by Gem Frost
Reluctantly, I had to admit he had a point. “But if someone happens to spot this car—”
“Turn your lights off. In the dark, it’s just another sports car.”
I turned the car’s ignition off, and then flicked the headlights off as well. Sure enough, it was pitch dark. There were light poles standing silent sentry all around us, but no one was bothering to pay for electricity to light them anymore. The shadowy hulk of the store, barely visible in the darkness, had clearly been abandoned a long time ago.
“Nash,” I said, trying and failing to ignore the way my heart was pounding in my chest. “What are we doing here, exactly?”
“I told you.” My eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness, but I heard the soft click of a seatbelt being unfastened, and the rhythm of my heart increased, until it was thundering almost violently against my ribs. “You really ought to know what it’s like to kiss a guy.”
“So you feel sorry for me.” My voice grated more harshly than I intended. I wanted to run, to fling open the door and bolt out into the darkness, but instead I unfastened my seatbelt, too.
“Not sorry for you, no.” His voice sounded nearer, and his hand found my forearm. Even through the fabric of my suit I could feel his palm burning my flesh. His light tenor voice was warm with sympathy and sincerity. “Just sorry that you haven’t had the chance to try this, before now.”
“I’ve had plenty of chances,” I said hoarsely. “I just never chose to take them.”
He was even closer now, so near that I could feel his hot breath brushing over my ear.
“Well, choose to take this one.”
The knowledge that he was close, so close, stole away what remained of my resistance. I’d been slowly losing my iron grip on self-control all evening, ever since the two of us had been trapped together in a small space, and all at once it just evaporated into nothingness, leaving me pantingly eager for the feel of him, the taste of him. And the scent of him. He smelled like citrus, an orange-grove fragrance that went perfectly with his hair, and beneath it, the scent of clean masculine skin. It made me dizzy with longing and need.
I turned my head, and for an instant we fumbled awkwardly, trying to find each others’ mouths. Then his hands were in my hair, directing me, guiding me.
Our lips met.
I hadn’t kissed anyone in long years, and maybe that’s why the light brush of his lips hit me so hard. Or maybe he was just a hell of a kisser. Anyway, it was gentle enough, almost tentative, and it should have felt sweet and tender, but somehow the soft contact sent sparks flaring down my spine, right to my cock.
And instantly, I had a hard-on. A big one.
I clutched at him in the darkness, trying to hold onto him so he couldn’t get away. Not that he was trying to, really. His mouth kept moving on mine, soft and gentle, so intense that I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. My whole world shrank down to this—a stolen moment in the dark, Nash’s lips against mine.
I wanted more, and as if he could read my mind, the very instant I had the thought his tongue slipped along my lips, asking me to part them. I did, and his tongue delved inside my mouth, exploring, caressing, tasting. When his tongue found mine I swear I could feel fireworks going off inside me, filling me with brightly hued sparks. I moaned into his mouth, wanting to pull him into my lap, to feel his body against mine.
But… well, a Ferrari, with its bucket seats and center console, really isn’t the place for full body contact. The part of my mind that was still sane recognized that I was in for a disappointment.
Even so, the truth was that kissing him wasn’t disappointing, not in the least. I felt like I could have happily kissed him for hours. It was wet and hot and everything I’d dreamed of during the long, lonely years I’d been celibate. Nash might be young, but his mouth moved on mine with a dazzling and breath-taking expertise.
I, on the other hand, was clumsy, awkward, out of practice. But kissing is a lot like riding a bicycle—even after a long time away from it, one picks the skill up again rapidly. It only took a few moments before I had him moaning, too.
And then one of his hands drifted away from my hair, finding a landing place on my thigh.
I jerked, startled. His hand began sliding up and down in a soothing motion, as if trying to calm me. I could have grabbed his hand, forced him to stop, but I was strangely mesmerized, the thrilling awareness of his touch holding me in thrall. Because not only was Nash kissing me, but his hand was only an inch or two away from my cock.
My hard-on ached. I ached, with a desperate longing to be touched.
His hand slipped higher, his fingers trailing over my sensitive inner thigh, and I shivered all over. With the heater off, it was cold, but that wasn’t the reason why I was trembling. Nash’s touch was magic, light and delicate, and not at all intrusive. The gentle caress ripped away my carefully constructed defenses, the wall I’d built around myself over the long course of years, and left me wanting more. So much more.
His tongue was in my mouth and his hand was inches from my cock, and I should have been appalled at myself and my own lack of control. And yet instead I felt myself melting. Submitting. I was completely at his mercy. I was his, all his…
All at once I heard my father’s voice in my head.
Never get involved with your employees, Alex. It only leads to complications, and to pain.
A sudden spike of fear went through me, and I jerked backward, away from him. His eyelashes fluttered open, and he looked at me through passion-hazed eyes. In the darkness, his amber eyes appeared almost black. His hand stilled on my thigh.
“Time to take me home, Alex?”
He didn’t seem angry or resentful about it. Not even resigned. He seemed just as cheerful as ever. I nodded.
“Okay, that’s fine.” His words were soft and understanding. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Not ever.”
The sincerity and kindness in his voice hit me even harder than his kisses had. No one had been kind to me in years. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and yank him against me again, but instead I pulled further away, and spoke in a low tone.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Okay.” He buckled his seatbelt again, shifting in his seat as if he were having trouble getting comfortable despite the soft leather seats, and I realized that he had a hard-on, just as I did. He had been willing enough to stop, but I suspected he would have been quite happy to go on, too.
But I didn’t dare go further. I just didn’t dare.
I fastened my seatbelt, then turned on the Portofino and noticed that we had in fact fogged up the windows. I flipped on the defroster, and the chilled air inside the car started to warm up almost immediately.
And yet, as I eased the car carefully over the bumpy asphalt and headed for the interstate, I noticed that without his touch… my thigh felt cold.
Chapter Five
Nash
My phone buzzed, and I blinked sleepily into darkness and groped for it on my nightstand. The screen informed me that it was 2:45, and I groaned.
What the fuck, Nash, did you set the alarm for the wrong time again?
But as the sleep cobwebs began to clear from my brain, I realized it wasn’t the alarm—it was someone calling me. I didn’t recognize the number, but I didn’t get a lot of telemarketers, so I picked it up and responded blurrily.
“’Lo?”
“Nash.”
His voice was low and husky, almost a whisper, but I would have recognized it anywhere. Even though it was an ungodly hour of the morning, a jolt of adrenaline shot through me, and I found myself instantly awake.
“Mr. Snow.”
“Alex,” he reminded me.
All at once I remembered how we’d made out in his Ferrari earlier in the evening, and a wave of heat washed over my stupid pale redhead skin. I was grateful he wasn’t there to see me blush.
“Yes, Alex. What’s wrong?”
I frowned at the silence that followed, and won
dered how the hell he’d gotten my number. Well, he was the CEO of the company, after all. He probably had information on every employee at his fingertips. The fact that he’d apparently looked my number up ought to be a little creepy, and yet the fact that he wanted to talk to me again—well, it made my chest warm from the inside again.
Unless he was calling to fire me. Which would be a bummer.
“Nothing’s wrong.” His voice was still low, but it grew a little more intense. “I just wanted to tell you… I’m sorry I pulled away.”
“Oh.” My face flooded with heat. “That’s okay, Alex. I didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t comfortable with. I just thought you ought to, you know, have the experience.”
“I liked it.”
Jesus. If my skin got any hotter I was going to set the sheets on fire.
“Yeah,” I answered, just as softly. “Me too.”
“Yes, but you’ve done it before. With men, I mean. For me it was a unique experience. And it was… extraordinary.”
He sounded almost, well, reverent, and I flopped back on my mattress and stared at the ceiling. There was a streetlight right outside my apartment, and it shone through the crappy blinds that refused to shut completely, casting bands of yellow light on the ceiling. I stared at the light, and remembered.
I thought about the way his thigh had felt beneath my hand—so powerful, so solid, so heavily muscled. I wished I’d had a chance to feel the heat of it against my palm, without any fabric in the way.
“It was extraordinary,” I agreed.
“You’ve never made out in a Ferrari before, I suppose.” There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.
“Fuck you, Alex,” I said amiably, before remembering he was my boss and that I really shouldn’t talk to him that way. Oh, well… in for a penny, in for a pound, as my mom always said. “I wasn’t talking about the Ferrari, you idiot. I was talking about you.”
“Me?” The edge faded, and he sounded almost… hesitant. I was pretty sure he didn’t sound that way often.
“Yeah, you. You’re hot as hell, you know.”
“Me?” he repeated.
He sounded like he didn’t believe it, and I frowned into the darkness. Did he really not know how attractive he was? Sure, maybe he hadn’t dated seriously since his divorce, and yeah, he obviously had been avoiding any sort of intimacy with men, but still, he had to have women dripping off him, not to mention photographers pursuing him all the time. How could he not know he was beautiful?
“Totally,” I answered. “You’re gorgeous, and you look like you live in the gym. You lift weights, right? Yeah, you have to. There’s no way you’d be that big otherwise.”
“I exercise because it’s good for me.” He sounded almost prim, like the thought of deliberately sculpting his muscles struck him as frivolous, and I couldn’t help chuckling.
“Yeah, well, what’s good for you is also good for me, trust me. You’re really something to look at. And to touch.”
“Oh.” His voice dropped even lower. “I thought perhaps you were mostly interested in the Ferrari.”
“Dude, are you fucking kidding me? You thought I made out with you because you have a hot car?”
“You did seem very impressed by it.”
I sighed. For a billionaire, this guy had some serious self-esteem issues. But then again, maybe it was difficult for a billionaire to know who wanted him for himself, and who wanted him as a sugar daddy. And in fact I couldn’t guarantee that my motives were one hundred percent pure. I mean, there was no denying the guy was my boss, and held my career in the palm of his hand. Had I made out with him solely because I’d wanted to, or because I thought I had something to gain?
If I didn’t know the answer to that question, how could Alex?
I blew out a long breath, and spoke as honestly as I could.
“Your car is hot, Alex. But you’re hotter.”
There was a long silence. At last his husky baritone spoke in my ear.
“I really wish we hadn’t stopped.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I chuckled. “Is that why you called me? You feeling… restless, Alex?”
“Mmmmmm.” The humming sound sent shivers down my spine. “I suppose I am, yes.”
“Well, let me help you relax. What are you wearing?”
“Silk pajamas.”
“Huh. I thought maybe you wore three-piece suits to bed.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “Too hot.”
“Well, if you ask me silk pajamas are too hot, too. I don’t wear anything to bed.”
A brief pause, during which I could hear him breathing, hard and fast. “You’re naked?”
“It’s the best way to sleep.” I paused. “You should try it.”
“I can’t—I shouldn’t—”
“Sure you should. I’ve read it’s healthier.” I let my voice drop to a low purr. “And it’s definitely more comfortable. Take your pajamas off, Alex.”
Another long pause, then a soft rustling sound. I imagined him stripping off his silk pajamas, slowly and methodically, and my heart pounded in my chest. The thought of a naked Alexander Rutherford Snow III was more than my internal processors could handle without overheating.
The rustling stopped, and his voice rumbled in my ear.
“I took it all off. Even my boxers.”
I felt heat flood me again. Being a redhead sucks, because I blush pretty much at the drop of a hat.
And tonight, Alex was giving me a lot to blush about.
I closed my eyes, imagining his perfect body sprawled out on an enormous bed. The sheets would be dark—navy blue, maybe; he seemed fond of that color, if his suits were anything to go by—and his skin would be winter-pale (though still darker than mine by quite a lot) against it. I imagined his silvering brown hair falling into his eyes, instead of neatly brushed back as it always was at the office. The thought of seeing him disheveled, when he was normally so carefully, perfectly groomed, made my dick so hard it ached.
I could hear him breathing harshly in my ear, and I knew he was waiting for me to say something. I opened my mouth and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Are you hard, Alex?”
I heard his quick intake of breath, almost a moan.
“I’m hard as hell,” he whispered.
“Me too.” And it was true—my cock was lying against my stomach, swollen and heavy. It was already twitching and dripping precome, to the point that there was practically a puddle on my lower abdomen. I suspected just the sound of his voice in my ear would probably be enough to make me come.
“So touch yourself,” I said softly.
He groaned. “I can’t… I don’t… Nash, I just called to talk to you…”
It was more than obvious that he was lying to himself. Which wasn’t surprising, considering he’d evidently spent four years trying his level best to avoid confronting his sexuality. I didn’t know for sure, but I guessed that getting horny for guys might be all mixed up in his head with the end of his marriage, that lust was all tangled up with guilt and shame inside him. That’d be enough to make anyone uncomfortable with it.
But he was horny for guys, or at least for me. That was obvious. And it was stupid to pretend otherwise.
“Wrap your hand around yourself,” I told him, trying to sound firm and commanding. It wasn’t easy. To be honest, I’m not really the dom sort. But I tried consciously to emulate his voice when he’d said, Get it together and work faster, or I’m going to fire you.
It must have worked, because I heard a gasp of relief, and I knew he’d done what I’d told him to do.
“Don’t move your hand,” I told him. “Just hold yourself loosely for a couple of minutes. You said you’re hard. Are you hard for me, Alex?”
He whimpered, actually whimpered, and my own cock pulsed with a sudden acute hunger. I’d never heard anything as hot as this strong, powerful CEO whining with need. It gave me a confidence I’d never know
n I possessed.
“I bet the head of it’s wet already,” I said softly. “Dripping with precome. Am I right?”
“Unnnnhhhh.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. “What was that, Alex?”
“I just—I just—oh, God. I’m so hard.”
He sounded outright bewildered, like he hadn’t expected this call to wind up with him all hot and bothered. But there was really no other reason for him to have called me, was there? He was clearly good at lying to himself.
“Don’t worry.” I spoke more softly than before. “I’m gonna take care of you, Alex.”
His voice sounded strained. “I need it now.”
“And you’re going to get it. But slowly. Listen to me carefully. I want you to take your thumb and run it over the head now. Get it nice and wet.”
There was a brief silence, and then a low, resonant groan, right in my ear.
“Does that feel good?”
“Oh, God, Nash, God—”
“Slow down,” I snapped, as firmly as I was able. “We’re not going to rush through this, Alex. Take it nice and slow.”
“I have to come.” He sounded more strained than before, and I imagined him stretched out on his bed, stark naked, his head arched back, his eyes clamped shut, his mouth open as he panted harshly for breath. The muscles in his forearm bulging with the effort of holding himself still. His cock jerking in his hand, and weeping precome.
Christ.
I spoke sternly. “You’ll come when I tell you to come, and not before. Understand me?”
On some level I was aware that I was much smaller than him, enormously less powerful both physically and professionally. I felt a bit like a Jack Russell terrier snarling at an enormous Rottweiler. But he seemed willing to accept my commands, at least in this particular situation.
“Okay.” The word was nothing more than a gasp. “Okay. But please… please…”
“Keep stroking yourself with your thumb, Alex. Don’t move your hand otherwise. Not at all.”
He whined softly. I imagined his thumb slipping back and forth over the fat head, and wondered what his cock looked like, all swollen and flushed with blood and slick with precome. How long was it? He was a pretty big guy, so I imagined it must be eight inches or thereabouts. And thick. The thought of touching it, wrapping my hand around the girth of it, feeling the weight of it in my hand, stole my breath away. The thought of maybe pressing a kiss to the tip of it made me groan out loud.
