Big Boss by Cassie Mint

Six

Jacob

Which is the most shameful part of this? The fact that I spread my daughter’s best friend out on my desk and ate her pussy like a starving man? Or the fact that she walked through the dark to reach me, vulnerable and alone?

I blow out a heavy breath as we step out onto the street. I can’t decide.

“Jacob? Are you okay?” Daphne hurries alongside me, two steps of hers for every one of mine. I slow down and match her.

“I’m fine.”

The worst part is, I’m not even sorry. About her risking her safety to get to me—yeah, I’m definitely sorry about that. So sorry and pissed off and ashamed about that I could bellow up at the moon.

But the other thing? The fact that I can still taste her on my tongue?

No. I wouldn’t take it back.

Fuck. She was so salty, so sweet, so perfectly responsive. The faintest touches, the barest movements made her sing. And those little noises she made—they’re playing on a loop in my brain.

“Um. Are you mad at me?”

I slam to a halt in the street. Stare down at her wide, worried eyes, her cheeks still flushed from panting and writhing on top of my desk. She’s clutching that box of leftovers again, the plastic creaking from her tight grip.

She must have grabbed it on our way out of the office. I didn’t even think about it—I was too caught in my daze.

“Let me.” I take the box off her. It’s bad enough she carried it all the way here. Then I take the side of her face, cupping her as gently as I can. “Daphne. Of course I’m not mad.”

She exhales softly, then offers a small smile. Takes my wrist in both her hands and gives it a tug.

She directs my thumb until it’s pressed against her bottom lip. Right against that cleft that I’ve fixated on, like she read my mind, or caught me staring one too many times.

I wait with my heart in my throat as she presses a kiss to the pad of my thumb, the icy wind whipping around us. My open coat flaps in the breeze, and the tip of her nose is bright red. The only warmth in the world is where my thumb meets her lip.

It’s not real. This can’t be real. Daphne is too sweet, too pretty, too good to be true.

She sucks my thumb into her mouth. All the way past the knuckle.

Her cheeks hollow. I groan.

Nerves tingle at the base of my spine as she sucks, and I’m so hard my skull throbs. Her eyes are wide. Staring up at me. Pleading.

Every instinct is screaming for me to reach for her, to push her to her knees right here on the snowy sidewalk. To nudge the head of my cock past her pink lips, see them stretch around that instead, and fist her soft hair as she owns me out here for everyone to see, body and soul.

“Daphne,” I rasp instead. My thumb pulls free with a pop. “We need to keep moving. You’ll catch a cold.”

She huffs, like she’s annoyed to hear me fret over her, but when we start walking again, she slips her gloved hand into my bare one. And a faint smile plays over her mouth as we go, boots crunching in the snow.

It’s perfect.

Until we reach my home’s driveway, and by silent agreement, we drop our held hands.

“If you can’t sleep tonight…”

I can’t say the words. Can’t ask that of her. But she beams at me as we walk up the steps to the front door.

“I’ll come find you. I promise.”

“Good.”

* * *

Am I a monster if I hope Daphne can’t sleep? Probably. She slips away so quickly when we step inside the house, off to find Kate. Like smoke trailing through my fingers.

I fix myself something to eat in the kitchen; work a few more hours in my study; take a long, scalding shower in my en suite. And every damn minute, she’s on my mind. Front and center, dominating my thoughts.

It feels like a dream. Everything that happened in my office; the way she sucked on my thumb in the snow-white street. Like I fell asleep at my desk after working too long without a break, and my overwrought brain conjured the thing I want most of all in the world.

Daphne.

Her touch. Her smile. Her quiet words, whispered in an empty room like she’s telling me a secret.

She’s so slight and small. A wisp of a thing. It’s almost a cruel joke that she’s the one I want, when there’s a fair chance if I ever got her into my bed that I’d roll over and crush her.

“Fool,” I mutter as I turn the shower off. I’m the world’s biggest fool to think anything could come of this. Daphne will spend five minutes in the warmth and light and reality of this house, then come to her senses and stay far away.

She probably regrets ever saying she’d come to me tonight. She’s probably hoping I’ll forget.

I won’t forget. Not for the rest of my life.

But I won’t chase after her. I won’t make her feel pressured. I can do that much for her, at least.

Toweled dry, I dress in navy pajama pants and a plain black t-shirt, steadfastly refusing to look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t need another reminder of what she sees when she looks at me—the swell of my stomach. The blunt thickness of my limbs.

Part of me wants to go back to my study and wait for her there—in the unlikely event that she comes, it seems safer to meet her somewhere neutral. Somewhere without a bed. Somewhere I haven’t undressed; laid awake; fisted my cock and thought of her. Somewhere logic might still win the battle in my brain.

But in the end, there’s no guarantee she’ll come, and there’s a bone-deep tiredness sinking through my limbs. I could turn the light out and sleep for a week.

The wind moans outside my window, rattling the glass in its pane. My room is large, with light gray walls and polished oak floorboards. The rug is one Kate picked out for me on our trip to Morocco two summers ago; the bed is enormous, big enough to hold my frame and draped in a dark red bedspread.

A lamp casts a golden glow from my nightstand. There’s a closet and a bookcase. In short: it’s not much to look at. Comfortable but unimpressive. I wish now that I’d put more thought into the decorations; that I gave Kate free license to splash some color and feeling through this room.

What will Daphne think of it?

I cross my arms and stare out of the window. It’s ink-black outside, the stars barely visible through the glass, and the wind is whipping the treetops. It’s late. Past midnight, but I don’t know how far past.

“Jacob?”

Her soft knock makes my stomach drop.

She came. She really came.

“Come in.” We’re speaking in hushed tones—it may be past midnight, and Kate may be a heavy sleeper, but this is reckless. Even after everything we’ve already done.

Daphne slips through the doorway, her shadows dancing over the wall. She closes the door softly behind her, the quiet click echoing like a judge’s gavel in my brain.

Her face is bare of make-up, scrubbed raw like she just washed. Her hair looks almost brown in this dim light, and it bunches where she’s tucked it behind one ear.

She’s wearing pajamas. A cute purple silk set, with tiny shorts and a button down shirt.

I guessed right. Huh.

“Are you, um.” She toys with the hem of her shorts. Absent-minded, like she doesn’t know what it does to me. She’s leaning back against the door, her slender shoulders propped against the wood. “Is it still okay that I’m here?”

“Yes.”

That one word sounds guttural. Like I can barely speak at all. And it’s true—my throat is so tight, I can hardly breathe. I gesture for her to come closer, a writhing mass of nerves and desire twisting in my chest.

Daphne huffs a relieved laugh and pushes off the door. When she pads across the floorboards, her steps are so light, she’s practically skipping. She holds out a hand when she’s still half a room away, like she’s been secretly reaching for me all day.

And I snatch up her hand as soon as it’s close enough. Yank her to my front, plastering her against my body.

Too late, I realize these pajama pants leave me nowhere to hide. The stiff length of my cock is wedged against her stomach, her panting breaths pushing rhythmically against the head.

Oh well.

If I’m already halfway damned…

“Daphne,” I grit out. “Fuck, I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long.” As I speak, my hands trail over the slippery silk of her pajamas, her heated skin, the dip and swell of her sides. And god help me, I thrust my length against her.

I show her what she does to me.

“Mm.” She winds her arms around my neck and tilts her head back, her eyelids fluttering. A lazy smile curls those pouting lips, and her hips push back against mine. Urging me on.

“Have you done this before?” I rasp.

She hesitates, her mouth twisting to one side.

Then shakes her head no.

Fuck.

“We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupts. “I already made my decision. A long time ago.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I’m surprised she can’t hear the slam of my heart against my rib cage. I’m surprised it’s not rattling the paintings in their frames.

“If you change your mind at any point—”

“I’ll say so. I promise.” Her fingers scratch at the back of my neck, and her smile is so sweet my chest aches. “I trust you, Jacob.”

That makes one of us.

Because I don’t feel trustworthy right now. I feel out of control, a planet spinning off its axis, about to slam into the nearest object and obliterate everything in its path. And that can’t be her, I won’t let it be her—

But I’m snaking a hand between us. Flicking the top button of her shirt open.

She lets me walk her back towards the bed. It’s easy. Natural. Like a dance we’ve both been rehearsing in the dark places of our minds. By all rights, we shouldn’t fit—not when I’m twice her age, twice her size—but it’s like we’re tuned into each other. On a private wavelength.

We both know where this is going.

“I like your bedroom,” she whispers, and my chest cracks open. So fucking sweet. She didn’t need to say that. I lunge for her, muffling her delighted squeal with my shoulder, then toss her onto the center of the mattress like a rag doll.

She bounces, limbs sprawling everywhere.

Her eyes are bright, corners creased from smiling. I never want to see those eyes sad.

I reach down and flick open another button.

“Why did you stop?” She blinks up at me when I straighten. Fold my arms over my chest.

“Because I want you to do it, Daphne.”

“Do what?”

“I want you to strip for me.”

Fuck it. If we’re doing this, if I’m crossing every line, I want it all. Every filthy thing I’ve imagined in the dead of night. Every inch of her body that I’ve been desperate to worship; every command I’ve swallowed back.

“Oh—okay.” Her fingers are clumsy, her movements rushed, but she manages to work the rest of her shirt buttons open. She misses one; has to loop back and flick it undone. Then her silk shirt falls open, and her bare chest rises and falls under my gaze.

So fucking beautiful. But it’s not enough.

“Show me.”

Her breath hitches, then she takes hold of the shirt edges. Peels it wide.

Her nipples are dusky. Pebbled against the cool air. They shift with each heaved breath, and as I watch, a pink blush creeps down her throat. All the way down her chest.

“Beautiful,” I croak. “So fucking pretty, baby.”

She beams, then blurts it out in a rush: “You are too. Beautiful, I mean. In a—a manly way,” she adds with a stammer.

Unlikely. But I swallow back my snort. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” She’s so fervent, I almost believe her. “You’re so big and strong and—and big.” She squirms on the bedspread as she talks, like she’s getting worked up just thinking about it, and fuck, how did I never notice before?

Daphne likes my size.

She wants my weight pinning her down. Squeezing the air from her tight little form.

Boosted by the hungry glint to my eyes, Daphne drops the sides of her shirt and slides her palms to her tits. She cups them, squeezes them, twists her own nipples, staring into my eyes all the while.

“You like that, huh?” She nods, dazed. “You like that pinch of pain?”

She whimpers when I crawl onto the bed, the mattress dipping between my weight. I pause to check, but it’s not a scared whimper. It’s one of relief, of desperation, and I know how she feels.

I need her so badly it hurts. Like a toothache.

I hook my fingers in her shorts. Pull them down in one rough tug.

“I knew it.” I crawl up the length of her body, still fully clothed while she’s stripped bare, and she lays back and lets me. Melts into the mattress, arms winding around my neck.

“I fucking knew it, Daphne. Fussy silk pajamas, I guessed, with tiny cocktease shorts.”

My palm cracks against her ass, and she lets out a yelp. Buries her face in my shoulder, her panting breaths making my t-shirt damp.

“Were you gonna wear those around the house? Drive me insane out there where I couldn’t do a thing about it—make me snap and bend you over the dining room table, risks be damned? Did you buy those for me too?”

She’s nodding. Nodding, and hiccuping, and clinging to me like I’m a life raft in a storm. I grab her hip and hitch her against me. Line her up with the rock hard cock trying to burst through my pants.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” My hips roll her into the mattress. Her moan is strangled, her arms a vice around my neck. She’s trapped under my bulk. Pinned by my cock. “Do you want me to fuck you? Bury myself balls deep? Do you want me to make you mine?”

I wait for her answer, heart thundering.

Then: “Yes.” Her teeth scrape over my throat. Jesus Christ. “Please, Mr Callahan. I want it.”

Earlier, I hated it when she called me that. It was a reminder of how off-limits she is—how far I’d crossed the line. But now I see why she likes it so much.

It makes this thing between us darker somehow. More twisted and delicious.

“Then be a good girl, Daphne.” I snake my hand down her body, the backs of my knuckles brushing her shuddering stomach. “Keep quiet.”

She’s still slick and swollen from earlier, my fingers coasting easily along her seam. And it takes no time at all before she’s mewling for more, her hips rocking up, seeking more friction, more pressure, just more.

True to my command, she muffles her whimpers in my t-shirt. And I press my face against her hair, breathing in her floral scent, before I tug down my waistband and notch my cock at her entrance.

“Are you sure?”

She nods, shoulders trembling.

“This might sting at first,” I warn, and then I’m pushing inside. Splitting her open.

The heat is searing. She’s so wet, so tight, and her muscles clamp around my cock like a vice. Every ripple, every twitch, every flutter—I feel it all.

“Relax,” I murmur against her hair once I’m halfway in. She lets out a muffled sob. I freeze. “Daphne?”

“I’m—I’m okay.” She sucks in a deep breath, then exhales slowly. Then does it again. And again.

Little by little, her tension thaws away. Her stranglehold on my neck loosens; her lips begin to press lazy kisses against my throat.

I grit my teeth, and push forward another inch.

I pause. No sob this time.

“Fuck.” She’s relaxing around my cock, her body sucking me deeper rather than pushing me out. As I thrust slowly, sliding further each time, her hips roll to meet mine. Her breath hitches in my ear.

“Oh, wow,” she whispers, and I bite back a grin. Relief and triumph war in my chest. I’m thrusting harder now, fucking all the way deep, and my t-shirt hangs over her and drags over her belly. She lets out these breathy little moans with each thrust, like I’m knocking them clean out of her throat, and I can’t fucking handle it.

I screw my eyes shut, hips pumping faster.

“This is—oh my god.” She scrabbles for a better grip on my shoulders, fisting my t-shirt in both hands. Her heels dig into the mattress and she’s raising her hips now, pushing up against me as hard as she can. “I never… w-when I pictured this…”

She pictured this?

She’s going to kill me.

“Yeah?” My breath is hot against her temple. “What did you picture, baby?” I grab a fistful of the bed sheets, squeezing until my knuckles creak.

It doesn’t help. Not when she whispers against my throat: “Th-this. You inside me. And… licking me down there, like earlier. And… me on my knees, licking you.”

“Jesus.” I wedge a hand between us, fingers dancing over her clit. I really need her to come, because I’m holding on by a thread here. My blood is pounding in my ears.

“I’m—I’m going to—”

“Do it,” I rasp. “Come for me, baby.”

She sighs, her muscles clamping down tight, and I swell inside her, then follow a split second later. We cling together, shuddering and panting, and when I collapse onto the bed, I barely remember to roll to the side.

“Oh, wow.” A strand of her hair is stuck to her forehead. I brush it away, arm heavy. “Was that…” Daphne trails off and bites her lip, then tries again. “Was that okay?”

I stare at her. Her hair is mussed. Her cheeks are flushed bright red and there’s a sheen of sweat on her skin. Her chest heaves with every breath, her pussy is swollen and slick in the lamplight, and she wants to know if that was okay?

“Daphne,” I grit out. I can’t believe I need to say this. “That was a lot more than okay. That was—that was a fucking revelation.”

Her worried frown melts into a smile, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

“Sweetheart.” There’s a burn deep in my chest. “Don’t ever worry about that again. Okay?”

“Okay.” She agrees so easily, so happily, pillowing her head on one arm and rolling over to face me. Her finger traces a soft pattern on my chest. “Can I stay in here a while longer?”

The burn flares hotter. “Of course.”

I want to ask her why she can’t sleep. Want to beg her to stay until morning. But this has been so much for one night already, and I don’t want to push her. Don’t want to demand more than she’s willing to give.

So I shuffle up the bed and lay back against the pillows, then tug her up alongside me and tuck her into my side. She sighs sweetly and tosses one leg over mine, and makes no move to get dressed.

It’s just as well.

Those goddamn pajamas.