Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance Page 8

  “Good morning, Ms. Lundgren!” Olive chimes, as she breezes in with stuff in both hands and starts lining it up on my desk. “Coffee, status reports, incoming receipts from the floor, and, as you requested, a macadamia double-white chocolate chip cookie.” She sets that down last on top of my coffee cup so it gets moist and warm just as I like it.

  I’m a spoiled brat.

  “Thanks, Olive.” I crack the cookie and offer her half. It’s our new morning routine. She’ll decline, as always.

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” And then she’ll take it. “But if you insist.” And then she’ll leave me alone.

  “By the way,” she says, taking a teeny bite. “Mr. Masters has called a meeting of all the department heads in half an hour. He’d like you to bring reports for the past week.” Then she leaves.

  And I stare after her.

  Oh, so he’s back in town? That bastard.

  “Olive!” I holler. Impatient when I don’t hear her coming back right away, I get up to follow her. We nearly collide just inside my office door. “Mr. Masters is in the office today?”

  She blinks her perfect Maybelline lashes and nods perkily. “Mmm-hmm.”

  My fingers clench into fists as heat flushes my face. So that’s how it is? Epic sex, followed by a wordless business trip, followed by a week of silence, and now he’s back without notice? It’s not like he doesn’t have a thousand methods of finding my number. The only answer is that he didn’t want to call.

  The only answer is that he’s over us. Whatever “us” was, or is, or could never be. This was my payoff, this job, and office and assistant. That bastard.

  “Ms. Lundgren?” Olive’s voice isn’t perky any more.

  “What?”

  “May I go now?”

  I realize I’ve been glaring at her this entire time. Chagrined, I step back and smile. “Of course. Thanks, Olive.”

  I shut the door before going back to my desk. I thought, stupidly, that Brent and I might have something worth exploring. Even though I’d turned down being his submissive, we still had blazing chemistry. I can’t shake the fear-lust attraction thing I have for him. The combination is lethal for my control and my sanity. My anger’s back, full-force.

  I don’t want him to stop taking me to bed, and I don’t want to stop seeing him. He doesn’t get to buy me out. Surely we can find something that works for us both. I don’t care if he thinks his terms are final—they aren’t. Not when I know he loved the sex as much as I did.

  I finish my coffee as I print reports for the meeting. It takes all of my concentration to focus on the task at hand, instead of how much I want to corner Brent. We need to talk this through, and for the sake of my pussy and my heart, we need to come to some agreement.

  With a few minutes to spare, I pop into my bathroom, and before I can overthink it, I let my hair down. It fluffs in blond waves over my shoulders. I thread my fingers through it a few times to smooth it, then apply a little lip stain and open the top two buttons on my dress shirt.

  I’m wearing a tulip skirt today and it hugs my hips nicely before flaring out around my knees. I assess myself in the mirror, realizing I can up it a notch.

  Reaching under my skirt, I shimmy my hose down and toe out of them before sliding back into my heels. He may be done with me, but I’ll show him what he’s missing. Besides, if he remembers how much he likes what he sees, then maybe he’ll be willing to negotiate a little.

  A little voice inside my head tells me this is pointless, but I ignore it. It’s worth a try.

  I meet Olive in the hallway, pretending not to notice the double-take she gives me at my changed appearance. Holding my head high, I enter the conference room. Brent’s cologne hits me immediately, making my panties damp and my legs weak.

  Damn, I really did miss him.

  I spy him out of the corner of my eye but don’t let myself look until I’ve taken a seat at the far end of the table. The more room between us right now, the better, so I can focus on capturing his attention without being distracted.

  I feel his eyes on me and I hold my breath and look back. Fuck. Jesus, fuck. I mute a moan as I clear my throat to cover it. But hell, I swear I’m going to come just looking at him. A silver shirt hugs his chest, the lapels of his suit coat open wide. His hair is thick and wavy, perfectly styled as if he’s just had it cut. The undercut is shaved close to his head and I itch to feel the short strands under my fingers as I hold his head between my legs.

  “Ms. Lundgren, are you all right?” Olive discreetly hands me a tissue under the table. “You’re sweating.”

  “Fuck yes, I’m sweating.” I murmur, grabbing the tissue before I realize the woman sitting on my other side heard me. “It’s … it’s hot in here, right?” I laugh a little and swallow hard. This can’t keep happening; I have to get it together.

  Brent takes a seat and I make a conscious effort not to look at him again. But then he starts to speak and the masculine tone of his voice vibrates through me. I cross my legs, trying to quell the aching need. The meeting goes on, talk and more talk, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop savoring his voice or peeking at him from under my lashes.

  And then his eyes fully meet mine and he grins, as if he’s caught me. It’s cold, though, with no trace of welcome or familiarity. His gaze flicks over me and his lips fall into a hard line.

  “Reports please, Ms. Lundgren. How did we fare last week?”

  His impersonal tone slaps me back into focus. I despise him. It flickers in me like a flame. Fuck, I despise myself for wanting him anyway.

  I stand and pass out a copy of the spreadsheet, making my way in a slow circle around the table. My mouth starts to water as I reach him, his yummy scent making my body go haywire. Again. I wish I could think of a collected reply, but I’ve got nothing. Luckily, I do have an immaculate report to deliver.

  I relay my report, keeping my voice professional and even. He’s watching me again as I take my seat, and I nearly forget what I was saying. Finally, it’s over and I get through it without a hitch, or an orgasm … sadly.

  The room starts to clear out. I take my time gathering my papers and putting them carefully away. Olive waits for me, but I indicate that she should go ahead. Finally, the people to my left are waiting, and I have no choice but to get up. I hoped to approach Brent after everyone had gone, but it looks like my luck’s run out.

  He’s smoothing his tie and I’m trapped into watching his hand slide slowly down the slick fabric.

  “May I have a word with you, Mr. Masters?”

  He flicks something off the hem of his suit coat. “Is this business related?”

  My arousal is uncomfortable but I force myself to hold still. Besides, if I shift my weight right now, it’ll only get worse. I silently beg him to look at me, but he doesn’t.

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you given any further consideration to my proposal?”

  Letting him own me? Hell yes I’ve thought about it, but the answer is still no. So I lie.

  “No, sir.”

  He catches my eyes and my breath. Aware that people are still walking out, possibly watching, I know I shouldn’t be staring at him like this, but I can’t look away. He’s like an impertinent child who has been denied a toy, and the result is a storm you can’t help but be caught up in.

  “Then, Ms. Lundgren, I don’t have time for you.” He slides his folder off the table and brushes past me and out the door.

  Holding back the hurt, I leave too, and head back to my office before everyone in the building sees the firestorm of emotions inside me on my face. I shouldn’t care so much that he’s snubbing me—that he’s dismissing our passion so easily.

  It’s not that he doesn’t care, I know that. Don’t I? I felt it when he was in bed with me. But a man like Brent needs his ego and his dominance fed, and if I’m going to get anywhere with him, I need to be the one to offer an olive branch.

  I imagine he could think of a lot of kinky things to do with one of thos
e. But it may be the only way to broker a truce.

  Resolved, I make a plan. I’ll give in, just a little, if it means he and I can have a discussion about this thing between us.

  I pull up Brent’s schedule on my computer. All the department heads have an accessible schedule so we know who is available when. Seeing that he’ll be in meetings the rest of the day, I finish out my workday, and then head to his office.

  Holding an empty file against my chest, I try to look official just in case his secretary is still there. She’s not, so I dump the file into her trash can and let myself into Brent’s office. His last meeting will be over soon, so I don’t have a lot of time.

  Quickly, I undress and fold my clothes. My black lace bra and panties are a nice contrast to my pale skin. My breasts sit full and luscious inside the bra cups. If this doesn’t get his attention, nothing will. Wait—I can do better.

  Moving to the sideboard, I pour two fingers of scotch into a tumbler, and then carry it to the middle of the room. There, I kneel on the cool, hard marble floor, lower onto my hands and reach behind me to balance the tumbler in the dip of my lower back.

  It takes a couple near-misses to keep it upright, but I manage without spilling a single drop. I guess I still have it. I have to keep my back somewhat rigid in order to balance the glass, but I’m determined. A sense of calm goes through me as I settle into the posture. It’s familiar, and a part of me has missed this. I can’t wait to see his face, and hear how his voice might change in response to my offering.

  I want him to desire this, to react to it. Whether he knows it or not, his reaction will be a result of my power over him. It’s a quiet, subtle way to give and take, and it’s definitely my turn to break him of his stubbornness.

  Several minutes pass and my knees begin to ache from the hard floor. The glass goes from cool to warm thanks to my body heat, and I’m so focused on that small weight on my back that I don’t notice anything else. If I spill a drop, I’ve failed. Each breath is measured, careful, because the scotch is a precious measure of my ability. I refuse to let Brent see me fail, especially since it won’t bring me the reaction I’m hoping for.

  Time ticks on until the caps of my knees feel as if they are cracking in two. My palms ache, my muscles hurt from the rigid, yet flexible posture I have to hold myself in. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was making me wait on purpose, but he has no idea I’m here, so I can’t blame my discomfort completely on him.

  Maybe a little, since I’m doing this to catch his freaking attention.

  The door finally clicks. I smile as his footfalls sound in the room. My ass points toward the door, making sure it’s the first thing he sees when he walks in. He’s got a good view, including the string of my thong disappearing between my ass cheeks, and the glass glistening on the small of my back.

  His eyes have probably gone dark and hungry, his lips hard as he wrestles with the first flare of lust. As I’m imagining his reaction, he steps to me. His shoes go silent.

  “Have a drink,” I drawl. “Let’s chat.”

  “Shut up.” He lifts the glass. Instead of being insulted, I’m triumphant. I have his attention. More than ready to be off this floor, I begin to rise so I can soothe my aching knees. But his shoe presses between my shoulder blades, shoving me back down.

  “I didn’t tell you to stand.”

  I gasp, but quickly muffle it as I get back into position and drop my head. He walks around to the front of me but I don’t look up. My breathing ticks up, tension ensuring I stay exactly this way. I’ve scored, but I haven’t won yet. Finally, he moves to his desk and the wheels of his chair click as he pulls it to the side.

  The leather creaks as he sits, the ice in his glass clinking as he drinks. I keep my eyes down, imagining how he looks right now, all spread out in his chair. Knees wide apart, his shirt dipping into the flat plane of his abdomen. A shudder of desire goes through me and I almost squirm.

  Almost.

  Silence drapes between us and I know he’s making me wait this time. I imagine him sipping his drink while imagining all the things he wants to do to me. He probably thinks I’m accepting his submissive-only terms, but the joke’s on him.

  I might be enjoying this—okay, it feels sexy as hell, and lascivious and erotic—but it doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind.

  His glass drops onto the desk.

  “Crawl to me.”

  I act on instinct, on impulse. Without thought, I crawl, keeping my eyes down and stretching my arms and legs like a sensual cat sauntering across the marble. I’m almost to the tips of his shoes when his voice shoots out.

  “Stop.”

  I do.

  “So, you’ve been a submissive.”

  “Yes.”

  A rumble comes from his throat. “For how many men?”

  Funny, I was wondering how many submissives he has in his past, except that I’m not completely sure I want to know the answer.

  “Just one man.”

  “Georgios.” He spits the name with curiosity and contempt. A powerful shiver goes through me. I can’t control my body’s reaction and I lose my position as my back dips down a bit.

  “No. Never him.”

  “One of his?” His voice echoes with warning.

  “No.”

  “Straighten your back.”

  I do. With measured effort, I get my breathing under control. This is the second time Brent has implied that I spread my legs for Georgios and I’m over it. Even as I let my anger center me, I’m afraid of his. Always afraid of someone else’s anger.

  “Good girl.”

  His praise warms me and I relax.

  “On your knees and spread them wide for me. As wide as you can.”

  Thank God, I can get up. I shake my hands to get some feeling back into them as I get to my knees and settle back. Painful tingles race along my legs as I readjust and spread my legs. I sneak a look at Brent and holy shit, he’s hot like this. His tie hangs loose around his neck, the top buttons of his dark blue shirt undone. He’s sitting back in his chair, legs wide apart, one arm draped over his middle.

  “Wider!” He demands, and I drop my eyes again. Straightening my back and shoulders, I work my legs apart until my thighs burn. With my breasts pushed out like this and my lace-covered cunt on display, I’m not sure how he’s still in that chair and not fucking me already.

  He’s the master of control, after all. Even if I don’t want him to be. I’m completely on edge and getting needier by the second.

  “Very nice.” Ice rattles in the tumbler and then it’s set down again. I’m on high-alert, primed for his next command. “Touch yourself.”

  My eyebrows shoot up, but I quickly school the surprise away. Swallowing hard, I lean back and brace myself with one hand. The other I slide down my belly. I watch him, trying to gather my nerve as I touch lower and whisk my fingers over my panties. I pause and take a breath. My hand is shaking but I want to please him.

  Closing my eyes, I pretend it’s just me. Alone. Just me and Brent’s cologne. No eyes on me. I slide my fingers up and down, relaxing into the feeling of my warmth beneath the lace. He doesn’t order me to look at him, and I’m grateful. It’s easier when I only imagine him watching.

  By the time I move the thong to the side and find my clit, I’m worked up and ready. Dragging wetness up and down my slit, I make small circles around my clit and moan.

  It feels amazing. Knowing he’s watching, I toss my head back and rub myself faster. His breathing picks up and he the chair squeaks as he shifts his weight. Losing myself in the moment, I push two fingers inside my pussy and thrust.

  “Fuck.” Brent swears under his breath. I smile, but it’s short lived as the pleasure starts to build. Returning to my clit, I alternate strokes and thrusts, working myself the way I know brings the best orgasm. His desk drawer slides open then shuts.

  Curious, I look just as Brent takes his cock out of his pants. I pause, stunned by the erotic sight. His lips turn
up as he runs his right hand down his long length, leaving behind a glistening sheen. Lube.

  Jesus, he has lube in his desk drawer. I can’t be the first girl here on her knees for him, but that doesn’t bear thinking about right now.

  Slowly, he starts to pump his cock. His face strains as he holds the base with his left hand and strokes faster with his right. I touch myself again, matching his pace. Suddenly, I come. My eyes clench tight as pleasure rolls over me. Desperate to watch, I force my eyes open. Ecstasy is still pulsing through me as Brent throws his head back and jacks harder.

  He follows me almost immediately, thrusting in his chair as he wraps his hand over the tip of his cock and comes.

  I’ve never seen anything so fucking hot. Crawling over to him, I put my hands on his thighs and look up at him. He peeks and smiles lazily as he soaks in his own pleasure. Rising, I go to the ensuite bathroom and return with tissues. Moving his hands away, I clean him up. I’ve barely finished when he grabs me beneath the arms and pulls me onto his lap.

  It’s tender and unexpected and I’m not sure how to react. So I sit with my arms at my sides as he strokes my hair. It feels amazing.

  “Tell me why you won’t submit for me.”

  I close my eyes as he begins kneading my scalp with his long fingers. “I like being in control of myself.”

  “Ahhh, but you’re so good when you submit. Tell me you didn’t enjoy that?”

  I did enjoy it. A lot. But I’m still scared. So many things about Brent make me nervous, make my skin pebble into goosebumps. The company he keeps; the feeling that he’s only barely got control of himself, much less me.

  He takes a fistful of my hair and pulls gently, turning my head until I meet his lips. He devours me with the passion I’ve longed for this past week.

  I’m breathless when he pulls back. “What happens between us in the bedroom will never spill into the workplace. Here, you’re completely in control of your job and your life. The only time I will demand your complete submission is behind closed doors.”