CHAPTER NINE

S he gripped the front of his shirt and plowed the fingers of her right hand into his hair, tearing out the elastic at the back that kept things tidy. She’d never seen him with his hair down before, but her eyes were closed as he ravished her mouth, so she’d have to wait.

The man could kiss.

Boy, could he kiss.

Whatever held him back this long, whatever he battled, whether it be guilt, or his unwillingness to be vulnerable with anybody else, melted away the longer he kissed her. The deeper he kissed her. Replacing it was an almost feral, frantic need that poured out of him and into her.

The rough, almost painful scrape of his short, neatly trimmed scruff against her cheek was just an added bonus. And all she could think of was how good that would feel against her inner thighs. He cupped her face with both hands, deepening the kiss, coaxing her mouth open and wedging his tongue inside. He was backing them up, until her ass hit the far counter.

Where was this going to go?

Did she care?

No.

Because she was finally kissing Dom.

At long last, she knew what those full, luscious lips tasted like, and she was not disappointed.

The spice from the tabasco heated her mouth, but she liked it. And as she pulled in a deep breath through her nose, his manly scent—body wash, or deodorant maybe—wrapped around her.

His body was warm, instantly ratcheting up her temperature until the need to shed layers became all-consuming.

A voice in Chloe’s head yelled at her. “He’s your boss!”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Right now, she didn’t care.

Right now, she was happy. Her body hummed, her heart swelled, and her pussy … well, that girl was ready for anything at this point. She was wet and waiting—impatiently.

But Dom wasn’t taking it any further. He hadn’t even cupped her breast or her ass. He still just held her face and kissed her.

Which was nice.

It was really nice, the man was a great kisser, but was he going to take it further? Did he want to?

Or would the spell be broken the moment their lips parted? Then he’d realize this was a huge mistake, he was her boss, and things would be forever strained and awkward between them.

As if he could read her mind, he sucked on her bottom lip gently once more, then pulled away. She opened her eyes to find him right there, looking at her.

Swallowing, she blinked.

Her breathing was still wild. So was his. And their chests heaved against each other.

His gaze roamed her face, and hers roamed his. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose. Then, just like before, they surged together, lips colliding. Only this time, his hands didn’t stay cupping her face for long. They traveled down her sides to the hem of her T-shirt. She went for the buttons of his flannel, working enough of them free that he could break their kiss long enough to haul his shirt over his head. He wore a black tank top underneath, but it did nothing to hide his muscles.

Her shirt was next. Then they went to work on their pants. Jeans were unbuttoned with haste. She was grateful that she’d worn her black running shoes for comfort rather than her combat boots, which were impossible to take off. She kicked one leg out of her black jeans and hadn’t even bothered with her underwear before he had her by the face again, once again taking her mouth.

Everything happened so fast after that. He cupped her ass, picked her up, and set her on the counter. She reached for him, hauling him closer, only to then wedge a hand between them and find him hard and ready. She notched him at her center, just pushing her underwear to the side, and in one quick thrust—followed by a grunt from each of them—he was fully seated.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his forehead pressed to hers. They both moaned as he started to buck into her with abandon. She grappled at his back, needing more of his skin beneath hers. She reached for the hem of his tank top and ripped it over his head.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, taking in his defined torso and the grayscale tattoo of a tree climbing up the right side of his torso from his hipbone. “Yes.”

He grinned and went back for her mouth, biting her bottom lips before thrusting his tongue in to find hers. His rhythm never wavered. He kept pace, he kept moving, sliding in and out of her, bringing her closer and closer to that beautiful, sweet release. She’d been primed for him. There was no need for foreplay. If anything, their entire relationship up until this point had been foreplay. The push and pull. The way he challenged her. The way he made her open up unlike she’d ever opened up to anybody before.

She clung to his neck, grappled at his muscular shoulder blades like he was the last thing keeping her grounded to Earth, otherwise she might float away. The passion bottled up inside of him needed to go somewhere and she was absolutely volunteering as tribute. She wanted it all for herself. Needed it.

Because she felt the exact same way. She’d lusted after this man for way too long.

He found her mouth again, kissing her with an intensity, a level of possession she’d only ever read about in her romance novels but never experienced herself. With a need so deep, so primal, it was as if stealing her breath, and resolve was the only thing keeping him alive—and sane. To keep him from drowning in the sea of despair he’d lived in for so long. A deep, animalistic growl rumbled through him, the vibration of it rolling through her ribcage and down between her legs.

The need to come rushed forward, stirring like a beautiful heat in her lower belly and where he filled her up. He kissed a trail across her cheek, down her jaw and her neck, nipping at her shoulder. She tilted her head back, her eyes still closed, her chin to the ceiling. His hand wrapped around her braid at the back, and he tugged, giving himself better access to her neck. He raked his teeth up, her pulse thundering beneath his lips. She moaned as he picked up speed, bucking into her harder and faster.

Biting her bottom lips, she dug her nails into his shoulders and let go.

Like a dam breaking, the rush of adrenaline and pleasure was overwhelming. She stilled as she broke, everything inside of her throbbing with ecstasy as he continued to move. A moment later, as she was still deep in the throes of her own release, Dom paused his efforts, grunted, pressed his forehead to hers, and leaped off the cliff with her.

Together, their chests rose and fell rapidly, their breaths came out in forced, deep pants and his low, feral growl nearly pitched her over the edge into a second climax.

Everything inside of her thrummed. Alive, alert, and aching for more.

The waves of bliss had extended out to her fingers which ached, bunched against his tight shoulder muscles, and down to her toes which curled and cramped in her socks.

But she didn’t care.

So much of the pain she’d been carrying with her for all this time disappeared in the ether with each expelled breath. Her whole body became lighter. Her heart became lighter.

After a few more deep breaths, he lifted his head, and they blinked their eyes open.

His mouth found hers again in a gentle, sweet kiss. He was still seated inside her. Still hard. And she was reluctant for the moment to end. For them to no longer be connected.

Licking her lips, she carefully released her fingers from his skin. Murmuring a small, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“I just keep hurting you.”

“Worth it,” he said, amusement in his tone. “Just wait here. I’ll be right back.” Then he pulled free of her, hiked his boxers and jeans back up, and took off to the bathroom.

Leaning back on the bar, essentially naked from the waist down, Chloe closed her eyes and tipped her face to the ceiling.

Don’t get wrapped up in your head. Stay in the moment. Stay in the joy. Stay in the light. Don’t let things get heavy again.

That was one hundred percent her vagina talking, because her brain was all about getting wrapped up in anxious thoughts and overanalyzing things until it made her sick.

The more she tried not to overthink things, the more she did—of course. She’d just had sex with her boss, at work.

Dom returned a moment later with a bunch of warm, damp, folded paper towels. He went to tidy up between her legs himself, but she stopped him. “I … I can do it.”

He nodded and stepped back. She showed him her back, cleaned herself up, and redressed. When she spun back around, he was standing there, his brown hair framing his face in an impossibly sexy way. But his gaze was guarded, unsure.

“You’re my boss,” she said … again.

He nodded. “I know.”

“This was …”

“I know.”

“Now what?”

Raking his fingers through his hair, he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I want this job, Dom. I like it here. I’m finally finding some peace in this place. I like the pub. The island. The people. I don’t want to leave. But I also … I … I don’t want it to get weird or awkward or anything.”

“Me either.”

“So, then … what? We just pretend this didn’t happen?”

A sharp, feral reluctance filled his eyes, and she thought for sure he was going to say, “Hell no.” But he didn’t. He shoved his hands into his pockets, stared at the ground, and nodded. “I guess. If that’s what you want?”

It wasn’t.

It absolutely wasn’t. She was on a healing journey, and he was a single dad struggling to find a work-life balance that didn’t sacrifice his kid in the process. Adding a relationship to the mix just complicated things for both of them.

Add in the fact that, duh, HE WAS HER BOSS.

“I think it’s for the best. Don’t you?” she asked, each word a struggle to articulate.

His head bobbed. “Okay.”

She swallowed. “I should … I should finish up.”

He shook his head. “You go. I’ll lock up and finish.”

“I still need to cash out.”

“Right.”

Now things were awkward.

Shit!

“You go cash out and I’ll finish here,” he said.

“O-okay.” She retrieved the two tills and headed past him toward the cash out room. But he snagged her elbow before she could get any further.

His hand was like a warm, soothing brand on her arm that she never wanted to go away. Their eyes locked and she thought for sure he was going to say something. His mouth opened and closed, several times. But nothing came out.

“I should …”

He let go of her. “Right. Sorry.”

She was nearly home free when his voice had her pausing midstride. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. We didn’t even use a condom.”

She spun around to find his face ashen with regret.

“It’s probably okay. I haven’t been with anybody in years. And we struggled to conceive Elliott. Three rounds of IVF until it took. And then when we tried for a second baby, I had an ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage, and lost a fallopian tube and an ovary. We gave up after another two rounds of failed IVF. The universe does not want me to be a mother. That is clear.”

His face fell even further. “That’s not—”

“It’s fine.” Tears burned behind her eyes and a spikey lump lodged itself at the top of her throat. “I’ve made peace with it. I gotta cash out though.” Then she hurried her steps to get out of there.

Only once she was safely in the cash room with the door closed did she let the tears fall.

How could she have been so stupid as to go and sleep with her boss? She was smarter than that. She’d never let her vagina do the thinking, even when she was a horny teenager partying in the forest with her friends. She was reckless in other ways, but her brain was always the one in her driver’s seat.

Not tonight, apparently.

Tonight, her brain was locked in the trunk while her vagina and clitoris took a joy ride around Dom’s sexy body.

Only they crashed the car, and now her brain was free from the trunk, pissed off and left to pick up the pieces.

Stupid fucking vagina.

She just needed to get out of there. So as soon as she finished cashing out, she let Dom close up and hightailed it out of there. She needed to pee and push all that cum out of her. She also really didn’t want a yeast or bladder infection.

The wind howled and tossed the trees like they were no more than blades of grass reaching for the sky with their dark, foreboding limbs. Her nerves were shot as she drove down the dark, wet road toward the hostel. Rain pelted her windshield, and she shrieked when she hit a pothole and the whole car jumped.

Staying at the hostel had been fine when the weather was nicer, but if this was what a West Coast winter was going to be like, she needed to find a place closer to work. She did not want to be doing this drive nightly.

Luckily, she made it to the hostel in one piece and parked her car in the stall closest to the front door. She needed a warm shower and her bed.

The place was surprisingly quiet given how wild and loud it’d been last night.

She greeted Joey at the front desk and made her way upstairs and down the narrow hallway. There were three dorm rooms and six private rooms. She was lucky to snag a private room. But even still, this wasn’t a long-term solution. She needed to find something closer, better, and more private.

Digging her keys out of her pocket, her hand trembled from the cold as she slid the key into the lock on her door. But when it didn’t unclick, an icy chill swept down her spine. She tried the knob and it turned without problem, opening the door.

Did she forget to lock her door before she left?

No. She always locked her door. She was borderline obsessive about it. Especially after finding out she was in the Murder Hostel.

Flicking on the light, she crept into the tight space with barely enough room for a queen-sized bed, a small nightstand, and a corner bookshelf in lieu of a dresser. The bathroom door was closed and light poured out from beneath the crack.

And the shower was running.

What the hell?

With more fire in her belly, she stepped over her suitcase and knocked on the door. “Hello?”

“Just a sec,” came a male voice. “Almost out.”

“No. You will get the fuck out now. This is my private room. My private bathroom.” She pounded on the door. “Get out!”

The water shut off. “Jesus fuck. Calm down.”

Waiting for the trespasser to vacate, she stalked back to the open door. “Joey!” she called out. “Joey! Someone is in my room and using my bathroom.”

The bathroom door opened and one of the twenty-something bros from the dorm room who was louder than a fucking woodpecker on a metal pole, came sauntering out, dripping wet and with a towel slung low on his hips. “What the fuck’s your problem, lady?”

She gaped at him as the sound of Joey coming up the stairs echoed toward them. “My problem? My problem? My problem is that I locked my door before I left for work. My private room, with my private bathroom. Then I come home after a long shift only to find my room no longer locked and someone— you —in my shower. That’s my problem .”

“All the other bathrooms were in use, and I needed to shower. I smell like fish. I’m working too, you know. On the boats.”

“I don’t fucking care if you’re the goddamn crown prince of Monaco. You broke into my room.”

Joey arrived, a very uneasy look on his face.

“Joey, this guy broke into my room.”

Joey met the idiot’s gaze. “You said you’d be out of there in like ten minutes.”

Chloe was going to have a stroke. “Excuse me?”

“Come on,” Joey said, “he smelled like fish. I let him into your room and told him not to touch any of your stuff, and make sure it looked just the way he found it.” Then he glared at the bro in the towel. “Orrin, you said you’d be gone before she got back.”

Chloe pressed her fingers to her temples. “You let him into my room?”

“You’re being very dramatic, lady. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t touch your body wash or anything like that. I used my own soap.” Orrin rolled his eyes. “Calm down. It’s not like I jerked off or anything in there.”

“You did not just tell me to calm down, you repulsive, entitled little shit. I have every right to be irate. I have every right to contact your boss,” she directed this next bit to Joey, “and tell him what you’ve done.”

Now, Joey looked genuinely worried.

Orrin, on the other hand, just flicked his wet, blond hair so it rested over the top of his head. “You on the rag or something? Chill out.”

Joey blanched.

Orrin chuckled.

Fire filled Chloe’s belly, and she growled, reached for Orrin’s towel, and yanked it off. “Get the fuck out of my room!” she screamed, gripping the bro by the shoulders and shoving him out into the hallway where people were now hanging out of their various rooms to see what was going on.

Orrin wasn’t so cocky now and cupped himself. “Hey, lady, not cool.”

People snickered as he scrambled like an idiot back toward his room, his cheeks—both sets—red with embarrassment.

“I expect a full fucking refund from you,” she said, turning back to Joey and shoving Orrin’s towel at him. “And I’m out of here in the morning. That was a massive violation of my privacy, and you fucking know it.”

Joey swallowed and nodded. It was hard to tell how old the guy was. Twenty? Thirty? Forty? He had a baby face, but very thin hair on top and a badly receding hairline. He hurried away, nodding and apologizing.

Chloe slammed her bedroom door and locked it, then pushed the nightstand in front of the door as well.

Growling, she threw her purse onto her bed.

Great. Now, she had to find a new place to live.

Just fucking great.

The universe was really using her as a punching bag now.

What next?

A tsunami? An earthquake?

Knowing her luck, it would be both, plus Godzilla would rise from the sea and destroy her. Not the world, not the West Coast. Just. Her.

She heaved a weary sigh.

Maybe the ladies at yoga had some suggestions on where she could stay.

If not, she could look at getting another van. Though, the idea of spending the winter in the van was about as appealing as sharing a shower with … well, Orrin. The last two winters, she made sure she was in warm states. This was her first winter in a state where they got snow, since leaving North Dakota.

Pushing open the bathroom door, she took stock of the space that had now been desecrated by Orrin. She’d been so looking forward to a shower, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Yes, if she’d been in the dorms, she would have had to deal with a communal shower and been fine with it. But the whole point of paying extra for a private room and bathroom was so that she didn’t have to.

Work had been great. The sex with Dom had been great.

Then her brain joined the equation again, having been busted free from the trunk of the car after her clit and vagina crashed it. And now, she couldn’t even wash away the debacle of the day without feeling ick.

Was San Camanez as magical as everyone said? Or was her own misfortune too powerful for the magic here? Hopefully, the women at yoga could help. Otherwise, Chloe might just have to pick up and move on … again.