Page 56 of Dirty Boss

And I loved it.

The heat of his touch against my center made me tremble. The scrape of his teeth against my jaw made me cling to him with my fingernails.

“Look how wet you are, princess,” he said in a low voice. “How much you need this.” His fingers slowed, circling my clit with teasing touches.

“Vaughn, you promised you’d make me come.” The back of my head knocked against the mirror as I pulled back to glare at him.

His smile was bright, and the pressure of his touch didn’t change. “I did promise. And I will.”

“Stop messing around.”

He dipped his fingers back to circle my opening. “What if I like making you pant like this?” he asked, head ducking to kiss my ear, the corner of my jaw. “What if I want to see just how demanding you’ll get?”

“You’re such a jerk.”

He hummed, one finger sliding inside me. The heel of his hand pressed where I needed it, and I trembled against him. He pulled back to watch me, his eyes half-lidded, as he pumped his finger inside me—and then added another.

My breaths became shorter, faster. His touch felt so good. I wanted to come. Wanted to feel that rush of relief, that flush of heat and pleasure. I squirmed and sighed and clung to him, and it seemed like my orgasm got further and further away. When he pulled his fingers out to circle my clit, his hand slick with my arousal, I gulped down breaths and squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to let go.

But I’d been on edge for over a year. Longer. It was hard to relax, to let my guard down long enough to get there. I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. This man, for all intents and purposes, was my boss. My one lifeline to stability.

And I was ruining it. I’d already ruined it when I agreed to let him touch me. I’d been selfish and stupid and reckless, just like before?—

“Alba, stop.” His fingers stilled.

My eyes flew open. “What?”

He kissed me, then pulled back. One hand was still on the side of my neck, holding my chin up so I’d have to meet his eyes. “Turn that brain of yours off. Stop thinking so hard.”

With the fingers of his other hand, he entered me again, slow and steady, until his thumb was nestled against the side of my clit. Then he stopped and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Let me do this for you.”

I gulped, nodding. “I’m—it’s okay if I don’t?—”

“Let me do this for you, Alba,” he repeated, voice rough. “I’ve imagined it too many times to fuck it up now.”

A huffed laugh fell from my lips. If only he knew how much I’d dreamed of him these past weeks. How many times I’d touched myself, wishing it was him.

But imagining him, solo in my bed or my shower with my hand between my legs, was different from the reality of being here, in a studio where we definitely weren’t supposed to be doing this, with his scent and his warmth and his size.

It was too real.

With Cole, sex had been a commodity. I knew, on some level, that he didn’t really want me. Our sex life became mechanical, transactional. Whenever it had been too long, I’d hear my mother’s voice in my head on repeat:You’ll need to take care of your husband. You’ll have to keep him happy so he has nothing to complain about at home. At least until you’ve given him a child.

I’d been trained to be the perfect little wife, hadn’t I? From a young age, I’d been trained to treat sex as something to be used to exchange power. It wasn’t for my pleasure; it was to keep my future husband happy. If I gave it away for the wrong reasons, my value in society would plummet. If I somehow gained the reputation for being loose, then all hope of marrying well would disappear. Even in this day and age.

Sex wasn’t a rush of relief and pleasure. It wasn’t the union of two people. It was something to be used.

And here, in this dance studio, who was using whom?

Vaughn’s eyes flicked between mine, and his movements slowed. He pulled his hand from between my legs, but he didn’t back away. I stood against the wall of mirrors, trembling slightly, trying to push away all the thoughts that swamped out my desire.

But Vaughn saw it all in my eyes. Saw my conflict, felt my tension, heard my ragged breaths—and knew they weren’t from pleasure.

“You’re not enjoying this,” he said, and straightened slightly.

“It’s not—” I gulped, my hands still on his shoulders. I curled my fingers, holding him there. “It’s… I don’t know, Vaughn. Maybe—” I squeezed my eyes shut. “This was a bad idea.”

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to look at me like I mattered. But I couldn’t get out of my own head. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that having sex with him right now would ruin something.