Bewitching the Boss by Jessa Kane

Seven

Jane

I spent the night.

I slept in Byron DeWitt’s bed.

If we’re getting technical, I was held prisoner…but being trapped beneath his big leg, his arms wrapped around me like a straitjacket? There are way worse things in this life.

Understatement.

I’ve never been more filled with joy. With hope and love.

Oh God, those are such dangerous emotions.

Two days ago I slunk back into the shadows, but he pulled me out. He refused to let me stay there. I was just going to watch him sleep from the roof of his guest house. But he called me. And lord, he was so aroused. So hard. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t stay away, no matter how many times I called myself selfish. A liar.

He has no idea who is sleeping beside him.

What if…he never finds out?

Is that possible?

We could go on like this forever, insatiable for each other. Lost in this crazy tailspin we throw one another into. It’s an addiction. We are an addiction. And maybe I was crazy to think walking away would be so easy. No. No, it’s impossible. Because he saw me last night. He recognized that I’ve been stalking him, obsessing and hungering…and he made love to me anyway. He needed me despite it all. He closed his eyes and slept, trusting me in his room, even though my infatuation with him is clearly unhinged. Unhealthy.

My heart swells painfully in my chest.

Can I stay here? Can I be his love for real?

Byron shifts behind me in bed, his palms smoothing up my belly to fondle my breasts, as he did so many times last night, muttering into my hair how beautiful I am. As if he can’t help praising me even in his sleep.

Praising me.

Caring for me.

At first, I hated it. I didn’t want to experience that comfort and bliss and sense of belonging. But he persisted and broke through a barrier inside of me. That wall lies in ruins now and I don’t know how I’ll be able to build it back up again. Or if I want to.

Byron’s mouth presses to the nape of my neck, inhaling, his shaft thickening against the curve of my bottom. “Morning.” He pulls me back more securely to his chest, sighing contentedly. “You feel that, don’t you, Jane?”

“Feel what?” I whisper.

He kisses my shoulder. “That you’re supposed to wake up here. Every day.”

The fluttering in my ribcage is almost too much to handle without crying. “I think…I th-think that sounds nice in theory.”

“Not a theory. Fact.”

I start to move away from him, but he only holds tighter, the length of his strong, naked body flexing against mine in a delicious way that tugs at my core. “Byron, I was outside your house last night…and it was far from the first time,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “You can’t just pretend that’s normal.”

“You want me to say it out loud? Get it out in the open? Fine. You’ve been stalking me.” He turns me over to face him, lifting my chin in a firm hand and those green eyes, oh man, they are like hooks sinking into my heart, immobilizing me. “Good. Keep doing it.”

My pulse is going to leap straight out of my veins. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do mean it,” he says gruffly, leaning over to bring our lips flush, to wind my tongue into a sensual maze of a kiss. “As long as you don’t mind me stalking you back.” He searches my eyes and I notice a new light to his. Holy Moses. It’s the same madness I see staring back at me when I look in the mirror. “I want to know where you are and who you’re with at all times. I want you here, in my bed, seven nights a week. And the next time I call you and you don’t answer the phone, understand that I’m on my way. That I’ll find you.”

“No,” I whimper, shaking my head. “No, you don’t have to be like me, Byron.”

“Too late, Jane.” He rolls me onto my back, pinning my wrists on either side of my head. “Now, we have a new rule.”

I can barely concentrate because his hips are nudging apart my thighs, his hardness parting the folds of my sex. Rocking gently. “New rule?”

“That’s right.” His mouth finds my neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath my ear, exhaling warm breath all over me, eliciting a shiver. “You want what we had last night. You need it.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll get it,” he murmurs, reaching down to take hold of his erection, tucking the tip inside my entrance. I suck in a breath and hold it, whining in my throat like a beggar when he doesn’t push any deeper. “But for every time I fuck you like a high-class escort, Jane, I’m going to make love to you.”

Panic descends.

No.

No, this can’t happen.

I’m trapped. Nowhere to go. But I struggle anyway, alarm flooding me when he pins me easily, flattening my body to the mattress. “You’re getting my love,” he exhales thickly, finally pressing his inches deep inside of me, the sensation so decadent my eyes almost cross. “You want my love, Jane. You need it. Same as I need yours.” Still holding my wrists captive, he starts to pump between my thighs. A slow grind of hard flesh into soft, my immediate wetness giving away how much I enjoy the perfect friction. “Tell me your address, Jane,” he says against my mouth, breaths rasping in his throat. “I want you to give it to me voluntarily.”

“Why?”

“So I can send someone over to collect your things today. As soon as possible.” He draws back slightly, letting me see his hard eyes. His resolve. The intensity, the…yes, the obsession there is wild and won’t be negotiated with. I know. I feel it myself. I invented how he’s feeling right now and it’s multiplying now that he’s encouraging it. Stoking the fire inside of me higher. “You live here now.”

“No,” I respond shakily. He wouldn’t come within a hundred yards of me if he knew who I was. What I’ve done. He’d hate me. “No, Byron.”

“Yes,” he says through his teeth, giving me a hard, unexpected thrust that rattles the headboard and makes me scream. “You’ve climbed inside of me and you’re not getting out, do you understand? Don’t look me in the eye and say no. Don’t do that.”

I appeal to him with my eyes. “I have to.”

“Jane, whatever is damaged inside of you, we’re going to fix it together.” He shudders, moans and starts to ride me faster, his hardness swelling inside of me. Lengthening. “Or we won’t. We’ll be damaged together. I need you however I can have you. Just open your legs for me, you gorgeous girl. Tell me this sweet young cunt is mine.”

He lets go of my wrists in favor of scooping his hand beneath my butt, holding me steady for his increasing roughness. And my palms scrape down his back to grip his flexing buttocks, savoring the rebound of his fleshy cheeks every time he drives into me. “Of course it’s yours, baby,” I whisper, my desire taking over. My worries being left in the dust—almost. I can’t let him make love to me. Not yet. It’s too much. I’m already deceiving him and this pouring down of affection is too greedy. I did nothing to earn it. I did the opposite of earning it. “You can do whatever you want with my body, Byron,” I whisper, licking over the entirety of his ear, burying my fingernails in his backside. “Just tell me what I want to hear.”

Punish me.

Shame me.

“No.” His voice is hard. Not to be reasoned with. “We’re making love right now, Jane. Not fucking. Not the kind of fucking you think you need.”

More panic descends. “N-no, I do need it.”

“Bullshit.” He yanks my legs up high around his hips and bears down, lightly grinding the thick base of his shaft on my clit. The friction is so glorious and skillful that my back arches violently and I wrap my legs around his lower back securely, scratching nail marks onto his butt. Panting, panting his name. “Beautiful, beautiful Jane,” he mutters hungrily into my neck. “Sweet, complicated girl. You can trust me. I’ve got you.”

I sob. Tears are starting to roll down my temples.

Oh God, what is happening? I can’t stop this.

Do I want to?

“There we go,” he breathes into my ear. “You’re getting wetter. You want it just like this. With me telling you I’d die for you. That you’re smart and driven and funny and sexy and I fucking need you, need you in my life. Now. Constantly.”

“Byron,” I gasp, my feminine flesh beginning to tighten up ominously, toes straightening involuntarily, light starting to wane at the edges of my vision. “No. No, please don’t make me come like this. Please. I can’t.”

“You will. You’re going to cream up my dick, Jane. You’re going to drench it.”

“Like a slut,” I whisper.

“No,” he growls, kissing me. “Like a perfect angel. My perfect angel.”

The climax that hits me is turbulent and welcoming at the same time. There’s no sick feeling accompanying it. Just freedom. Just flying. A shuddering of my muscles and rawness of my throat, our bodies straining and twisting in the lightness as Byron follows me, sinking in as deep as possible and emptying himself with a hoarse shout of my name, tremors racing down his back and buttocks, caressed away by my fingertips.

And then all I can do is hold him and stare up at the ceiling.

Is this real?

Is it?

When he pulls me into his arms, kisses me and proceeds to explain how each and every one of my body parts—ears, fingernails, knees—belongs to him now, I stop struggling against my conscience…and let myself try happiness on for size. Someday soon I might regret it.

Not this morning…

But soon.