyes again, and I’m back at the bar, seated close to Samuel, and we’re alone.
“Got it,” I say. “You’re the boss.”
He stands up, closing the distance between us. He is looming over me. “You do what I say. For example, if I tell you to bend over that bar and pull your jeans down, you do it.”
The train ride home is short but louder than I would have liked. Although, coming from Chicago, the trains in Denver are cleaner, and I don’t have to worry as much about being accosted in any way. I grip the metal pole, my fingers cold and tense, and sway with the motion of the train. The E line, cutting through downtown Denver, is headed toward my neighborhood on the outer edge of the city—a place no one visits unless they live there or they’re looking for trouble.
“Yes,” I say, back in the fantasy.
“Yes what?”
I know what he wants to hear. I know it in my bones. “Yes, sir.”
I rise from the bar stool and flash him a wicked grin before turning around and placing my palms on the cool, lacquered surface of the bar.
“Bend over.”
I do as I’m told, sticking my ass out for him. My panties are soaked, my heart racing. He grabs me by the hips, pulling me against him. I can feel his cock through his pants, stiff and thick.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “You’re going to pull your jeans down. And then I’m going to make you come, hard.”
“Yes, sir.”
His hand moves up my hip. “But you’re not going to come until I say so. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Now. Pull down your jeans.”
I unbutton and unzip, then slide the tight denim down my legs. The air of the bar is cool against my bare skin. I feel his hands slide down slowly, grabbing onto the sides of my panties and pulling them down.
Then I feel his warm hardness against my hot liquid core and—
“Next stop, Central West.”
Shit, that’s my stop. I’m brought back to the real world.
My mind’s been a mess the entire ride, spinning around one thought—my new boss is the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Samuel Holt. His voice is as smooth as good whiskey and just as dangerous. His smile, lazy and confident, like he knows exactly what it does to me. Eyes that are smoldering, dark, and capable of setting my whole body on fire with one look. Broad shoulders with hard muscles, effortless strength in every movement. My heart still hasn’t slowed down; it’s pounding like it’s trying to break free from my chest.
I pull out my phone and reread his text for the tenth time, biting my lip.
Report at 7 o’clock tomorrow night. Ben will get you up to speed.
Simple. Professional. But all I can think about is those hands—big, capable, and oh-so-ready to pin me in place. I shouldn’t want that. Not with him. Not with my boss.
But the memory of his eyes lingering on my lips, the way he watched me while we drank the Old Fashioneds, makes my skin heat in ways no asshole at Misha’s club ever managed. Those jerks stared and pawed like I was a piece of meat. Samuel looks at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve. A woman he needs to understand.
The train screeches to a stop, the doors sliding open with a hiss, and I step out onto the cracked platform. The cold air hits me, sharp and unforgiving. I shove my phone into my pocket and hike my bag higher on my shoulder, my boots scuffing against the grimy concrete as I head for the stairs.
The neighborhood greets me with its usual mix of garbage bags piled against graffiti-covered walls and the distant sound of sirens. A few flickering streetlights cast weak pools of yellow onto the sidewalk. The corner store has its metal shutter halfway down, the smell of burnt oil from the halal cart drifting through the air.
I keep my head down and my pace steady. It’s not the worst place to live, but it sure as hell isn’t the best. Broken bottles glint in the gutter. A guy in a hoodie mutters something as I pass, but I don’t catch it or look around.
My building’s up ahead, a crumbling four-story walk-up with peeling paint and a front door that never quite latches. As I step inside, the hallway light flickers, a lone bulb doing its best to survive.
I climb the stairs to the third floor. My apartment, 3C, is locked. When I push open the door, the place is dark and silent. No roommates. Just the cold, empty quiet of a shitty apartment.
I let out a slow breath, drop my bag by the door, and lean back against it.
Tomorrow, everything changes. I have no idea if that’s a good thing or the beginning of another mistake.
On top of it all, I have no idea how Misha’s taking my resignation. I simply walked out, and for all I know, he’s still pissed about it. He’s a piece of shit and I’m glad he’s out of my life. But all the same, I can’t help but worry about the consequences of being on the shit list of a man like him.
Will he hold a grudge and try to exact some sort of revenge? Hopefully not.
I flick on the light. The living room is a mismatched mess of secondhand furniture, clothes draped over the couch, and half-empty takeout containers littering the coffee table.
The place isn’t bad, considering I found it on Craigslist when I was desperate. The rent’s cheap enough to split four ways, and aside from the occasional cockroach and peeling wallpaper, it’s bearable. I share it with three roommates: Tiffany, Erica, and Kailee.
We’re not exactly best friends, but we don’t hate each other. Tiffany’s the closest thing I have to a friend between the three of them, the one who doesn’t mind sharing a room, a laugh, or the occasional bottle of wine.
Erica and Kailee are a different story. They’re party girls, often stumbling in at three in the morning with a new set of guys in tow, laughing loudly, their heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I’ve learned to tune out the creaking bed frames and muffled moans. It’s not like I have a choice.
I cross the living room and head to the tiny bedroom Tiffany and I share. It’s barely big enough for two beds and a dresser. I kick off my shoes and head to my bed, my eyes falling on the stack of books wedged between my mattress and the wall.
Psychology 101, Social Work Fundamentals, Trauma and Healing.
Dreams I can’t afford to chase just yet.
I run my fingers over the cracked spine of one of the textbooks. Someday, I’ll trade this life for a classroom, then an office where I can help people escape their own nightmares.
Someday.
Right now it’s hard to think about anything other than keeping my head above water, but I’m not giving up. I never do.
With a sigh, I fall back on the bed and close my eyes. Instantly, Samuel’s face appears in my mind.
Am I crazy or was there really something happening between us? The conversation had been nothing more than an interview, but the moments spent with him felt like something beyond that.
Maybe that’s just how he is. Intense, the kind of guy who locks his eyes onto yours and makes you forget about everything other than him.
I return to the fantasy from the train, imagining being bent over in front of him, my pussy soaked and ready.
My heartbeat slows as I imagine his hands on my waist, his mouth tracing along my neck. My body hums at the thought, heat pooling low in my belly, making my pussy clench.
Fuck it.
I push up from the bed with a groan. Time alone in this place is a rare luxury, and I’m not about to waste it. I grab a towel and a pair of pajamas, then head for the bathroom before the others get home and ruin the quiet.
The bathroom is small. The tiles are chipped, the grout is permanently gray, and the bathtub has seen better days. But the door locks so I know I can have a little privacy. I twist my hair up into a messy bun and turn on the faucet, the sound of hot water filling the tub a relaxing hum to my ears.
I slip out of my clothes and step into the bath, the water stinging at first before the heat seeps into my muscles, forcing a pleasurable sigh from my lips.
My eyes flutter shut and my mind drifts.
Samuel’s there, in the shadows behind my eyes. His hands, large and strong, trace up my thighs, his mouth brushing against my neck. I arch into him, his breath hot in my ear, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine.
“You’re playing with fire.”
I take a step closer. “Maybe I like the burn.”
I close my eyes and slip my hand between my thighs, the fantasy playing out in my mind.
The club is empty, it’s just the two of us. The low hum of the refrigerator behind the bar is the only sound. It feels intimate and private.
Samuel leans against the bar, his drink forgotten beside him. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and smoldering, stripping me bare without him so much as lifting a finger. My pulse is a drumbeat in my chest.
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he’s going to push me away. But his hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my wrist, tugging me forward until I’m pressed against him. His body is a solid wall of heat, his scent wrapping around me.
“Careful, Erin,” he says, his lips hovering just inches from mine. “I don’t play fair.”
“Good. Neither do I.”
His mouth crashes down on mine.
The kiss is searing, a clash of heat and need. His lips are firm, demanding, and I meet him with equal fervor, my hands tangling in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. He groans against my mouth, the sound vibrating through me, and I shudder in response.
His cock is stiff and solid, pressing against my middle. There’s no doubt in my mind; he’s ready for me. My pussy clenches, and my panties are soaked.
His hands move to my waist, fingers splaying over my hips as he lifts me onto the bar in one smooth motion. His hands are everywhere—gripping my ass, sliding up my back, tangling in my hair. Every touch sends sparks skittering across my skin, leaving me aching and breathless.
I gasp as his lips leave mine, trailing a hot, open-mouthed path down my neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I arch into him again, a soft moan escaping my lips.
“Samuel.”
His name on my lips seems to jerk him out of the moment. He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes blazing with lust.
“If you want me to stop, tell me to stop.”
I almost want to laugh at him for such a suggestion. I shake my head, his hands cupping my face.
“Don’t you dare.”
That’s all he needs to hear.
His mouth claims mine again, his hands sliding beneath my shirt, fingers skimming over bare skin. I gasp at his touch, every inch of my skin breaking out into goosebumps.
The heat is almost too much and I press closer, desperate for more. He tugs my shirt over my head, tossing it aside before his hands find the clasp of my bra. It’s gone in a second, and then his mouth is on me—kissing, nipping, tasting.
I sigh, throwing my head back and running my hands through his dark, thick hair as he scoops my breasts into his hands, sucking one nipple, then the other. I feel them harden in his mouth against the pressure of his tongue. For a moment, I wonder if I might come just from him doing that.
I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. “Too many clothes,” I manage to say, tugging at the lapels.
His lips curve into a wicked smile against my skin. “Patience.”
I help him shrug out of his jacket, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. The moment it’s open, my hands roam over his chest, mapping the hard planes of muscle and the smooth warmth of his skin. He’s perfect, and the way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing that matters—makes my knees weak, even though I’m already sitting.
His hands move to the waistband of my jeans, unbuttoning them with practiced ease. He tugs them down, taking my panties with them, leaving me bare to his gaze. His eyes rake over me, his jaw clenches, the hunger in his expression overwhelming.
“God, you’re fucking sexy.”
Before I can respond, he drops to his knees, his hands gripping my thighs as his mouth trails down my stomach. The first touch of his tongue makes me gasp, my head falling back as pleasure crashes over me in waves.
He spreads my lips, the tip of his tongue finding my clit and flicking it.
Holy shit.
Samuel grins at me before going back to work, his tongue pushing deeper into my slick folds as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my hips. The pleasure in my core coils tighter and tighter with every slow drag of his tongue.
He doesn’t rush, taking his time, driving me to the edge and pulling me back again and again until I’m trembling, begging.
“Samuel, please,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
He continues to lick me, slipping a finger inside and hitting my G-spot instantly. I’m right on the edge, bucking my hips into his face.
Then the coil snaps, the orgasm rushing through me, my screams filling the empty bar.
He rises, his body pressing against mine as he claims my mouth once more. I can taste myself on his lips, and it only makes me hotter.
His hand moves between us, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants. The sound is almost too much to bear, and when he steps between my thighs, I don’t think, I just pull him closer.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
He enters me in one smooth thrust. The connection is electric, a spark that ignites every nerve ending in my body. His cock is thick and perfect, his warmth plunging deep inside.
He moves slowly at first, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing as ragged as my own. But as the tension builds, the rhythm shifts, becoming faster, harder, more desperate. Each thrust sends me higher, my fingers gripping his shoulders, my cries muffled against his neck.
“How’s that feel, baby?” he asks.
“So good. So goddamn good.”
“You’re not going to come again until I say so. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Something about his tone, about how he has me right where he wants me, is almost too much to take. Each stroke, each deep plunge sends a fresh wave of heat cascading through me. I throw my head back as he pounds relentlessly, my breasts shaking from the impact. I can barely keep my eyes open, but I manage to peek a little, taking in the sight of his powerful, muscular body at work.
“Now,” he says. “Come for me.”
The release is explosive, shattering me in the best possible way. I cling to him, my body shaking, my heart racing, as he follows me over the edge, his groans low and guttural. His warmth fills me, his cock pulsing.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. We’re tangled together as our breathing slows down, the world outside creeping back in. In this quiet moment, there’s nothing but the lingering warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart against mine.
He chuckles. “Welcome aboard,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.
“Happy to be part of the team.”
The sound of a slamming door followed by giggling brings me back to the real world. Roommates are back. Fun’s over.
One of them hurries to the bathroom, grabbing the knob and shaking it. “Erin?” Kailee calls out. “Are you in there?”
“Yeah, I’m taking a bath.”
“Well, hurry up! I have to pee so freaking bad.”
“One sec.”
I lean forward and pull the plug, the water swirling down the drain.
