“Didn’t know how to approach you in my court.” I was dying to touch him, to pull my hands away and stroke his face, to run my fingers through his messy waves of hair, or, God, to caress the planes of his bare chest. His grip was too tight, though, so instead I tilted my head forward, desperate for my lips to brush against his.
But he pulled his head away before our mouths met. “We have to set up rules and boundaries.” He dropped my arms and walked backward cautiously, peering at me as though I were something to be afraid of.
And maybe I was. I was certainly afraid of the way he made me feel, of the woman he turned me into—a woman with no thought or interest but getting naked with a man she shouldn’t be glancing twice at.
After a second, Boyd seemed to gather his wits, chuckling to himself as he scratched the back of his neck. I took the opportunity to check him out. He was wearing dark blue pajama bottoms and nothing else, and seriously, I’d known he was built underneath those dress shirts he wore to the office, but I’d had no idea he was built like this. His chest was toned in all the right places, his abs sporting a six-pack that would probably be an eight-pack if he hadn’t just eaten dinner. He had those to-die-for V lines that some men have—the ones that did weird things to my insides when I saw them in photos on Tumblr and absolutely sent me into a sea of lust when I saw them in person. A thin patch of dark hair dusted his lower abdomen, trailing down below the drawstring of his PJs. I wanted to trace that hair like it was the upward line on the latest Pierce Industries financial sheet, wanted to see the reward at the end. His arms were all muscle, his biceps surprisingly developed. I had no doubt he could lift and carry me somewhere, say, the bed, where I would straddle him and find exactly where that trail led. With my tongue.
“Norma?” Boyd nudged my attention back to him. Or, rather, back to what he was saying. He’d crossed to the small round table next to the window and still had his hands on the back of the chair he’d obviously pulled out for me to sit in. “Want to take a seat?”
I’d much rather bend across it like I had in the conference room, but apparently that wasn’t yet on the agenda. I pursed my lips. I was all about following agendas. I just wasn’t used to the agenda not being mine.
Boyd smiled knowingly, as though he could read my every thought. “Talking is essential before we go anywhere else. That night—the one at the office—it shouldn’t have happened.”
My eyes blazed, and I couldn’t decide if I was angry, humiliated, disappointed, or a combination of all three.
He must have understood my expression because immediately he amended his statement. “I don’t mean that it shouldn’t have happened altogether—I’d never want you to think I meant that. I meant that it shouldn’t have happened without a conversation first. If we’d talked, maybe it wouldn’t have been so long between then and now.”
Warmth rekindled in my chest, and hesitantly, I relaxed my guard.
“So come over here so we can get on to...” He paused, his eyes scanning me hungrily. “Other things.”
That was the invitation I’d needed, and without consciously deciding to move, I found my legs carrying me over to the chair. I sat, relishing the light contact of his hands brushing across my back as he removed his grip. He moved out from behind me, heading not to the seat across from me but to the room’s mini-fridge. He pulled out a bottle of white wine, uncorked it, and returned with it and two glasses.
“I don’t usually encourage alcohol for this discussion, but I think a little might be helpful this time.”
“How often have you done this? And, actually, what is this that we’re doing?”
“I’ve done this—had a conversation about the type of relationship I was interested in having with a woman—three times. This will be the fourth.” He’d poured a glass while he’d talked, and now he slid it toward me. “As for what this is—well, that’s what you and I have to decide.”
He poured a glass for himself, but I suspected he had no plans for drinking any of it. He’d never touched a drop at any of the business functions I’d attended with him over the year, even when he was most definitely not on the clock.
I, though, as he’d suggested, needed it. I quickly drank half of my glass before attempting a response. “Are you going to pull out a contract now and ask me about my hard limits?”
“I didn’t take you for the type to read romance novels,” he laughed, and I realized that he did that easily. At work, he was always serious and straight-laced. I’d never glimpsed this lighter side of him. I’d never glimpsed this take-charge side of him either. Obviously, there were a lot of layers to Boyd Barrett that I’d yet to encounter.
“I don’t read romance novels. I read one novel. The novel.” When he didn’t drop the amused expression, I added, “Everyone was reading it. I wanted to know what the fuss was.” The fuss, I’d decided—for me, anyway—had less to do with the type of sex that the characters had engaged in and more to do with the way the hero dominated his heroine in just the precise way, understanding what she needed and wanted better than she did half the time.
“And, wait a second. If you know about that, are you reading romance novels?” That should have been my first thought. Obviously, I was distracted by wine and half-naked Boyd and open discussions of sex.
“I saw the movie on a blind date.”
Was it weird that I was jealous?
My face must have betrayed my emotions because he said, “She was an awful date—spent the three hours after the movie telling me all the differences from the book. I took her home and never went out with her again, but I do like the way jealousy looks on you.”
He winked, and the way he smoldered when he did made me lose both my breath and any shame I might have had for being so transparent.
“Anyway,” he said, growing serious. “I don’t have a contract, but yes, we can discuss limits if you like. I’d actually prefer to approach that more as we go, much like a typical monogamous relationship between a man and a woman.”
“O-kay,” I said, drawing the word out. A typical monogamous relationship. It had been so long since I’d had any relationship with a man that I wasn’t sure I knew what typical was anymore.
I really did have a lot to learn.
Silence settled between us, and I wondered if there was something I should have been doing or saying that was “typical.” I took another sip of my wine, and when that didn’t inspire me, I asked, “Are you waiting for me to say more?”
He smiled mischievously. “I’m waiting for the alcohol to take effect.”
The alcohol was already taking effect. I was a lightweight when it came to drinking, and Boyd knew that. “That’s a bit sly of you, isn’t it? Should I be worrying that you’re going to take advantage of me?”
“I believe that’s exactly what you want.” He said it low and confidently, the same way he’d spoken to me that night on the rooftop, and damn if it didn’t get my hormones jumping. “But if you need reassurance, I am not going to take advantage of you. I’m not even going to touch you. Not tonight anyway.”
And now my hormones were shrieking in horror. “Then I think you’ve misinterpreted why I’m here.” Maybe this was why he thought I needed the wine—so he could let me down easy.
“If I have, I’ll be gravely disappointed.”
Attempting to read him, I caught his gaze. It was hot and heavy; it was as filled with lust as I imagined mine was. It was reassuring enough to return my hormones to a pleasant buzzing.
Or maybe I was buzzing because Boyd had stretched his hand across the table and was now stroking up and down the inside of my forearm. Both the gaze and the touching were nice, I decided.
“Let me tell you what it is that I want,” he said, his eyes tracing the pattern his fingers were making on my skin. “A monogamous relationship, as I said before, but much like you are my boss at the office, I’d like to be your boss in the bedroom. More than the bedroom, if you’re up for that, but it’s a good place to start.”
> I swallowed. “My boss? Like, you want to tell me what to do in the bedroom? Like I’m your sex slave?” Not that I was exactly opposed. I just needed clarification.
“Not a slave. Closer to a submissive, but not in all things. There are areas of your life I’d like to have authority over. Which areas are mine is what needs to be discussed. We need to draw boundaries.”
That was better, actually. I’d be kidding myself if I thought I could ever be anyone’s slave, even just in the bedroom. Submissive, though…that was maybe more in line with what I was looking for. An opportunity to stop thinking and just feel.
But if we were going to draw boundaries, I needed to have my wits about me, and that wasn’t going to happen as long as he was touching me like he was.
I pulled my arm away, brushing my hair behind my ear as an excuse. “I’m guessing you have some ideas already in mind.”
He nodded. “Obviously, the office is your court. I don’t want anything to change with our relationship there.”
“Good. That’s a hard limit.” I smiled too widely at my own joke—the wine was definitely relaxing me. “What do you want authority over? Just sex?”
“Sex, definitely.”
God, I was already squirming, and he’d only said the word. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like when we were finally doing it.
“Also your evenings in general. We’d eat dinner together. Go on dates occasionally. Sometimes we’d stay in.” His tone was such that there was no denying his innuendo.
I probably should have been alarmed about the idea of giving someone authority over such a big portion of my life, especially when I still wasn’t quite sure what all the arrangement entailed.
But I was a smart woman. I knew that if I wanted my life to be different than it had been, I had to try something new. So I dived into my area of expertise—negotiating. “My sister is off on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I spend those nights with her.”
“No Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Got it.”
“And Sunday nights I usually have a lot of prep for the work week.”
“I’ll take your Sunday days instead.”
How easy it would be to start fantasizing about Saturday nights with Boyd, followed by lazy sex-filled mornings.
Focus, Norma. Boundaries. Negotiate. “I often have business functions in the evenings.”
“I manage your schedule,” he reminded me. “I know exactly what you have and what times you’ll be available for me.”
I wondered if he saw me shiver. “So I’d spend every other evening with you?”
“Not necessarily. But you’ll be available to me then if I ask you to be. I might give you notice or I might not. I might call, and I’d expect you to answer. Whatever else you have planned, you’d drop it, even if it’s just because I said so.”
“Oh.” It surprised me how arousing the scenario sounded. So fucking arousing.
“Sometimes I’ll want you to stay the whole night.”
Did I mention that he made it all sound arousing?
Again, I had to force myself to focus. “Can I be back before six in the morning? That’s when Gwen gets home, and I’d prefer to not tell her about any of this. The less people know, the better. Because of work.”
“Back before six. I can do that. You might be tired.” His smile was devilish.
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“I’d want to choose your underwear.”
I was somewhat taken aback. “Do you not like my underwear?”
“I’m sure I like it just fine, Norma. I’ve seen very little of it to know. But I’d like you to be thinking of me every time you’re touching the most intimate parts of your body.”
This time my shiver was more of a delicious shudder. “Okay,” I said again. He was so good at rendering me speechless.
“Now, if you don’t follow these rules, Norma, there will be consequences.”
“Consequences? Like, punishments?” I’d grown up with an abusive father, so the idea of punishments made me slightly wary.
“I’m not a sadist. So my punishments aren’t any more painful than a hard spanking. Maybe a belt now and then. Or a wooden spoon. Or, if you’d prefer, punishments can be withholding pleasure.”
“I don’t mind spanking. Or a spoon. No belt though, please.” That had been my father’s favorite method of discipline.
“No belt.” Boyd’s expression said he understood, and I was sure he probably did. He knew about my father, having fielded calls regarding his present incarceration for child abuse. “You’ll tell me if there are other things that you don’t feel comfortable with, okay?”
“I promise.”
“Good.” He studied me for a moment then said, “I like bondage. And blindfolds. And toys.”
My face felt warm. Hell, my whole body felt warm. “Me too.” Then my cheeks felt even warmer because I had no idea what I was talking about. “I mean, I think I do too. I’ve never…well, I’ve tried toys, but…”
His blue eyes turned dark and inky. “What toys?”
“A vibrator on occasion. That’s all.”
“I’d like to watch that sometime.”
My breathing felt shallow and rapid, and if we kept discussing this much longer, I was sure I would jump out of my skin. Especially when he looked at me like that, all silky and seductive and simmering.
I blinked, needing a break from his intense gaze and the even more intense conversation. “Is it weird that we’re just talking about this so openly?”
He shrugged, his eyes continuing to bore into me. “I don’t think so. I think it’s hot.”
“Yeah. Hot.” So, so hot. I was pretty sure all he had to do was say orgasm and I’d do it. I was that turned on.
I reached for my glass and downed the last swallow of my wine. “Is there anything else?”
“Like I said, we can work it out as we go, just like any other sexual relationship. Right now the only real thing we need to agree on is whether or not you’ll let me own that part of you.”
Own. When he said it like that, so pointedly and plainly, it made me hesitate. Not because I didn’t want to say yes, but because I so badly wanted to say yes that I was afraid of sounding too eager.
And, also, I was a little bit scared.
But I’d been scared when I’d helped prosecute my father for beating up my little brother, Ben. I’d been scared when I’d entered a field dominated by men. I’d been scared when I’d accepted my entry-level position at Pierce Industries. Scared, in my experience, just meant it would be worth it.
Finally, I dared to answer. “Okay.” It sounded less sure than I’d have preferred, but there it was, and I meant it.
His face lit up, and my entire body lit up with it. He stretched both his hands to clasp one of mine between them, and his expression grew solemn. “This won’t be easy for you, Norma. I know that. The work situation only makes it trickier. I know your job is your priority, and it’s mine as well. You are a priority to me. I don’t just care about sex. Every aspect of your life is important to me. The relationship we have right now is important to me. I don’t want to lose any of that. I want to add to it. I want more.”
Well, those were words I’d replay a million times in my head. I was the oldest of three kids, and with my mother’s death and my father’s asshole version of parenting, I’d become the person who supported my siblings. I’d sheltered them and fed them and clothed them and consoled them. At work I’d quickly climbed the ladder to chief financial advisor where I managed and directed others. I’d never been the one being managed or cared for. I’d never been anyone’s priority.
If I were the type of person who cried, I might have gotten teary then.
But I wasn’t, even with the wine in my blood. I was moved, though. Then I realized what deep words like Boyd’s meant. “That sounds like a boyfriend.”
He tilted his head. “Is that a problem?”
Romance as well as sex? It was both appealing and terrifying. I was good at qui
ck decisions when I had to be, but this one needed time. If we added emotions to our relationship, how much harder would it be to break it off when it inevitably grew sour?
On the other hand, what if that risk was worth it too? “Maybe that’s one of those things we can work out as we go.”
“I can accept that. Just know that I’m going to romance the pants off of you.” He grinned, and had I been wearing panties, I was pretty sure they would have melted.
With a laugh, I said, “You obviously don’t need romance to get my pants off.”
“You just don’t realize how much romancing I did to get you here.”
It was my turn to tilt my head and study him. “You’re a totally different person from the one I know at the office. It’s like, you wear your glasses and you’re one guy. Take them off and you turn into this.”
“I assure you they’re both the same person. The guy who puts the contracts on your desk and screens your phone calls thinks about you naked as intensely as I’m thinking about it right now.”
His brazen declaration was such a turn-on. It made me feel unusually coy, which I hoped read as flirty rather than bashful. “You think about me naked?”
Again, that grin. “Don’t you think about me naked?”
All the time. But all I could manage was a nod.
Silence fell, and this time it wasn’t an awkward space waiting to be filled with words. Instead, it begged for action. In each aching second that passed, the tension stretched between us and the electric charge in the air grew hotter. I twisted my hand in Boyd’s so I could lace my fingers through his and wondered if other parts of our bodies would fit so perfectly together. So snugly.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take the yearning a moment longer, Boyd withdrew his hand from mine. “It’s time you go back to your room.”
Oh, yeah. He’d said something about not touching me tonight. I’d hoped that was simply a statement to put me at ease. My voice felt husky as I said, “I could stay.”
He stood and came to me, extending his hand to help me up. “No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
Falling Under You Page 4
