Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 226

Archie’s POV

Maya's on the floor between my knees, looking up at me with that smile that makes my heart stutter.

Her hands rest on my thighs, warm through the fabric of my work pants, and there's a promise in her eyes that makes everything else dissolve into nothing.

"Let me take care of you," she whispers, and her voice is silk and sin.

Then she reaches up slowly, deliberately, and hooks one finger under the strap of her tank top. Slides it down her shoulder with agonizing leisure.

The strap falls, exposing the curve of her collarbone, the upper swell of her breast. She holds my gaze the entire time, watching my reaction, a small smile playing at her lips.

The second strap follows. She takes her time with this one too, letting it slip down inch by torturous inch until the fabric is barely clinging to her. Then she peels the tank top down, and my breath stops completely.

She's not wearing anything underneath.

Her breasts are bare, perfect, and I can't form a coherent thought. Can't do anything except stare as she pulls the tank top off completely and tosses it aside.

The movement makes her breasts sway, and I'm gripping the couch cushions to keep from reaching for her.

But she's not done.

Maya's thumbs hook into the waistband of her panties—simple black cotton that somehow looks obscene on her—and she lifts her hips slightly as she slides them down.

Past her thighs. Past her knees. She kicks them aside with a casual grace that suggests this is the most natural thing in the world, stripping for me in the middle of my living room floor.

She's completely naked now. Kneeling between my legs, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with desire that mirrors what's burning through my veins.

Then she crawls backward.

The movement is deliberate, sensual, putting distance between us. She settles onto the floor a few feet away, spreading herself wide, presenting herself without hesitation or shame.

One hand moves between her thighs. I watch her fingers find her center, watch her touch herself with practiced ease while her other hand comes up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple in slow circles.

The sound she makes—a breathy moan that starts low and climbs higher—shatters whatever remaining control I have.

"Archie," she breathes, my name coming out like a prayer. "I want you to watch me."

My hands move to my belt before my brain catches up. I unzip my fly with fingers that shake, free myself from the confines of my pants. I'm already hard, have been since she first looked up at me with that promise in her eyes.

I take myself in hand, stroke slowly at first, matching the rhythm of her fingers between her thighs. But Maya's moans are getting louder, more desperate, and my pace quickens to match.

We watch each other from across the room. Her on the floor, naked and shameless, pleasuring herself while I watch. Me on the couch, pants open, stroking myself to the sight of her.

The air between us is electric, charged with raw want. Every sound she makes goes straight through me.

Maya's back arches. Her hips lift off the floor as her fingers work faster, her breath coming in short gasps. I can see she's close—the way her body tenses, the way her free hand grips her breast harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"Archie," she gasps. "I'm going to…"

I can't take it anymore.

I stand abruptly, crossing the distance between us in two strides. Maya's eyes fly open, surprise and hunger mixing in her expression. I grab her hips, positioning her, turning her exactly how I need her.

She doesn't protest. Just spreads wider for me, bracing herself on her hands as I shove my pants down. They tangle around my ankles but I don't care about anything except the sight of Maya beneath me, looking back over her shoulder with eyes dark with want.

I enter her in one deep thrust.

Her cry echoes through my apartment—half gasp, half moan. She's hot and wet and perfect, her body accepting me like we were made to fit together exactly like this. I don't give her time to adjust, can't make myself slow down.

My hands grip her hips hard enough to leave marks as I pull back and thrust again, setting a punishing rhythm.

"Yes," Maya gasps, her arms trembling. "God, yes, like that."

I lose myself in it. In the sound of our bodies coming together, the breathless noises Maya makes with each thrust, the way her back arches to take me deeper.

This isn't gentle or romantic. This is raw, desperate, both of us chasing release like we need it more than air.

Maya's hand moves between her legs again, touching herself while I move inside her. The visual of it—her fingers finding her clit while I fill her—nearly undoes me completely.

"Don't stop," she begs, voice breaking. "Please, Archie, don't stop."

I couldn't stop if I wanted to. My rhythm speeds up, becomes erratic, driven by pure instinct and the sounds she's making. The way her body responds to every thrust, the way she pushes back against me, taking me deeper.

Maya's whole body tenses beneath me. I feel the moment she comes—feel her clench around me, hear her cry out my name in a way that makes me want to brand the sound into my memory forever.

The sensation pushes me over the edge. I bury myself as deep as I can go and come with a groan that's half her name, half incoherent sound. Wave after wave of release that seems to go on forever, leaving me shaking and breathless.

We collapse together onto the floor. Maya's breathing is as ragged as mine, her skin flushed and damp with sweat.

I pull her against my chest, still inside her, not ready to break the connection yet. My heart pounds against her back, and I can feel hers racing in the same frantic rhythm.

For several minutes we just lie there, tangled together on the hardwood floor of my living room. The wine Maya brought sits forgotten on the kitchen counter.

My work stress—Philip's warning, the missed meetings, the fifteen years of my career teetering on the edge—feels like it happened to someone else in another lifetime.

This is what matters. This woman in my arms, the way she fits against me like she was custom-made for this exact position. The way her fingers trace absent patterns on my forearm where it's wrapped around her waist.

"I love you," I murmur into her hair. The words come without thought, but they're true. Completely, devastatingly true. "Maya, I love you."

She makes a sound that might be acknowledgment or might be something else. Her hand finds mine, fingers lacing together tightly. Too tightly, maybe, like she's holding on for dear life.

"Say it back," I whisper, kissing her shoulder. "Tell me you love me too."

There's a pause, just a beat too long. Then: "I love you, Archie."

The words should fill me with warmth. They do fill me with warmth. But there's something in her voice I can't quite identify. Something that sounds almost like grief.

I pull her closer, pressing my chest against her back, surrounding her completely.

"Stay tonight," I say. "Stay every night. Move in with me. I know it's fast, but I don't care. I want this. I want you. I want to wake up next to you every morning and come home to you every night."

Maya's breathing hitches slightly. "Archie…"

"You don't have to answer now," I say quickly, sensing her hesitation. "Just think about it. We could have this every day. Not just stolen moments between your shifts at the estate. A real life together."

"Okay," she says quietly. "I'll think about it."

I smile against her shoulder, feeling something settle in my chest. This is everything I want. This woman, this connection, this future I can almost see unfolding in front of us.

Eventually we disentangle ourselves. I help her up, and we move to the bedroom where we curl together under the covers.

Maya tucks herself against my side, her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. I run my fingers through her hair, feeling the silk of it, memorizing the weight of her against me.

"Thank you," I murmur into the darkness. "For tonight. For making me forget about everything else."

"Always," she whispers back.

I press a kiss to the top of her head and close my eyes, contentment settling over me like a blanket.