Honestly, it was a great thing that I could have dinner with my parents every day. At least I didn't have to worry about eating proper every night unlike other young working professionals.
As I helped my mother set the table, I couldn't help but wonder what Nobuki was having for dinner.
Which was a totally legit thing to worry about, right? I was worrying as his secretary who was looking out for her boss's well-being, right?
With that somewhat encouraging thought, I sat down, said grace with my family and dug in, my appetite having returned after smelling the delicious brothy-smell permeating through the small two-bedroom flat.
My phone vibrated in my pocket halfway through the otherwise quiet meal, and I felt Dad's eyes on me as it vibrated again.
My father had a policy of dining quietly, having instilled in us that eating was a time for feeling grateful for the sustenance we were about to consume. Growing up, he had not allowed anything other than eating and quiet conversation, but nothing like cell phones, newspapers, or in my case, books.
I tried to ignore my phone, but it wouldn't stop vibrating until the message was seen.
Dad cleared his throat. "Well, you might as well check it. Otherwise, it won't stop, will it?"
I put down my spoon, shooting him an apologetic look. "Sorry. It's probably something to do with work."
Most likely it was Ayaka taunting me with a picture of grilled meat.
But the message was not from her.
I thought my food was going to come right back up again as I read the one-line text.
Come over tonight.
I blew out a breath, trying to keep the strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation from showing on my face as I put my phone away. "It's work. I have to go back to the office after dinner."
At least Nobuki hadn't insisted I show up right away. That would've been difficult to explain to my parents who would've asked if the office was on fire.
As it was, my mother stopped chewing as she looked at me. "So late? Is it even open right now?"
I nodded, keeping my gaze down so she couldn't see the lie in my eyes. "Security's always there. We've got a big project due, so my boss just wants to be sure we can make it in time."
Dad snorted as he put down his empty rice bowl on the wooden table. "After working so hard, you think he'd cut you some slack. Can't you say you'll come in early tomorrow morning? You look terrible. Have you been getting enough sleep lately?"
The idea of me telling Nobuki I couldn't see him tonight was, quite frankly, terrifying, and I shook my head so fast I thought it would swivel right off. "No, he's strict. If I want to keep my job, I should do this. Besides," I said, trying my best to smile encouragingly. "I'm way better off than most other people in the company. Some departments work over time practically every day."
My mother sent a sideways glance at Dad while she collected his empty dishes. "Well, those people probably get paid more than you."
This time the smile was a little easier, a little realer. "Well, I did just get that promotion, so I'm sure this month's paycheck will be nice. I should take you and Dad out to a nice restaurant."
My dad scoffed. "Why bother? Your mother could cook better than any of those famous restaurants."
"Oh, you," she said, swatting my dad on the arm playfully. "I did want to go to that fusion restaurant we saw on TV the other night. Remember? The French-Indian one."
"It's a date," I said and pushed away from the table. "Thanks for the meal, Mom, Dad. I've got to go."
"Oh, wait, dear," my mother said, handing over my lunch. "Make sure you eat it all."
Like that was ever an issue.
I kissed her on the cheek, hugged Dad around the neck and ran up the five flights of stairs, barely winded from the excitement that turned my muscles liquidy.
He asked for me tonight.
That was good, right?
But still a small voice whispered at me, taunted me as I stowed my lunch in the refrigerator and walked to the bathroom to do something about my scrubbed face.
Have you no pride?
Are you a dog?
To call when he whistles?
I bit my lip and stared at my pale reflection in the mirror.
Well, what was it?
Was I his bitch, to come as he bid?
"No," I muttered as I squeezed a small amount of BB cream onto a makeup sponge and applied it lightly on my face. "I'm not his dog. Besides, I'm getting something out of this."
The chances of me finding the kind of passion I had with Nobuki with anyone else seemed pretty remote.
Even with Julian…
My thighs tensed as memories of his hands on my body assailed my senses.
I shook my head to clear my mind and applied a thin layer of lip balm to my lips before throwing on a black cardigan over my red shirt and jeans and grabbed my handbag before I headed out the door.
Now that I was somewhat familiar where Nobuki's apartment was, I felt confident about busing it. Taxis were expensive in Tokyo, and even if I was getting paid more as an executive assistant as opposed to a lowly junior secretary, I wasn't willing to blow a couple thousand yen on taxi fare when a bus would do just as well.
Sure, it took longer, but he didn't give me a time limit, so he couldn't blame me if I showed up a little later than he thought.
Right?
I arrived an hour after he sent me the message, a little past eight and let myself in with the key, trying to shake away the feeling that this wasn't supposed to happen, that there was no way someone like me could be having a relationship with someone like Nobuki.
The entryway and the living room were dark, with a faint light in the direction of the kitchen as I closed and locked the door securely behind me.
But I saw a faint stream of light underneath the closed bedroom door and tested the knob.
It turned easily under my hand and I peeked in. "Hello?"
Nobuki sat up in bed, his torso naked, reading a manuscript. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses perched on his narrow nose, and my belly quivered at his severe gaze.
I felt like such an imposter. How could quiet, docile Rika be with an ice prince like Nobuki Miyano?
"I'm sorry," I stammered as I slipped into the room, feeling even more awkward than ever before, even though this was not our first sexual encounter. "I took the bus this time."
His brows furrowed. "What's wrong with a taxi?"
I laughed nervously, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear as it kept falling into my eyes. "I'm trying to save money. You didn't give me a time frame to get here by, so I thought I'd save some money by busing it. Actually, it was convenient since you've got that bus stop up the street. It didn't take as long as I thought it would. In fact, if there wasn't traffic, the bus would be faster."
I was babbling, but there was nothing I could do. Nervousness was making my mouth run.
It was either talk or just keep laughing like a twit, and I did not want to come off as an idiot.
Although, it might've been too late for that.
"Also, taking the bus is better for the environment too, so I'll start—"
"Rika?"
I stopped, my fingers twisting into knots. "Hmm?"
"You're talking too much."
"Oh. Um. Okay. Sorry."
I bit my lip, waiting for him to say something else, but when he continued to watch me, his sharp, elegant features cast in shadows, I opened my mouth because the silence was making me sweat.
"I—"
"Take off your clothes."
I reddened, face flushing. "What, here?"
A corner of his lips twisted up. "If you want, you can do it outside. Although, I do have people who live right across the way and they'd see it." He tilted his chin to one side, that devilish smile spreading on his beautifully sculpted lips. "Although, seeing as how it's a single fifty-year-old with a penchant for looking into other people's homes with binoculars, I imagine he'd be into that."
"What?" I co
uldn't decide if he was lying, but that wasn't the issue at hand, was it? "No, no, I'll…I'll do it here."
With shaking hands, whether it was from fear or anticipation of what was to come, I shrugged the cardigan off before putting my hands on the hem of my shirt and drew it over my head, letting it drop on top of the discarded cardigan.
"No old sports bra for you tonight?"
I caught the teasing tone in his voice and my hands clenched into fists at my sides as I tried to keep covering myself out of instinct. "I thought you would appreciate it."
It was a pale pink rose-colored bra with lace and stuffed cups that gave me something vaguely resembling cleavage. Now if I could just keep it on…
"Not bad. Take it off."
Guess not.
Next came my pants, socks and my matching panties.
All through this, he never said a thing.
I wish he did and shivered, naked, bared to Nobuki's searing gaze.
He set the manuscript aside on the nightstand, his eyes never wavering from me.
"Come here."
I crawled over the foot of the bed until I straddled Nobuki, and I could have sworn I felt the heat of his skin against mine even though there was a comforter between us.
My elbows felt weak supporting my weight over him and he looked up at me with that same cutting smile. "Kiss me."
I blinked. "O-okay."
His lips were still under mine, and I went up on my knees before him, hands in his thick dark hair, silken against my fingertips. I was kissing a statue, albeit one that was warm and breathing underneath me.
His mouth opened slightly under mine.
"You're terrible at this."
My confidence took a nose-dive, and I tried to get off him, face blazing. "Sorry, I'm not very good at this."
"Haven't you heard of practice makes perfect?"
He levered the comforter from out under my knees and flung it to the floor. He was naked, just as I thought, and I marveled at the sculpted planes of his body, the perfect amount of softness that kept him from looking like a muscle man.
"I'm tired," he said and pillowed his head on his arms, his eyes closed.
Thank God. I didn't think I could stand the scrutiny of his dark eyes, not so close. "What do you want me to do?"
"Do the work," he said, taking a deep breath, his chest heaving up. "Make me come."
I licked my lips and surveyed his beautiful lean body, the by-now familiar heat building in the pit of my stomach. "What are you going to do?"
The smile was melting away into a mien of sleep. "I don't intend on doing anything."
Make me come…
Instead of Nobuki using me, I was doing everything, calling all the shots, deciding how the flow went.
Suddenly, a wave of relief and anticipation flooded through me.
And despite myself, despite the nervousness I couldn't seem to dissipate, I felt myself smile.
This was going to be fun.
I started by working my way down his body, kissing every bit of skin. I nipped at the inside of his elbow, making him jump the slightest bit, inducing a small sound in the back of his throat. I reveled in it, reveled in the power I had over this man.
Sure, it was all an illusion, but then again, isn't that the way life is?
He was long and hard when I got to his groin, and I blew softly over his cock, watching the muscles flex in his thighs.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I did everything possible to bring him close, using my tongue, my lips, almost gagging several times because I wanted to take him all the way to the back of my throat.
Just when I thought he was going to come, I pulled back, licking his essence off my lips.
A soft groan escaped him and a corner of his lips tweaked up. "Paying me back for last time?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said primly as I went up on my knees and positioned myself over his hardness.
Mostly, I didn't want him to come.
I wanted to use him, like he used me.
I wanted to feel his hips bucking under me, wanted to feel his fingers dig into my hips.
I wanted him to lose control.
Then I remembered something and pulled open to the nightstand drawer. The ribbon was still there and I raised his unresisting hands over his head, tying the length securely around his wrists.
"You are paying me back," he said, a soft, sexy laugh leaving his lips. "You're a cheeky thing, aren't you?"
Instead of replying, I lowered myself on his long, hard length, the delicious friction bringing up goosebumps along my arms. I was throbbing, so wet, so ready to take my pleasure as I wished.
The breath hitched in my throat as I felt him so deep inside me, and when I moved on him, the sensation of being filled, stretched, grew in intensity until I thought I'd black out from pure pleasure.
Yes. This was my favorite part, the moment I was on top, when my lover was stretched out below me, his face contorted in ecstasy, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. Being in control was intoxicating, almost addictive. I knew it was all just make-believe, that if he so chose, all he had to do was flip me over and then I'd be at the bottom, subject to all his whims.
But for now, just now, I called the shots and I reveled in the power.
Nobuki's hands flexed in the makeshift satin tie. "Enjoying yourself?"
But I didn't want to talk. That was just another distraction, and for now, I wanted to concentrate on that pressure steadily building between my thighs, the strange, elusive pressure making my pulse jump and race.
So I shut him up with my mouth, using everything I learned from our past encounters, while I undulated over him, trying to capture that exquisite pleasure barely out of reach.
It was heaven.
It was hell.
When small sounds left his lips, minute shivers racking his body, I let myself go, grinding my hips against his as the long-denied climax exploded through me, turning my body into molten lead.
He jerked, strained against me, hands fisted in the scarlet tie as he emptied himself into me, hips shuddering against mine.
I relearned how to breathe, the pulse racing in my head, heartbeat like a hummingbird.
After a few minutes, he moved under me, the rumble of his low, velvety voice vibrating underneath my cheek.
"Perhaps you can untie me now?"
I wanted very much to continue being the top that night, wanting to call the shots, so I tried not to show the blossoming color on my cheeks as I nonchalantly untied the ribbon around his wrists, as though I did it every night.
As he rotated his wrists, I got up and bent down to pick up my clothes strewn on the floor.
"I'm going to take a shower."
I walked into the bathroom and closed the door securely behind me, resisting the urge to lock it. After all we had been through, that would've just been silly, but there was still something about Nobuki that rattled me, something that put me off-center. I couldn't trust him, not entirely.
I surveyed the wide-eyed woman in the mirror, face flushed from passion, long dark hair tousled down her narrow back and approached the sink, even putting a hand on the mirror like I thought I could reach through and touch the woman, because she was far too lovely to be me, to be real.
Her face was narrow, nose maybe a little too long to be considered conventionally pretty, but she had a nice mouth, turned slightly up at the edges even when she wasn't smiling. With a shaking hand, I ran my fingertips down the cold mirror, tracing the slight curve to my cheeks and my willful chin.
Was this what Nobuki saw?
When Julian Lambert told me I was beautiful, I thought he was lying, but looking at myself in the mirror, slim, face pink, unblemished, I wanted very much to believe him.
The door swung open silently, and I turned around, mortified to be discovered in a moment of vanity.
Nobuki stood in the doorway, watching me with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "What are you doing?"
; "Nothing," I said with a quick smile that wavered at the corners. "I just thought I saw a pimple." Then I realized that was something a man had zero interest in. "But it's nothing. No pimple."
"Hmm." He stepped into the large glass shower stall, turning the taps on to warm the water. "I didn't think you cared about that."
I piled my clothes on the sink and joined him, my thighs brushing his as I cornered him against the wall, the hot water streaming over my head, bathing me in a relaxing spray that was almost too hot to stand. "But I want to look good. For you. I want you to think I'm beautiful."
His gaze darted away as he reached around me for a wash cloth and a bar of soap that smelled like sandalwood. "Beauty fades."
Exhibiting courage that I totally didn't feel, I pressed myself against his slippery, wet chest. "But for now, just now, tell me I'm beautiful. Tell me I'm pretty."
He smiled and lowered his head just enough so that I thought he was going to kiss me.
But he didn't.
His lips hovered over mine. "Do you think I'd waste my time with something I didn't like to look at?"
I stared back at him, breathless. "So…?"
"Draw your own conclusions," he said. "Don't go fishing for compliments."
He slipped past me and the moment was lost.
I watched him run the washcloth over his hard, muscular chest and wondered what he meant by that.
Do you think I'd waste my time with something I didn't like to look at?
So he didn't want to waste time with beautiful things?
Was this wasting time?
Did that mean he thought I was beautiful?
Damn it. Why couldn't the man talk straight?
I shook my head as he finished washing and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a fresh white towel from one of the overhanging shelves over the toilet. I finished up quickly, taking a moment to shampoo my hair because my hair did not react well to water unless I shampooed it.
By the time, I had slipped into my clothes and stepped out of the steamy bathroom, he was in bed, the manuscript in his lap, the glasses back on.
It was a delectable scene and I paused, just watching him.
He looked up, the glasses giving him a strangely attractive severe air. Would it be strange if I asked him to keep his glasses on when we had sex next time?
His Until Dawn (Kissing the Boss Book 3) Page 7
