Page 22 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)
Thanksgiving with Chantelle’s parents was an exercise in precision. Everything was calculated—the seating arrangements, the menu, the conversation. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and spiced bourbon, the scent thick enough to cling to my clothes. The dining room was cavernous, lined with antique walnut furniture and spotless white trim, the long mahogany table set with fine china and polished silverware that probably hadn’t seen a dishwasher in decades.
Chantelle’s mother, a crisp, well-preserved woman who looked like she stepped out of a New England lifestyle magazine, played the gracious hostess, keeping the wine flowing and the conversation controlled. Her father, a square-shouldered banker with a jaw like granite, discussed market trends between bites of dry turkey.
Chantelle, composed and poised to conquer, steered the discussion toward the wedding, the guest list, the budget, the catering. She spoke in clipped, assured tones, nodding along as her mother suggested vendors and her father mentioned tax benefits. She barely looked at me, like I was only there to fulfill a role she’d designed and little else.
Did she sense a difference in me? She wasn’t the type to ask questions she didn’t want answers to, but she wasn’t stupid. Maybe she suspected something. Maybe she didn’t care. I thought she loved me, but I’d come to realize that love had never been the foundation of our relationship, not in the way that made people reckless, foolish, desperate. She cared for me, sure, but she cared more for what I represented—the power couple we would become, the envious glances at black-tie galas, the jet-set life we could build.
And me? I sat there, listening to her plan our future, wondering if that was the life I wanted to live. I made the appropriate responses at the right times. Nodded when I was supposed to. Smiled when she mentioned her father’s latest real estate venture. Let her palm slide over the back of my hand as she went over seating arrangements and floral options. Yet something felt off. Not wrong. Not bad. Just… off.
Her fingers were soft, precise, controlled. Methodical. I should have felt comforted by her touch, reassured. Instead, I registered it the way I registered the weight of a watch on my wrist—present, expected, but hardly worth thinking about.
Which was stupid. Because it was Chantelle. My fiancée. Chantelle, who was perfect in every way. Smart, ambitious, stunning. I loved her.
Didn’t I?
* * *
The Monday after Thanksgiving, I arrived at work early. The place was quiet, the hum of the heating system filling the stillness, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering from the breakroom. Chris wasn’t there yet, his desk empty as I passed it on the way to my office.
Once inside, I shrugged off my coat, rolling my shoulders as I settled in at my desk. Anticipation coiled low in my stomach, an insistent, restless thrum. Four days without him had stretched unbearably, each hour dragging like a lifetime. I’d spent them playing the role I was supposed to play—dutiful fiancé, respectable businessman—but my mind had drifted too often, my body remembering a different kind of warmth, a different kind of surrender.
I shouldn’t have missed him this much. And yet, the mere thought of having him close again, of seeing the hunger in his eyes when he looked at me, sent a rush of heat straight to my cock. I was addicted, and like any addict, I didn’t want to stop. I only craved more. Chris was my drug, and I was too far gone to care.
The soft click of approaching footsteps snapped me from my thoughts. A moment later, a familiar knock rapped against my door before Chris let himself in, moving with the kind of ease that came from knowing he belonged there.
I meant to greet him, to ask about his trip, but the second our eyes met, all rational thought evaporated. I was out of my chair before I even registered the movement, crossing the space between us in two strides, my hands gripping his waist as I pulled him in. His scent—faint cologne, something clean and warm—filled my lungs a moment before my lips crashed against his.
Chris melted into me, fingers clumsy with urgency, already fumbling at my belt. “I missed you so much,” he mumbled between kisses, his breath hot against my skin.
I should’ve said it back. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, too big, too raw, too dangerous. I swallowed them down instead, blowing out a deep breath as he dropped to his knees.
And then thinking became irrelevant.
His mouth wrapped around me, eager, greedy, taking me in as though four days apart had left him starving. My fingers tangled in his hair, my breath hitching as wet heat enveloped me, his tongue teasing, lips sliding over sensitive flesh in a way that made my head fall back. God, he was good at this.
The office faded away. The entire world narrowed to the slick pull of his lips, the sinful noises he made as he worked me over, determined to take me apart. Pleasure built fast, sharp and insistent, pushing me toward the edge quicker than I wanted. I clutched at the desk behind me, trying to hold on, but Chris knew my body too well by now. He sucked harder, swallowed deeper—
Fuck .
My release hit, pleasure tearing through me in a blinding rush. He swallowed it all, his throat working around me before pulling off with a slow, satisfied hum. I breathed out, trying to steady myself. Brushing my thumb over his swollen lower lip, I helped him to his feet.
“Did you have a good time with your family?” I asked as I tucked myself back in, my voice rough around the edges.
Chris grinned, his cheeks flushed, his eyes still bright with heat. “Yeah, it was good to be back home for a while. But…” His fingers trailed over my collar, smoothing the fabric. “I’d rather be here.”
I hummed, brushing a kiss against his jaw. “I’d rather have you here,” I murmured against his lips, tasting myself on his tongue—salty, warm, delectable.
His lashes lowered, a pleased shiver running through him.
“But,” I continued, hands sliding down to cup his ass, squeezing the firm muscle, “if you don’t go back to your desk now, I won’t get anything done today. You’re far too distracting.”
Chris’s mouth quirked at one corner. “Okay,” he said, stepping back, “as long as you promise I’ll have you inside me before lunch break.”
I growled low in my throat, my fingers tightening around his hips. “I promise.”
With a wicked grin, he turned and sauntered to the door, each step deliberate, his ass swaying just enough to taunt me. He glanced back over his shoulder, winking before disappearing into the hall.
I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head as I sank into my chair. Damn tease.
Still riding the afterglow, I turned my attention to my emails, pushing through the work with a renewed sense of purpose. I was halfway through my morning correspondence when a knock sounded at the door.
“Excuse me, Isaac,” Alicia said as she stepped inside, a clipboard tucked under her arm. “Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” I leaned back in my chair, still feeling loose and satisfied.
She adjusted her glasses. “The Miami developer conference is coming up. Want me to go ahead and book everything?”
I stretched, rolling the tension from my neck. “Yeah. Get the usual suite.”
She made a note, then glanced up. “Since Melissa isn’t here, would you need me to go with you?”
Melissa had always handled these trips before she went on maternity leave. But now…
“No,” I said, a little too quickly. Alicia’s brows lifted ever so slightly. I exhaled, reaching for my coffee to cover the slip. “Chris will handle it this year.”
She studied me for a beat, her gaze assessing. “You sure he’s ready?”
I kept my expression neutral. “He’s my assistant, isn’t he? No better way to learn than through experience.”
“Right,” she said slowly, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
I nodded, turning my attention back to my screen, my face carefully impassive. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s all. See you later.” She left, closing the door behind her.
Alone again, I exhaled, a slow smile creeping across my face. A business trip to Florida. Warm sun. Soft sand. And Chris, all to myself, for three whole days. My cock twitched at the thought.
I pressed the intercom button on my desk phone and said, “Chris, could you step into my office for a moment? I have some news for you.”
Yeah. This was exactly what I needed.