Hard & Hungry Boss Box Set Read online

  “In town for business?” A speculative look crosses her face.

  “Yeah. Couple of days.”

  “Somebody waiting for you?”

  “Is that your business?” I challenge. Christ, is this a fucking test?

  She shrugs. Glances at my hand, which has never worn a ring.

  The printer, which had fallen silent, revs up for another round. My pages, I assume. She spins around and snatches her documents off the tray. Papers shuffle, and she taps them against the table before stowing them in a case.

  I step over to the printer, and because she doesn’t move aside, the front of my jeans brushes against her ass. The bulge in my pants is impossible to miss. And I want to test her, see if she’ll follow through with what she just teased.

  She doesn’t say anything, but leans forward so her ass takes a slow tour across the ridge in my pants. I wrap a hand around her hip as if to steady her. As if it were an accident.

  She stands, but doesn’t move away. Her back is flush against my chest, and she swivels her hips against me. She’s down for it. Here. Now. Pressure builds in my balls. A fleeting shadow behind the frosted glass catches my eye. I listen for footsteps or the hum of conversation. She’s done her own risk analysis and judged this safe or worth it, unless she’s being a tease. How far will she take it?

  I slide my hands over her hips and up to her breasts. She exhales a breathy moan and bares her neck, sweeping her hair aside. I lower my head and press my lips against the exposed skin. Her pulse races under my lips. She tastes salty and sweet, the dessert I didn’t know I wanted. I roll her pebbled nipples between my fingers as I suckle. Her hands glide over mine and then unbutton her blouse.

  I want—need—to see her. My hands drop to her waist and pull her around. Her nipples, rosy brown, peek through lace. I push aside the fabric with my thumb and lower my head to flick a tongue over one hard peak. She weaves a hand through my hair. Not gently.

  I draw her nipple into my mouth and suckle. Her gasp of pleasure spurs me on, and I move to the other so I can hear it again. She arches into me, and I press her full, heavy breasts together. I blow lightly over her nipples to watch them pucker even more. I taste them again, reveling in the sounds she makes. So fucking eager.

  With a low growl, I release her breasts and push her skirt up until my fingers meet more lace. The scent of her arousal reaches me, and I nearly explode in my pants like a damn teenager. Sure, I needed to blow off steam, but this woman has me worked up. It’s got to be the quick and dirty vibe, and maybe the ever-present risk of someone walking in.

  Fuck, I don’t even care at this point. I don’t want to know her name, I just want to fuck until the hotel comes down around us.

  I cup her tight ass with one hand and bring the other hand up to tangle in her hair. For one bruising moment, I crush my lips against hers. She parts for me, and when I slide my tongue over hers, I slip two fingers under lace, around her hip, and between her folds. She cries out against my mouth. She’s already so wet. I pull my fingers out and find her clit, and her hands fist in my shirt as she kisses me back, wide open. Ready.

  She captures my tongue and sucks gently, suggestively. My fingers slide back into her, and her tongue pushes against mine. The fierceness of her kiss intensifies, and she drags her fingernails down my neck. The sting of it enrages me. Inflames me. My dick throbs in response.

  Sharp voices from the hallway pierce the fog of lust. A man’s angry baritone answers a woman’s complaint. Words are muffled, but the cadence of an argument swells as shadows pass the frosted glass. They pause. Blurry arms wave in oversized gestures as the woman’s pitch rises further. We freeze, my palm against the brunette’s clit and her teeth on my lip. I draw my hand away, ready to stop, to take this elsewhere. I check for a lock on the door—no dice, just a handle.

  She pulls my gaze back to her with a palm on my cheek, and then drops her hands to the waistband of my jeans.

  I shoot another glance at the door.

  A tug at my waist pulls me roughly against her again. My mouth finds hers. And I forget the door.

  She pulls away and unbuttons my jeans with a jerk, but unzips me carefully. Then she tugs down my boxer briefs, just enough to free my dick, and wraps her hand around it. I wait for that moment, and there it is. She smiles appreciatively and runs her hand over my full length and I groan. It throbs in response to her touch, and a pearly drop forms at the tip. As much as I want her gorgeous mouth around my dick, I want the rest of her more. As she starts to go to her knees, I pull her back up and tug her away from the whirring printer. She resists, sucking my tongue and stroking my dick in the same tempting rhythm. Showing me what she can do.

  As her tongue slides against mine, I almost cave. Then I jerk her forward and pivot her around so she’s stumbling backward toward the dim conference room. Her back hits the wall with a thump. I plant one hand by her heads and spread the other over her chest as we kiss, sucking and nipping, her hands in my hair and my leg spreading her thighs. When she’s panting and my balls ache with pounding need, I reach under her skirt again. This time I pull her panties over her hips, down her thighs, and around her ankles. She steps out of them while I stand and pull out my wallet. I hold her eyes as I show her the condom and then open the packet. She takes it and rolls it down over my shaft. I mutter curses as her fingers tease along the bottom of my balls.

  I wrap my hands around her thighs, hoist her up, and slam her back against the wall. Her legs lock around my waist.

  Her lips move against my ear. “Fuck me.” Her voice is husky and low, heavy with desire that mirrors mine.

  With my lips on her neck, I push into her. Her pussy is tight and wet, and she takes all of me. For a hot second everything goes black. I groan and let my forehead fall against the wall, fighting the urge to let go. She urges me on with her heels and little impatient sounds. Fuck, she’s as close as I am.

  And then I can’t hold back. I’m thrusting into her, and she’s moaning, and I shift to angle even deeper. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders. Harder, she whispers. Sweat trickles down the small of my back. My hands slip on her thighs, and I pull her away from the wall.

  I spin and carry her, still impaled on my dick, to the conference table. I lay her on the glossy surface, where her hair spreads like a dark halo. Muscles bunch in her thighs, locked around me in a death grip that suspends her off the table. I fuck her with deliberate strokes, pulling out slowly and them slamming my full length into her. Her knees bend pulling her closer, and then open so she can reach under her skirt for her clit. She moans and tenses like a spring. Her knees fall wider, and I wonder how flexible this woman is. Jesus.

  With all the control I can scrape together, I pull out before she reaches the peak. Electricity crackles between us. I pull her up as she drops her feet and slides off the table. Her face holds an angry question, but I spin her around and nudge her forward. One arm wraps around her belly, and she bends as my other hand splays between her shoulder blades, pressing her chest to the table. I lift her skirt again, completely baring the tight, round cheeks of her ass. She grabs the table and inches her feet apart. I run a palm over the pale skin and smack it lightly, the crack of palm against flesh loud in the quiet room. She gasps, and then moans and slides a hand between her legs again.

  “Oh no,” I scold her. I capture her hand and return it to the table, pressing against her.

  Nothing has ever looked as good as her ass pressing against my rock hard cock. My own fingers slip between her folds to tease her clit, and then I thrust into her again. A muffled cry escapes as though she’s biting her lip over a scream. I roll my hips into her, and we rock forward. The pitch of her moans rises with each stroke into her and over her clit. I lose the nub in her slippery wetness, so I grip her hips in both hands and settle into a pounding rhythm. She lifts onto her toes and grinds her ass against me, her knuckles white on the table. I brace my feet and push back.

  Her perfume and the smell of sex fill the room. M
y dick gets even harder as I get close, and on a final thrust she climaxes, pulsing around me, pulling me further in. I fall over the edge right after. As the final shudders rack me, I slump over her panting form.

  She squirms a little, so I ease out and pull her up. I kiss her again, a gentle thank you. We lean our foreheads together as we catch our breath. Up close, her eyes are mahogany with flecks of amber.

  The question of condom disposal makes us both laugh as we adjust our clothing and button back up. She looks well-fucked, though, even with her blouse and sensible skirt back in place over her curves. When we’re both as respectable as possible and holding our respective printed documents, I clear my throat.

  “Are you here another night?” I don’t expect a yes. We both know what this is.

  “Sorry, I’m just here for a meeting tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” No need to mention I’m there another night. Wouldn’t matter.

  She drops a lingering kiss on my lips.

  “Have a nice time in Seattle.”

  “You too.” I watch her ass all the way out the door.

  Back in my room, I finish reviewing everything for tomorrow. My buyout offer is generous, considering how small SocialTech is, but my tech division’s analysis says it’s got excellent growth potential with the right resources. They need me.

  I have another tumbler of bourbon and appreciate the brown-eyed woman’s scent, still clinging faintly to my skin and clothes. Her confidence and intensity were sexy as hell. I almost regret not asking her name.

  2

  Nate

  SocialTech’s downtown office building looks like I expected: coffee bar downstairs, skinny guys wearing plaid shirts and tight pants, reclaimed wood and dim lighting. I feel like a shark in a minnow tank.

  In the elevator, I mentally review our bid and skim through my negotiation points. Our people have been in touch, but this is the first face-to-face. They’ll want a higher offer, but they’ve got no leverage, and I know this CEO—Emma Vance—wants bigger things. I could practically smell it in the dossier Marge prepared. Stanford grad, top of her class in computer science, two master’s degrees, first job at a major software firm, couple of feel-good pro bono projects, and board member at a local charity. No photos, so she seems to like a low profile. I respect that; I’m the same way. We reached out when rumors floated about her seeking capital for another startup, and they agreed to meet. My gut says she gets bored easily and wants to move on. I can write the script on this deal.

  A young woman with jet black hair, heavy bangs, and a stud in her upper lip pounces when I walk in. She appears to be a big fan of eyeliner.

  “Ms. Vance will be with you shortly. I’m her assistant, Stephanie. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you. I take it black.”

  On the way to the conference room, I glimpse a large basket in the break room.

  “Ah, I see the basket arrived.”

  “That was you? Excellent. We love you already. We normally use beans from the artisan roaster downstairs, but we made coffee this morning with the El Diablo blend from the basket. It’s not bad.”

  “It’s a Seattle brand. Not as local as downstairs, but you don’t have to feel bad about it.” I wink. Screw “not bad.” It’s amazing and she knows it. I love that Marge put my favorite coffee in. She’s an evil genius.

  SocialTech received the offer electronically for review, but I’ve got the backup packets with the latest projections from my business forecasting division. I’ve got the numbers on my side. I’ll get what I want here.

  I’m reclining with my coffee near a large window framing the gray sky when a shadow passes by the hall window and pauses. The oversized blinds are turned so they can see in, but I can only see bodies blocking light through the cracks. Another shadow joins the first, and then dips below the window like the person dropped something.

  I’m almost ready for another cup by the time the door opens. A tall, elegant woman with elaborate braids, maybe in her early forties, steps inside. She extends a manicured hand, and I assess her as we shake. Wide-legged pantsuit, single strand of light pink pearls. Shrewd, conservative, reasonable.

  “Mr. Stone, I’m Christine Brown, Chief Financial Officer here at SocialTech. Welcome to Seattle.”

  I fake a smile and mutter pleasantries, waiting for the CEO to show. Making me wait is a bullshit, amateur power play.

  The door opens again on a youngish guy in a wrinkled dress shirt and skinny trousers, and behind him strides the smoking hot brunette I screwed in the hotel business center last night.

  The natural order of things flips for a queasy second. I don’t like being on the receiving end of surprises. She’s wearing a black pinstriped skirt suit, light blue blouse, and patent leather heels. Her hair is pulled back into a prim bun. I almost think it can’t be her, and then I smell her perfume.

  I flash back to my hand in her panties, the moment my lips first touched her neck.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stone. I’m Emma Vance, CEO here at SocialTech. Pleasure to meet you,” she says, like her hands were never wrapped around my cock.

  What the fuck was she doing in my hotel? Did I get massively played?

  “Pleasure is mine, Ms. Vance.” It was both of ours last night. I catch her eye, but her face registers zero recognition.

  She drops a thick folder on the table, and I recognize it from last night. The SocialTech logo stares me in the face when she pulls out a stack of papers. If I hadn’t been thinking with my dick, I’d have avoided this shit show, or at least avoided an ambush.

  And then I remember the way she felt around me.

  I’m half-hard thinking about it, so I focus on a crumb nestled at the bottom of the hipster’s beard as I shake his hand next.

  “Nick Khan, IT Director.” I peg him as one of those MIT wunderkind.

  Emma moves to sit at the head of the table, and the rest of us settle into chairs. I’m trying not to stare, and failing. She has yet to look me in the eye. I sit back further in my chair like I’m totally at ease. If it fucking gives me an aneurysm, I will not show how jacked up I am right now.

  “Welcome to SocialTech, Mr. Stone. We were sorry to miss you at dinner last night.”

  “I was sorry to miss it. I hope the gift basket helped make amends.” That and the orgasm.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ve never seen the office that coffee and sweets won’t win.”

  “I hope you all had a chance to try the strudel.” It takes a lot to throw me, but her absolute refusal to act like we’ve met, much less screwed, leaves me less glib than normal. Get in the game, Nate.

  “Everyone except Emma,” Nick says. “She’s got a competition this weekend.”

  Her lips tighten. Annoyed, I’d guess, that he let something personal slip. I pick it up, since it bothers her.

  “Really? Since coffee and pastry are the programmer diet as far as I can tell, I assume this is a non-computer related competition.”

  “Amateur Muay Thai kickboxing.”

  “Kickboxing. Sport of the future.” The movie reference pops out of me by reflex. A high school friend loved that movie, and that was probably our most quoted line.

  Emma sputters over a half-suppressed laugh. “Say Anything, right?”

  “Yes. Kickboxing’s an interesting choice of hobby, Ms. Vance.” I retreat from the moment of intimacy by flattening my voice to fake disinterest. I don’t want to give her anything personal without knowing what the hell game she’s playing. I tap the table. “Shall we begin?”

  Emma exchanges a look with Ms. Brown and nods. She leans in, the friendly banter replaced by a hard stare. “Mr. Stone, I’m going to get right to the point here. We’ve reviewed the offer, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to do better.”

  My smile is genuine this time. I know this game, and it’s my turn to deal.

  “Sorry, Ms. Vance, but the offer stands, and I think you’ll want to take it. You offer a useful service, or I wouldn’t want to acqui
re your little operation here.”

  Her nose flares at “little operation.” My pulse jumps with a spike of pleasure at cracking her composure. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but I hold up a hand, and I double down by letting my voice take on a singsong quality. I talk to her like I would a child.

  “You guys have done a great job with what you had to work with. However, SocialTech’s growth has likely hit a ceiling, as almost every tech startup does. A buyout will propel the company you built to the next level and free you up for other things. Kickboxing, maybe? You could go pro.” I give her an earnest-looking smile and tilt my head.

  “Look, Emma, you need someone willing to come in, make the hard decisions, and ally SocialTech to a larger suite of companies. I can do that for you. But we’ll have a lot of costs transitioning your company to our way of doing things. This offer,”—I stab a finger at the air—“is precisely what you’re worth to us.”

  I lower my eyebrows and meet her glowering eyes. “Unless we didn’t get all of the pertinent data. Is there something else you didn’t mention? An ace up your sleeve, maybe?” Like a willingness to get what she wants on her back. Or up against a wall, more precisely.

  “Mr. Stone, you had all the data that we did. If there are any holes in your information, that’s your own responsibility, not mine.” She lets that hang over the table while she passes a slim packet to me. I hold her eyes, but she doesn’t betray even a microexpression of guilt. Should I believe that she didn’t know either, or is she the kind of woman who screws to get ahead?

  Her blazer shifts, and the silk of her blouse pulls apart to show a hint of cleavage. I remember the way her breasts looked in my hands, the way her wide nipples puckered in my mouth. I run my tongue over my bottom lip and hastily drop my eyes to the packet of graphs and data, which might as well be cave art.