The Bride (The Boss) (28 page)

“You’re right, Sir. Should I keep doing this?” I brushed the backs of my fingers over one tight nipple and put a little catch in my breath so he could hear it.

He smirked and turned to the stove to reach for one of the copper saucepans hanging against the backsplash. “Did I tell you to stop?”

By the time Neil had braised the kale and garlic in vegetable stock, retrieved the casserole from the oven, and opened a bottle of white wine, I was a shivering, aroused mess. He’d made me come like this before, just stroking my breasts and rolling his fingers over my nipples. I’d been tied down and blindfolded, wondering when he’d hurry up and just get to my clit already, when a slow, shuddering orgasm had left me whimpering and writhing against the sheets.

“I think we’ll eat in the dining room tonight,” he said cheerfully, as though he hadn’t been hearing my heavy breathing, my mewls and moans of frustration. “Why don’t you go out and wait. You’ll have time to edge at least once before I have the table set.”

“Yes, Sir.” I hopped down from my seat. My cunt was slick and hot, my clit aching to be touched. Though I knew I would only be more frustrated when I denied myself at the very limit of my pleasure, I needed the contact badly. I pulled my top back up, and though he hadn’t asked me to, he didn’t object. This
was
different from our usual routine. Any other night, I would have likely found myself on my knees, getting roughly throat-fucked as a punishment, or spanked so hard I cried.

Not that I would have minded. It was a good thing Neil paid more attention to my limits than I did.

I sat at the table, in my usual place to the right of Neil’s chair, and spread my legs. Even though we were alone, I couldn’t help but worry that someone might walk in. That was probably why he was making me do this. The thrill of the fear of discovery—when it was highly unlikely we would be interrupted—would create greater intensity without needlessly endangering my mental health.

Slowly, because I knew my Sir wouldn’t like it if I rushed, I slid my hand between my legs. The first touch of my fingertips skimming my labia was like an electric shock. I dipped my fingers between my folds and coated them with my wetness, so they glided effortlessly over my swollen clit. Already aroused to desperation, it took two swirls over my sensitive hood before I felt my orgasm tightening my cunt. I had to keep going, right up to the very edge, fighting back the urge to come. I tried to think of anything and everything possible to keep my mind off my inevitable orgasm, but it was all I could concentrate on. I had to hand it to guys; holding out was harder than I’d ever imagined it could be.

When Neil came in with two plates balanced on his arm and silverware in his hands, I was panting, rocking in my chair, afraid to move my hand off my body, I was so close.

“Don’t come,” he warned, sliding a plate in front of me and across from me. “You’re so close to your reward.”

He hadn’t set his usual place. Something was up.

It took him an unusually long time to return. When he did, he poured the wine into our glasses and set them out with more care than totally necessary. I breathed slowly, trying to ignore the throbbing between my legs. He didn’t take the seat across from me, but his usual place at the head of the table.

“Come here.” He patted the tabletop.

Oh, fuck yes.
The fact that I could stand up and take the two steps to his side without climaxing was a testament to my self-control.

His hands bracketed my waist, and he lifted me onto the perfectly smooth, lacquered wood. My skirt was still plastered around my hips, and I gasped when my bare vulva touched the cool surface.

Neil gripped the top of my dress with one hand between my breasts. He used the red silk to pull me down and slanted my mouth across his. Now, smearing my makeup was the furthest thing from my mind, and I matched him for every passionate slide of lips and tongue. He kissed me until I whimpered in distress, desperate for air, then let me come up for oxygen.

His mouth a millimeter from mine, he whispered, “Would you like to come, Sophie?”

I almost did, just from his words.

“Y-yes. Please, Sir.” I rubbed my thighs together and wriggled on the table.

His big, warm hands fell on my bare thighs, coaxing them apart, and he laid me back gently on the wide table. With his hands beneath the small of my back, he lifted my hips and said, “Put your feet on me. Good girl. I want to devour this gorgeous cunt.”

I moaned and twisted in his grasp. There was always a moment for me, right before my body let go, a split second of fear in which I wanted to escape the inevitability of my climax. Neil held me like some ripe, exotic fruit, and bent his head to my mound as my high heels dug into the hard muscles of his thighs.
 

He caught my clitoris in his mouth and sucked as he flicked his tongue over me. That was all it took, and I was writhing, loudly groaning in blissful relief. I arched my back, raised my hips, and before I could realize my error, Neil slipped his arms beneath the bends of my knees and hauled my legs over his shoulders.

I had no leverage to get away from his mouth. He didn’t let up, pushing me on through torturous post-orgasm sensitivity, until it felt good again, until I began to want another orgasm, to need one. I thrashed on the table, but he held my hips firm. His tongue dipped into me, tasting me, fucking me, then he replaced it with his finger. He tapped and sucked my clit and roughly pumped his fingers against my g-spot, building pressure in me that was too much to fight. I came again, spilling over him, my thighs quaking on either side of his head.

He looked up and grabbed the napkin beside his plate to wipe his face. Then he shrugged my limp legs off his shoulders, stood, unzipped his fly, and pulled a condom from his pocket.

So that’s what had taken so long to get the wine. He’d been taking his pill and getting safe sex supplies. Very sneaky.

Not that I was complaining; I wanted him so badly, with such painful emptiness, that the thought of walking to our bedroom seemed like a journey of hundreds of unsatisfied miles. “Please, Sir,” I begged him, though his intentions were clear. “Please fuck me.”

He gripped my waist and roughly slid me farther up the table, to the ominous sound of something fragile clinking. I tried to remember if we’d ever fucked in a position that actively imperiled our dinner before.

With one hand, he pinned my wrists together above my head, and with the other, he guided one of my legs around his back. He filled me with a rough thrust that almost knocked the wind out of me. I was so swollen, and he was so hard, that I knew I would feel this in the morning, but I was helpless. My body was no longer under the control of logic, common sense, or reason, and I ground against him, savoring the deep, sore burn as I stretched around his huge cock.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned against my ear, and when I rose up to meet his next thrust, I felt moisture on my back.
Holy shit, is that from me? Should I go to the doctor?
Then I noticed the overturned wine bottle beside us, slowly chugging its contents on the table.

I laughed so suddenly and so sharply that Neil startled and released my wrists. Through my hysterical giggling, I flung my pointed hand in the direction of the bottle. “I thought it was me, I thought I was having a medical squirting emergency.”

He took my face in his hands and kissed me through our laughter, until the kissing became more important, and he moved slowly inside me again. I sighed and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him tight to me, soft vocalizations purring from my throat with every one of his deep strokes.

When he withdrew from me without warning, I mewled in disappointment. He gave my vulva a light slap and growled, “On your knees.”

I flipped over, and he boosted me up so that I was on my hands and knees atop the table. In the change of position, my foot struck a dinner plate. The crash was deafening in the otherwise silent room, and the casual destruction set my heart racing. Neil climbed up behind me, slid his hand into my hair and grabbed a fistful, then gently pushed my head to the table. He hauled my hips up and pushed into me slowly, just an inch or two. When I tried to move back, he slapped my ass. “You stay still.”

He rocked back and forth, nearly pulling out of me entirely, then pushing back in that maddening, delicious few inches. I wanted him to fuck me harder, to take him in all the way, but I didn’t want him to stop teasing that sensitive opening.

He adjusted his angle, and I caught my groan, too used to silencing myself so we wouldn’t be overheard.

“We’re all alone tonight, Sophie,” he reminded me. “Let it go.”

Then he drove in deep, and I shouted, “Oh, fuck yes!” and slapped my hand against the table.

“There’s my girl,” he growled, and grasped my hips to pull me faster and harder.

Okay, maybe I was
slightly
exaggerating my screams and moans, but damn it, it felt so good to show my unfettered appreciation for the awesomeness that was fucking my fiancé. Especially in the middle of our dining room table. It felt so naughty and exposed.

He pushed my dress up farther and licked the spilled wine off my back, as much as his tongue could reach. Curving his body over mine, he groaned, “You’ll have to give me a hand here, Sophie.”

“My pleasure, Sir,” I agreed breathlessly and reached down to rub my clit in furious circles. My climax curled my toes, tensed my shoulders and clenched my thighs before it burst over me in a wave of pleasure so intense, it left me boneless in its wake. I collapsed on the table, my cheek pressed to the cold lacquer. Neil still held my hips, and he thrust one last time with a loud, “Oh, fuck!” before he fell on top of me. The other plate crashed to the floor.

I raised my head, and he kissed my cheek, his cock still throbbing inside of me.

“So,” I gasped, wine dripping onto my face from the ends of my mussed hair. “We’re ordering pizza, then?”

My fights with Holli had always been of the big blow-up, short non-talking spell variety. When March rolled in without a word, I began to feel uneasy.

“This is a bit more serious than a minor tiff over who should have done the dishes,” Neil said patiently as I whined to him over the phone one afternoon. “It may take her a while to come round. Have you called her? Emailed her?”

“No,” I admitted. “I meant to. I really did. But I didn’t know what to say.”

I was also deeply wounded; I’d been keeping a surreptitious eye on her Facebook, since she hadn’t thought to unfriend me. Three days before, she’d posted silly candids of her four bridesmaids gathered around her in various styles of dresses. Beneath the post, a mutual acquaintance from NYU had written, “
Squeeeee! So honored to have been chosen as your made of honor!”

I’d thought,
a bachelor’s degree, and she came up with “made” of honor?
Then I’d cried for hours. When I’d tried to show Neil what had upset me, I found that Holli had finally blocked me. Sure, it was childish internet bullshit, but it still stung. She’d waited until I’d seen that I’d been replaced.

I shuffled across the kitchen in my fuzzy slippers. I’d gone to sleep with my hair in a ponytail, and now it hung limp down the back of my ugly teal v-neck t-shirt. I scrubbed my hand over my sore scalp then stood before the open fridge door, dejected.

“Darling, one of you has to make the first move toward reconciliation. Yes, she said some very hurtful things to you, but if you’re planning to have any kind of a friendship with her at all, you might need to be the one to reach out.” He sounded so sympathetic, I wondered if he was speaking from experience. Neil had a lot of acquaintances, but very few close friends. Just Rudy and Valerie, and he’d stopped spending any friend time with the latter, due to my jealous girlfriendness.

I would work on that, I really would.

“I guess you’re right. I don’t know how, though. It’s been a month. It seems like the longer I wait, the more it’ll be like, ‘what the fuck,
now
you feel bad?’”

Over the line, I heard a voice in the background say, “Mr. Elwood? Your four o’clock is here.”

Neil didn’t respond verbally to the pronouncement. “Do you think that aspect of the situation will improve the longer you wait?”

I sighed my annoyance. “As usual, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, darling. Now I have to go, I have a—”

“You have a four o’clock. Go. Be the big boss man, while there’s still time,” I teased him.

Neil had moved his retirement date up, so that he would be free and clear of Elwood & Stern a few weeks after his fiftieth birthday. He’d originally planned to retire when we got married, but I was starting to feel like I’d be planning his surprise hundredth birthday party before we ever set a date for the wedding.

If that ended up being the case, I hoped the surprise killed him.

At least I had a busy month ahead of me to keep my mind off his reluctance to set the date and the loss of my best friend, both of which seemed more permanent every day. My book launch party was coming up. I’d be expected to read a passage in front of everyone. I so wasn’t looking forward to that. There was also Neil’s party, which Emma was doing the brunt of the work on.

The house phone rang and, seeing the number and extension on the caller ID came from Elwood & Stern, I answered with a breathy, “Sophie Scaife’s house of sexual deviance, how may I direct your cock?”

“Excuse me?”

Valerie. Fuck
.

“Hi,” I managed weakly, drawing the word out way too much. “I thought you would be Neil.”

“I should hope so.” Did she sound amused? I thought she sounded amused, but it was probably wishful thinking on my part.

I didn’t want her to assume I answered the phone like that all the time, so I tried to explain further. “I just got off with him. Off the phone. I just got off the phone with him, not…”

Explaining never made anything better.

I took a deep breath. “Valerie. What can I do for you?”

“I was looking for Emma. I’ve been ringing her mobile and I can’t raise her. I thought she might be there.”