And I collapsed then, absolutely gave it all up, my heart in my throat, my breasts pressed flat against the mattress, his dick and digit in me still. I was completely full, every part of me overflowing because somehow, some way, this man had wormed himself into my heart.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Chris
Somehow everything’s spiraled out of control. I don’t know how the fuck this happened, it was supposed to be ten days of hedonism, ten days locked up in my house where I’d explore Lindy’s body thoroughly, take her v-card and then send her packing once it was done, wham, bam, thank you ma’am.
Except that everything has gone off course. Instead of staying locked up inside just the two of us, I’ve actually been taking Lindy out. And not to hidey holes where no one would find us, I mean like real places, right here in my neighborhood where we might run into friends, acquaintances, hell, even her parents.
“Um, Mr. Jones,” the brunette said, biting her lip. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said as we walked towards Osteria La Bistra, my favorite Italian joint. “I mean, people might see us and start talking.”
I grinned at her.
“No worries baby, let them talk,” I said casually. “Doesn’t bother me.”
She shot me a glance then.
“Chris,” she said seriously, coming to a halt, pinning me with those warm caramel eyes. “I’m not joking. You know people who live here, I know people who live here, it’s not a good idea.”
But I just smiled at her, putting an arm around her waist and guiding her to the back door. And oh god, but it felt amazing with my arm around her. Not just because she was beautiful but because there was a sense of belonging, like the girl was mine and my arm belonged there, with absolute right of possession. So ignoring her protests, I swung open the door, feeling possessive and masculine.
“Don’t worry honey,” I whispered in her ear, pushing close so that she was forced to brush her breasts across my chest as she swept past. “I got us a private room in back and no one’s seen us so far, so we’re all good,” I growled.
The brunette just shook her head, sighing. I could see why Lindy was exasperated and on edge. We were playing with fire coming out into the open, but it felt so good to have her with me, I wanted to parade her around, show her off in front of everyone, consequences be damned.
But once the private door closed, Lindy relaxed a little, settling back in her plush leather seat and shooting me a sweet smile.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she murmured softly, playing with her napkin. “I didn’t expect this.”
And another wave of … what, I’m not sure, rushed over me. All I knew was that I wanted to be there with a hundred percent of my being, I wanted to spend every available second with this beautiful brunette.
“It’s no problem honey,” I growled. “You deserve the best and Osteria La Bistra has the best Italian for miles around.”
She giggled.
“Better than your Spaghetti Bolognese?” she teased. She was referring to the time I’d cooked her my special, treated her to a three-course meal that had ended up with noodles on the floor and her ass perched on the table as I drilled her over and over. So, no, not quite like that but the memory made me hungry.
“If Chef does anything like that, even looks at you the wrong way, I’m fucking killing him,” I ground out.
And Lindy just laughed again, her hand covering mine.
“Oh Mr. Jones, nobody has ever looked at me the way you do,” she said with a sweet smile. “Trust me, nobody.”
And that’s what blew me away. Because what male wouldn’t want a piece of Lindy? The brunette was sweet, sharp and so smart, it was hard to believe she was only nineteen. Our conversation was easy, rolling along like we’d known each other for years, two adults spending time with each other, enjoying each other’s company, relaxing in each other’s presence.
“So what do you think about this food?” I asked casually as the brunette nibbled at another mouthful of pasta. I looked on approvingly, Osteria did it right here, the sauce was made from scratch by the owner’s grandmother who simmered tomatoes until they dissolved entirely, becoming a delectable, mouthwatering stew.
“It’s good,” the brunette nodded, delicately patting her mouth with a napkin. “I’d say tangy and fine, but also with a hint of robustness. All it needs is a kick more of garlic.”
I nodded approvingly, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
“True, true,” I rumbled. “And what about the bread?” I asked curiously. Lindy always surprised me with her knowledge, her sensitive palate.
Here, the brunette was a little more critical.
“I like it,” she answered truthfully, candidly. “It’s airy, rustic, almost continental in its flavor. But,” she said, lowering her voice and looking around, “The accompaniment could have been done better. The butter’s just … blah, you know? It’s supposed to be whipped with sea salt, but look,” she said, pointing at the bowl they’d given us, “the ingredients are already separating, the buttermilk’s re-liquefied and the sea salt wasn’t mixed in well, there are clumps here and there. You have to be careful with this stuff,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “Sea salt’s not like table salt, the granules are a lot bigger so it doesn’t mix as easily, takes twice as long to blend.”
I sat back for a moment, looking at the brunette contemplatively.
“Honey, you’re so good with food. Where did you learn all this? It’s amazing, you’re a real gourmand,” I complimented.
Lindy blushed a little.
“Well, I do like to eat,” she said with a shy smile. “I mean, look at me, can’t you tell?”
I nodded again approvingly, my eyes sweeping over that generous bosom, the fleshy ass. On my watch, Lindy had put on a couple pounds already, and the extra heft, extra bounce was gorgeous, I planned on tasting her as soon as we got back. But she hadn’t answered my question.
“But where did you pick up your interest in food?” I asked casually, leaning back in my chair, forcing myself to focus on her face and not be distracted by that delectable body. “From your parents? I never knew Jim and Brenda were into fine dining and culinary experimentation.”
The brunette threw her head back then and laughed, the peals melodic in our private room.
“Oh, my mom and dad would never come to a place like this,” she admitted. “There’s no way you would ever find them here, it’s way too fancy and we could never afford it, we…” her voice came to a halt suddenly. Because of course the Joneses couldn’t afford to dine here, Jim had stolen from me to help pay for his daughter’s tuition.
Obviously, Lindy had just had the same thought and colored, but despite the awkwardness, she went on.
“My parents are different from me,” she said slowly. “Jim and Brenda love me and adore me, I’m their daughter after all, but they’re different. You know I’m the first person in my family to go to a four-year college right?” she asked hesitantly.
I nodded. Jim was a fantastic accountant but he only had an associate’s degree. The fuck I cared. One thing I’ve learned from being the boss over the years is that school is well and good but common sense and experience isn’t taught in the classroom.
But I was curious, pressing on.
“But is that what you want?” I asked. “Are you finding that you like college? Are your classes stimulating, helping you figure out what you want to do, who you want to be as a person?”
And the brunette sighed then.
“I guess that’s one of the tough things,” she admitted. “My parents have wanted me to go to college since I was a little girl, I always studied so hard, tried my best in school, and now I’m here. But Chris,” she sighed, “it’s not all that. I don’t love my classes, I feel like I’m twenty years older than my friends sometimes, the stuff they want to do, the stuff they’re interested in, I’m just not into it, you know?”
I nodded understandingly.
“You m
ean like smoke weed and get drunk every weekend?” I asked wryly.
And she sighed again, her hand playing with the table cloth.
“Not just every weekend,” she said ruefully, rolling her eyes. “More like every day. I think my roommate’s an alcoholic, and she’s not the only one who has a serious drinking habit at school. But it’s other stuff too,” she continued. “I don’t feel like I’m in a groove, the friends I’ve made are interested in talking about boys, shopping and TV shows. Not that I don’t like that stuff,” she said quickly, making me frown slightly, “it’s just that it’s all the time with them. Plus, my professors are in their own worlds, stuck in an ivory tower that makes no sense to me, and sometimes I just don’t know,” she said with another helpless sigh. “I really don’t know.”
Holy shit, there was a lot to unpack there, but I was interested, curious about the beautiful brunette and her life.
“Let’s start with the friends,” I said slowly. “What don’t you like about them?”
“Well,” replied Lindy slowly. “Sometimes they’re so … so juvenile, you know? Everything’s about texting and hooking up, and while I realize I come across as a little conservative,” she flushed, biting her lip, “I dunno, the guys at school just seem so … so …” she hesitated.
“So what?” I pressed, my voice gentle yet rough at once. I wanted to hear her say it, wanted the brunette to voice what I was hoping.
“So amateur,” she said in a whisper, looking down, and then back up at me, her eyes catching mine with such meaning, such resonance, that my my heart jumped, my head spinning. “Next to you, Mr. Jones, they’re just amateurs.”
And I could feel myself staring at her, eating her up, devouring the goodness that was Lindy. Because the girl made me feel about ten feet tall, ready to conquer the world, and fuck but I loved it. I couldn’t believe that a nineteen year-old was doing this to me, making me shake in my shoes, harsh streaks of color staining my cheekbones, but yeah, Lindy knew exactly how to truss me up and leave me helpless.
“And what else?” I asked, my hand deceptively still on the wineglass. “What else about school seems wrong?”
“My classes,” the brunette sighed again. “If the classes were okay, I’d feel better about spending so much on tuition every semester. But they’re not! My professors make no sense, they’re talking about magical realism and negative capabilities and I want to scream, ‘What is this going to do for me in real life? How does this apply in real life?’ I mean, I get it, this has to have some utility later down the road, but right now, I don’t see it, Mr. Jones, I really don’t.”
And I nodded approvingly. I have a four year degree myself but the value it’s added to my empire? I’d say about zero. Yeah, the shit I do at United Electric is about managing people and you can’t learn that in college, it’s about experience, trial by error and being a fair, open-minded boss. This shit isn’t gonna be found anywhere in a textbook, you can’t read about it, you have to live it.
So I took her hand across the table, gentle, understanding.
“Well, if school isn’t right for you, have you talked about this with your parents?” I asked, squeezing her fingers. “Jim and Brenda are forking a lot over for tuition, I’m sure they’d want to know how you really feel, what you’re getting from these four years.”
And Lindy sighed again, her little fingers still under mine.
“That’s the thing, Mr. Jones,” she said quietly. “I’m afraid to tell my parents. Afraid that what they hoped for me, what they dreamed, isn’t panning out. I appreciate all the sacrifices they’ve made, how my dad st-stole from you to help put me through school, but I can’t stop now,” she hesitated. “They’re already spent so much money and that would be wasted, we can’t get that back..”
I enveloped her small hand in a big, warm one.
“Are you sure baby?” I reasoned gently. “Sometimes it’s better to consider it a lost cause, there’s no sense in throwing good money after bad.”
That made her shake her head even more.
“That’s it exactly,” she sighed again. “If Jim and Brenda heard the words ‘lost cause,’ they’d go ballistic. They’d be devastated and I can’t do that to them, I can’t do that to people I love.”
And I understood. Lindy was a good girl, she wanted to like school, wanted to do her best, but was caught in a conundrum because what her parents wanted for her was different from what she wanted for herself. I got it. Sometimes you’re caught between a rock and a hard place and there aren’t any good ways out, there are only okay or bad solutions, but that was part of being an adult and learning how to navigate the waters as well as possible.
“Honey,” I said slowly, “Just think about it more. You have plenty of time, the clock’s not ticking, you’re young.”
“I’m young,” she agreed with a rueful smile, “but the clock’s definitely ticking. I calculated that every day I spend at school costs my parents about a hundred bucks,” she said sadly. “Can you believe it? Imagine what I could do with a hundred bucks per day.”
And I knew exactly what I’d do with that money. I’d give Lindy anything she wanted, hell, one hundred was nothing. I’d open an unlimited account for her, let her use it as she saw fit, I knew my girl wasn’t the type to go crazy and buy a fire truck or anything. She’d use it to find her dreams, to make other people happy, her sweetness and innate goodness overwhelming.
And suddenly I wanted to make it right. Wanted to show this girl how much I appreciated her and with my heart thundering in my throat, I reached into my pocket, clasping my fingers over the velvet box before pulling it out.
“Honey,” I rasped, “I have something for you.”
And slowly, I snapped open the lid to reveal a huge emerald pendant hanging off of a delicate gold chain.
Lindy paused, eyes open in shock.
“Wh-what is this?” she gasped, eyes wide. “What? Why?”
“It’s for you,” I said simply. “I want you to have it.”
And it was true. Usually when I end a relationship, I provide the woman with a consolation prize, expensive jewelry in most cases. Everything just goes down easier, makes the crying stop, the hysterical screaming comes to a halt a lot faster when you’ve got a fifty thousand dollar bracelet on your wrist. So yeah, I’d been planning on sending Lindy off with an extravagant parting gift, but somehow everything had gotten screwed up.
Because when I’d passed the jewelry store, my feet had magnetically been drawn to the door, and pretty soon I was picking things out. Not one item. Not two, but actually five things, I made a giant six figure purchase that day, much to the glee of the salesperson. And when I stepped outside, I was a little dazed because yeah, I’d had Lindy on my mind the entire time, imagining how the precious gems would look draped around that elegant white throat, clasping her wrist, on her finger, or wrapped around an ankle.
But I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to reality. I wasn’t gonna give her all of it, one was enough, and it was a fucking parting gift for crying out loud, something I’d hand her at week’s end. But while dressing for tonight’s dinner, I’d found myself spinning the lock to the vault, my fingers moving of their own volition.
And pulling out the emerald pendant, the green gem lit with an internal fire, I knew it was right. I wasn’t going to wait, it’d look beautiful on her now, compliment that shining fall of brown curls, look amazing against her creamy throat. And god no, I wasn’t gonna unpack my emotions now, figure out what was causing me to behave this way. So shaking my head, I slipped the gem into my pocket, promising myself to give it to Lindy only if everything went right, if I had absolutely no doubts.
And fuck, but everything was more than right. It was a hundred, a thousand percent right. Lindy’s humbleness, her giving nature, the way she wanted her parents to be happy, cared more about them than herself, spoke well of the girl. Plus, school. I liked what she had to say, about her classmates being juvenile, the dudes mere ants, nothi
ng compared to a mature man. So “right” wasn’t the word to describe the brunette, it was more along lines of “perfect.” And I wanted to make her happy.
“Here,” I said, pushing the box towards her. “Put it on.”
Her hands trembled a little, her eyes welling up.
“But Chris, I don’t get it,” she said, her voice quavering. “Why? What is this for?”
And I leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss against her lips.
“For being you,” I whispered against that peachy pink pout. “For nothing else but being you.”
And Lindy positively melted against me then, her mouth opening under mine, her arms going around my neck to hold me tight, the sweetest, softest restraints. And fuck, but I’d never felt a better prison, feeling her latch onto me like that, her curvy form warm, willing, so generous and sweet.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you don’t understand how that makes me feel.”
But I knew all too well because I was feeling it too. Somehow, the physical had become intertwined with the emotional and I knew, fucking knew, that I was in real danger. Well it’s only ten days, I growled to myself. Ten days and then the danger’s gone, the fairy tale’s over.
So I went took advantage of the time left. Taking a couple bills from my wallet and throwing them onto the table, I swept the brunette into my arms, growling into her mouth.
“I need you baby,” I whispered rawly against that slim white throat, nuzzling the sensitive flesh. “I need you now.”
And she was so responsive, her breathing hitched, hard nipples pressed against my chest that I knew she needed it just as badly, wanted to ravish me and be ravished, now and not later.
“But Chris,” she panted, her voice trembly and soft. “What about the food? We haven’t finished our meal yet.”
I growled, not giving a shit.
“I know the chef, he’s not gonna be offended if we take off … especially since I left a giant tip for the staff.” And it was true, money paves the way for everything, and I’d be welcomed back at Osteria with open arms based on the tip alone and not the way we were rudely leaving our food half-eaten. So I spirited her away, racing back in my Lamborghini to the house, rushing up the stairs with Lindy in my arms before depositing her on the big master bed.
Pregnant By My Boss: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance Compilation Page 95
