Rich and Bossy (Rich Boys)

12. Hazel

CHAPTER 12

Hazel

I wake with a start, my heart pounding when I look around and have no idea where I am. This isn’t my bed. This isn’t my room. What the hell?

Look, I’m a hard sleeper. When I’m out I’m out. It takes a few seconds for me to shake off the tail end of whatever I was dreaming. Once that happens, I remember yesterday. Last night.

Oh God.

No, no, that was just supposed to be an amazing dream.

What the hell am I doing here? It seemed like a good idea at the time. Seemed like it would be okay to get that out of my system. Now, it doesn’t seem like it was my brightest decision.

I shudder a little, in the best possible way, thinking about what Paxton did to me last night. I had fantasized about those big, strong football hands, and they were not a disappointment. No, sir, they were not. The dull ache between my thighs is proof that I did indeed have my sexual needs met last night. He’s so big, I’m not really sure how I took it, but I gave it my best. Wait, did I beg him?

Yeah, you did.

And wouldn’t you know it, I’m a little aroused again just thinking about it.

I have to get out of here.

What do I do next? My clothes are all over the place, lying on the floor where we left them. Where is Paxton? I strain my ears for any sound coming from the rest of the apartment, but all I hear is the sound of my heart thumping.

Should I get my stuff and go? What if he’s pissed I spent the night?

I don’t think I had the energy to even walk to the elevator, much less get a cab or an uber. I don’t think I even knew my address last night.

No, he didn’t want me to go. I fell asleep in his arms.

My brain starts to unfog a little more.

He could have kicked me out—instead, he stroked my hair, spooned me right to sleep. It was kind of—sweet—actually.

I shudder a little more at the thought of Paxton Briggs being sweet. No. No. I can’t have these kinds of feelings for this man. Especially not now, after what I’ve started in motion at Rapid.

I’m about to throw back the blanket and fish around for my underwear when the door opens. In strolls Paxton wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. I can still see the little footprint bruise on his ribs, and it’s so sweet, thinking about him playing with his nephews. I don’t know what looks better: his body, or the food he carries on a polished wooden tray.

It’s his body. Let’s be real. The food looks great, but holy hell. He doesn’t look like a body builder, like not that big, but like in between that and a lean swimmer.

Perfect, is what I’m saying. Ripped abs and chiseled chest, but not so hardcore you see veins running everywhere. Just very nice lines.

Are you done thinking about his body?

I glance back over at him carrying the food.

Nope.

I’ve got to get my life together.

He grins at the sight of me. “Was wondering when you’d wake up.”

“Sorry. Last night took a toll.”

Very smooth, Hazel.

What time is it? There’s no alarm clock in here, and my phone is... somewhere. I can’t remember what happened to it. Everything goes sort of fuzzy after the first time he kissed me out in the living room.

“I’m sure you’ll recover, soon .”

The way he says soon at the end of that sends goosebumps all over my body once more.

He snickers, obviously pleased with the affect he’s having on me as he sets the tray on the bed.

The sight of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast has me sitting up in a hurry.

“This looks awesome.” I haven’t eaten anything since a sandwich during the game yesterday, and I’m starving. A night’s worth of hot sex will do that to you too.

“Eat as much as you want.” He hands me a plate.

I take it gratefully, dipping the fork into the eggs without hesitation. They’re buttery and tangy and I’m going to need more. I’m also going to need to know how he made them like this.

Right now, though, there are more important questions. Like where do we go from here? There’s no awkwardness between us, no tension, but the question is still at the front of my mind as we eat.

Well, as I eat. “Aren’t you hungry?” I quickly realize there’s only one plate, and now I feel selfish for hogging it.

“I had some toast while I was cooking. Go on, eat up.” He seems content to watch me, which is both sweet and slightly unnerving.

“Is this goat cheese in the eggs?” I ask between bites.

“Wow, nice palate for a working-class lady. Yes, I did add some.” Suddenly, his cheeks darken. “I should’ve asked first. You aren’t allergic or something are you?” His concern is adorable.

“No, and they’re fantastic.”

Stop being sweet, Paxton! I’m supposed to hate you!

This was hate sex!

Sure it was.

I’m actually a little embarrassed at how quickly I clear the plate in front of me, but it tastes so freaking good, and I’m so hungry. “You sure you don’t want some?” There’s like one bite left, and I laugh when I realize what I just asked.

“It’s fine. I’m perfectly content watching you enjoy my eggs.”

“Okay.” I finish the last bite.

He takes the empty plate from me, placing it on the tray which he lowers to the floor. I can’t help but wonder what’s coming next. We’re going to have to talk about things, aren’t we?

Obviously, I’m going to have to be the one to start this. “Look... I think we need to...”

The man’s reflexes are quick, I’ll give him that much. He leans across the bed, touching a finger to my lips. “That’s not happening.”

“But we need to…” I say the words against his index finger and they come out muffled.

His mouth meets mine, effectively cutting off my sentence.

I guess we’re doing this again, and I’m going to do absolutely nothing to stop it.

He leans back a little, his eyes still inches from mine. “Don’t tell me what we need to do. I know what the fuck I’m about to do.” He pulls back the blankets, revealing all of me, still naked.

His eyes light up, then his face hardens, and he’s staring right at me. His hand slides down my legs then he cups me in his palm and squeezes.

I tense up everywhere, because holy hell, I didn’t see that coming so quickly.

“You’re going to lay back. And I’m going to eat this . Understood?”

I nod, immediately.

I shouldn’t nod. I should say something back, right? Fight against this a little.

I open my mouth, prepared to protest, but he slightly grazes his index finger over my clit again, the same way this jerk did all night long.

Yeah, what a jerk.

Every time he does it, I’m helpless against him. I start to say something, with his eyes on mine, watching my every move.

“Got something to say?” He stares right at me, while his hands part my legs.

After a few seconds of me staring like an adoring idiot, unable to speak, he says, “That’s what I thought.”

He drapes one of my legs over his shoulder before planting firm, little kisses along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He keeps moving closer and closer, but not close enough.

He truly is a master of this. I didn’t know I could have orgasms the way I had them last night. Like not at all. In fact, the promise of more of those is why I can’t seem to speak right now. I should stop this, shouldn’t I?

Yes, but I don’t want to.

By the time he gets to where I want him, I’m almost undone. I’m holding on by one frayed thread. He’s very serious about his work, basically on his knees, worshipping me, treating me to long sweeps of his tongue between my legs—but he’s careful to time it all perfectly like it’s some kind of orchestra.

“Your pussy is a work of art.” He growls the words against my inner thigh. “I could spend all day getting you off, and it’d never be enough.”

“Oh God.” I moan, my head falling back against the pillow, my fingers tangling in his hair. “It’s so good.”

“You want to get off on my face again, Hazel?”

The only thing I can think about is how much I want this to never stop. How he’s going to drive me insane, teasing me the way he is, working me into a frenzy. He might seriously fry my brain, like that’s a legit concern at this point. “Please...” I whimper.

“Please what?” His voice gets even firmer.

I tug at his hair in a vain attempt to make him give me more. “Please, let me come.”

“Tell me what you want.”

When I lift my hips, trying to push myself closer to his mouth, he raises his head, breaking the connection between us.

His voice hardens. “Tell me what you want.”

Our eyes meet across the length of my body, and I know it’s no use. I’m not going to win—though even if I give in, I’m still winning.

“Put your mouth on me, please.” I groan, my face hot when I lift my hips again.

“Put my mouth on what?” He slides his tongue barely across my clit.

I know what he wants me to do. I don’t curse or talk dirty very often, but I know he wants to hear me do it.

“Say it, Hazel. Where do you want my mouth.” He smiles against my inner thigh, licking and sucking all around.

“On my pussy.” I grip his hair and try to pull his head toward me when I say it.

“Good girl.” He lets me move his head, this time burying his mouth on me.

And, that’s all they wrote for ol’ Hazel.

Electricity starts firing through my limbs.

His tongue works my clit and he takes two fingers deep inside me again. It’s like an ignition, firing off orgasm after orgasm. My hips roll in giant waves, and he stays latched onto me the entire time, not letting up at all. If anything, he intensifies everything while the orgasm rocks my body.

Goosebumps everywhere. He works my G-spot, using the same tiny circle motion he uses on my clit.

All I can do is hold on for dear life, gasping for air, humping his face uncontrollably. Desperate for release, desperate for all the tension to move out of my body. I’m on fire, my throat hoarse as moan after moan tears itself from my chest.

“Pax.” I can’t even get his full name out, I just keep saying the three-letter version, over and over. I’m not even sure if I’m actually saying it, or if anyone can hear it.

Right when I think the orgasm is done, another one comes right behind it.

Well, hello. This is new.

My back arches again, hips shooting up off the bed, stars exploding behind my eyelids. It goes on and on, rolling over me like crashing ocean waves. I hear him breathing heavy, feel the way he licks me while I tremble and shiver and whisper his name like a prayer.

I’m not really sure when it comes to an end. It feels like I’m coming out of a dream state once more this morning. Once I’m sure I’m firmly back in reality, I’m almost too ashamed to open my eyes.

I made a total fool of myself, didn’t I?

When I pry open one eyelid, looking down at him for some sign of what he’s thinking, all I see is his smile before he goes back to kissing my thighs.

“That is insanely fun.” He laughs against the inside of my thighs.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself down there.” I gasp, my throat too dry for much more than that. “I’m not complaining though.”

One last kiss, and he sits up. “I hate to say it, but I have to get ready for the day. I’m going to shower—you’re welcome to join me...” He picks up the tray and walks out of the room, like he’s some kind of sex butler at a sex resort, who brings you food then gets you off, then goes back to work at the front desk.

I shouldn’t get in the shower with him.

I want to get in the shower with him.

Maybe he’ll get you off again in there.

How many orgasms can your body take? Sheesh.

I think part of me knows this has to end when I walk out of this place. When this day ends, and I want to get everything I can out of it. Right now, reality doesn’t exist beyond these walls, but that’s stupid. That’s ignoring real life.

What the hell am I doing? It’s like I forget everything the second his hands are on me. This is wrong, and stupid, and completely messed up. It doesn’t matter how good we are together. In all the ways it really matters, we’re nothing but trouble. There’s no way this is going to end well.

The more attached I get to the real Paxton , the worse I’m going to get hurt. I may be kind of young, but I’m not an idiot. I know how relationships work.

And I still don’t know what time it is.

For some reason, that irks me more than anything else. Rather than going to the bathroom to meet up with him, I decide to look for my phone. My parents are probably freaking out by now, considering I never came home after work, never called. They don’t even know I never worked my shift. God, what would they think? Not that I would ever tell them. Certain things, a parent never needs to know.

It only hits me once I reach the living room that Paxton threw my phone onto the couch when we first got here. Right, because it rang, and he didn’t want the distraction. It’s still sitting there, nestled between two cushions.

“Damn it,” I whisper, looking at the list of missed calls and text messages.

Most of them are from Campbell, asking to confirm times and stuff. She’d kill me if she knew where I am now. Not only that, she’d lose respect for me. I’m not sure which bothers me more.

The sound of Paxton’s happy humming drifts out from the shower. I’m so torn, looking down at my phone, wanting nothing more than to be with him right now. But one of us has to be the bigger person. One of us has to be an actual adult. If he can’t make the smart decisions, looks like it’s up to me.

Which is why I get dressed as fast as I can and run out of the apartment before he’s done showering.

It sucks.

Like literally sucks, because holy hell, we just work together in the bedroom.

But I have responsibilities. He has to understand that.