Page 23 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)

The first thing that hit me when we stepped out of Miami International Airport was the heat—thick, balmy, a world apart from the biting wind we’d left behind in Providence. The sun was relentless, hanging high in a cloudless sky, baking the pavement, making my sweater instantly unbearable. I tugged it over my head, stuffing it into my carry-on, and took a deep breath of the humid, salt-tinged air.

“Welcome to Florida,” Zac said beside me, smirking as he slid on his sunglasses. Unlike me, he looked entirely unbothered by the shift in climate, crisp and composed in his tailored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off his muscled forearms. He moved like he owned the place, like he belonged anywhere he went.

I, on the other hand, was still trying to process the surreal fact that I was here at all. Miami. I’d never been to Florida before, never seen palm trees lining the streets, never felt this kind of heat in December. It felt like stepping into another world. The city buzzed around us—cars honking, people moving in every direction, Spanish and English mingling in the air. Everything felt bright, fast, electric.

We slid into the black car waiting for us at the curb, and as the driver pulled onto the highway, I pressed my forehead to the window, taking in the sprawl of the city—the way the skyline shimmered against the blue sky, the sheer number of high-rises, the Art Deco buildings, the flashes of vibrant murals splashed across walls. It was impossible to take it all in at once.

“I know you said this was a business trip,” I said, still watching the city rush past. “But it feels more like a vacation.”

Zac chuckled, his hand resting on my thigh. “Well, it’s not.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The ride to the hotel didn’t take long, but by the time we arrived, I was practically vibrating with excitement. The place was impossibly luxurious—towering glass windows, an elegant marble lobby, palm trees inside, for God’s sake. A grand staircase curved toward the upper floors, and just beyond the check-in desk, I caught a glimpse of a sprawling pool area, people lounging beneath umbrellas with cocktails in hand.

Two rooms had been booked—appearances mattered—but when we took the elevator up to the executive suite, it was clear where we’d actually be spending our time.

The suite was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the view of the ocean, stretching endlessly into the horizon. A massive bed with crisp white linens dominated the bedroom, and behind it, a private terrace held an outdoor Jacuzzi, steam curling invitingly from its surface.

I let out a low whistle. “Yeah. Definitely a vacation.”

Zac gave me a pointed look but didn’t argue. Instead, he walked over to the balcony, loosening his tie as he glanced down at the city below. “Enjoy the view while you can,” he said. “Because we’ve got work to do.”

The conference was held in the hotel’s ballroom—an expansive, sleek space filled with round tables, towering screens, and men in pressed suits talking in low, serious voices. I recognized a few faces from Nova Systems’ past meetings, but most were strangers, exuding the kind of sharp, practiced confidence honed over years in the business.

Zac was in his element. He guided me through conversations with an effortless charisma, introducing me to developers, CEOs, and investors, weaving my name into the discussion like I already belonged there.

Between meetings, he took the time to explain everything—the strategies behind certain deals, the unspoken rules of negotiations, the importance of relationships in this world. He spoke low, just for me, his voice steady and instructive, his hand always resting on my lower back as he guided me through the crowd.

I tried to absorb it all, tried to play the part of the ambitious assistant, but the truth was, I was distracted—by his constant touch, by the way his presence dominated the room, by the thrill of being here with him, of being his.

By the time we wrapped up for the day, my head was full, my feet ached, and my stomach growled.

“Hungry?” Zac asked as we stepped into the elevator.

“Starving.”

He smirked. “Let’s change and get out of here.”

We shed our business attire for something more fitting—light, breathable, easy. I put on a blue tank top, beige khaki shorts, and my white sneakers, while Zac opted for a crisp white button-up with dark gray dress shorts and black suede loafers. Even in something so simple, he looked good enough to eat—polished, cool, every inch of him screaming wealth and control. I wasn’t about to let that go untested.

Before we even left the suite, I dropped to my knees, pulling him deep into my mouth. He groaned, threading his fingers through my hair, his restraint slipping as he thrust against my tongue. I wanted to wreck him, make him feel as unraveled as I did every time he touched me. And from the way he shuddered when he shot his load down my throat, I knew I’d succeeded.

* * *

Lunch turned into an afternoon of exploring. Zac, despite claiming this wasn’t a vacation, seemed perfectly content to play tour guide. He took me to Little Havana , where we walked down Calle Ocho, the air thick with the scent of Cuban coffee and roasting pork. We stopped at a ventanita for cafecito —tiny, potent cups of espresso that made my pulse race—and watched old men playing dominoes at Máximo Gómez Park.

After that, we strolled through Wynwood, admiring the massive, kaleidoscopic murals that transformed entire buildings into works of art. The colors were explosive—blues, pinks, golds—and as we walked past an open-air gallery, I caught Zac watching me, a small, private smile tugging at his lips.

“What?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing. You just look…” He trailed off, then reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair off my forehead. “Never mind.”

Warmth spread through my chest, but I didn’t press him. Instead, I let myself look at him, taking in every detail—the way the open collar of his shirt revealed his soft chest hair, the way his rolled-up sleeves framed his powerful forearms, the way his shorts clung to his thick, muscular quads. He was effortlessly masculine, rugged and refined in equal measure. And the fact that all that intensity, all that raw sex appeal, was focused on me? It was intoxicating.

By the time we made it back to the hotel, the sky had deepened into a rich purple, the city glowing with neon signs and headlights. Zac ordered room service, and we ate dinner in his suite. Afterward, we ended the night in the Jacuzzi, steam curling around us, thick and humid, rising into the night air as I leaned back against the tub’s edge. The warm water bubbled against my skin, loosening every muscle, making my limbs feel liquid, weightless. I sighed in satisfaction.

Zac smirked, sprawled across from me. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I might,” I admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much in one day.”

His arms were stretched along the ledge, his body loose and relaxed in a way I rarely got to see. The golden glow of the city lights outside bathed him in soft, shimmering warmth, catching in the damp strands of his dark hair. He looked so fucking good like this—dewy skin, chest rising and falling slow, his half-lidded eyes watching me in the low light. “You’ll sleep well, then.”

I swallowed, shifting closer until my foot brushed his beneath the water. Then I went further, letting my toes graze the length resting between his legs. “I’m not sleepy yet,” I murmured.

His breath hitched. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, but he only spread his legs wider.

Encouraged, I pressed my foot more firmly against him, feeling the thick shape of his cock stiffen under my sole. The heat between us had nothing to do with the water anymore.

Zac let me tease him for another minute before he moved closer, his hand gliding through the water to find my thigh. His fingers skimmed over my skin, slow, deliberate, before traveling lower, probing my hole just enough to make me shiver. Neither of us spoke as he leaned forward, closing the space between us. He reached for my neck, tracing a lazy line down its length, and then his mouth was on mine—hot, insistent, tasting like the lingering hint of rum from his drink.

I sighed into the kiss, my body sinking into his. My hands found his shoulders, solid and slick with moisture, and then I was shifting, straddling him, pressing my chest to his, feeling every inch of him beneath the water.

“I want you,” I breathed against his lips.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers pressing into my flesh like he meant to brand me, claim me. “I know.” His hands slipped lower, kneading my ass, teasing, his touch possessive as he found my crack and traced a path to my hole. I gasped as his fingertips pressed against it, testing, circling, making me ache for more.

The water made everything slick and effortless, and when his cock nudged against my entrance, I opened for him without hesitation. Then he reached for the condom.

I stopped him, my fingers curling around his wrist. He froze, eyes snapping up to mine, sharp with question. “Take me raw,” I said.

His pupils flared. “Chris—”

“It’s all right,” I whispered. “I got tested at the beginning of the month. And I haven’t been with anyone but you since I moved to Providence.” I swallowed, searching his face, finding something wild and ravenous in his expression. “Please, Zac. I want you to breed me.” My voice was low, aching, my body burning for him. “Please.”

A sound tore from his throat, something between a growl and a groan, and then he was cupping my face in his big hands, crashing his lips to mine. His tongue swept deep into my mouth, his kiss desperate, greedy, and then—

I felt him, bare and hot, slipping inside me.

I gasped, breaking the kiss, my fingers digging into his shoulders. There was no barrier, no latex—just him. Just us.

He was shaking. His hands were still gripping my face, holding me there, forcing me to look at him. “You like having my big cock inside you?” His voice was rough, ragged.

“Yes,” I gasped as he pushed deeper, stretching me open, filling me with nothing between us.

He groaned, his grip tightening, his cock throbbing inside me. “You gonna take my load? Keep it safe and warm?”

I moaned, unable to do anything but nod. “Yes.”

That was all it took to shatter his restraint.

He grabbed my hips, holding me steady as he began to thrust, slow at first, testing, and then faster, deeper, harder. Water sloshed around us, splashing over the edges of the hot tub as he fucked up into me, every forceful shove sending a jolt of pleasure up my spine.

“You gonna let me knock you up?” he panted. “Let me fuck you as much as I want? Fill you every time?”

“Oh, God, yes,” I gasped, my head tipping back—

But he gripped my chin and forced me to look at him again. His eyes burned into mine, oceanic and endless.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I choked out. “Only you.”

His smirk was pure sin. He rammed his cock deep, burying himself to the hilt, and I felt it—I felt everything. Pushing past my second hole, his cock pulsed inside me, and then I was full, his cum flooding my colon, claiming me. “Good boy.”

That was enough to push me over the edge. I came with a strangled cry, my release spilling into the bubbling water, untouched, my whole body shuddering in ecstasy.

For a long moment, we stayed like that, tangled together, breathing hard, our bodies still fused as the water lapped at our skin. And then, slowly, Zac leaned in and kissed me again—soft this time, lingering.

When we finally made it to bed, I collapsed onto the mattress beside him, spent and boneless, my ass thrumming with warmth, his seed still inside me. He pulled me into his arms without hesitation, tucking me against his chest like a dragon hoarding his treasure. I fell asleep fast, feeling warm, safe, and utterly content.