The Gentleman - Book cover

The Gentleman

Laila Black

Age Rating


After Rosalie Millar has a one-night stand with a handsome stranger, she vows to never do it again. The trouble is...she can’t get him out of her mind! As it turns out, the stranger isn’t much of a stranger at all—he’s Daniel Rossi, owner of the publishing company she just started working for! At first, Rose wonders if he even remembers their heated encounter—he doesn’t seem to recognize her at all. But when Rose pens an erotic story based on their night together and submits it to a writing contest...her manuscript ends up on Mr. Rossi’s desk.

Age Rating: 18+

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1: The Gentleman’s T-shirt


I pinched my cheeks, smoothing my hair behind my ears. The lift doors parted with a soft chime just as I swiveled on my feet, the familiar sight of his penthouse welcoming me back.

“Took you long enough.”

Daniel tore my clothes off as soon as I crossed the threshold of his apartment, my dress landing in a mess around my feet. He stared at me hungrily before pouncing like a starved predator.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Smoothing heated bites along the curve of my neck, he lapped over the delightful sting with his tongue, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

Impatient, I worked through the buttons of his shirt, blindly throwing it to the side. He hoisted me up, my legs instinctively enfolding around his waist as he walked through the corridors, dropping me on the bed.

He locked my hands above my head, his every touch setting my core ablaze. Placing openmouthed kisses down my body, he paused at my stomach, blowing cool air over my heated skin.

His eyes locked with mine before his head disappeared between my legs, caressing the inside of my thighs with the tip of his nose.

“Rose.” My name rolled off his tongue like poetry, his light accent eliciting a pool of warmth in my core.

It was a warning, and I should have prepared for what he did next. A moan escaped my lips, my head lolling back as he skillfully worked at my nub, tracing sinfully slow circles around it.

“Daniel, please.” I writhed under the sweet torture, my orgasm brimming to the edge. Turning my head to the side, I shut my eyes tightly against the pressure building in my core.

“Look at me,” he demanded, tilting my chin up with a finger and drawing lazy circles across my bottom lip. Dipping his thumb into my mouth, he watched as I sucked on his digit, a low growl emanating from him.

Suddenly, he clamped down on my clit, his fingers pumping in and out of me at a steady pace.

I ran my fingers through his jet-black hair, the midnight shade glossy beneath the moonlight shining in through the tall windows.

My hips bucked under his tongue, my knees shaking as I screamed out in pleasure.

He held my hips down firmly, continuing his assault, rapidly sending me over the edge again and again. His fingers teased my nipples, lightly pinching the sensitive flesh.

“Oh—” I came down from my orgasm to see his eyes ablaze with lust.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a zip unwound and watched in awe as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth and sheathed his length.

Pushing my knees up, he spread my thighs open, the tip of his shaft nudging at my entrance. My lips parted in a gasp at his size, earning a low chuckle from him. His shaft was thick enough—with a sexy curve—for a sweet burn.

He gently nipped at my ear lobe before whispering, “I can’t do slow today, love.”

I shivered at the term of endearment, my gaze clashing with his. “That’s fine by me.”

Before I had a chance to breathe, he plunged into me, making me whimper and claw at his naked back as he showered small kisses across my cheek.

I rocked my hips against his, the curve of his cock hitting a thrilling spot inside me. Taking my eagerness as approval, he began to thrust faster still, in and out, his pace unrelenting.

He pushed my knees back and further apart, allowing for a deeper angle. I was a mess, his thumb working at my clit again.

“You feel amazing,” he groaned as his lips crashed onto mine in a heated storm, the minty taste of him bordering on addictive.

He rolled my nipples between his fingers, pinching and drawing sultry moans out of me. Pulling one into his mouth, he lightly sucked on the sensitive flesh, flicking the bud with his tongue.

His thrusts came faster, and I felt myself begin to unravel again, the waves building. He bit lightly into my shoulder, a series of low groans emanating from him as he came violently, sending me over the edge again.

He dropped down next to me, pulling me against his chest. I lay myself over him, my tired limbs begging for sleep.

“You really are something, aren’t you?” He slowly drew circles into my shoulder.

If we were a couple, this would have been considered cute. Or sweet. Perhaps even passionate.

But we weren’t.

He was my boss, and I was his employee.

Not that he knew.

I’m Rose Millar, and this is the story of how I ended up in my boss’s bed.

In the grand scheme of things, this fact is trivial—what really matters is that my manuscript ended up on his desk.

The manuscript that featured an erotica.

About him.


The early morning sunlight shone against my tired eyelids, casting a golden hue across the messy room. Clothes were strewn about in a blend of colors, and a groan escaped me as I spotted my torn dress.

The bed sat cold next to me, my face burning at the thought of the awkward conversation that was sure to take place.

I raced through the events of the previous night in my mind, closing in on one detail—Daniel.

That’s a start. At least I know his name.

I rolled out of the duvet, hissing at the pain between my legs. The sound of running water met my ears, and my shoulders relaxed as I blew a sigh of relief.

I searched frantically for something to cover myself with, my eyes landing on a large black T-shirt.

Hesitating for just a second, I threw the fabric over my naked body, eyeing the bathroom door warily. Guilt sat heavy in my gut as I anxiously paced back and forth.

I can’t just take his T-shirt.

Making a quick mental note never to have a one-night stand again, I began the treasure hunt for my things, finding a shoe at the front door and another under the bed before I placed my aching feet in them.

A wave of panic swept over me as the noise of the streaming water hushed. Blowing out a slow breath, I turned, spotting a notepad by the bedside table, a pen resting conveniently on top.

I sat down to write him a note, to tell him that I would return his T-shirt, only to find a message neatly printed on the page.

Have breakfast with me~.

My breath hitched, my cheeks flushing a furious shade of red as I remembered the sinful things he had whispered into my ear while slamming into me last night.

Silently cursing myself for not knowing what to do, I did the only thing I could think of.

I bolted.

Leaving the notepad, I ran out of the room, heading straight for the front door just as the bathroom door clicked open.

Not daring to look back, I shut the door behind me, clambering through the house and down the stairs.


The warm water streamed down my bare skin, caressing my aching limbs. My roaming fingers found my core as my thoughts escaped to last night. I sighed.

I’d never had sex like that before, rough and primal, hot skin against skin.

Quickly toweling off, I wiped the foggy mirror clean, my skin glowing with a new luster. My stomach rumbled loudly, begging for some breakfast.

Grabbing a mug of coffee from the kitchen, I limped into the living room, silently cursing the man from last night all the way.

I nestled into the sofa, prying my laptop open to view my manuscript. The scene that I had been waiting to write lit up the screen—I’d been saving it for last. Something steamy and sensual.

My thoughts returned to the night before, to his heady scent and dark gaze.

My fingers dug into the cushion as I remembered the way my orgasms had swept through me and how his fingers had felt against my skin.

With those thoughts running through my mind, I began to type, painting the night with my prose.

There was no question—it was amazing. Guilt wrenched through me as I imagined his shock at an empty bed.

And his missing T-shirt.

Heat crawled over my skin, warmth pooling in my core with every word I typed. A sudden ring jolted me. Clearing my throat, I answered my phone.


“Hi, Rosalie, how are you doing?”

I held back a groan at her overly chirpy voice, easily recognizing the malice in her tone.

No matter how many times I’d asked my manager to call me Rose, she’d stuck to Rosalie like glue.

“I’m good, thanks. How are yo—”

“Okay, amazing, so you’ll be able to come into the office today.” She said it like a statement, cutting me off.

“Pardon? But I—”

“I know you normally come in once a week, but the new boss wants to meet each employee personally.”

I struggled to understand her. The sentences shot out at what seemed to be a hundred miles per second.

“That’s nice of him—”

She laughed coldly, “He’s far from nice—he’s making staff cuts on the first day, so do yourself a favor and bring your British ass here.”

I ignored her remark, my face paling. “He’s firing people?”

“Yes, and—”

Now it was my turn to butt in. “I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

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