Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance (11 page)

This is the second time I’ve walked into a meeting nervous because of my boss. This time, I’m ignoring him and getting back to work as fast as possible. The more I work, the more I keep my mind off him.

He barely looks up as I enter. In fact, he doesn’t look at anyone. He’s reading something in his lap as if this meeting is the biggest inconvenience ever. I don’t let my eyes stray over him. I don’t inhale too deeply so I can avoid his scent. I don’t strain to hear it when he finally does say two words.

The meeting starts, and he stops reading to pay attention.

Until it’s my turn.

I stand to begin and he pulls out his cell phone again.

“Donetta asked me to go over some best practices for money handling on the floor.” My eyes dart to Brent. He’s typing on his phone. It must be important, whatever it is. His glossy dark hair shines in the sunlight and I wish he’d look up. As I talk, I can’t help but glance at him again and again.

I’m across the table from him. That’s a lot of empty, wide space.

“… we all know that it’s imperative for floor employees to double-check large bills. Twenties, hundreds…”

I could get on the table, on my knees. He’d look up then and let me see his luscious, hard lips. I’d crawl … all the way across the table, keeping my breasts in perfect alignment with his gaze until I was right there in front of him.

Heat flushes my cheeks, and I keep talking, trying to shake the image from my head.

Suddenly, Brent looks up. His eyes slide over me without stopping before he readjusts his cell phone and keeps on reading. He’s completely ignoring me.

That was an utter slap in the face.

I’m daydreaming about him fucking me on the table in front of everyone, and he’s dismissing me. Quietly furious and hurt, I finish my report to the tune of Brent typing on his phone. Silence fills the air and he keeps typing away. Finally his assistant whispers in his ear, and he glances up with a start.

“Next,” he says. He slips his phone into his pocket as the next person starts speaking, his attention fully engaged.

“Bastard,” I whisper under my breath. If nothing else, he should have been listening to my report on saving his fucking company money. He might not care …

But, God help me, I do.

T
hat stupid Taylor Swift song
,
Shake it Off
is running through my head as I slip into my office. I don’t know what’s more annoying, being hurt or that damn song. Slamming my files onto my desk, a blinking light on my cell phone catches my attention. I didn’t know I’d left it behind.

Flicking the screen open, a text message pops up. It’s from Brent.

My chest goes tight as I tap it open. What could he possibly want? After the way he blatantly ignored me a few moments ago, he’d better not ask me for
anything
. He had the entire weekend to text me, and now? Now …

Tonight. You’re to wear an outfit just like the one you have on now.
I do a double-take and read the words again.
The minute you stood up to speak, my cock turned to stone. Your breasts pushing against your shirt begged me to fuck them.

Holy shit!

I want to grab that perfect bun and fuck between your tits until I cum on your throat.

And … there go my panties. Soaked. Damn him. I’m breathing so hard, I have to sit down.

My house, eight o’clock. Wear a skirt and blouse. No panties. Hair in a bun. Glasses.

Crossing my legs to stop the deep ache in my pussy, I read the whole thing again. Curious, I check the time stamp and my eyes go wide. He sent these during the meeting! Hope and joy fill me as I realize that while he was outwardly ignoring me, he was sending me these messages. Either I had him so distracted that he had to look away to keep control, or he was being a dick and still expects me to be his little fantasy.

I’m so turned on right now, there’s no way to deny that I’ll be his fantasy, no matter what. It’s not just an invitation. It’s validation that he needs this as much as I do.

I don’t reply. He left me guessing all weekend and now it’s his turn. He’s cocky and confident enough to assume I’ll show up, but it won’t hurt him to be kept wondering.

I can barely focus on my work the rest of the day. Something that comes so easily and usually centers me is completely out of my ability, thanks to Brent and his sexy texts. By the time I get home, I’m still high with anticipation. I slick lightly scented body oil on my freshly shaved skin and prepare myself the way he asked—form-fitting work skirt, pale pink blouse with the top button undone, my hair in a chignon. No panties.

It’s almost dark by the time I get in my SUV and drive to Brent’s. I’m on autopilot really, not overthinking tonight, not dwelling on what’s happened between us before. It’s exciting to take each new experience as it comes, especially as each one seems to unveil something new.

His half-circle driveway is completely dark as I drive in. Pulling up to the house, I frown to see the windows and porch are completely dark, too. Did he forget? A shiver goes down the back of my neck. Maybe my plan to keep him guessing just backfired. His car isn’t here, but then again, he probably parks in the attached carriage garage.

Getting out of the car, I pause to look around and listen. It’s quiet out here with just a layer of crickets sounding in the air. Rubbing goosebumps from my forearms, I go up the steps, but pause again before knocking. My lungs go tight and I breathe hard around the constriction. This is silly. He forgot to turn on a light … maybe fell asleep waiting for me. A tingle shoots between my legs as I reach for the door. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. My body is ready.

But my shoulder muscles go tense and I spin to look behind me. The shadow of my car greets me, the outline of Brent’s immaculately trimmed shrubbery and the single, dark lamppost in the drive.

I’ve navigated darker streets than this. Dangerous ones. And I’ve made it this far unscathed. With a nervous laugh at my silliness, I knock. The door pushes open a little when I do. Frowning, I grab the handle. The door was unlocked, open.

Warning flares through me and I’m frozen in place for a second. Did someone break into Brent’s home? I should run back to the car and call 911. But Brent could be inside, needing help. I dig into my purse and grab for my cell phone. I can’t find it in the other junk, but I know it’s there. Forcing myself forward, I slowly push the door open with my elbow and step over the threshold.

My skin goes ice cold, and the urge to flee is so strong, I almost give in. Almost. For some reason, I’m drenched between my legs as if fear and lust can’t tell each other apart.

Story of my life lately.

Finally, I feel my cell phone beneath my fingertips and reach in a little more to grab it.

I’m just about to call Brent’s name when the strap of my purse is jerked off my arm. The motion half spins me. I scream, but it’s cut off as a hand closes around my throat.

I pull in a startled half-breath as the hand cinches slightly.

Suddenly, my feet leave the floor as I’m dragged backwards. I grab the forearms crossed over my body and dig my nails into the supple flesh. Hard muscles meets my attack, so I dig harder. A male grunt sounds in my ear, but whatever pain I’m inflicting doesn’t seem to faze him.

We stop and I’m pulled even more firmly against a hard chest. Something long and hard presses against my ass and it takes a second to realize it’s his erection.

Oh, hell no. I haven’t come this far to be raped on the floor of my boss’s home. Not after surviving the streets I was on six years ago.

I start to thrash, twisting in his arms but they hold me so tightly, I barely move at all. Kicking behind me, I cry out in frustration when I only make contact with air. A sound like a chuckle sounds in my ear. He’s enjoying this.

It dawns on me … Georgios.

Did he hurt Brent? Did Brent … did he send Georgios’ men here for
me
?

I think of the images of him and Brent together that I found in my Google search. I still don’t know what their connection is, but Brent never gave me any verifiable indication that he was working with the Greeks.

He wouldn’t set me up this way. Would he?

Oh, God. The panic floods my nervous system in an instant.

I pant around the pressure on my throat, surprised to find it’s easier to breathe than I thought. One hand is pressed against my abdomen. It starts to wander, the fingers walking down, the palm sliding flat against my skirt. He ruffles the fabric, pulling it up as he keeps sliding lower.

I wait for my opening. My body goes alert, my senses sharp as I struggle to listen around my own breathing. I have to do something, but I don’t know what. I’m completely overpowered. I can only make out basic shapes in the dark … hear his breathing, slow and even and unbothered behind me.

Maybe I can …

Damn … little sparks of pleasure dart between my legs as his fingers stray close to the apex of my thighs. Something feels familiar about this but I can’t pinpoint it through the fear. Suddenly, my thighs are bared and his fingers delve between my lips. I jerk, disgust and passion equal in my blood.

I’m slick, completely soaked.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Tears prick my eyes because I’ve gone still again and I don’t want to move. His hand moves up my throat to palm my chin and jerk my head up.

“Fight harder, kitten.”

I sag with relief at Brent’s voice in my ear. I realize then that I’ve been wrapped in his scent. My brain recognized it, and it took away the sharp edge of fear even as my body was prepared to fight. No wonder I’m so damn turned on. Deep down, I knew it was him.
Didn’t I?

“Jesus, you’re so fucking wet.” He strokes my clit with purposeful glides of his fingers. I want to sink into the sensation, but his arm tightens around me. He wants me to struggle. He wants me to fight him. Tying me to the bed was nothing—this is another sexy game of his. It’s raw and my pulse pumps through me, but I’m so turned on that I can’t deny him, the panic having melted into an equal amount of lust.

Twisting in his arms, I grunt and try to push away from him. He breathes hard in my ear, holding me tight as his fingers work me into a fucking frenzy. But I don’t stop fighting, kicking and clawing at his arm. With a growl, he spins me in the dark. My hands come out in front of me on instinct, my forearms pressing into a wall as he pushes me against it. Moisture runs down my thigh, my clit so swollen and needy that I’m going to come any second.

But I don’t stop fighting. I get one hand free and twist. With all my strength, I slap, my palm making contact with the side of his face. The crack fills the air and we both pause. Oh shit. I don’t know how far he’ll take this … how far I’ll allow him to take this. Danger crackles between us. Not waiting to find out, I keep struggling, a little bit afraid for real again.

Brent bends me lower and jerks my hips back toward him. In a flurry, my skirt falls away and his fingers are on my clit again. I can’t think straight. It takes all my willpower to keep struggling because the sensation is taking over.

The tip of his cock breeches my pussy. I cry out, and he thrusts so hard, I nearly lose my balance.

“You’re going to pay for slapping me.”

“Yes. Yes, sir!” I sob as he thrusts hard enough to push my knees into the wall. I’m riding the edge of an orgasm that won’t fucking come and it’s making me mad.

“Brace yourself.”

I scramble to put my palms on the wall and then he’s riding me hard, fast. It’s almost brutal, but the pleasure makes the power worth it. Suddenly, another crack fills the air and my ass cheek stings from his slap. He thrusts again and it sends me over.

I can’t fucking stand it. I scream. I can hear myself, crying out over and over, and the pleasure keeps coming. My legs go weak and I can’t stand because I’m so consumed with the feeling. Brent’s hands grip my hips, his nails digging into my flesh as he fucks me like a wild animal.

He pulls out, his hot cum shooting across my lower back and down my ass.

“Holy shit.” I gasp. My legs give out and I slide to my knees. My head swirls as consciousness threatens to fade. I feel myself being lifted, cradled against warm flesh and then laid on something soft.

Brent’s voice fills my head. “Good girl. So, so good. Just lie back.”

Through heavily-lidded eyes, I watch as he leaves and comes back with a warm washcloth. He rubs it over my back and inner thighs. Turning me, he adds more warm water and bathes my breasts. It’s hot and soothing and I drift off.

When I come to, I’m alone in the bedroom and I can hear the sound of the shower running in the ensuite bathroom.

I lie there for a minute, soaking everything in—what we just did. How wrong it should have been to play that way, but how incredible it felt anyway. I’ve never come that hard in my life. Each time with Brent gets more and more intense. How long can this last? How long can I?

I feel languid and lazy, but I if I don’t get up, I’m going to fall back asleep. I want to be awake when he gets out of the shower. Groggily, I get up and stretch. His room is warm, the lighting soft. No wonder I can’t seem to wake up. Looking for something to stimulate my brain, I wander to a painting he has hanging above his dresser. Similar artwork is neatly placed throughout the room. Same artist, I realize. He has a thing for art and antiques. The finer things in life.

I smile at these little peeks into Brent as a person. A pair of silver cufflinks lay atop his dresser. They’re simple squares. The watch next to them is plain, too. Not a fancy brand I recognize, though he could more than afford one if he wished. Beneath the polish, Brent still has some simple tastes, it seems.

I touch the watch, eager to hold something that he’s worn as if it might give me more insight. One of the cufflinks catches in the watch band and drops down into the slightly open top drawer of his dresser.

“Oops.” Quickly, I set the watch down and open the drawer a bit more to retrieve the cuff link. Reaching in, I grab something firm lying beneath a shirt. I have to move the shirt aside to get the cufflink, and whatever lies there looks like a belt. Strange place for a belt, between two shirts.

A wicked thought crosses my mind, about what Brent could do with that.

Setting the cuff link down, I go back for the belt. As I lift it, I realize it’s not a belt.

It’s a collar.

The kind a submissive would wear.

The dark, glossy leather has a lighter feminine edging and a beautiful gold clasp and ring. Absently, I open it and hold it to my neck. What would he do, to see me wearing it? I finger the leather, relishing the smoothness of it. What would it be like to wear one of these again?

I know he wants me to be his. Maybe he bought this, just in case?

The thought gives me joy. I … I want to wear it. I want to be his.

Elated with the realization, I bring the collar back toward my neck. I just want to feel it against my skin. But that’s when I see it.

Lowering it a bit, my eyes narrow as I spy words written in gold thread on the inside of the collar.

Nausea rises in my throat.

My Liz.