Just a Bit Bossy by Alessandra Hazard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

 

There was something maddening about your boss standing there over you when you were trying to focus on your damn job.

Nate glared at the monitor in front him, putting all his focus on typing instead of the man who stood behind him, dictating—Nate actually had no idea what he was dictating. He typed the words, but they didn’t seem to make any sense, his body painfully aware of the other man. He even had to breathe shallower in order not to get a whiff of Ra—Ferrara’s scent.

“This here is wrong,” Ferrara said, laying a hand on Nate’s shoulder and leaning over to point something on the screen.

Inhaling shakily, Nate nodded, seeing nothing, his head empty of all thought.

He wanted to grab the asshole by the tie and—

Focus.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think the bastard was being all over his personal space on purpose, trying to drive him crazy. But that made no sense. Raffaele was the one who had said that Nate was being disgustingly needy and cuddly. It would make no fucking sense for him to enable that behavior. Right?

“Nate, are you going to lunch with us—Oh. Good morning, sir. I mean, good afternoon, Mr. Ferrara.”

Nate exhaled in relief when Raffaele pulled away from him and straightened up.

Nate smiled shakily at Sasha, a cheerful girl from the marketing department, and got to his feet. “Sure,” he said, putting his computer to sleep. His hands didn’t shake. Much. “I’ll finish this after lunch, sir,” he said quickly, without looking at Raffaele, and strode toward Sasha, who was waiting for him by the elevator.

“Holy crap, did you see the look on his face?” Sasha whispered quietly, taking his arm. “I nearly pissed myself. How can you put up with him all the time? You should be given a medal!”

Nate pressed his lips together. “He’s not that bad,” he said, and then immediately wanted to smack himself.

He’s not that bad? Really?

From the look on Sasha’s face, she clearly thought he was nuts.

Just great.

Nate resolved to do better, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to quash the urge to defend Raffaele to his co-workers as they shared lunch. The worst part was, it genuinely bothered him when his friends bad-mouthed him. It had never bothered him before. But now he couldn’t seem to shut up whenever one of his friends said something cutting about Raffaele.

“How is that fucking fair that Linden was fired just because he said he wouldn’t work overtime?” Ron said, to a chorus of agreement from his co-workers. “He’s an asshole.”

Nate bit his tongue, trying to stop himself from speaking again, but it was useless. “Linden wasn’t fired for refusing to work overtime,” he said, fixing his gaze on his mug of coffee. “He was fired for going to that journalist and spreading false information that the overtime is forced and unpaid. You know it isn’t true.” Those nasty rumors spread like wildfire, causing hundreds of clickbait articles that made people “cancel” the company. Nate had his issues with the Caldwell Group’s corporate policies and crunch, but that time the backlash was uncalled for.

“Well, yeah,” Ron said, deflating a little. “But it’s not like we can really refuse to crunch—being paid triple is too good an offer to turn down. Only an idiot would turn it down.”

Nate nearly snapped, If you’re too greedy to turn it down, don’t blame it on him.

But he held the scathing remark back. Barely.

By the time the lunch was over, Nate felt pain in his knuckles from how hard he had been clenching his fists, and he was incredibly annoyed with himself for feeling so damn protective of a man who didn’t deserve it. Raffaele wasn’t a good man. His co-workers’ complaints and grievances were partly justified. Partly. Because they weren’t really being fair to him. Raffaele wasn’t a hypocrite. They didn’t know how much he worked. They didn’t know that Raffaele was one of the last people to leave the building every day—and he actually wasn’t paid for that. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know him like Nate did.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nate muttered under his breath, heading back to the office.

Stop. Just stop.

 

***

 

“What happens in Italy, stays in Italy” was a good idea. In theory.

In practice, Nate just couldn’t look at Raffaele—Ferrara, dammit—with the same eyes. Not when he knew exactly how his boss looked under his designer suits. Not when he knew what it felt like to sleep curled up next to him, with his hand on his bare chest, feeling his strong, steady heartbeat. Not when he knew what that mouth and that stubble felt like against his face, his mouth, his belly, his inner thigh, his—

Nate ripped his gaze away and tried to focus it on the project leader reporting on his progress.

Job. He must focus on the job. Raffaele was his boss. Nothing more.

But a few moments later, his gaze was drawn back to Raffaele, as though by a magnet.

He stared at Raffaele’s strong fingers playing with his pen absentmindedly while Raffaele listened to the report, and licked his suddenly dry lips as he remembered those very fingers pushing into him, fingering his hole loose, preparing it for his cock.

Nate’s cock went from half-hard to painfully hard in an instant. He bit the inside of his cheek, hating himself a little, but it seemed his stupid body hadn’t gotten the memo that it wouldn’t be getting this man on top of him and inside of him ever again.

At that moment, Raffaele looked right at him.

Their gazes locked, and held.

And held.

Nate’s pulse was hammering against his throat. He hoped he didn’t look as thirsty as he felt.

At long last, his boss shifted his eyes back to the project leader, and Nate exhaled, feeling relieved… and terribly disappointed. God, this was fucked-up.

The meeting seemed to crawl.

By the time it finally ended, Nate felt like punching someone. Or screaming. Or crawling into his boss’s lap and kissing him right there, everything and everyone be damned. It was unbearable.

He was still struggling to compose himself when he followed Raffaele into his office.

The door clicked shut.

Nate stared numbly as Raffaele shrugged out of his dark suit and loosened his dark-red tie.

“Shirt,” he said in a clipped voice without looking at Nate.

Right.

Raffaele wanted to change his shirt. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

Nate turned and went to the closet. Opened it. The row of pristine shirts stared back at him.

Grabbing a blue one, he turned and walked to his boss on legs that felt like rubber, his heart thundering like crazy.

He watched those tan fingers unbutton the white shirt, revealing the smooth, muscular chest with a trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of Raffaele’s suit pants. His mouth was so dry he had to lick his lips twice. Until Raffaele, Nate had never looked at a man’s body and thought hot. But now he couldn’t look at Raffaele’s strong shoulders and arms without feeling thirsty as fuck. Even the veins on Raffaele’s forearms were somehow sexy. He wanted to lick them.

Raffaele dropped the shirt to the floor. Normally Nate would berate him for that. But he said nothing this time, trying to fight the wave of dizzying arousal as he gazed at his boss’s muscular, sun-bronzed torso, his fingers itching to touch those pecs, those brown nipples, that hard stomach and then…

Nate swallowed and looked up into Raffaele’s black eyes.

The moment stretched.

He had no idea who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, so hard it almost hurt. God. Nate’s mind went absolutely blank with overwhelming want. He sucked on Raffaele’s tongue, his hands clutching his bare back helplessly. He was whining, trying to pull him closer, so close there wasn’t any space between them. Fuck, it felt so good, but he was so hungry for this—for him—after days of not touching him that it wasn’t enough. He unbuckled Raffaele’s belt with impatient, shaky fingers, and yanked his zipper open.

After that… Nate wasn’t sure what happened after that. There was just Raffaele’s hot mouth, the taste of him, the feel of his firm body against his, his hands—those amazing hands—wrapping around both of their hard cocks as Raffaele rutted against him on his desk. Nate was gasping and moaning, wanting more, more of this man on top of him, inside of him, all the time. He knew he was too loud; it was lucky the room was well insulated.

He came so fast it would have been embarrassing if he didn’t feel Raffaele come a second later, shuddering and spilling against Nate’s thigh.

They breathed together shakily, panting and coming down from the high, hands still clutching at each other. God, so good. He never wanted to let go.

When Nate’s brain started functioning again, he sighed. So much for what happens in Italy, stays in Italy. He’d just come, but he already wanted more.

“You turned me into a goddamn nympho,” Nate complained.

A laugh left Raffaele’s mouth.

Blinking, Nate pulled back a little and looked at him. He’d rarely heard him laugh like that, without any sardonic undertone. It made him look so much younger.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Raffaele said, smiling wryly.

Nate almost smiled back. “You did. You turned me from a normal guy into this… this…”

“Cock slut?”

Nate flushed. “I was going to say an insatiable, sex-obsessed thing, but that works, too.”

A corner of Raffaele’s mouth twitched again.

“It’s not funny!” Nate said, threading his fingers through Raffaele’s hair. He couldn’t stop touching him. “This is horrible.”

“It’s just sex,” Raffaele said with a shrug. “I’m sure if we fuck often enough, we’ll tire of it. I always do.”

Nate pursed his lips. But it made some sense. If this wasn’t just going away, fucking until it got boring might be a solution.

“You said you didn’t want me to get any ideas that it’s a relationship,” Nate reminded him. The memory made him scowl.

Raffaele’s expression changed somewhat, but it was difficult to read. “Then don’t get ideas. Simple.”

Considering the disastrous lunch with his co-workers and his weird protectiveness, Nate wasn’t sure it was that simple.

“You’re my boss,” he tried again. “I don’t even like you.”

“Good,” Raffaele said before biting Nate’s bottom lip. “I don’t want you to like me and ruin everything. This is perfectly good.”

Right. It made sense. Probably. Nate wasn’t sure; his mind quickly became clouded again. Fuck, Raffaele’s mouth. All he wanted was more.

“Do you have lube here?” he mumbled against Raffaele’s lips, burying his fingers in his hair and deepening the kiss greedily. Dry-humping wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to be fucked. He missed being fucked several times a day, completely hooked on the feeling. He wanted this man inside of him, all the time—until he got bored of it.

It had to happen eventually.

It had to.