Like a Boss Box Set: Like a Boss Series Books 1-4

by Serenity Woods

  “Yes.”

  I laugh and return my gaze to the road. “What was his name? Can you tell me that?”

  “Whose name?”

  “The guy who broke your heart.”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve never been in love.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I scoff.

  “Believe what you like. It’s the truth.”

  “So why don’t you like talking about yourself?”

  “Because that’s not why we’re together, is it? We’re together for physical reasons, not emotional ones.”

  “You wanted to know about my love life,” I point out.

  “True. That’s because I’m nosy.”

  I give in. She’s right, I guess. “All right. We’re nearly home, anyway.”

  I drive into the underground parking lot, park, and we get out and ride the elevator in silence.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asks as the floors flick by.

  “No. You’re right—this is just physical.”

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you,” she says huskily. “I just meant that it’s pointless delving into each other’s pasts. We might find something we don’t like, and it could change the way we feel about each other. And I don’t want to spoil tonight. I’ve had a great time, and I want to come back with you and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  I wonder what’s happened to her that she doesn’t want to reveal. She seems ashamed of something. Part of me wishes she trusted me enough to confide—but why would she? She doesn’t know me from Adam, not really. And she’s right. I brought her here to have sex with her on the couch, not to analyze her on it.

  I let my gaze slide down her, and remind myself of the way she stripped in front of me and climbed on top of me. I remember her soft, pale skin, her full breasts, how small and feminine she felt in my arms. I think back to how she aroused herself while I watched, and how her face flushed when she reached her climax. I remember the taste of her, and how it felt to slide inside her.

  By the time my gaze reaches her face again, my erection is back, and I can’t wait for the elevator to ding.

  “Oh,” she says, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Jesus, Caleb, I can see right into your mind, I swear.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Your eyes… they tell me everything you’re feeling.” She walks up to me and lifts her arms around my neck. “Forget about everything else,” she whispers. “There’s just me and you here tonight, and that’s all that matters. I want you so much. I’ve thought about you all day and all evening.”

  I lift her up—she’s so light—and she wraps her legs around my waist. The elevator doors slide open, and I walk out with her while I’m kissing her.

  Her tongue delves into my mouth, and I groan as I fumble at my door and open it. My blood’s heating, my heart’s racing, and I can’t wait to fuck her. I didn't drink this evening because I was driving, but I feel as if I have been—my head’s spinning, and all thoughts have fled my mind except for Roxie and how it’s going to feel when I’m inside her again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Roxie

  Caleb carries me into his apartment, but I don’t see any of it because I’m too busy kissing him. Or, rather, I’m too busy being kissed by him, because it’s as if he’s turned on an inner switch, and heat is flowing out of him into me, sending my heart racing.

  Wow, this guy sure knows how to kiss. He knows just how to use the right amount of pressure, how to tease with his tongue and teeth, how to hold me tightly without squeezing the life out of me.

  The door shuts, and he presses me up against a wall and kisses me senseless. Mmm, he tastes so good, and I murmur my pleasure while I sink my hands into his hair and enjoy the feel of the thick strands through my fingers.

  “Roxie,” he says as he kisses down my neck. “Ah, you’ve bewitched me. I can’t get enough of you.”

  His words warm me through, but I can’t bring myself to believe them. “It’s okay,” I whisper, “you don’t have to romance me, Caleb. I’m a sure thing, remember?”

  He rests his lips against my neck, then lifts his head and looks at me. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

  “Hey, we’re both convenient,” I tell him, “that’s okay, it doesn’t have to be more than that.”

  He touches his lips to mine. “What if I want more?”

  I frown. “I don’t understand.”

  He laughs. “I’ll explain later.” He picks me up and carries me across to a table, where he sits me on the edge. Still kissing me, he removes my top, then flicks open the catch of my bra and slides the straps down my arms. He lowers me onto my back, and then he’s kissing my breasts, brushing his tongue over my nipples and teasing them with the tip before he takes them in his mouth and sucks.

  I writhe beneath him, incredibly turned on by his semi-forceful manner, enjoying being guided, rather than having to take the initiative myself.

  His fingers are at the button of my jeans, and he undoes it, slides down the zipper, and then peels them off me and tosses them on the floor. My panties follow swiftly, and now I’m naked beneath him, and he laces his tongue down my body before dropping to his haunches and burying his mouth in me.

  I tilt up my hips and groan when he slides his tongue inside me, deep as he can. Oh jeez, he does this so well. He licks and sucks until I’m gasping for breath, and then he pushes up to his feet. He unbuttons his shirt and drops it on the floor, takes out a condom, undoes his jeans, and rolls it on. Then he’s pressing the tip into my folds, and in one smooth thrust, he’s balls deep.

  Oh, it feels so good I want to laugh and cry, but I can only moan and stretch out beneath him as he sets up a fast pace, slamming into me and filling the air with the sounds and smells of sex. It’s how I thought he’d be the first time we got together—this is what I expected, hard and fast.

  Only it’s not the same as I expected, and not the same as it’s been before. He’s taking me hard, but instead of his eyes being closed or his gaze fixed far off in the distance the way my previous partners have been, his eyes are on me, and they’re so hot I’m nearly self-combusting. He grinds against me with every thrust—even now he’s thinking about my pleasure, and making sure I’m enjoying it. He bends down and kisses me, and strokes his hands over my body, playing with my breasts and teasing my nipples.

  I drift off into a world of hazy pleasure, and it’s not long before my orgasm approaches. “Mmm,” I mumble aloud, “don’t stop…”

  To my relief, he doesn’t, but I feel him leaning over me, watching me as my climax hits, and I gasp and clench around him. His hands are warm on my body, guiding me there, and when I finally flop back with a groan, he only thrusts a few more times and then he comes too, giving several satisfied grunts of pleasure.

  He stays there for a long while, leaning over me and kissing me, and when he finally withdraws, I sigh with longing, wishing that intimacy could go on forever. He hugs me for a while, and I feel his heart gradually slowing against my cheek.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asks. He hands me his shirt. I stare at it for a moment, then smile. I’ve never worn a guy’s shirt before like you see in the movies.

  “Please.” I slip it on, jumping off the table to do up a couple of buttons, and watch him pull on his boxers and then walk into the kitchen.

  For the first time, I have a good look around his living room. It’s big—maybe not as big as Harrison’s place, but ten times bigger than mine. The furniture is plain, wood, chrome, and glass, with a big black soft leather suite and a giant widescreen TV on the wall. But it’s the objects hanging on the opposite wall to the TV that make my jaw drop. It’s like being in a music shop—there’s a line of guitars, electric, acoustic, and semi-acoustic, with every famous name I can think of, including a Gretsch, a Fender Stratocaster, a Les Paul that’s clearly a Gibson and not an Epiphone, and, at the end, a beautiful blue Rickenbacker.

  “Which one do you want to
start with?” Caleb speaks from behind me—he’s come in carrying a couple of glasses of Scotch.

  “The Ricky,” I say breathlessly, and he places the glasses on the coffee table, takes the Rickenbacker from the hook on the wall, and passes it to me.

  Awestruck, I sit on the edge of the nearest armchair and run my fingers over the beautiful body of the guitar. Caleb watches me for a moment, then picks the green Gretsch from the wall and sits opposite me. He plucks a few of the strings and frowns. “I haven’t played for a week, so they’ll need tuning. Can you pass me the iPad beside you? There’s a great app on there for tuning.”

  “Don’t need it,” I say, and sing the note for the top E string while I adjust the Rickenbacker to match it.

  “Holy fuck. You have perfect pitch?”

  “Comes in handy.” I sing it again, and wait until he’s tuned the Gretsch, then I drop to the B. Continuing down through the G, D, A, and bottom E strings, we tune the guitars together, and then strum a couple of beautiful chords.

  “Do you know Hotel California?” I ask him.

  “Of course.” He starts singing the first verse as he plays the A minor chord, and I join in, enjoying the sound of his deep, rich voice. When it comes to the guitar solo, he nods to me, and I take the lead, enjoying the ringing sound of the Rickenbacker. He takes over for a bit, then passes back to me, and we finish together, letting the guitars carry us through to the end of the song.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Caleb

  “You’re good,” Roxie tells me when we’re done.

  “You’re better.” I lean the Gretsch against my chair. “I didn’t think there was anything more beautiful than my Rickenbacker. It turns out there is—my favorite girl playing my Rickenbacker.”

  She laughs and leans back, cradling the guitar as if she can’t bear to let it go. “Your favorite girl,” she repeats, scoffing.

  “Roxie,” I tell her, keeping my voice even, “if you don’t stop calling me a liar, I’m going to have to find a way to punish you.”

  She stares at me. Clearly, she can’t tell if I’m joking. “Punish me?”

  “I’m sure I can think of some form of sexual torture.”

  “Torture is supposed to make you stop, not beg for more.” However, her saucy words are at odds with her wide eyes and the pulse racing in her neck. Nobody has spoken to her like this before.

  I pick up my glass and take a long swallow of the whiskey, watching her do the same, her puzzled eyes surveying me carefully. I put down the glass, stand, and hold out a hand. She studies it for a second, then places hers into it. I pull her to her feet, pick her up, move back to the sofa, and sit down with her astride me. Then I lie back, so she’s stretching out along me.

  “I’m not being insincere,” I tell her, smoothing her hair off her face. “I don’t do that. I always mean what I say. And I’m telling you now that there’s something about you that’s captivated me.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispers. “There’s nothing special about me.”

  “Apart from your guitar playing, you mean?”

  A ghost of a smile appears on her lips. “Apart from my guitar playing.”

  “Roxie, you’re fun, you’re gorgeous, you’re sexy, and you’re kind. I’m beginning to realize how your sassy, in-your-face attitude is a cover. I don’t know what’s happened in your past, and maybe you’ll never tell me, but I can see you’ve been hurt.”

  She rests her cheek on my chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s your prerogative, but I don’t know what you’re afraid of.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she whispers.

  “But I’d like to know more—that’s what I’m saying.” She doesn’t reply, though, and I sigh. “You said you’ve never been in love.”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And nobody’s ever been in love with me, Caleb. That’s what I mean—I’m nothing special.”

  I frown and caress her hair. I can’t believe that no man has ever loved this girl, but then again, she’s only twenty-one. Maybe if, for whatever reason she’s hiding, she’s kept her relationships short, no guy has been able to get close enough to her to fall in love with her.

  She turns her head and rests her chin on her arm so she can look at me. “I’m not being provocative. I’m not looking for sympathy or anything. I’m just stating it like it is.”

  “It makes me sad,” I say, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  She smiles. “You’re an old softie, aren’t you? I bet you like chick flicks and cute puppies.”

  “Who doesn’t like cute puppies? Actually, though, a few days ago I would have said I didn’t believe in love.”

  Her look turns wry. “And now you’re going to declare you love me?”

  “No, because I can imagine the reply you’d give to that. And you’d be right—you can’t love someone after only knowing them for twenty-four hours.” I kiss her. “My mother once told me that when she was pregnant, she thought that she’d somehow be able to knit—that the knowledge came with the pregnancy hormones.”

  Roxie chuckles. “I can see that.”

  “I felt the same about love. I thought it was the byproduct of being with someone for a certain amount of time. That it came naturally after you’d been together for, say, six months or a year. So I thought I loved Felicity. I assumed that because I’d grown to understand her, it meant I loved her. But now, I don’t think it did.” I stroke down Roxie’s back. “I can see how it might be possible to love a woman like you, though.”

  She blinks. She obviously doesn’t have a clue how to reply to that. In fact, a look of something like panic has filled her eyes.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her. “I’m not assuming anything or making any demands. But I like you. I enjoy being with you. And if you’d like to see me again, I’d be very happy about that.”

  She looks completely lost for words.

  Studying my chest, she traces a finger through the hair there. I can see her processing what I’ve told her, trying to make sense of it. Half of me expects her to get up and leave. She obviously doesn’t want anyone to get close to her.

  But she doesn’t. She places her lips on my ribs and kisses me. Then she kisses across to each nipple and touches it with her tongue.

  I sigh, and she moves and kisses down my body to my stomach, then follows the line of hair down my belly, where she lifts the elastic over my rapidly growing erection.

  She strokes me a few times, watching her hands sliding over the shaft, and brushes over the head with her thumb, spreading the moisture that’s formed there over the tip. Giving me a final, hot glance, she then lowers her head and takes me in her mouth.

  I understand. This is her way of saying she’s touched by what I’ve said. She can’t answer me, and she doesn’t want to confide in me yet, but she wants to say thank you, and to tell me she appreciates what I’ve said.

  Slowly, she runs her tongue around the head of my erection, and she slides her lips down, taking me deep inside. I slip my hands into her hair and prop my other arm beneath my head so I can watch her, enjoying the view, the sexy sight of me disappearing into her mouth.

  I hope she gives what I’ve said some thought. I know my friends don’t understand my fascination with her, and they’d probably say I was crazy. And I can only imagine what my parents would say if they met her. My father’s head would explode.

  But I don’t care. I like her. I want to see more of her. I just have to wait to see if she wants to see more of me.

  Pleasure is building inside me, and my sigh turns into a groan as she sucks, tugging on the sensitive skin. “I’m going to come,” I murmur, warning her, but she just continues, massaging me with one hand while her tongue works its magic. I let go and give in to the climax, filling her mouth with jet after jet of warm fluid, and I feel her throat constrict as she swallows me down. Jesus, that feels good, and I close my eyes a
nd give myself over to the exquisite pleasure, until I’ve no more left to give.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Roxie

  “Tell me about your family,” I ask Caleb.

  We’re finally in bed. It’s around midnight, I think, although I haven’t checked my phone for a while. It’s been possibly the best evening I’ve ever had in my whole life. We’ve made love, played the guitar, raided the fridge, drunk whiskey, and made love again. What more could a girl want?

  Right now, we’re relaxed and sated. After Caleb’s declaration, I can see how it might be possible to love a woman like you, we kept the conversation light, and I don’t particularly want to start anything deep and meaningful, but I am interested in his family, and in particular his father.

  I wait for him to scowl and tell me to mind my own business, but he must be feeling talkative, because he trails his fingers down my back and says, “What do you want to know?”

  “Siblings?”

  “A sister and a brother, both older than me.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Cath is a doctor. Ben is a lawyer. Like his dad.” His voice is wry.

  “Did he pressure them to train in those careers?”

  “Oh, definitely. Only the best is good enough for Emmett Chase and his children. Anything less and he wouldn’t be able to boast about his parental prowess at his club.”

  “Ouch.” The vitriol in his voice makes me wince.

  “Sorry.” He doesn’t look it.

  “So, I’m guessing he didn’t approve of your choice of occupation?”

  “You could say that. When I was young, all I wanted to do was work on my computer. He hated it—he said I was a nerd and that I should be out on my bike and playing football like a normal boy. He thought working with technology was a job for people who weren’t bright enough to take a traditional degree—he didn’t see it as a proper profession.”

  His gaze is fixed far off the distance, his face stony as he remembers. “When I told him that I wanted to study it at university, we had a blazing row. My sister and my mother were in tears. My brother thought I was mad to provoke our father.”