Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance (15 page)

B
rent sweeps
me out of work an hour early so we can have dinner at a new Italian place. After too much wine and pasta on the terrace, we head to his house. The driveway is empty as we pull in, meaning no housekeeper is still here.

We’re completely alone, and I’m happy about that.

It’s a sex date, but it feels like more. Something changed between us the other day at the hotel. Brent is still . . . Brent, but he’s softer around the edges. He’s less on guard around me, perhaps. Assuring him that I no longer work for Georgios may have allowed him to lower his guard some, or maybe it was the way I opened up about Nathalie.

I can’t believe he let me as far in as he did, thinking I might still be playing him for Georgios.

Thinking about it later, it still felt a little strange to tell him the truth. I never talk to anyone about my sister, but it felt good to confide in him. The way he watched me as I’d spoken about her made me feel like he really understood.

That he was actually listening to me, hearing me.

I wish he’d take my cue and let me inside his personal zone in reciprocation. But I’m not going to push. Not when we’re actually comfortable with each other now, instead of holding back our need for more while fucking like wild animals.

I wait while he reaches to punch in the code to unlock the front door. I do a double take as I realize the door is already open wide enough that I can see inside.

“What the fuck?” Brent steps to the threshold and pushes the door wide. “I pay that woman how much to take care of my home, and she leaves the damn door open?”

My mind strays to rampant thoughts of intruders. Brent, however, must not worry the same way I do if his first thought is that the housekeeper did it. I’m ready to call 911 and he looks like he’s about to fire the poor woman.

He looks around before going in and ushering me in after him. Then he shuts the door, locks it. He takes my coat, our eyes meeting and I forget about perps hiding in the shadows. Brent and I played that game once already and it turned out pretty well. Maybe that’s why I’m not worried.

He makes me feel safe, as if he has everything under control. As out of control as my life has been, I need that from him.

His eyes turn smoky as he runs a hand down my back and cups my ass.

“Go to the staircase, fourth step up, and drop your dress.”

I drop my eyes and do as he says. By the time I get up the stairs, I’m trembling with anticipation. Brent stops at the bottom of the staircase and works his tie side to side. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, showing off the fine, firm muscles of his forearms. My dress floods in a soft puddle at my feet. Carefully in my heels, I kick it away and wait. He motions for me to sit.

I do. The stair is barely wide enough for me to sit without sliding off, but I find balance. Brent comes up, slipping his tie over his head. He’s towering over me and I look up as he puts the tie around my head and snugs it gently around my neck. He’s made the wider end long enough that when he presses me closer to the bannister, he can tie it around the thin spindle.

My breathing kicks up as he secures me. I have some give, but not much. Instead of fighting it, I lean my head against the spindles and try to relax. Brent parts my legs and looks down at my pussy with a hungry expression that destroys me.

“I’ve been dreaming of feasting on you all day.”

He runs a finger under my panties. I shudder and moan.

“I almost came to your office after the finance meeting to throw you on the desk and lick you dry.”

“Oh, God, why didn’t you?” My voice is breathy and strained.

He gives a lopsided grin as his finger parts my pussy lips and begins stroking my clit.

“I was detained. But I intend to make up for it now.”

I’m panting as he strokes me. My thighs quiver as I tighten them to hold myself in place on the step. He lowers onto the staircase, his dark head dipping between my legs. He pulls my panties to the side, his tongue replacing his fingers with hard, fast strokes that cloud my mind with pleasure.

“Don’t hold back, Erica,” he growls. “I want to hear every sound, every scream. All of it.”

“Fuck.” I mumble and his fingers dig into my thighs. I’m glad he’s going to let me have a voice today, because damn, it feels insane. I moan and cry out, pulling against the tie as I forget he’s restrained me and throw my head back.

My butt slides down a bit, and Brent cradles me in his big palms. It’s not quite enough to hold me up, though, and the tie tightens around my neck as it’s pulled from its anchor. The fabric slips just enough around my neck that one good pull will free me, but I don’t want to be free. The gentle squeeze around my throat seems to heighten what I’m feeling.

Suddenly, I come. It crashes over me and I scream from the force of it. Brent wrenches my legs apart more, and thrusts his cock into me. The edge of the stair digs into my back as he pulls my hips up and holds me against his hips.

Rocking into me, again and again, his dick rubs my inner walls and flames the orgasm with embers that won’t die. I’ve never come this long, this hard, and I swear I’m going to black out. I look down enough to see his cock disappearing into me, and his hand move between our bodies.

He rubs my clit, and with the force of another thrust, I’m coming again.

“Brent!” His name rips out of me and drowns in his own moans as he pulses hot and long inside me.

The tie is snug around my neck. Stars dance behind my eyes and I feel like I’m on the verge of passing out. But it’s blissful and sensual and holy fuck, does everything feel good.

He kisses my face and frees the tie.

“You’re absolutely perfect, do you know that?”

I laugh, warm from the compliment. My body feels weak and useless. Luckily, Brent helps me up. He rights his pants and helps me down the few steps.

“Let’s get a drink.”

I follow in my bra, panties and heels, into the kitchen. There he gets a bottle of wine as I lean against the counter and watch him. His body is graceful and unrushed as he uncorks the bottle and takes out two glasses.

I wish he’d shed the clothes and let me see the beautiful structure of his body, but I’m content to watch the slide of muscle beneath fabric. For now.

“Try this.” He hands me a glass and I take a sip. It pops with fruitiness, then fades to full-bodied flavor on my palate. Brent reaches behind me and pops a grape from a bowl on the counter. Watching me, he presses it to my lips. I take it slowly, letting my lips brush his fingers.

“Chew, then have another sip.”

I do, and there’s a burst of flavor in my mouth.

“That’s really good.”

He grins and my skin flushes with renewed passion. “It pairs well with all sorts of treats.”

I make a small sound and set down my glass. A moment passes in which he could have easily taken control or ordered me onto my knees, but he doesn’t. He’s waiting for me to make the next move. For a second, I’m uncertain because I don’t want to read him wrong.

But as I reach for the waist of his pants and unfasten the button, I know I haven’t. His eyes close and he takes a drink. I pull down his zipper, my heart flipping when I find him hard and thick already. The man has a cock of steel and bless him for being at the ready like Superman.

I grip him lightly and stroke the length of his cock, playing at the root and cupping his balls. Brent inhales sharply, his thighs tensing at my touch. I reach for his glass and take a drink, then lower to my knees. His hand fists my hair.

Swirling the wine in my mouth, I wait until the pop of flavor has subsided and swallow, then take Brent in my mouth. Relaxing my throat, I take him all the way.

“Good girl.” His hand guides my head as I suck him in and out. Then he sharply pulls my hair and I release him. He tips my head up.

“Open your mouth.”

I do and he pours a small stream of wine down. Some of it misses my mouth, but most of it makes it in. I swallow and he pushes himself between my lips. It’s a heady combination of wine, male skin, and sex, and I’m drunk with it.

I close my mouth around him, sucking hard, drawing him in and out until he grows thick and the big vein underneath his cock starts to pulse. Suddenly he pulls me off again, pouring more wine into my mouth.

I know he’s close, so I swallow fast and take him again. His release shoots down my throat, chasing the wine with a dizzying effect that has me holding onto his pants for support. Brent braces a hand on the counter over my shoulder, his neck straining and face clenched tight as he comes.

“Insane,” he mutters. “This is insane.” He smiles, then laughs a little as he straightens and tucks his cock into his pants. With gentle hands, he helps me to my feet and offers me the rest of his wine. I drain the glass, lightheaded and giddy. Endorphins, wine, whatever is causing it, I’ll take it.

He touches where the spilled wine has dried, sticky and burgundy against my pale skin.

“Dirty girl. Let’s go upstairs and clean you up.”

“Hot shower, please. You can fuck me while you’re soaping my back.” I move to go past him, but he spins me. With a squeal, I land over his shoulder in a caveman-carry. Brent playfully slaps my ass and heads to the staircase.

“I think you’ve earned a free ride,” he jokes as he goes up the stairs.

“I really have.”

He pinches my ass and I swat at his hand. At the top, I think he’s going to put me down, but he doesn’t.

“Maybe you should have been a fireman.” I joke. “You’re pretty good at carrying—“

Brent stops in the doorway of his room. His shoulders go tense and he mutters a curse. I can’t see anything by the hallway.

“Brent? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just steps inside and stops by the bed. His arm loosens around me and I wiggle down. He’s staring at the bed as if in a trance or something. I look from him to the bed, following his gaze.

On the pillow closest to us lies an eight-by-ten picture.

My gut sinks to my feet.

A smiling woman looks up at us, her dark hair and milky skin reminding me of a young Elizabeth Taylor. I know immediately who this is.

She’s stunning, and has Brent completely blindsided right now. His chest rises hard and fast.

I sweep the picture with my eyes, unable to look away. Her graceful left hand is holding back hair from her brilliant blue eyes. Suddenly, I go completely still. A cold chill races down my body.

It’s Liz.

And she’s wearing a ring on her left hand.

The one I saw in the box six years ago. The box I delivered to Brent.

T
here’s
a picture of Liz on my side of Brent’s bed.

Her blue eyes bore into me and I’m so stunned that I can’t move. Brent is on his phone, yelling at someone through the line. I can’t seem to break from my stupor. Someone has been here and left behind the portrait, and an open front door. But who?  Why is someone taunting us with Liz’s image?

Brent leaves the room, but his pissed off voice carries back to me. I focus on his words, trying to ascertain who he’s talking to and what he’s saying. I guess I need to know that he somehow has a handle on the situation; he’ll find out who did this. I’m fucking terrified right now, and Liz’s dead eyes that seem to follow me around aren’t helping.

I’m suddenly freezing with goosebumps all along my arms. I can’t believe this has happened. It seems the closer I try and get to Brent, the more weird stuff happens. Someone is watching us, keeping tabs on us. It’s beyond creepy. Until he opens up and tells me what’s going on, I can’t continue seeing him. I can’t keep doing this. My safety--and his-- is at stake.

Maybe it’s already too late, but I’m done taking chances with Brent Masters. The eyes of the woman who he refused to acknowledge existed in his life as anything more than an employee are burning into me.

But where the hell is she? Where is Liz?

What the hell happened to her that someone would leave her likeness like this… like a warning?

It’s a warning for
me
. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up as nothing more than a flat-eyed picture, too.

Shaking, I leave the room and race down the stairs. I scoop up my dress and whip it over my head, then grab my clutch where I’d dropped it by the front door. Brent is still yelling through his phone, but I’m not sure which room he’s in. I’m not telling him that I’m going. I don’t care if he knows—I just want out of here.

The drive home is a blur. It’s becoming a pattern each time I leave Brent’s house. I never seem to leave emotionally happy, just physically satisfied. Why can’t my heart and brain reconcile that epic orgasms don’t mean he’s good for me?

I don’t get far before my phone rings. I glance at my purse on the driver’s seat, but I don’t reach for it to dig my cell out. I’m sure it’s Brent and I don’t want to talk to him right now. I need space and a little time to think about what I’m going to do. I’m so wrapped up in him, in a way I always told myself I’d never be over a man. Still, here I am, falling hard.

Falling for a dangerous man.

As I navigate the road, I can’t stop wondering what happened to Liz. I delivered the box to Brent six years ago. Did he have a relationship with her before, or after, I made that delivery? Maybe they’d broken up, and she was returning the ring to him. Then she jet-setted off to an island somewhere, or another city, to start over fresh.

The rationalization doesn’t explain why Brent is so evasive whenever her name comes up. My chest fills with a sense of dread.

No… if she was healthy and happy somewhere, he wouldn’t avoid the subject so hard. My analytical brain, the one that allows me to crunch numbers and solve accounting problems, says it’s not as simple as Liz waltzing off to start a new life.

Something happened to her. Some
one
happened to her. Brent? It’s the obvious conclusion. I delivered proof of death to him, and then delivered myself.

Luckily, I find a parking spot in front of my apartment building. The lights are bright on this side of the building versus the lot in the back which has only one dimly-lit lamp post. After what just happened at Brent’s, I’m in no condition to walk through the dark. Grabbing my clutch, I hurry up the walkway and into the building. I flip through my keychain for my apartment key as I head to my door.

Something makes me pause. The back of my neck prickles. I go still and listen. The faint strains of my neighbor’s television sound quietly through the hall. But it’s more than that… something else is giving me this uneasy feeling. I grip my keys tightly with the point of the key sticking out between my knuckles. It’s a puny weapon, but at least I can get a couple hard jabs in, if I need to.

I’m sure I’m overreacting.

A moment stretching a few quiet beats of my heart goes by. No monsters jump out at me, and I relax a little. This is silly. I’m just high-strung from the events of the evening. Relaxing my grip on the keys, I stride across the remaining space to my apartment door. Absently reaching the key toward the lock, I take a sudden step back. The keys drop from my hand and clatter onto the floor.

My door is open.

It’s open just a crack, as if maybe it didn’t lock completely when I closed it earlier and it bounced back open a bit on the frame. I scramble to remember if I heard it click when I closed it this afternoon. Of course I did. I locked it; I remember turning the key and checking the handle to be sure it was secure; the same way I always do.

What the hell is going on? First Brent’s place and now mine? My chest tightens as I consider someone might be hiding inside, waiting for me. It never occurred to me before that whoever broke into Brent’s house might have stayed and waited.

For all I know, the perp could have hung around, hiding in a closet or something while Brent and I fucked. I think about that for the first time with a helping of apprehension.

No. If someone had been hiding in Brent’s house, he would have known. Wouldn’t he? Or did I leave him alone in a house with a deviant hiding in the shadows somewhere?

Damn it.

I’m not doing this, all this second guessing. Brent was on the phone when I left. By now the cops were probably all over the place. If anyone could take care of himself, it was Brent Masters. And me, too. I’m tired of being afraid. This is bullshit.

Cautiously, listening for any foreign sound, I retrieve my keys and stare at my door. I hate indecision, but I despise fear more.

I either accidentally left my door open, or I didn’t. Regardless, I’m going to find out. I take out my cell phone and dial 911, but I don’t connect. With my thumb hovering over the call button, I push the door open with my foot and stay by the threshold to listen. The lamp I left on near my sofa casts a soft glow around the room. From here, nothing appears out of place. After taking a deep breath, I go inside, creeping along the wall as I look into the recesses and corners.

Nothing scary happens.

Slipping into the kitchen, I quietly pull open a drawer and take out a knife. It’s a long, sturdy blade, and I feel better with the weight of it in my hand. I’m about to go back into the living room when I hear a sound.

Oh, shit.

A soft banging. It’s quiet and I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Blood starts to rush in my ears, making it even harder to decipher the sound. I grip the knife so hard that my hand begins to shake.

The sound gets louder. I jump, then lean against the counter in relief. The sounds of a television coming from next door are clear now, louder as if the volume had been turned up.

I brush off my fear and go into the other room. Confident now that nothing sinister is at work here, I loosen my grip on the knife but don’t put it down. I check each room, feeling better when I find nothing. My bedroom is last.

I go inside and stop dead.

There are flowers on my bed. Right in the middle.

A bouquet… exactly like the ones Georgios left on my sister’s grave.