Bossy

by N.R. Walker

Highly traumatic and life-changing. With a dash of possibly wonderful.

Maybe I stared one too many times for a touch too long while he drank his beer, because one of his friends nodded toward me and shoved his arm.

I undid another button on my shirt. “I want you to fuck me,” I said. “Thoroughly. For hours.”

“You can turn up here and use my body like that any time you like.” “If you want me to turn up here and use your body like that, I’m more than happy to oblige.” His eyes shone with humour. “You took my dick like a champ.” This wasn’t a weird conversation to be having at all. “You give dick like a champ.”

“Friday night. Nine o’clock?” “Yes, please.” He left with a smile. No goodbye, no thanks, no awkwardness, no regrets. I still didn’t even know his name.

I’m very well aware that telling a virtual stranger to ‘do what you want with me’ was probably not a good idea. But he was so fucking sexy, and his body, his hands and his mouth, and that huge cock I could feel . . . Apparently that was all it took for me to throw my dignity and self-preservation out the window.

Terrence let out a breath but he smiled. “So shall we take a bet as to how long it is before this no-complications thing gets complicated?”

“He was looking at you like you were looking at him.” “How was I looking at him?” “Like we should be sussing out wedding venues,”

He laughed again and collected me in a bear hug. He rocked me from side to side, kissing my neck and shoulder as he chuckled, and it was strangely a comfortably intimate thing to do.

Christ. This was getting absurd. As if my heart being a traitor wasn’t bad enough, now my lungs wouldn’t work and my feet were stuck to the floor.

Wait, what? I missed his voice? What the fuck was that about? I didn’t miss his voice. Or his laugh. Or his blue eyes, or pink lips, or . . . Fucking hell.

But when I thought of Michael and those lips and his tight little arse, his hands, his laugh, and the line of his throat and how he moans . . . and my cock pulsed at that. “Fucking traitor.” Great. Now I’m talking to my dick.

“Oh my god. The great Bryson Schroeder got shot down.” “I didn’t get shot down. It’s all part of the game.” God, was it a game anymore? “Game?” He laughed again. “Bryce, I don’t need to tell you this, but it’s not a game when only one of you is playing.”

“If someone tells you it can’t be done, what they’re saying is they couldn’t do it. If they’re not good enough or not brave enough to make it happen is something only they can answer.”

He was back to looking horror-stricken. “I’d rather plan a colon cleanse with bleach and a toilet brush.”

I loved him. I was in love with him. I don’t know how that happened. How we’d gone from a casual hook-up, from something fun and flirty to this. To love. But that’s where I was. That’s what this was.

What a remarkable and stupid thing love was. What a fucking drug. So God help me, I never wanted to come down.

“Your dad’s kinda hot.” I pulled back, horrified. “He’s what?” Michael snorted out a laugh. “If he’s what you’re gonna look like in thirty years, you’re golden.”

“Michael,” he murmured, holding my shirt so I couldn’t leave. “If I asked you to love me forever, would you?” Forever . . . “I will already love you forever,” I replied, still unsure what he was getting at.

“Maybe now you can change my name from Bossy to Michael in your phone.” “Mm-mm. No way.”