Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance Page 7

  Stunned, I can only stare at the door. That bastard. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m shocked. This is exactly what a woman should expect from Brent Masters—from all men with power complexes, really. Shit, hadn’t I learned that over the years?

  I had, but the sting of tears in my eyes still takes me off-guard. I know better than to put myself out there for a man like this, yet I can’t help but secretly adore the rush I get when he acts like this. There’s a sexy edge to him displaying his power. I’ve only ever gravitated towards that with one other man—the one who owned my body.

  Brushing hair from my face, I realize that my boss has stirred up my submissive past like a tornado. As much as I like it, I’m not giving in to him. Going to the door, I quickly check the handle, half expecting that he’d locked me in. But the knob turns easily in my hand.

  Relieved, I go to the bed and slip underneath the soft cotton sheets. I’m still shivering inside and out. Tears slip down my cheeks as I turn off the lamp and settle my head against the pillow. My chest feels hollow.

  I’m such an idiot. I knew better than to come here. I knew better than to think a man like him could settle for a girl like me. I knew better, and the only smart decision I made tonight was to tell him no.

  I’m suddenly tired and the bed is so comfortable that sinking into sleep is easy.

  I drift off, slightly aware of the weirdness of being in a strange place. Oddly, there are no sounds, as if the room is completely closed off from any outside noise. The silence and my own breathing ring in my ears until the last of my awareness slips away.

  I wake with a start, though it’s really a half-attempt at consciousness. Something moves on the bed, the mattress sinking next to me as warmth presses against my side. I have a tickle of alarm, but it fades as warm kisses dot along my neck. Letting out a breath, I turn my head and welcome this dream.

  The kisses increase, followed by sharp nips along my flesh. I reach out, shocked to find the silken feel of thick hair under my fingers. Sleep starts to fade as I realize I’m not dreaming. Warm flesh glides under my fingers, and the rise of muscle and dip of bone are familiar.

  “Brent,” I breathe and suddenly he’s kissing me, his tongue darting into my mouth, the flavor of his lust full on mine. I return his fervor, grabbing his hair and holding him to me. I’m panting when he pulls back.

  “What is it about you?” His low tone is curious, yet stressed. “I don’t do this. I never do this.”

  I don’t ask—I just feel as his lips move to my chest. He sucks my nipple roughly then soothes it with his tongue only to start over, again and again until I can’t take anymore. But I do—I take it, and I love it. He pushes up and his lips are on mine again. I can barely breathe but I don’t care. I part my legs as he moves over me, and I’ve barely gotten them around his hips when he thrusts into me.

  I cry out at the unexpectedness of it, but my hips press up, seeking more. Brent grabs a handful of my hair, not tugging, but hanging on.

  “It’s the past. It has to be the past. It never died, did it?” He growls in my ear. I don’t know exactly what he’s referring to, but I can guess.

  The kiss. That one, hot kiss we shared six years ago.

  His hips tilt just right so his thrusts bounce against my clit. A pleasure storm whips up inside me, each of his thrusts milking the ecstasy.

  “You don’t run from me.” He thrusts hard, his hip bones cutting into me. “You should, though. You should run far away from me, little girl.”

  I don’t run because I understand him. If it’s the darkness in him, well, there’s darkness inside me too.

  I smooth my hands over his hard ass and dig my nails into the supple, warm flesh. His heady grunt flames my lust and I give up trying to meet each pierce of his cock. I give in and let him ride me. He cups my ass and pulls me down a little more, holding me in place, taking everything.

  “Come for me.”

  I want to. Pleasure saturates me and I’m drowning in it. Suddenly, the edge of my orgasm is there, right there. The darkness looms in front of me, but I don’t run away. Not when he holds me down, not when his thrusts border on painful, not when he orders me, again, to come for him.

  The darkness looms, and I run straight into it.

  The thought propels my release and it slams through me. My eyes roll back, my entire body tensing with the stunning force of it. Brent cries out, his own orgasm pulsing inside me. Our chests fight for room to breathe until he finally rolls off of me.

  I’m vaguely aware that he’s wearing a condom, thankfully, as my sated body curls right back up into sleepy warmth. Moving back a bit, I smile to feel the hot length of his body against mine, and it’s exactly what I need to drift off again.

  When I wake, sunlight filters into my room and straight across the bed. I cover my eyes with my hands to block it out, and fling my other arm out next to me. The space where Brent had been lying is empty.

  Disappointed, I sit and immediately recall everything from last night. It’s all there, all the emotions save for the shame I’d felt over my need of him. We had given each other exactly what we’d needed. My heart swells at the thought, but I don’t dwell on it. Blinking, I realize my clothes are folded neatly on the edge of the bed.

  Curious, I get up and grab them. They look as if they’ve been laundered and pressed. A bit uneasy now, I quickly freshen up and get dressed, then peek out into the hallway outside my room. The robust scent of coffee greets me and I sigh in relief.

  Brent is making coffee. Good. That’s good because we really need to talk. About last night, and the whole submission thing. Maybe I can make him see why I left that behind, along with so many other things. Maybe by talking about it, I can make sense of my own conflicted feelings about the connection we’d shared.

  Following the aroma, I enter the kitchen and find a short woman in a blue uniform dress and white apron. She turns to me, a big, welcoming smile on her mouth.

  “Oh, morning! Morning.” She pulls a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven and then whisks off fat oven mitts.

  “Please, sit.” She rounds the breakfast counter and indicates a chair but I wave her off. Before I can speak, she goes on. “You stay as long as you like today. There’s a car ready whenever you want go.”

  I scratch behind my ear as a new wave of discomfort makes me antsy. Where the hell is Brent?

  “Thank you. Could I—could I speak with Mr. Masters first?”

  It’s her turn to wave me off before she bustles back toward the oven and takes a coffee mug from the rack.

  “Sorry, no. He left this morning for Greece. He’ll be gone all week.”

  I stare at her, my mouth hanging open. She just smiles again and hands me the mug.

  “Coffee?”

  2

  Brent Masters can shove Greece up his perfect, firm, and supple ass.

  It’s been two days and I’m still steaming about how he left me without a word at his house. Hopefully the poor housekeeper has recovered from the moment when I may or may not have accidentally dropped and shattered the mug of coffee she offered me.

  I hope it wasn’t expensive.

  Then again, I hope it was.

  I am such an idiot. But when I finally get some time alone with him, I’m telling him that he is, too. Because I don’t care how dominant you are, you can’t just have a moment like that with someone and then flit off to the Mediterranean like it never happened.

  So what if I had been planning to break it off with him anyway?

  Since leaving his house, I’d been struggling with how I allowed him to have power over me. Not with my job, but with his body. When I was finally free from Georgios, I vowed to never let a man one-up me again, yet Brent has with fluid ease. I never had a chance to resist him.

  Instead of going directly to my office, I grab a cup of coffee and find an empty conference room. Collapsing into a chair in the corner, I sip from my paper cup and breathe deeply to get myself together.

  My head is
such a mess.

  I still want and need this job, and I’m tired of worrying whether or not I’ve done something to jeopardize it. Brent seemed sincere in his declaration that I still had it, with no ties to the personal link between us. But that was before he’d showed me his box full of “terms,” and before I turned him down. I could read a lot of meaning into him coming to my bed in the middle of the night, and into the words he’d whispered in my ear.

  But no matter what conclusion I come to, it won’t be the right one.

  So why keep worrying about it? It takes half of my coffee before I’m resolved enough to head to my office. If I’m fired, I’ll know it as soon as I walk in. And until I actually see him, I won’t know if it’s too weird working with him after our crazy hot night together..

  Until then, it’ll be business as usual.

  Feeling decisive for the first time in two days, I toss my cup and head to my office. And stop dead to find some red-headed guy sitting in my chair. A name plate hangs precariously off the front of the desk, and it’s not mine.

  Dread floods me. “Who are you?” I demand, readjusting my bag strap on my shoulder because it suddenly feels very heavy.

  “Greg.”

  I nod, as if that’s supposed to make perfect sense. “Greg.”

  His eyebrows shoot up as if I’d asked him a question. “Yeah?”

  I eye the name plate again. Greg Saunders.

  I’ve been replaced. I’ve been fired. Brent fired me! Nausea rises in my throat. I feel dirty. Hugging my arms over my chest, I take a little step back. I was such an idiot to think there was something more between Brent and me than sex.

  What is it about you? I don’t do this. I never do this.

  Those whispered, tight words had fooled me into believing we had a connection worth exploring. As usual, I was wrong, and I let a powerful man use me. He was a liar and I was an idiot.

  “Can I at least get my plant?” I snag it off the edge of the desk and hug it to my chest. It looks better, amazingly. Perky and green and not crunchy. He has my office, my job and he saved my plant.

  “Show off,” I hiss and spin out of the office. I will not be emotional about this, I think as I storm to the elevator. People are looking at me, whispering. Holding my head high, I punch the button and wait for the doors to open.

  Someone grabs my arm.

  “Erica!” Donetta chirps in a sing-song voice. Her cheer devastates me. She’s happy that I’m going?

  “Donetta,” I say pathetically. She’s been my only real friend, and now…

  “Snickers Dark. It did the trick. I swear. I knew the whole blood sugar thing was an issue, but I did not expect the reaction to be this good.”

  She starts pulling me down the hall, and I race to keep up. “What the hell are you talking about?” This is beyond confusing, and frankly annoying.

  “He even apologized to me, Erica. Apologized. Well, he didn’t actually say the words, but said after reviewing your report, he said acted too hastily on firing you. Well, he didn’t actually say, but he emailed. It’s all… it’s pretty much the same. I think.”

  We round a corner and I stop her with a hand on her arm. “Wait. I’m completely lost here.”

  Her brow furrows. “I left two Snickers candy bars in his bottom desk drawer. Next thing I know, the candy was gone and he’s apologizing. I peeked.” Her face says, duh, but I still don’t get it.

  She pulls me along for a few more feet until we stop and she turns me toward an open doorway. I blink from the sunlight streaming around the room. It’s a huge office with a wall of windows, and executive furniture and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase.

  Side-eyeing Donetta, I wait for more nonsensical explanation. This isn’t the HR office I’d filled out my paperwork in last time, but maybe someone else does exit interviews. She puts her hands on her hips, takes a deep breath and smiles like a proud parent.

  “Aren’t you going to go in?”

  “Why?”

  Her lips pull to one side. “Did… Did you not get the email?”

  “The one where I’ve been fired—”

  “Promoted.”

  My face goes numb. “What?”

  She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “No, no. Not fired. Mr. Masters promoted you. Executive Director of Accounting! That’s your new title.” She pushes me into the room and peels my bag off my shoulder.

  I don’t get far because my legs are too heavy. It’s gorgeous corner office, the kind a person would earn after many loyal years of service. But I earned it for what? Fixing a couple accounting errors and sleeping with the boss. The unclean sensation I had moments ago slicks my skin full-force.

  I can’t accept this. I didn’t really earn it. My sex did.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, go sit behind the desk!” Donetta guides me by my shoulders to the desk, pulls the chair out and plops me down into it. She leans low and gives me a little pat. “Congratulations!”

  Can’t she see this for what it is? A reward for spreading my legs for Brent? The truth has to be clear on my face because I feel transparent, as if my guilt and disgust are revealed for anyone to see.

  Suddenly, I’m the ashamed girl that Georgios groomed to be unworthy of anything besides being of service to powerful men. Though he’d never sold my body, he had made it clear that someday he would, because that’s all I was worth. That was my value.

  And I’ve proved him right.

  Just like my sister. Just like Nathalie.

  Donetta is smiling at me, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I must be hiding it better than I think. To keep up the façade, I run my hands over the mahogany desk and check the drawers. But thoughts of Nathalie are racing through my mind. This is how she started, sleeping with someone powerful. Cocaine was her payoff though, not executive offices. But what if this is how it starts?

  What if I’m already on a slippery slope?

  “Good morning, Ms. Lundgren.” A peppy voice rings through the room. A tiny blond bounces in, a coffee mug in each hand.

  She hands one to Donetta. “Two sugars, half and half.” Then she slides the other onto my desk. “Black.”

  Standing back with her hands folded in front of her, she looks like an eager puppy. My eyes shoot to Donetta, but she’s too busy sipping her coffee with a sly smile to explain. Tinkerbell plops a stack of yellow slips on my desk, and a manila folder.

  “Your schedule and messages so far for the day, ma’am.”

  “Great … who are you?” I prompt. The blond sticks out a tiny hand and shakes mine like the Energizer Bunny. She cocks her head like I’m about to get an earful of fluffy chastising.

  “Didn’t you get the email? I’m Olive, your new assistant.”

  Corporate email can find a cozy spot up Brent’s ass right alongside Greece. Overwhelm makes my head spin and I rub my forehead.

  “Nice to meet you.” I manage. Despite the spaciousness, the room seems as if it’s closing in on me. Donetta nods to Olive and ushers her toward the door.

  “Ms. Lundgren will call you if she needs anything.” Turning to me, she winks. “It’s a lot all at once and I’m sorry you didn’t get earlier warning. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “I … I am.”

  It’s there, underneath all the baggage, a dot of elation over this change of events. I just have to dig through the guilt-rubble to free it.

  They both leave, closing the door behind them. I sit back in the cushiony leather chair and take my first good look around. My files are here, neatly arranged on the shelf next to me. A huge potted fern thing sits in the corner and shiny new office supplies sit on the desk. Cool, another plant to kill.

  I get up and pull the files down, slowly rearranging them the way I want. It’s menial but it helps center me, and after an hour, I’ve arranged everything to suit me better.

  Flipping open the file I was last working on, I’m drawn to the yellow highlighted area that I made. It’s another error, a big one. Almost as big as the last, and it’s not
the only one. Going through the printouts, I track all the highlighted areas. I open my laptop and start on the spreadsheet, plugging in numbers and making notes.

  The sum of the past accountant’s mistakes are huge. Huge enough that he should have to suffer some sort of professional penalty for such gross negligence. It’s almost two o’clock before I stop. Sitting back, I realize my untouched coffee’s gone cold, and I haven’t eaten. But the spreadsheet is worth it. I’ve isolated all the errors from a single accountant going back an entire year. And now I’m going to scour the old files again to make sure I haven’t missed anything.

  Once I finish that, I’ll start the arduous process of going through everyone else’s reports. It’s like finding the pieces in a thousand-piece puzzle that don’t fit. One thousand times.

  I freaking love this job.

  With a satisfied breath, I get up to stretch and go to my windows to look out. It reminds me of meeting Brent my first week working here, how he’d been reluctant to look away from the view. Now I understand why. The landscape is an expansive canvas of this gorgeous, broken, immortal city, and a luminous sky.

  I love it. I earned it.

  The realization startles me. I did earn it, through hard work and frankly, the power of my number-loving brain. I may have met Brent in an unorthodox way, and let’s face it, the sex probably helped a little. But in my heart, I have to concede that hard work got me here.

  Fuck quitting. This is the job of my dreams, and it would be different if I was in over my head. But I’m not—I’m exactly in my element.

  I won’t let Brent own me, but I’ll never stop proving to him that I’m the best thing to ever walk through these casino doors.

  3

  A week has passed since I moved into my new office, and I have to admit that I’m getting really used to being called ‘Ms. Lundgren.’ Having an assistant is pretty wonderful, as it turns out, and I’ve squared away all the old accounting errors thanks to Olive doing my busy work.

  I’m especially proud that I’ve kept my pretty new plant alive all week, too. Things are definitely improving. Despite the fact that I have yet to see my CEO. My lover. My anger has faded a bit, I must admit.