Best of Penny Wylder: Boss Romance

by Wylder, Penny

  As I approach Lark, I try to remember what my therapist suggested to me in our second session last week, as the self-doubting voices rear up in the back of my mind all over again. She told me not to identify with those voices, with the anxieties that tell me I’m not good enough for anyone. Those are just things I’ve been conditioned to think, as a sort of self-defense mechanism, after all that I’ve been through in past relationships.

  But while it’s easy to tell myself that, it’s a lot harder to believe it as I’m approaching the one guy who I thought was different. The guy who somehow managed to wound me even more than the rest.

  When I reach his side, I notice that none of the stagehands are fluttering around anymore, or even the catering people I’d noticed carefully removing the buffet earlier. He positioned himself in a far corner, out of sight of almost anyone but me. Like he doesn’t want to be interrupted.

  It only worsens my nerves because I don’t know if I trust myself alone with him, if I trust that I can say what I need to say.

  But when I reach his side, he doesn’t let me say a thing at all. He cuts in first.

  “You look incredible today,” he says. “Not that you don’t always, but… wow.”

  My cheeks flush, and I’m grateful for the camera-level of foundation Marcel gave me because it hides the blush. “Thanks. You look all right yourself.” All right? Mentally I kick myself.

  But Lark just grins, the same devilish grin that I fell for hard. “I was starting to worry you’d been avoiding me,” he says. It’s meant to be a joke, but I can see the flash of hurt in his eyes.

  “Lark…” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “Look, Cassidy, I don’t know what’s upsetting you, but I want to help. There has to be some way I can help.” His brows contract. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

  But I can’t. Because what I want is to tell him to leave his wife once and for all. But that’s selfish of me, terrible. And a part of me is still angry with him. He told me they’d split up, and now I know they’re still married, trying to work things out.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” I tell him, crossing my arms. “It’s not about us.” Not exactly. “It’s just… this whole situation. I can’t.”

  “Why not?” He takes a step toward me, and it’s almost more than I can bear. The look in his eyes, the heat radiating from him. He’s so close I can practically taste him again. I know exactly what those lips would taste like if I let myself sink into a kiss. I know how that body would feel, rock hard and solid as he pulled me against him.

  “It’s too complicated.”

  His brow furrows. “Because of Sheryl?” he asks, totally thrown, as if he hadn’t already guessed my concern.

  Which only makes my anger flare back anew. “Yes, because of Sheryl. Because I work with you, and I work with your—” I catch myself barely in time. Manage to insert the extra word. “Your ex-wife. It’s too messy.”

  “I told you, she’s my past,” Lark says, echoing what Marcel told me earlier. Yet I can’t shake the image of him hand-in-hand with Sheryl at the therapist’s office, seeing a counselor. Trying to work on his marriage.

  She didn’t look like your past last week, I think, but I don’t say it, because we’re in public, and we just finished filming a live TV segment, and who knows how many eyes are already on us right now, curiously watching the new up and coming makeup creator arguing with her business investor.

  Lark takes my wrist, and I freeze in place, trying my best to ignore the spark in my veins at his touch. “Cassidy.” His eyes bore into mine. “I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, dreaming about you.”

  My pulse skips a beat at that. Unbidden, an image rises to mind. Lark, naked in his big king size bed. One hand fisted around his thick, veined cock, as he strokes himself, thinking about me.

  Fuck. I’m starting to get wet just imagining it, and feeling his hand wrapped around my wrist. Gentle, now. But there was a time he used that hand to pin my wrist over my head while he fucked me senseless, and god damn, I cannot get him out of my head, ever, can I?

  “I know you’ve been feeling the same way,” he says, lower, taking another step closer to me, until we’re mere inches apart. Close enough our chests would touch if I so much as inched forward. “We don’t have to suffer like this. We can figure it out together, if you’ll let me.”

  It would be so easy. So easy to sink into him now. Melt and forget everything else. Forget my anger, my upset. To just ignore the whole messy situation and let myself have the one man I’ve ever craved this badly.

  But I still have my principles. Whatever else I’ve become; however far and hard I’ve fallen for him… it can’t trump my beliefs. And my beliefs tell me that whatever I’m doing now is wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathe. And then, gently as possible, I twist my arm free from his grasp, striding away across the studio floor.

  “Cassidy, wait.” His footsteps chase after me. “It’s late. At least let me walk you to your car.”

  One glance through the studio’s lone window—I assume they limit them because they need to control all the lighting sources inside the building—tells me he’s right. It is a lot later than I thought. The sky is already darkening toward a fiery orange sunset overhead.

  “This neighborhood isn’t the safest at night,” he continues, drawing closer the longer I stand there eying the skylight.

  I hadn’t realize how much time passed while we were filming and between all the prep work and the interview itself, the multiple takes we had to do, and then all the tear down work.

  Doesn’t matter. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Good night, Lark.” With that, I push through the studio doors out into the lobby.

  This time, he lets me go.

  There’s a security guard on duty still, which makes me feel just a little bit better about shooting down Lark’s offer. I sign out, and then tap on my phone, calling a ride share car. The pickup point is on the far side of the parking lot. I glance outside. There are only two streetlamps in this lot, one right next to the building, and another on the far side of the lot. That’s got to be where the ride shares pick up.

  With an annoyed sigh, I push through the doors and out onto the street. The air smells faintly damp, as if there might be a storm brewing somewhere in the distance. I shrug on my sweater and pray the rain holds off until my car arrives, at the very least.

  Three minutes until arrival.

  I half-walk, half-jog across the lot, all too aware of the way the light behind me flickers when I cross beneath its orange glow. Overhead, the fiery sunset colors have faded from the sky, leaving behind a dark cobalt blue that darkens, the longer time stretches on.

  By the time I reach the far lamppost, the car is still sitting right where it was on the map when I ordered it, and the time stamp still says three minutes. So irritating when they do that.

  I tuck my phone into my back pocket and wrap my arms around myself. Then, conscious of how defensive I look, I unfold them again and lean against the lamp post casually, eyes on the road. A few cars trickle past. Some of the drivers or passengers shoot me weird, confused looks. I guess they don’t get a lot of pedestrians in this area of town.

  Then a truck slows, and my pulse jumps. It’s not the license plate number I’m looking for, so it can’t be my ride.

  Sure enough, the side window rolls down, and a man with tattoos up both arms leers out at me. “Hey babe,” he calls. “Give you a ride somewhere?”

  “No thank you,” I reply through as tight a smile as I can manage.

  His friendly—if you could call it that—expression immediately melts. “Fucking bitch.” He narrows his eyes. “What, too good for me, is that it?”

  The last nerve of my fraying patience snaps. “Yes, that is exactly it. Now fuck off,” I shout, my voice rising.

  Not smart. I know it’s not smart. It’ll only provoke him. Sure enough, he puts the truck int
o park and glares at me furiously now. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  And then, from over my shoulder, a familiar baritone. “You heard the lady. She told you to fuck off.” Lark’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, gentle and reassuring at the same time.

  I square my shoulders and resist the urge to sink back against him. My heart is still hammering in my chest because I’ve met a million assholes like this truck driver and I don’t know what will happen if he escalates. Will Lark have to fight him?

  But the asshole just turns and spits out his window, then slowly drives off, scowling at us in his rearview and muttering curses the entire time.

  “I told you not to follow me,” I complain the moment the asshole driver is out of sight.

  “And I ignored you, obviously,” Lark replies, stepping around me so we’re face to face, my back still pressed up against the lamp post. “Sometimes you’re too stubborn for your own good, Cass.”

  “Coming from you, that really says a lot,” I reply. I can’t help it. The corner of my mouth tugs up into a smirk.

  Lark’s does too. Then his hand drifts up, hovers between us. I don’t pull away this time, even though I know I should. His hand cups my cheek, and his fingertip brushes the corner of my smile, lightly. A barely-there touch that does more to ignite the fire in my veins than any other guy could with a lot more ammunition. “What are we doing?” Lark asks quietly, and I know what he’s asking.

  Why are we separate right now? I can feel the tug in the core of me, drawing me toward him, a gravity I’ve been fighting to ignore all week.

  One I can’t bring myself to anymore.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, my breath so quiet the words are almost a whisper.

  He bends toward me. So close I watch his pupils dilate where they’re fixed on mine. I forget all my earlier resolve. There’s only so much willpower I can use up in a day before all my resistance drains from me. Lark is as addictive as a drug, and damn it, I need another hit.

  His hand slides from my cheek along my jawline, until he’s cupping the back of my neck. He draws me toward him, and my eyes fall shut.

  His lips collide with mine, harder than I expected. I don’t mind because I’m too busy wrapping my arms around his neck, dragging him toward me. His tongue parts my lips, the kiss deepening, until it feels like he’s claiming my mouth for himself, marking his territory.

  I want him to.

  I raise one leg to wrap around his waist, and in response, he pins me against the lamppost. I gasp at the feeling between my thighs, the hard press of his cock through his jeans, where it grazes my upper thigh. Just bare inches from my clit. I arch my hips up and angle myself toward him, and he laughs a little, his lips still pressed to mine.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

  “Shut up and kiss me,” I hiss back, which only makes him laugh more. He turns to obey my command, kissing his way along my jawline until he reaches the edge of my neck. Then he bites down, sharp and unexpected, not enough to hurt, just enough to make me gasp.

  Then he keeps kissing, down to my shoulder, across my collarbone to dip his tongue into the hollow at my throat. At the same time, his hands wrap around my waist, tightening, and—

  “Shit,” I gasp. The car I called is parked out on the road. It honks, just once. I’m about to peel away, when Lark’s grip tightens.

  “I’m parked right over there.” He nods toward his car. “At least let me drive you home.”

  There’s a long beat where I hesitate. I know what this will lead to. Behind us, my ride honks again, a little longer this time, the driver through the windshield visibly annoyed.

  But Lark’s hands are still tight around my waist, his hard cock still digging into my thigh, and I’m only a human, in the end. “Take me, then,” I tell him, and I don’t mean straight home.

  In response, Lark wraps both arms under my thighs, and in one smooth motion, lifts me up against him. Reflexively, I wrap my legs around his waist, my hands digging into his shoulders, as he carries me across the lot toward his car. Over his shoulder I watch my ride share rolling his eyes and giving up, restarting his engine to drive away. My phone buzzes with the cancellation notification, but I hardly even notice.

  Because we’ve reached Lark’s car, and he’s pinned me against the door, kissing me again, his hands at the fly of my jeans when he sets me back on stable ground.

  My heart beats faster. We’re still in the middle of the parking lot. But it’s dark out, and with my ride gone, there are hardly any cars on the road which we’re hidden from by Lark’s car anyway.

  He grins at me, his eyes twin green flames in the dark. “I can’t get you out of my damn head, you know that, Cassidy?”

  My belly tightens at his words. Not least because I do know what he means. Far too well. “I dream about you…” I admit, my voice quiet. “Every night.”

  “What do I do to you in those dreams?” he asks, his voice dropping lower. Almost husky now. He kisses my neck again, my throat, my jawline.

  I tilt my head back, savoring the sensation of his hot mouth on my skin. “Everything,” I say, and I can feel the vibration of his mouth as he laughs. “You… kiss me,” I start.

  In response, he leans up to press those searing lips to mine. “Go on,” he adds when we pull apart again, and it takes me a second to catch my breath.

  “You peel off my clothes,” I murmur.

  His hands return to the clasp of my jeans, and he finishes undoing them, pushing them down, so I’m standing in my panties in the parking lot, backed up against his car.

  “You let me take yours off,” I add, and then I reach out to do the same to him, pushing his jeans off. He steps out of them, in his boxers, and then, before I can do anything, he pushes those down too.

  Fuck. I forgot how big he is, how thick he is when he’s hot for me. Which is, frankly, every time he’s close to me.

  It drives me wild, how hard I make him.

  “Then what do I do, Cassidy?” He steps closer, and I reach out with both hands to wrap them around the base of his shaft. I stroke along his length, savoring the velvety smoothness of his skin, the contrast between that and how hard his shaft feels beneath.

  “Then…” I swallow hard. Raise my gaze to his again. “You fuck me.”

  He takes one last step, and his cock is pressed right up against my belly now, hard shaft pressing against my soft skin. “How do I fuck you in these dirty dreams you have?” he whispers, leaning down to lick the shell of my ear, making me tremble. It’s chilly outside now that night is falling. But his body is so damn hot against mine, searing.

  “Hard,” I reply.

  He pushes my panties off with one thumb, easy as ripping apart wrapping paper. Then he spreads my thighs and stands between them, bending to position himself until the head of his cock is at my entrance. He parts my pussy lips with two fingers, one stroking between them, along my slit, until he grins at me. “Someone’s wet for me,” he says, before he bends to rest his forehead against mine.

  “Always,” I admit, my gaze focused on his.

  He keeps his eyes on me as he pushes inside me, slow enough that I can feel every centimeter of his cock as he fills me. A groan escapes my lips. I forgot how good this felt. I’ve been dreaming of him, yes, but dreams can’t possibly compare to the real thing, to the thick, full sensation of his cock straining against the walls of my pussy.

  He keeps moving, grinning at me now. “I love those noises you make,” he murmurs, before he tips his head sideways to kiss my cheek, my jawline, the side of my neck. He nips at my skin lightly and I inhale sharply, making him laugh again, low and sure. “Just like that,” he says, and I huff out a breath in protest.

  “Not my fault,” I tell him. “How can I not make noise when you’re—” I break off on another gasp, as he pulls back suddenly and thrusts into me again, faster this time, deeper. “Fuck,” I murmur, losing track of my argument.

  He’s still watching me, smiling
that sly smile that says he knows exactly what I’m feeling, and how to make me feel it more. Damn him. He still knows every inch of my body better than I know myself.

  He knows exactly how to get me where he wants me.

  He pulls back and thrusts into me again, hard enough that car rocks a bit behind me. I tighten my thighs around his waist, hooking my ankles behind him, and at the same time, I wrap my arms around his torso, my fingers catching on the ridges of his back muscles.

  “God your pussy is so fucking tight,” he murmurs, those hot eyes on mine. He pulls out again, thrusts back inside me, and I can feel the graze of his shaft along my G-spot, already sensitive as hell because damn him, my clit is already swollen with desire.

  How can I help it, when I’ve been fantasizing about him all week? Longing for him, even when I know he’s the one person I shouldn’t be longing for.

  “Lark,” I breathe, and I don’t know where I’m going with this, whether I’m going to beg him to stop or to keep going. But it doesn’t matter, because he reaches up to press a finger to my lips. Then he slides his fingertip inside, and I wrap my lips around it, sucking hard on it, eyes fixed on his.

  I can see the moment his pupils dilate, feel the pulse of his cock jumping inside me as he tenses at the sensation.

  “Fuck,” he growls, low and throaty in a way I recognize, that tells me I’ve pushed him over some kind of edge now. He draws his fingertip from my mouth and runs both hands down my sides until they reach my hips. There, he grips tightly, fingers digging indents into the soft skin at my hips. He pulls me up and away from the car, and I arch my hips toward his, let him put me right where he wants me.

  He fucks me hard, then. Draws out and thrusts back into me again and again, pinning me right where he wants me. All I can do is hold on through the sensation, my hips bucking in time with his, faint gasps of pleasure escaping me with every thrust.

  “Fuck, Lark, fuck me,” I groan, not even sure what I’m saying anymore, I’ve lost control of my vocal box. “I want to come for you, fuck.”

  “Good, because you’re going to have to,” he replies, and damn him, his voice sounds so steady even now, like he’s barely even winded as he drives into me, making my whole body tighten against his, every nerve ending in my body singing out, screaming for release. “That’s it, Cass.” He’s grinning, watching me, fire in his gaze, and I know what he’s feeling. He loves watching me come undone.