Page 16 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)

Warmth. A solid weight pressed against me, soft yet firm, molding to my body like it belonged there. My morning wood throbbed, snug against round, muscular flesh, heat bleeding through the thin barrier of fabric.

I exhaled, shifting slightly, rubbing against the firm curves that pushed against my crotch. Chantelle. I let my hand curl tighter around her waist, fingers skimming over a taut abdomen, tracing the edge of a waistband. And the body beneath my hand was… lean, sinewy, but not feminine.

Not Chantelle. Chris .

My stomach clenched. I went rigid, every inch of me suddenly hyper-aware of where I was, of the way my cock was lodged between the cheeks of his ass. A shiver slithered down my spine, a slow, traitorous thrill that had no business being there. The scent of him—clean, warm, tinged with the faintest trace of last night’s chamomile—lingered in the sheets, in my skin. I’d been holding him all night, spooning him like he was my fucking girlfriend. And worse— worse —was the way my cock twitched at the realization. I swallowed hard, pulse hammering in my throat.

This was wrong. It should have felt wrong.

Why the hell didn’t it?

I yanked my arm back, peeling myself away from him with careful movements. He didn’t stir, his face peaceful in unconsciousness. Deep, even breaths told me he was still asleep. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t realize I’d been grinding up against him like a horny teenager.

Ignoring the stubborn ache in my groin, I swung my legs over the other side of the bed and stood, scrubbing a hand over my face. A cold shower. That’s what I needed. Something to snap me the hell out of it.

I padded naked to the en suite, my erection bobbing with each step, but before entering the bathroom, I couldn’t resist one more look behind, at the sleeping boy in my bed. He was lying on his side, facing me, blond hair messy, head buried in the pillow. He looked younger like this, more vulnerable, and my heart felt heavy at the thought of what could have happened to him in that park.

I forced myself to turn and close the bathroom door behind me. The moment I stepped under the spray, I let out a long breath, tilting my head back, letting the water pound against my skin.

Chris. Alone. Out there in the dark.

I squeezed my eyes shut. It could have been worse. So much worse.

I could’ve lost him last night .

Last night, when he’d stumbled into my room, shaken and fragile, I’d wanted to pull him close and never let go. To promise him he was safe with me.

Protectiveness . That’s all it was. A natural reaction. I braced a hand against the shower wall, my chest tight. Then why did I feel like I’d almost lost something more? Why was my cock still throbbing as the image of his face burned so bright behind my closed eyes? I stroked myself fast, still feeling the echo of Chris’s body pressed against mine, his butt hugging my cock like it was molded to hold it. Even now, the phantom heat of him clung to me, an imprint I couldn’t shake. My hand moved faster, chasing relief that felt just out of reach, like trying to hold onto smoke. When I finally came, my breath shuddered out, my cum swirling down the drain, but instead of satisfaction, all I felt was hollow.

I stepped out of the shower, dried myself off, and pulled on a pair of gray basketball shorts I’d found in the bathroom. No shirt or underwear. I rarely wore either at home, and right now, I didn’t care enough to bother.

Sneaking out of the bedroom as quietly as I could so as not to wake him, I shuffled barefoot into the kitchen. The tension still sat heavy in my chest, coiled tight like a fucking vise. But Chris was okay. He was safe. That was what mattered.

I set a pot of water on the stove, measuring out oats with automatic precision. He’ll need something warm and nourishing in his stomach when he wakes up. I moved through the motions, taking two bowls and pouring in a dose of vanilla-flavored protein powder, then adding almonds and berries. My body ran on muscle memory while my mind churned, tangled in last night. The way Chris had looked, curled into himself, all sharp angles and fragility. The way he’d clung to me, seeking warmth, seeking safety. My jaw tightened. No one should ever have to feel that vulnerable. Not him .

My phone sat on the counter, face down. I should call Chantelle. We were supposed to browse for our future house today. I should let her know I wouldn’t make it. The thought was interrupted when I heard movement behind me.

Chris emerged from the hallway, barefoot, wearing nothing but his dark gray trunks. His hair stuck up in unruly tufts, sleep-tousled, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, a little puffy. But there was color in his face again. Life. A hell of an improvement from the way he’d looked last night. He yawned, rubbing his face before blinking blearily at me, his eyes traveling across my bare torso. “Morning.”

I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. “Sleep well?”

Chris hummed and padded over to the kitchen island, dropping onto one of the high stools with a dramatic sigh. “I feel fucking amazing compared to last night.”

I grabbed a couple of bowls from the cabinet. “You scared the shit out of me.”

His expression wavered, something guarded passing through his eyes. But he didn’t look away. “Sorry.”

I didn’t say it was fine. Because it wasn’t. Instead, I grabbed the pot, pouring steaming oatmeal into both bowls before sliding one in front of him. “Eat.”

Chris’s lips twitched like he wanted to argue, but instead, he picked up his spoon and took a bite.

Silence stretched between us for a moment, filled only by the scrape of spoons against ceramic. His eyes kept darting back to me, keen, as if he were studying each hair on my chest. I let him eat a few bites before I asked, “What the hell were you doing in that park?”

Chris was silent. He swallowed, a glimmer of hesitation crossing his face. Then he said, “I was looking for a hookup.”

I went still. For a second, I thought I’d misheard him.

But Chris just sat there, waiting, his expression blank. Like he was daring me to react.

Heat flared in my chest, and not the good kind. “You—” My voice came out rough. My grip tightened around my spoon until the metal bit into my palm. “You went to the park. Alone. At night. To hook up with some random guy?”

Chris scoffed. “Didn’t exactly get that far, did I?”

My jaw clenched. A sharp, hot anger burned under my ribs, a fire that made no goddamn sense. “For fuck’s sake, Chris. Do you have a death wish?”

“Oh, please,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “I know how to handle myself.”

“You could’ve been seriously hurt. Or worse.” My voice came out harder than I intended.

Chris’s fingers traced the patterns in the marble of the counter, his gaze fixed on his meal. Then, after a beat, he said, “I only did it because… I needed a distraction.”

I frowned. “A distraction? From what?”

His lips pressed together, like he was weighing something in his head. Then he huffed a dry, humorless laugh and muttered, “From you, dumbass.”

The floor felt like it tilted beneath me.

Chris gave me a look that was all exhaustion and exasperation, rubbing his nose. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I… wanted something more. More than just sucking your dick, however amazing that is. And since you’re clearly not interested in giving me that, I figured I’d go find someone who was.”

Something cracked open in my chest, a feeling both strange and frightening. He kept his voice casual, but I saw it, the raw emotion behind his eyes. “We had a deal,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Blowjobs only. I thought I made it clear.”

Chris sighed. “Yeah. I know. And I don’t expect anything from you, really. I knew what this was from the start.”

Neither of us said anything for a long moment. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator, the soft clink of Chris’s spoon against the rim of his bowl. I should’ve said something. Should’ve told him we needed to stop this before one of us got hurt. Before he got hurt. But the words never came. I just shook my head. “Eat your damn breakfast.”

Chris finished eating first and pushed his empty bowl aside. He slouched in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with a soft groan before letting them fall to his sides. His fingers drummed against the counter, restless.

I wasn’t much better. My body felt tight, wound up with tension I couldn’t place. I finished the last of my oatmeal, then got up, reaching for his bowl before he could, my fingers brushing his in the process. Chris shot me a look but let me take it. I rinsed the dishes, jaw tight. Behind me, I felt him watching.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

I turned off the tap and grabbed a towel, drying my hands. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

I didn’t answer. The truth was, my mind was still caught in what he’d said earlier. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tossed the towel onto the counter and turned toward him, bracing my hands on the island, caging him in. He stiffened slightly as I leaned in, close enough to catch the warmth of his skin.

“You’re not gonna give me another lecture, are you?” he murmured.

“No.”

Chris didn’t seem convinced, his gaze darting down to my mouth before snapping back up.

I didn’t move. I liked having him this close, where I could see every flicker of emotion in his face. Where I could touch him without thinking. Which made what I was about to say even harder. “But this thing between us?” I said, voice lower. “We might have to put an end to it.”

Chris’s expression didn’t change, but something flared in his eyes. “Why?”

“You know why.”

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “Because I want more?”

I clenched my jaw.

Chris tilted his head, gaze sharp now. “You’re acting like I’m in love with you or something.”

Eyes boring into his, I reached for his hand. “Are you?” My voice came out lower, rougher than I meant it to. My fingers flexed around his wrist, feeling his pulse jump beneath my grip.

Chris smirked. “Oh, totally. Been planning our wedding and everything.”

“Chris.”

His grin faded. His eyes dropped to where I still had a hold on him. He didn’t say anything for a while. Then, quietly, “I just like being with you.” His fingers twitched beneath mine. “Even when we’re not…” He swallowed.

I knew what he meant. Even when I’m not on my knees for you. My grip tightened.

Chris drew in a breath, then let it out slow and measured. “Do you mind if I take a shower? I feel kind of sticky.”

I didn’t let go immediately. Not until I sank so deep in the ocean of his eyes that I forgot where we were and what we were talking about. Then I released him, watching how those trunks clung to his ass as he disappeared down the hall.

The moment I heard the bathroom door close, I grabbed my phone and scrolled to Chantelle’s name. My thumb hovered over the screen before I hit call .

She answered on the second ring, her voice clear and alert. “Hey, handsome.”

I scratched my beard. “Hey.”

“You on your way?”

I glanced toward the hallway, listening to the faint sound of water running. “Sorry, babe, but I can’t make it. Something came up.”

A pause. “Again?” Her voice sounded annoyed. “Do you even want us to buy a damn house, Isaac?”

I turned toward the windows, staring out at the gray morning sky. “I do, but—” I hesitated. “Chris, my new PA, was mugged last night. I need to take care of it.”

Silence stretched for a few seconds. “The attractive blond guy I met at the office? What’s that got to do with you?”

“He’s pretty shaken, Chantelle. I can’t leave him alone.”

There was a pause, just a fraction too long. “I didn’t realize you were so involved in the private lives of your employees.”

Now she was being sarcastic and I had to bite my tongue to keep my temper in check. “We’d grown close since he began working for me. He’s not just any employee. He’s a… friend.” I didn’t offer anything else, and she didn’t ask.

After another charged pause, she simply sighed. “Fine.”

I blew out a sharp breath. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

The line clicked dead before I could say anything else.

I tossed the phone onto the couch and followed, dropping across the soft cushions. What the hell was I doing? Ditching my fiancée so I could babysit my PA? It wasn’t rational, but it was what every cell in my body wanted— needed —me to do. The thought of letting him go right now felt like severing one of my limbs.

I was still lying there, sprawled over the couch and musing, when I heard him coming from the bathroom.

Chris strode toward me, a towel slung loose around his shoulders, damp hair curling at the ends. He was still only in his trunks, his skin flushed and glistening. “I should probably get going,” he said. “You mind calling me a cab while I go get dressed?”

I didn’t even think before I answered. “You’re staying here.”

Chris paused mid-rub, then dropped the towel onto the headrest, his eyes going over my reclining body. “I am?”

“Yeah.” I looked at him from below, scratching my chest. “Figure we’ll just hang out. Be lazy. Besides, I promised to cook for you. And I’m a man of my word.”

He grinned, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe his own ears. He lifted my feet from the couch, settling into the seat before resting them in his lap. His touch sent a jolt through me, sharp and electric, but it was the way his hand lingered that undid me. Such a small gesture—ordinary, absentminded—and yet it felt impossibly intimate. “A hard-ass CEO wants to spend his Sunday spoiling me in his fancy-ass penthouse?” he said, gently massaging my feet. “Fuck, sign me up.”

For the first time that morning, I smiled too, thinking how I’d do more than just cook for him if it meant seeing him like this, off-guard and happy, lounging around my place in nothing but his underwear, like he belonged here. Like he belonged to me . And maybe that was the problem. Because the longer I had him here, the more I wanted to keep him.