Bastard Boss

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bella

My hand goes to Tyler's hand, which rests on my waist, in my mind trying to control what comes next but all it does is create another connection, me to him and him to me. But he's also simply imitating what Josh did to me out on that patio—where he touched me, how he touched me. But there is no comparison. One is ice and one is heat. Tyler is the heat. "You are not Josh."

"Why does that matter?" he challenges. "This is an exercise in control. Your control, Bella."

My eyes meet his and I swear, I have that same sensation I had when he first touched me. I feel him in every part of me. "What are you doing, Tyler?" I whisper. "What are we doing?"

"Tell me no, Bella," he demands, his voice low but no less commanding.

"No," I say easily, but it's not exactly the version of "no" he's asking for. I'm not saying "no" to his touch. I'm saying "no" to saying "no" to Tyler. Because I can't seem to will myself any more than him to remove his hand from my body.

Tyler rather obviously senses the real meaning behind my version of "no."

I see that in the way he narrows his eyes on me and I feel it in the flex of his fingers on my waist. There is possessiveness in the warmth of his touch that I might be imagining, but I am so screwed because I really hope that I am not. As if confirming my suspicions, he says, "Define your version of no, Bella."

I push back, rebelling against the command I've read in his tone. "I said what you wanted me to say."

His other hand comes down on the door beside my head, almost as if he's caging me. "Tell me no, Bella." There is something almost raw and angry in his words.

"Tyler—"

He shocks me then, cupping my face, his grip firm but not painful. "Is this how you tell everyone else no, Bella? Because if it is—"

"Don't be an asshole," I snap back at him. "I told you, you are not everyone else. And if you think I sleep around to get business, stop touching me and fire me, Tyler. I will happily pack up my desk today."

Seconds tick by in which he stares down at me, his blue eyes piercing, the air thick between us until he abruptly twines his fingers into my hair, giving the long strands a rough, erotic tug. His mouth lowers, lingering above mine, his breath on my skin. "I do not think you sleep around but damn it, woman, you really don't take orders well. I said, say no, and then this ends right now."

"I already did. You didn't like my version of 'no.'"

The muscle in his jaw flexes, seconds ticking by before he murmurs, "If there is one thing I've learned that you need to understand, it's that there are consequences to actions. This is what happens when you don't say no." His mouth closes down on my mouth, and then he's kissing me.

The world spins around me with the shock of the moment, and there is no thinking on my part to be found. I know he shouldn't be kissing me. I know I shouldn't kiss him back, but I do. I know I should stop this right here and now. No is the right response, he is right on that point. Because he is my boss, and the repercussions of our actions do have consequences. But the truth is, I just cannot seem to care. I don't even try. Though my hands don't move—one remains pressed to his where it rests on my waist, the other on his chest though I don't remember how it got there—I moan for him. I sink into the kiss, drinking in every moment of the sinful play of his mouth against my mouth.

When his lips part mine, I burn for more. I want to pull his mouth back to mine, but he lingers a breath from another kiss, so close, but out of reach. Time stands still, expanding over eternity it seems, and yet in an illogical contrast, too quickly. I am barely hanging onto my sanity, as the beats drum by.

Beats that could morph into regret and worry, if I'm allowed to think too much longer about facing the consequences of my actions tomorrow. Or even hours from now. I could almost convince myself he was going to find the good sense I do not apparently possess, and end this, after what was some lesson to me on why no is no. But that's not what happens.

He leans in and brushes his lips over mine, a gentle touch contrasted by his teeth catching my bottom lip roughly, a promise of something dark and delicious in that act. But I've always known Tyler has a darker side to him. I breathe out with the sensation spiraling through me, and he reaches up and drags the zipper down the front of my dress until it ends just above my belly button. His eyes, emotionless but for the hunger in their depths, meet mine, a challenge in their depths. I don't know if he wants me to say no now or if he's daring me to keep going.

He all but ensures I ride this out, pressing the lace cups of my bra down, exposing my ample breasts and nipples. His gaze lowers, and he runs his tongue over his lips as if his mouth waters at the sight of me. I suck in air as he catches the puckered peaks of my nipples in his fingers. What follows is a rough tug and twist that both hurts and feels so good, so much so, that my knees turn wobbly. My sex clenches, and I'm slick between my thighs all over again, as I haven't been for a man in a very long time.

Maybe not ever.

It's the forbidden thing I assume, the reason I'm reacting to Tyler with such intensity. This is going nowhere good but the moment, and it has to end. I have to say no.