"Christ, babe," he said a second later, sounding winded, still inside me. His hand loosened a bit in my hair, but pulled enough for me to realize he wanted me to move up. I did, my legs a little shaky in the aftermath of more phenomenal orgasms from him. "Come here," he coaxed when I stopped with my palms on the mattress. His hand released my hair and folded across my belly, pulling me up until my back was against his chest. His heart was slamming as hard as mine, his breath erratic, but he closed his arms around me and squeezed. "That was the first time, right?" he asked close to my ear.
"Yeah."
"Gave that to me."
"Yeah," I agreed, realizing that was true. It was another thing to add to the list of reasons I could never forget him. Damn it.
"Made it good."
I felt my smile spread. "Yes," I said, turning my head on his shoulder and planting a kiss on his jaw.
"Wasn't my first," he told me unnecessarily. "But it might have been the best," he informed me, his hips dropping slowly so he slid out of me. "Relax," he murmured when I could feel myself tense up at the weird feeling.
With that, he slipped out of me and I quickly reached down to snag my panties from around my knees and dragged them back into place. Byron was in my bathroom, door mostly closed, and I could hear the water running. Even after it shut off, he didn't come out for a long minute, giving me just enough time to feel the satisfied post-orgasm feeling slip away and get replaced with anxiety.
"Alright," he said, coming back out, fully naked still, hair still mussed. "I have to go take a shower. As much as I'd like if you joined me, I'd have to fuck you again. And showers and condoms just aren't a great combination. I'll see you downstairs." With that, he snagged his pants off the floor and exited my room, still nude, to go shower in his own.
I stood up, stretching the tension out of my muscles, ignoring the slight tenderness brought on by the rough sex, and forced myself to shower as well, trying my best to ignore the heady cocktail of emotions inside. He'd respected my right to keep my feelings to myself. Then, without reservation, he had moved in behind me and made love to me. There was really no other turn of phrase that worked. It wasn't sex and it wasn't fucking. It was slow, sweet, giving. It was lovemaking plain and simple. Then, having given that to me, he took my first time having anal sex. And he seemed to be pleased with that fact.
But then, apparently, it was back to business as usual.
No matter how much I tried to pep-talk myself the night before, it stung. I had a feeling it would sting every single time he barked an order at me without looking at me or ignored me or showed up late. But that had nothing to do with him. Technically, he wasn't doing anything wrong. What was wrong was my belief that sex changed things. More often than not, sex changed things for women. And maybe that sounded very regressive of me, but I had never found an instance when it wasn't true in my life. However, just the opposite seemed to be true of men. I didn't know if I ever met one who couldn't compartmentalize sex. Sex was sex. That was it. It didn't mean anything else. So Byron acting like it meant nothing, that it changed nothing, was not in the wrong.
I was wrong for having feelings.
I knew the kind of man he was.
See the problem was, he opened me up.
Every woman is a hallway full of locked doors under different names: past, future, hopes, fears, lust, love. Some men come with keys. Some men come with lock picks. Byron St. James came with a chainsaw.
I didn't get a chance to decide to let him in or not.
He was just in.
And there was no getting him out. Certainly not while I was still living under his roof.
So, for the time being, I just had to keep in mind that while I was his whether he knew it or not, he was not mine. Not when he came looking for me with that sexy smirk and dirty plans. Not when he was soft and sweet with me. Not when he peeled back another layer. Not even when my perfume was all over him.
He wasn't mine.
He was simply my boss.
And sometimes, we had amazing sex.
Case closed.
FIFTEEN
Prue
So, yeah, maybe the case was closed on the whole 'he didn't have feelings for me' thing, but that didn't stop me from thinking and wondering and hoping over the next three weeks.
On the third day after I convinced myself to wear my big-girl panties about the whole situation, I was sent with Matt on errands again. A part of me was wondering if it was some sort of test, but discarded the idea when I found out he was buying the supplies for some party he was having. That meant he needed enough food to feed a small army and I felt a little sorry for Ella until Matt heard that and gave me a lopsided smile and informed me that I would be handling desserts. It was a feat that didn't sound all that awful at first. In fact, I was excited. Until we got to the bakery aisle. It was then that Matt told me that I needed to offer a selection of at least five different desserts for twenty people.
Given that my biggest baking extravaganza had been to bake for the employees of the bank for an annual Christmas party, and the bank only employed ten people, and I just made cookies and fruit cake, not some fancy stuff meant for Byron's socialite friends, I was understandably completely freaked the hell out.
I was freaked out enough to actually tell Byron how freaked out I was and suggest that maybe he should run things like that past me because I really didn't have that much baking experience and his associates and friends were likely used to really fancy baked goods.
"Babe..." he cut me off mid-rant, sitting at his desk with his feet up on the corner, his cell perched between his hands because he had been firing off a text or email when I barged in straight from the grocery store. "Fuck off with that insecure bullshit."
"That... insecure bullshit?" I repeated, shaking my head. "Byron, it's five different desserts for twenty people!"
"And? You'll have all day to pull it off. Longer if you bake the night before."
"I don't bake fancy desserts."
"I didn't ask you to."
"Yeah, but they will be expecting fancy desserts."
"Do I seem like I give a fuck what they expect? It's my party. I'll serve whatever the hell I see fit to serve. Or, in this case, whatever you see fit to serve."
"Byron, I really think you should hire a profes..."
"Prue, get your ass over here," he commanded, putting his cell down and dropping his feet off his desk as he pushed his chair back a foot. "Here," he said when I moved to stand beside the desk.
I looked back over my shoulder at the door, knowing Matt was still bringing bags in from his car.
"Byron, people are..."
"I don't give a fuck who sees. Get over here," he said, sounding like I was trying his patience. I moved behind the desk and he reached up for my hips, pushing them until I sat at the edge of his desk in front of him. His hands rested on my thighs and squeezed. "Babe, you make fucking Pop-Tarts taste gourmet. Those brownies you made for the guys at the gates? I'm pretty sure they cried while eating them. Stop fucking doubting yourself and put that energy into something productive. Like figuring out your menu because I want you to pass it by me." With that, he patted my thigh in a very 'we're done here' way and reached for his phone again.
And, well, that was what I came to expect from him.
When he gave you his attention, he gave it to you, and it felt like the most wonderful gift in the world. But when he took it away, it was always a blow.
But, big-girl panties in place, I stood, walked out of the room and went right to the spare laptop he tossed at me the day before with a nonchalant "In case you need this for shit" and I started looking up recipes. Five menus later, Byron and I both taking turns nixing certain foods, I had my desserts and I had my date for the party. Three days from then.
That night, after a long trip to Mandy's, he came home in a mood, stalking down the hall toward me. Once inside my bedroom, he reached for his belt and pulled it off. Then,
as he watched me sit up in bed, brows creased as I tried to figure out what was going on, he looped the belt and walked toward me. "Stand," he demanded. And, well, with eyes as intense as his, I was helpless but to follow orders. "Take your clothes off." I took a deep breath and quickly slipped out of my tee and shorts, then dropped my panties to my feet. "Turn. On your knees." At that point, I was pretty freaking sure I was about to get beat with a belt. And I was equally turned-on and troubled with the idea. But I turned and slowly lowered to my knees beside my bed. He leaned down, pushing my upper body against the mattress. "Clasp your hands together at your lower back." I sighed as I moved to do so, both in relief and disappointment. The leather of his belt slid around my wrists and was pulled impossibly tight. I heard him step back a few feet to admire the view and felt myself getting red at the idea. "Spread your legs wide for me."
It was the 'for me' that did it. I slid my legs wider, closing my eyes tight against the embarrassment of knowing he could see every inch of me. And could also see how slick I was for him already, despite him not even touching me aside from binding my wrists.
"Drenched already," he pointed out, as I knew he would. "You want me to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, don't you?" he asked, making me press my lips together to keep in the weird little squeaky sound I made at his bluntness.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?" he asked, voice low, and I heard clothes start to fall.
Yes, what?
I guessed there was really only one response to that when you had an alpha guy behind you who bound your wrists and bossed you around. "Yes, sir," I purred.
"Good girl," he murmured, moving in behind me, his hands sliding over my ass. "Let's get this shit out of the way first. The condom thing... it's getting old. You on the Pill?"
"Yes," I said, jumping when he smacked my ass hard at my response.
"I'm clean. Got the papers in my room if you need the proof. I'm assuming you're clean."
"Got tested at my check-up."
"Which was?"
"Four months ago."
"You fuck anyone since then?"
God, I didn't think I would ever get used to how blunt he was, how open, how carelessly casual about important and delicate conversations. "No."
"So we're good."
"We're good," I agreed.
"Good, because I want to fill this sweet little cunt up with my come," he said, emphasizing his point by thrusting a finger inside me. "You want that too, don't you?"
God yes.
I wanted him any way, every way, but especially, I wanted to feel him with nothing between us.
"Yes," I answered as his finger started thrusting into me.
"Good," he said, pulling his finger out and, before I could even mourn the loss, thrusting his cock fully inside me, making a loud moan escape me as I pressed back into him, taking him as deep as my body would allow. "Listen... listen," he repeated when I started thrusting against him shamelessly, whimpering at the tension coiled inside, needing it to snap. "You do not come without permission. Do you understand me?"
My hips stopped moving. "Byron..."
"Do you understand me, Prue?"
I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
"Good girl," he said, grabbing the belt and holding onto it as he fucked me. There was nothing sweet or slow or explorative. He fucked me, plain and simple. His thrusts were hard, shoving me up against the mattress at each pass, filling me completely, then almost completely withdrawing before slamming forward again. I felt my walls get tighter with each invasion, groaning, moaning, begging with my need to come. "No," he told me for the third time. But then he slammed deep and I felt his hot orgasm fill me as he cursed. It shocked me enough to make me completely straighten, my entire body tense.
He came.
He came and he didn't let me come.
Behind me, I felt his chest shake like he was silently chuckling as he simultaneously unbound my wrists and slowly slid out of me. He moved back and I knew he was looking at the come I felt trickling down my thigh and I was simply too stunned to care. "Fuck yeah, babe. That's what I wanted," he informed me and I literally had to bite my lip to keep from snapping and saying that I certainly hadn't gotten what I wanted. "Go clean up and come back here," he told me and I stiffly got to my feet, annoyed at more directions, but the urge to get cleaned up was stronger than my urge to leash into him.
So I went to the bathroom and I took a good long time in there cleaning up then watching my reflection and trying to convince myself to walk out there and tell him how messed up it was to purposely fuck me without letting me come. That was all kinds of messed up.
Byron might have been a lot of things, but I would never have ever thought I would call him a selfish lover. He always gave twice as good as he got.
I walked back out of the bathroom in the white bathrobe the bathroom had come equipped with when I moved in, my shoulders stiff, my lips in a firm line.
Byron was on top of my bed, head cocked to the side, watching me. A slow, boyish smile spread over his face. "You're pissed at me, aren't you?"
"That was really..." I started as I walked closer.
But then he snagged my wrist and pulled, sending me flying onto the bed then pushing me onto my back and half covering my body with his before I could even think to move for myself. "Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice soft. "Do you really think I would not let you come?" He asked as he watched my face, his hand moving down the V the robe left down my chest, grabbing the knot, and undoing it so his hand could continue its exploration downward.
"You didn't," I reminded him.
"Not yet, no," he said, his fingers whispering over the triangle above my sex. "But, babe, I was in a mood."
"I noticed," I said, because, well, I had.
"And I needed to get that energy out."
"I was literally just seconds away..."
"I want to take my time," he said, his fingers pressing between my thighs and running up my cleft. "I want to get my tongue in here. I want to taste you on my tongue again. I want to make you come until you feel like you can't come anymore. So if you're over your snit, I'd like to get to that."
"I was not in a snit," I objected.
"Fuck off," he smiled, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on my lips. "You still are. But I think I know the cure for that..."
"Orgasms don't fix everything," I objected as his weight shifted and his mouth pressed kisses down my neck, then over each breast, then into the delicate undersides of them, before moving a trail down the center of my stomach.
"Want to bet?" he asked, looking up at me from the juncture of my thighs.
I knew better.
Because if there was one thing I knew about gambling, it was the house always wins. Eventually.
This was no exception.
Afterward, he'd held me for a long while before slipping into his clothes and going out my door, leaving me alone to feel the piercing in my chest that I had already started getting used to. It didn't make it hurt any less. But it wasn't a surprise either. It was expected.
But then a few minutes later, he came strolling back in with a big white box and a charming smile on his face.
"More lingerie?" I asked, giving him a smile back.
"Open it," he said, putting it down on the bed and keeping his feet.
On a shrug, I sat up and reached for it, pulling off the top and moving the decorative paper aside to reveal a gorgeous bodycon midnight blue dress nestled there with a pair of nude heels. "My new work uniform?" I asked, looking up, trying to ignore the swirly feeling of happiness in my belly.
"Of sorts," he said, gesturing toward it. "You're coming to the party. Not just as a baker, but a guest. You need to look the part."
"I'm coming to the party?" I repeated, not quite comprehending that. I was pretty sure Ella and Matt and the others weren't invited to the party.
"Don't over-think it," he said, but it was already too late for that.
"Just show up in the dress. Got it?"
"Got it," I agreed, watching him turn and leave but, that time, not so upset about it.
--
The day of the party was a blur of activity. Ella and I shuffled around the kitchen in synchronized harmony, knowing each others moves, anticipating when we were in the way. There were hired caterers dressed all in black shuffling in and out, seriously messing with our flow, but necessary evils.
About fifteen minutes before the party was due to start, I put the last of the desserts on trays then hightailed it up the stairs, nearly knocking into three people on the way. Fifteen minutes was, as all women knew, not nearly long enough to get themselves all dolled up for a somewhat formal event.
Thankfully, when I let my hair down from my top-knot, it was a wavy kind of alluring, not a kinky mess. All I had to do was apply some mascara , brush my teeth, shave my legs, and throw on my clothes.
The dress was more provocative than I would have chosen, short of hem and somewhat low of bodice, but not obscenely so, and absolutely skin tight. But the color was an alluring midnight kind of blue that made my blue eyes and light skin pop. The heels were too high, but reasonably comfortable. I made my way down the stairs fifteen minutes after the fifteen minutes I allotted myself. But I was under no obligation to show up at a certain time and I always hated being the first person at any event.
So when I walked down the stairs to hear quiet music, the bustle of the servers, and the smattering of men and women in dresses and suits, I felt both a rush of relief and a heady dose of anxiety. What, exactly, was I supposed to do? I didn't know any of the people there and, even if I did, I was never a social butterfly. I always sucked at small talk. And what if I made a foo...
"Babe, relax," Byron's voice met my ear as I stepped off the bottom stair, his hand at my lower back, the other offering me a glass of white wine.
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