Page 8 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)

Monday morning came too soon. I barely slept, tossing and turning in my bed all night, and when I did, my dreams were disjointed and hazy—flashes of last night bleeding through like ink seeping into paper. The rasp of Chris’s voice in my ear. The sound of him coming apart on the other end of the line. My own desperate groans tangled with his. The raunchy images he put in my mind.

The logical part of my brain tried to rationalize it. I’d been drinking. Not much, but enough to lower my guard. It had been a joke at first, nothing serious. But then it wasn’t. Then I was stroking myself to the sound of Chris’s breath, to the filthy things he was saying, to the way my name rolled off his tongue like something decadent.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, scratching my beard. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. I was straight. Engaged. But the truth was, a part of me was… curious. Intrigued. In the two years we’d dated, Chantelle had never shown half the enthusiasm to suck my cock as Chris showed last night, at least in theory. And if he was able to make me that fired up with only his words, what could he do if he’d blow me for real?

I forced myself to get up, shower, and go to work like it was any other day. But as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, a sharp awareness settled over me. Chris was already at his desk, preparing for the tasks of the day ahead, and the moment I saw him, something twisted in my gut. I never really paid much attention before to how handsome he was. Not that I was suddenly attracted to him—but, objectively speaking, Chris was a very good-looking guy. Blond and blue-eyed. Athletic. A model’s face—high cheekbones, chiseled jawline. A firm, round ass that would make anyone look twice. And those sinful, succulent lips made to be wrapped around my cock.

Fuck.

He looked up as I passed him, those tantalizing lips twitching into a devilish grin. “Morning, boss. Feeling… refreshed?” His voice was teasing, laced with amusement, making my stomach clench.

I kept my face blank. “Morning.” That was it. No smile. No joke. No return fire. Just the single word, curt and dismissive.

Chris blinked, his smirk faltering. “Uh, right. Okay.” He cleared his throat and glanced at his computer screen, like suddenly it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “I’ll have the Masterson report on your desk in half an hour.”

“Good.” I kept walking without looking back.

It was the right thing to do. The necessary thing. But when I reached my office and shut the door, I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable tightness in my chest. I could still feel him there, outside, like some part of me was attuned to him in a way it hadn’t been before. It made me feel fucking crazy. I chose to ignore it.

I buried myself in work, in meetings, in emails. Anything to keep my brain occupied. Anything to keep myself from looking at him. But I wasn’t an idiot—I knew he noticed the change. I could see it in the brief, puzzled glances he shot me when I walked past his desk without our usual morning banter. The way his posture stiffened when I addressed him in clipped, professional tones instead of teasing him like I normally would.

Is this how it’s going to be now?

I hated it. I hated the distance I was forcing between us. I missed our ribbing, the easy camaraderie. And yet, after what happened yesterday, I didn’t know how to get back to that.

By noon, I felt suffocated. My brain felt fried from back-to-back meetings, and I stepped out of my office for a quick stretch. Chris was at his desk, typing away, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Drowning in spreadsheets already?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice carrying the familiar teasing lilt I always used with him.

Chris glanced up, a flash of relief passing over his face like he’d been waiting for me to act normal again. “Yeah, and I’m going slightly mad,” he quipped, tilting his head as if daring me to play along, eyes bright with mischief.

Without thinking, I started to reply— it’s a hard life , or something along those lines maybe. The words sat right there on my tongue, part of the natural rhythm we’d fallen into over the past weeks. But at the last second, I clamped my mouth shut. Instead, I nodded stiffly. “Make sure it’s done by lunch.”

Chris’s smile faded, his fingers hovering over the keyboard like he wasn’t sure what just happened. “Uh. Yeah. Sure thing, boss.”

I turned and walked away, jaw clenched, ignoring the faint twist of regret in my gut. I needed air, space, something to shake this off. Normally, I’d hit the gym and sweat it out—maybe go with Chris, bullshit with him in the sauna afterward. But now the thought made my stomach twist.

What the hell was I supposed to do? Pretend like nothing happened? Pretend like my skin hadn’t gone hot at the sound of his voice last night, like my cock hadn’t throbbed to the image of him on his knees before me?

I had no fucking clue.

For now, I decided it was best to avoid him. I avoided him like a coward, like a man who didn’t want to examine the thing slithering just beneath the surface.

* * *

At least Chantelle was back at last, and I took her to dinner that evening. I needed the normalcy, the familiarity. I needed to remind myself of who I was. And if spending some quality time with my fiancée wouldn’t do it, then fuck if I knew what would.

I pulled up in front of her building and spotted her immediately—impossible to miss, standing there in her long fur coat, poised and elegant, scrolling through her phone with a practiced ease. Even in the dim streetlights, she looked impeccable, her dark hair cascading in smooth waves over her shoulders, her makeup subtle but polished. She always carried herself like she was on display, like she knew eyes would be on her.

When I jumped out of the car, she glanced up, her lips curving into a smile as she tucked her phone into her coat pocket.

“Hey, handsome,” she murmured, rising onto her toes to kiss me.

I caught her waist, pulling her flush against me for a second, inhaling the familiar notes of her perfume—jasmine, with a crisp undertone of citrus. It was nice. It was comforting. “Hey yourself, gorgeous,” I said, my tone warm and easy as I pulled back and opened the car door for her. “I missed you. The weekend felt like an eternity.”

“Same.” She slid into the seat with a graceful motion, smoothing her coat as I shut the door. I rounded the car and got behind the wheel, glancing at her as I pulled into traffic.

“How was your trip?” I said, keeping my voice light.

She launched into a recap of her weekend, recounting court arguments and networking events, dropping the names of partners and judges as if I should recognize them. I nodded all the same, making the appropriate sounds of interest, but my brain kept trying to drift elsewhere. Kept stirring with a hunger that had no place here, in this car, with my fiancée beside me.

I clenched my jaw and refocused, gripping the wheel a little tighter as I steered us toward the restaurant. It was one of those fancy, modern places where the lighting was dim enough to make everything look expensive, the wine list extensive enough to impress, and the waitstaff trained to be both attentive and invisible. I barely glanced at the name on the awning when I pulled up, too caught up in my own head.

Before we sat at our table, Chantelle removed her fur coat, revealing a black satin dress that hugged her figure, the open back exposing smooth, milky skin. The waiter appeared, reciting the evening’s specials. Chantelle ordered a salad—“No dressing, please”—and a small plate of risotto. I ordered a steak, rare, something solid I could cut into, hoping it would ground me. We got our drinks—red wine for her, whiskey on the rocks for me—and settled into small talk while we waited.

Taking a sip of her Merlot, Chantelle leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—I won that case on Friday. It was a slaughter. The other attorney barely put up a fight.”

I smirked. “So… another one bites the dust?”

She blinked. “What?”

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “It’s a Queen song.”

“Oh. Right.” She gave me a polite smile and tapped her nails on the stem of the glass. “That was before my time.” No teasing about my age. No amused roll of her eyes. Just indifference before she moved on, already telling me some ridiculous gossip about one of her colleagues.

It shouldn’t have bugged me. It was a throwaway joke. But I could hear Chris’s voice in my head, the way he would’ve latched onto it, topped it with a quip of his own. I took a slow sip of my Jack Daniel’s, letting the burn scrape down my throat.

“Anyway,” Chantelle continued, her tone turning more businesslike, “I’ve got a huge case coming up. High-profile. I’ll have to be in New York for a couple of weeks while the trial’s going on.”

I looked up. “Two weeks?”

She nodded, checking something on her phone before setting it back down beside her plate. “Yeah, it’s a big deal. Could be great for my career if it goes well.”

“That’s… great,” I said, trying to mean it.

She smiled, but there was a distracted quality to it, like she wasn’t really looking at me. “I’ll be swamped, but we’ll still talk every day, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

A beat of silence stretched between us. She scrolled idly on her phone, and I picked up my drink, taking another slow sip. Around the restaurant, couples leaned into each other, laughter and murmured conversation filling the air. Across the room, a woman traced the rim of her wineglass as she laughed at something her date said. Easy. Natural. Intimate. When had Chantelle and I stopped being like that? Had we ever been like that?

I let out a heavy breath and reached for my whiskey again.

“Something wrong?” Chantelle asked.

“No.” I met her gaze and offered a weak curve of my mouth. “Just stressed.”

She nodded like she accepted that, then turned back to her phone. “I won’t be able to deal with all the wedding stuff while I’m away, so I’ll delegate to my mother. She finally accepted that I didn’t want any bridesmaids. God, you wouldn’t believe the drama over floral arrangements.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I told my mom she could handle the details, but she’s been calling me nonstop with options. Apparently, peonies are out this season, and now there’s a crisis.”

I forced a chuckle. “Tragic.”

She rolled her eyes but smirked. “Tell me about it.”

The waiter finally brought our food, giving me an excuse to eat instead of forcing the conversation. But my mind, fucking traitorous, kept yanking me elsewhere. Kept replaying last night in sharp, unrelenting detail. Chris’s voice in my ear, low and rough. The way my body had responded. How easy it had been. How natural.

“I feel like you’re a million miles away tonight.” Chantelle’s voice pulled me back. She was watching me closely now, her pale blue eyes sharp with something that wasn’t quite suspicion but was definitely curiosity.

A smile ghosted across my lips, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

She hummed, swirling her wineglass between her fingers. “Sure it’s nothing more?”

I clenched my jaw. I needed to get laid. That was the problem. My horniness was making me distracted, insane. So I decided to be honest. “Well, I’m a bit concupiscent, if you really want to know.” I knew she liked those big words, and this one tugged at the corner of her lips.

“It’s only been two days, Isaac,” she said.

“Like I said—eternity.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Hurry up with that steak and let’s go home.”

* * *

When we got back to my place, I wasted no time. The door had barely shut behind us before I was shrugging off my suit jacket, tugging at the buttons of my shirt. My shoes hit the floor as I unbuckled my belt, steering Chantelle toward the master bedroom, our mouths locked in a kiss that was more instinct than passion.

She laughed against my lips, fingers skating down my chest. “Someone’s eager tonight.”

“Can you blame me?” I murmured, pressing my mouth to her throat.

She kissed me back, slow and deep, but when my hands drifted lower, she pulled back slightly. “Let’s take our time,” she said.

Patience had never been my strong suit, but I nodded, letting her set the pace.

Between lingering kisses, our clothes disappeared, and soon we were tangled in bed, the city lights casting faint, shifting patterns on the walls. She didn’t blow me—she only did it on special occasions—and I didn’t press her. Instead, I let my hands roam, tried to lose myself in her body, but the moment I closed my eyes, Chris’s voice slipped through the cracks.

“I’d go down on you in a second.”

My throat went dry. I pushed the thought away, forced myself to focus—on Chantelle’s warmth beneath me, the soft rise and fall of her breasts, perky in my hands. I trailed kisses down her stomach, working to re-anchor myself in the moment. But when I settled between her thighs, she tensed.

“You don’t have to,” she murmured, caressing my beard. “Come here.”

She pulled me up, guiding me into position, and I let it go. It wasn’t the first time she’d turned me down. Chantelle liked sex, but she didn’t need it the way I did. And I did need it—desperately. I took what she was offering, gripping her hips, driving into her with a single-minded focus. But then, unbidden—

“Bet I’d suck you so good you’d forget your own name.”

I clenched my jaw, burying my face in Chantelle’s shoulder. What the fuck was wrong with me? I moved harder, faster, trying to shake the thought loose. She had to tell me to slow down, my thrusts hurting her, and I tried to go easier when all my instincts screamed to go rougher. When my release hit, it felt hollow. Mechanical.

Afterward, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing. Chantelle stretched beside me, letting out a sigh.

“Isaac,” she murmured. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I tensed. “What do you mean?”

She turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand, her gaze unwavering. “I know you, Isaac. You get… restless. And when you do, you get moody like this.”

Restless. That wasn’t the word for it. Restless was needing to burn off energy in the gym, pushing myself too hard in sparring, fucking Chantelle hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. Restless wasn’t… this. This slow, insidious itch under my skin.

She hesitated, then exhaled, like she was weighing her words before speaking. “I was thinking… maybe we should keep things open. Until the wedding.”

I stilled. She said it so casually, like she was offering me an extra side with my meal. No big deal. Just an option. “Open,” I repeated, just to be sure I heard her right.

She shrugged one shoulder. “We’re both busy. And honestly? You’ve always been the one with the higher sex drive. We’ve known that since the beginning. I don’t have the time or the energy to keep up. Especially now.” She smiled, a small, wry thing. “If you need an outlet, I don’t mind. As long as it doesn’t mean anything.”

I stared at her, my mind scrambling to process it. She was serious. She was giving me permission to fuck someone else. And for the first time in my life, my brain didn’t immediately conjure up another woman.

I swallowed hard. “That’s… a hell of a thing to bring up after sex.”

She laughed softly, brushing a kiss over my fuzzy jaw. “It’s pragmatic.”

I breathed out, rolling the thought over in my head. The idea should have been appealing. Should have been a solution. A way to burn off the tension without thinking too hard about why I was tense in the first place.

And yet.

“You’re not seeing anyone else?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

She shook her head. “God, no. With the hours I work, I can barely manage one, let alone two lovers. Besides, sex has never been that important to me.”

I did know that. Had known it from the start. Sure, it had nagged at me sometimes, but I’d convinced myself I could live with it. No woman I’d ever been with could match my libido. But then last night happened. And after so long, the way someone had wanted me—the hunger in their voice, the unabashed filth of their desire—had cracked something open inside me. Something I couldn’t seem to shut.

I rubbed my beard, my chest tight with questions I wasn’t ready to ask.

Chantelle tilted her head, studying me. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just think about it.”

I did. Long after she’d fallen asleep, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t going to do it. Of course I wasn’t. The woman sleeping beside me was the one I was going to marry. The one I loved . But the fact that the idea didn’t immediately repulse me? That was something I didn’t know what to do with. And in the back of my mind, a voice lingered, whispering things I couldn’t unhear.