Exiled for Saying No, I Came Back and Took the Boss's Chair novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: The Cat's Roof

I got him through the window by the front of his jacket.

He came over the sill in one long cold piece, bent double, and I put my hand flat over his mouth before he could speak.

"Not a word," I whispered. "The whole house is asleep."

His eyes smiled over my fingers.

He nodded.

I shut the sash without a sound and turned the key in the door.

Then I stood in the dark in my nightshirt and looked at him.

He was a large cold man in a small girl's bedroom, and his shoulders touched the slanted ceiling.

"Your hands are freezing," I said, still whispering.

"I know."

"Come here."

I took them in mine and put them under my shirt, flat against my stomach, and a shudder went through him.

"Lotta."

"Quiet."

I pulled his jacket off his shoulders and let it drop.

I undid his shirt without hurry, one button after another, while his cold hands warmed on my skin and moved slowly up my ribs.

His chest rose and fell under my palms.

Down the hall a floorboard cracked, and we both went rigid.

It did not come again.

I pushed him backward until his knees hit the iron frame, and he sat down on the quilt.

The springs sang.

We froze, listening, with our foreheads touching.

Nothing moved in the house.

"Springs," I whispered. "They always did that."

"Then we go slow."

"We go slow."

I stripped his shirt off.

In the blue light I saw the burn scars climbing both forearms, and I kissed each one.

I kissed the hair on his chest and the flat of his stomach, and I bit the point of his hip, not hard.

He made a sound in his throat, and I put my finger on his lips.

"Quiet," I whispered. "Or I stop."

He pressed his mouth shut.

I knelt on the bed and unbuckled him, and I did it with great deliberation while he held very still and breathed through his nose.

I took my time with the zipper.

His cock was hard against my wrist when I freed it.

I stroked him once, root to tip, and his head went back against the iron rails.

"Don't make a sound," I said.

He bit his lip and shook his head to say he wouldn't.

I pulled my nightshirt over my head and threw it on the floor.

He looked at me in the little blue light from the street lamp.

No man had ever looked at me that way, with plain wonder.

I put a knee on each side of his thighs and settled over him without letting him in.

I rocked against his length slowly, sliding wet along it, and he gripped the quilt in both fists.

"Lotta," he breathed.

"I said quiet," I whispered.

"You're killing me."

"Good."

I reached down and held him where I wanted him, and I lowered myself an inch at a time.

I took the head, and I stopped, and I felt the stretch and the burn of it, and my breath caught.

His hands flew up to my hips, and then stopped, hovering, because I had not told him he could.

"Yes," I whispered. "Hold me."

He took hold of my hips, gently.

I sank the rest of the way down.

We both shuddered, and I pressed my face into his shoulder to hold the noise in.

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