In My Billionaire Boss’s Bed

Peach Salinger

   My phone lights up as I step into Saffron Hotel And Suites. It’s a notification from a famous dating app. A lot of people use the app for finding dates and platonic relationships, but my case is different.

My blue eyes glance at my phone as I read the text.

[Rhxxy02: Room 206, I’m here. Where are you?]

[PeachSLG: On my way up.]

My hands tremble in anticipation and I quicken my steps across the vast lobby. I slip into the elevator and while it takes me up the building, I take the time to go over my dress for tonight.

I’m wearing a tight black maxi dress with a few buttons in the front. My hand itches to unbutton them so I can show off my cleavage but fear of looking too desperate stops me.

My black hair is in a tight bun and I can feel my silver heel tight on my feet. They’re not mine but my cousin, Marienne’s. She thinks the heels are sexy and a color for an opportunity to lose my V-card.

That’s right. I feel embarrassed, I’m 23 and I’m about to lose my V-card to a random guy I met online. I don’t even know what he looks like because he doesn’t have a profile picture. But who cares?

All my life, I’ve played by the rules, prioritizing my studies over my social life because I didn't want to disappoint my grandparents.

But I’m graduating college with a degree in business administration in a few months and I’m determined to get some romantic experiences before stepping into the professional world.

Gosh, it’s hard to imagine how much fun of being an adult I missed out on, while focusing solely on graduating with first class. I sometimes wonder how I even have friends when my social life is so nonexistent.

Well, tonight marks a new dawn for me. I’m starting my internship tomorrow so it has to be tonight. Now, should I leave the buttons closed or opened?

By the time I get to the third floor, I decided to leave them opened, revealing my smooth pale skin. If I bend down just a little, you can almost see my rosy nipples underneath. Enough to make a person’s breath hitch.

This move is part of the many tutorials I’ve watched on how to seduce the opposite sex. And the inanimate amount of p**n Marienne sends me everyday saying I need to watch a lot of them so I don’t embarrass myself.

Shit, I’ve prepared a lot for tonight.

A few seconds later, I’m standing in front of room 206. I knock. Once, twice and I feel like blood is starting to drain from my hands. I can still rethink this. I can still turn around and flee. Maybe it doesn’t have to be tonight.

What if I’m being catfished?

While I contemplate my options, I don’t realize when the door swings open. My heart thumps loudly in my chest and I raise my head to look at the man standing by the door.

My breath hitches and the arch of his brow makes me realize he heard it. But I can’t care less because this man in front of me cannot be the age he claims to be. He told me he’s thirty two and I’ve always loved older men, at least the ones in books. But this man in front of me looks like a model in his early twenties.

He’s probably six-four, because I feel so little in front of him. His shoulders are impossibly wide, his hips narrow and tight. Dark, slanted eyebrows cut decisive lines above his deep-set eyes that are such a light blue they appear almost silver.

His facial features are masculine and finely balanced, as though chiseled by a master sculptor. A straight blade of a nose, not too long, not too short, just perfect. High forehead and square jaw with a hint of dark stubble. The only thing soft on his face is his mouth, which is surprisingly full.

He’s in a leather jacket and a designer cap, his hands now. in the pocket of his jeans. It’s been twelve seconds and I can’t even propel myself to speak.

“Keep staring at me like that and it might cost you a price, honey.” he finally says and I find myself riveting in his deep voice before I finally snap out of it. “Come on in.”

I step into the suite and I can’t help but marvel at how luxurious it is. It’s spacious and has an open archway that connects the living room to the bedroom. No door for partitioning, but it makes the suite appear bigger and airier. A minibar, a couch, an armchair, an ottoman and a coffee table occupy the living room side.

This man told me he’s an office worker, how’s he able to afford to pay for this suite that costs thousands of dollars a night?

As I walk towards the bar, I feel a hand slide up my sides from behind. I slowly turn around, he’s standing tall and so close to me. I don’t breathe, I don’t move. He takes it as consent and closes the remaining distance between us.

He kisses me slowly, deeply and my heart soars. His hand slides in my hair; and mine grabs his shoulders. He tastes like apple and gin and I’m already drunk off the taste.

My back hits the bar counter and I have a vague feeling of being lifted until I realize he’s placing me on the counter. My cheeks flush as he breaks the kiss and takes off his jacket. He drags in a ragged breath, before taking a moment to stare at my rattled face.

“Are you scared?” his voice is low.

Hell, yes. But I stubbornly shook my head and stretch out my hands to wrap them around him. Then he envelopes me in a deep kiss again, this time demanding.

Slowly, insistently, his hand slides up my leg. The soft trail of his palm over my skin and the rough purr to his voice makes it hard to think. His hand brushes against my inner thigh and he holds my eye as his fingers slip under the seam of my thong.

 “Honey,” he groans, “you’re so wet.” It’s embarrassing, but before I can pull away, his free hand lands on my hip to hold me in place.

 “Don’t even think about backing out now,” he says against my ear, and there’s both command and desperation in his voice.

His middle finger slide into my pussy, then it begins to move—small, delicate circles that have me bracing against the counter, sucking in tiny sips of air. His eyes are on my face, his free hand still spread wide and unrelenting over my hip. It’s almost too intense —the things he is doing to me, the way he watches.

My gaze lowers to his clenched jaw, to his chest. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. My eyelids lower, and he steps near enough for me to feel his breath on my face, to smell his soap and aftershave and the starch of his shirt.

Two fingers slide inside me, harder, more insistently than before. My muscles tense as he moves his index finger in exactly the right way, and I grip his shoulder.

 I let go with a small cry, my eyes closing, the world going black and blissful as his fingers maintain their pace.

“God,” I rasp.

I reach for his belt, then flick the button of his pants before tugging down the zipper. I slide my hand inside his boxers and he gives a single, sharp inhale.

He is hot, hard as steel, long and wide. Air hisses between his teeth. Holy shit!

He reaches past me. I hear the telltale crinkle of foil. He grabs one of my knees, then holds it aloft as he lines himself up.

A wave of horror travels through me. Okay, this is really happening.

“I…” My voice is low and I can feel my face flush with secondhand embarrassment. “I’ve never actually done this before.”

His forehead ceases for a moment and my mind is already reeling with a million reasons why things can go wrong. Then he smiles and it puts me at ease in a weird way.

His hand reaches out to stroke my hair as he says, “Trust me, honey. You’re in good hands.”