Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance (13 page)

God, I want to hate him, but I want to fuck him more.

“So what?” he growls as he draws his hand away.

“So what?” I counter, finding some bravery. I absently touch my neck where his hand had just been. “Do you have an explanation?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” His voice is a low hiss. His neck bulges with tension, his shoulders broad and tight. I brace myself against a new rise of soul-deep hurt.

“You said you’d never kept an employee as a submissive before.”

Brent takes a calculated step away from me, as if he’s close to letting all his frustration out of its cage to pounce on me.

But he shoves his hands into his pants pockets. “And you need to decide what’s wrong with you. You trust me to command you? To jump you from a dark corner and make you scream? You trust me to
own your body
, but you don’t trust what I tell you? You don’t know the first thing about my life, and you sit in judgement.”

I hold back the words I’m about to toss at him. Fuck.

He’s right.

I don’t know the first thing about his life beyond what I read in business articles. Except what he himself told me—which is that Liz worked for the casino. Even if I press the issue, though, I doubt he’ll reveal anything useful. I want to know more; I want him to let me in. But there’s no good way to express that without fanning his temper. No matter what I do right now, it’s going to lead to a dead-end.

I lower my gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

“It’s just what?”

Our eyes lock. There is so much anger in his that I can’t finish my sentence. As much as I want answers, I don’t want to make this worse.

Brent strides to my door and turns the handle in his hand. My chest feels bruised from the force of my breathing, and my neck burns from the touch of his hand. I don’t want him to go, and I’m still so angry that I’m tempted to throw the bookend at him anyway.

God, what is this man doing to me?

“Listen carefully, Erica.” It’s an order and I obey.

“I’m not playing games with you. This is strike one. If you choose to stay with me, you’ll never question me again. If you choose to end this now, it ends immediately upon your request. I’ll let you think it over.”

I grip the edge of the desk, my palms slick. He opens the door a crack, then shuts it again, quietly. Softly. His eyes sweep over me.

“Before you decide, keep one thing in mind.” He crosses the space between us, his eyes narrowing with wicked delight when I flinch. I can’t go anywhere. I’m trapped between him and the desk. I wasn’t truly scared before, but his sudden calmness screams warning.

His fingers dig into my hair, forcing my head forward as his lips grind down onto mine. His mouth takes me with a sweet desperation that shocks and inflames me. His tongue slides deep into my mouth, his teeth grazing mine. It’s all-consuming, as if I’m the breath he needs.

I’m completely spinning by the time he breaks free. My fingers ache from their hard grip and I can barely see straight.

His hand trails slowly away from my hair and I realize he’s about to leave again. Quickly, I grab his sleeve.

“What should I keep in mind?”

He licks his lips and smiles before turning back to my door. He opens it and tosses a look back at me.

“When I own your body, Ms. Lundgren, the pleasure you feel will never be replicated by anyone else again.”

I
don’t want
to let Brent go.

It’s a bittersweet realization as I step out of the shower and lather on scented body oil. I’m still curious about Liz and her relationship with my boss, and I’m more eager than ever to learn more about Brent as a person. Beyond those things, though, I can’t let go of how he makes me feel.

The blend of fear and lust and attraction is a powerful drug. I can’t quit it, even when I’m determined to do so. My anger over his lies is nothing compared to the constant, deep craving I have for his touch.

The pleasure he gives soothes the restlessness I’ve carried within me for so long. His finger drawing down my skin, the simple contact of his mouth on the side of my neck—these things have ridiculous and undeniable power. The way his muscles quiver when he holds himself back in order to feed me the dominance I need.

And I do need it. I need to be controlled in the bedroom. I need to bow my head and wait on my knees until I’m captured, dominated, and sated. I used to think it was a sick manifestation of stress, but it’s nothing sinister at all. It’s just . . . me.

It’s what I need to feel like a sexual woman. My past Dominant gave me a taste, but Brent?

He’s a fucking buffet.

He still wants me, and I’ve had time to think about what he said in my office. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that he’ll deliver on his promise of unmatched pleasure. He already has.

It’s Wednesday, Brent’s night to have drinks with investors at the Casino after hours. I drive to his house and park near the garage, grateful to see the porch light on this time. A soft glow washes over the space as I go up the steps, take a deep breath and slip out of my full-length sweater jacket.

I shiver as I find a spot close to, but not blocking, the front door and drop to my knees. My black lace bra and thong do nothing to ward off the tickle of breeze that washes over me. It’s invigorating and I get an extra kick of adrenaline over what I’m about to do.

This is my gesture.

This is my offering.

Sitting back on my heels, I place my palms on my knees and bow my head. My spine stretches as I bow low enough that my hair tumbles around my shoulders and free-falls.

He liked this so much in his office, me on my knees with my head down, waiting for his command. I’m excited to see how he reacts to find me in this position, at his home. Waiting.

His.

My heart is racing. I try to tame it with deep, slow breaths. Relying on past experience, I close my eyes and refocus my mind on the darkness behind my eyelids. After a few moments, my mind quiets and I find that calm, peaceful center within myself. It’s welcoming, like meeting up with an old, cherished friend.

I’m grounded, completely relaxed and willing to do whatever Brent asks of me.

His car crunches the gravel, snapping me to instant awareness. His footsteps cross the path, come up the steps. I can’t see beyond the shade of my hair, but I imagine those expensive leather shoes as he stops next to me.

My skin lights with goosebumps at his close proximity. Careful not to move and breathing quietly, I wait.

A low, gravelly groan of appreciation comes from his throat and it takes all my will not to look at him. The door lock clicks right before his shoes tap inside . . . and the door shuts again.

Click. The lock engages.

Suddenly the porch is awash in darkness. My brow falls, as I strain for any sound from him. He shut off the porch light and locked the door!

What the . . .?

Minutes tick by to the tune of my raging pulse, but he doesn’t come back. I can’t believe he’s left me like this. Unsure of what to do, I wait a little longer, even as logic screams that he’s not coming back. Humiliated and cold, I gingerly get to my feet and stretch my aching legs. Slipping into my sweater, I hold back my anger until I’m inside my car and racing out of his drive.

He rejected me.

After his promise of pleasure and proposition of dominance, he completely ignored me.

Exhausted and thrown right back into a tornado of emotions, I slam back a glass of wine and go to bed.

The next day at work, I didn’t see a single glimpse of Brent. He skipped out on a finance meeting, and my phone remained frustratingly silent. I don’t fight the urge to go back and try again. If he can be persistent in pursuing me, I can be persistent in making sure he knows I’m serious in accepting.

I realize that I don’t believe in my heart that he’s really rejecting me. It’s more like him to test me.

Fine. I’ve never been a quitter.

I freshen up in my office bathroom and slip into red lace underthings this time. I leave the office before Brent’s usual time and drive to his house. I have no idea what he might have after work or how long he’ll be, but it’s worth it to wait it out. What better way to show him that I’m serious than to do this again?

It’s not as cool out tonight, yet as daylight fades into twilight, I’m shivering. My thighs are screaming at being forced into this position again. The last bit of light fades from the sky, and I’m encased in complete darkness. Crickets begin to chirp in the hedges along Brent’s immaculate home and I focus on the sound to calm myself in the dark.

Just when I think my legs can’t possibly take any more, a car pulls into the drive. Shoes cross to me, just as they did last night. Then, pause.

I hold my breath, waiting for his touch, a word. Something.

I left my hair up this time, and I see his leg so close to the side of my face that I tingle from the proximity. I don’t dare look up, and drop my eyes to the floor before I do.

Surely he will—

The door opens and Brent steps in.

No!

The door gently shuts, the lock clicking into place. No light pops on.

Nothing.

Again.

Near tears this time, I don’t wait to see if he’ll come back out. I go home and down two glasses of wine before scrubbing my face and going to bed.

Doubt creeps into my mind. Maybe he changed his mind and he really doesn’t want me. Tucking the covers under my chin, I find that hard to rationalize. A man like Brent doesn’t play coy or mince words. If he no longer wanted my submission, he would have straight-up told me.

Which must mean he is testing me, to see how far I’ll go for him. How much will I endure?

I decide to give it one last shot, and if he ignores me this time, I’m calling it off. As much as I want his hands on my body, I still have pride and a soul that can only take so much.

That evening, I wait again, this time in pink lace. My hair is in a tight chignon at the base of my neck. My face is makeup free, save for mascara. My toenails match the color of my underwear and my freshly shaved skin is lightly vanilla scented.

Brent comes home only moments after I get into position on his porch, which surprises me, considering its Friday night. It’s like Groundhog Day as he walks up the steps, pauses, and then goes inside and turns the lock and shuts off the porch light. A sting of frustrated tears hit my eyes, but I squeeze them back.

I can do this.

Clearing my mind, I find that peaceful center and relax my body. The night ticks on, my skin cooling to the point of numbness. I have to focus hard to put away my fear of the absolute dark. It’s hard to do as my muscles start to protest, and my knees grind into the hard floor. Several times, my spine sinks as I lose my posture, but I correct myself and wait.

Tired, I hang my head lower and sink into a sleepy state. Each time I lose my posture, I jerk awake, correct myself, shift a little and try to find my center. I doze again, rinse and repeat until I can no longer feel my legs and the crickets have stopped chirping.

How many hours have passed?

I have no idea.

I doze off again, nearly to the point of letting myself curl onto my side and fall completely asleep when the front door opens. I struggle to open my eyes and find clarity as a warm hand brushes stray tendrils of hair away from my face.

“Good girl. Come inside.” Suddenly, he’s lifting me in his arms. The heat from his skin permeates through the chill in mine and I press my cheek against his chest.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Let’s have breakfast, shall we? You’re going to need your strength.”

Inside, the scent of strong coffee stimulates my mind. Brent sits at the kitchen counter with me in his lap. I meet his eyes for the first time and suddenly the last vestiges of sleep leave me.

He looks hungry, ready to devour me. His expression chases away the sleepy fog in my head. Without breaking eye contact, he slides my bra straps down, then unclasps it and tosses it away. My nipples perk, my breasts aching for his touch. In two swift moves, he has me lift my hips as he sweeps my thong off and throws it.

My stomach growls as he slides a plate of eggs, toast, and strawberries close. Lifting the fork, he scoops eggs and brings them to my lips. I take the offering, savoring the flavor. Bit by bit, he feeds me until the eggs are gone. He makes a soft sound as he bites the tip off a strawberry and slicks the plump, wet fruit over my lips.

“Lick your lips,” he commands. I do, and then take a bite of the berry when he offers it. Brent leans in to kiss me, taking his time to savor the fruit on my lips.

Joy and anticipation burst through me. Despite my aching knees and legs, despite the chill and sleep deprivation, I’m happy. I won, and Brent is my prize.

He pulls back and tips my chin up with one finger. “It’s time for your punishment.”

I scowl, the elation fading some. “But—the waiting all night for you thing—“

He kisses me hard, his hand cupping my breast, fingers pulling my nipple. I gasp and lean into his touch.

“Making you wait for me wasn’t punishment, Erica. That was foreplay.”

B
rent sets
me on my feet and slaps my ass. It’s sharp and hard, and I yelp in surprise. The sting burns for a split second before it melts into warm pleasure that cascades between my legs.

He stands behind me, fists my hair, and pulls my head back.

“You’ll not speak again until I say you can. Tell me you understand.”

I inhale through my nose to steady myself. “I understand.”

A slip of black fabric covers my eyes. He lets go of my hair and I straighten as he ties the blindfold. I want to rub my ass where he slapped me. The contact will flame the dual sensations of pain and pleasure, something I completely get off on. But I don’t dare move.

I tremble a little, hoping he spanks me again. Instead, Brent takes my hand and leads me through the house. I don’t put out my other hand to guide me. Instead, I trust that he’ll ensure I don’t run into anything.

I trust him.

I really do.

If only I could speak and tell him that, but I’ll follow his command of silence. There will be time for confessions later.

Brent guides me to sit, and then to lie on my stomach. He readjusts the blindfold a bit so I remain in complete blackness. I realize I’m face down on a bed. The duvet is silky beneath me, the mattress firm but comfortable. I hear a clanking sound, and then Brent is on the bed beside me. He spreads my legs and places something between them. My ankles are bound, and I realize he’s put a spreader bar between them with ankle cuffs to hold it in place.

I relax into the new position of having my legs so far apart, remembering the feel of being bound this way. Next, he places soft restraints around my wrists and secures them to the headboard. I turn my head to the side so I can breathe better . . . and wait.

The soft noises of Brent moving around fill the room. His silence only heightens my anticipation. He softly pads back to the bed and I’m tense with waiting. I want him inside me, touching me, kissing me, now.

“Hold very still.”

His voice is like a thrilling caress. Something runs down my spine, cool and spread out like a hundred ends of string as they stroke the dip in my back and move over my ass. The strange sensation comes back up to my shoulders and then draws away.

“You ran away because you were jealous of another woman.”

I shake my head. A loud squeak comes out of my mouth as I instinctively react by wanting to tell him my side of the story.

“Did you speak?”

I shake my head, but I know it’s too late. He grips my jaw until I open my mouth, and puts a gag between my lips. I don’t resist as he fastens it.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Erica.” He moves behind me on the bed and a hissing sound cuts the air. It sounds again and I feel a swish rush my skin. “Neither does disobedience.”

Realization dawns on me as I get a whiff of leather, and the scent triggers a memory. Brent has a flogger. He’s going to whip me. Before I can gear myself up to receive it, he brings it down. The ends strike between my shoulder blades with a sweet, gentle sting. I gasp around the gag, using all my will to remain still.

The lick of pain flashes, and just as it recedes, he whips me again, harder. The ends of each leather strip land exactly where they had before. Pain blossoms in time for another strike. I cry out and moan as pain doubles on top of pain. I know I have to relax and wait it out. Soon, each strike will bring the surge of pleasure and release that I crave. It’s like reaching an orgasm deep inside my soul as the pain receptors open up and flood my body with endorphins.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had pain play, but I remember exactly what it feels like to reach the sweet release that only it can bring.

Brent alternates softer strokes with harder ones. I feel the difference in pressure and the varied levels of discomfort. My moans fill my head as I force myself still and fight between resisting and welcoming each blow.

An orgasmic ache builds in my pussy. It claims all of me as it starts a sudden climb into all-out release. I try and grind my pelvis against the bed, but I can’t maneuver that well with the spreader bar between my legs. What little contact I do make is just enough and I cry out again as a new flood of pleasure goes through me.

I’m so, so close.

Suddenly, he whacks my ass with the flogger. He leans over me, his voice a hiss in my ear. “Since you were determined to be jealous, I’m going to tell you about every submissive I’ve kept.”

He pulls back and trails the ends of the flogger over the welts he’s made. I cringe because I don’t want to hear about his past lovers. I just want him to finish what he started inside my body. I want release.

“Sarah was my first. We were in college and I ordered her to blow me in front of an entire room of people at a frat party. She did and I knew I had to keep her.”

I close my eyes against the unwelcome sensations his words cause. It’s not jealousy but it’s certainly not comfortable to hear this. I bite down on the gag, ignoring how much my jaw hurts.

“Her mouth . . . her mouth was unbelievable. I made her suck me off often, multiple times a day sometimes. I couldn’t get enough.”

I hear the swish of the flogger before it rakes my back. The pain immediately centers me and I start to forget what Brent said . . . until he says more.

“Sarah was particular to public sex. She also liked it when I shared her with my friends. Do you want to be shared, Erica? To let me get myself off while I watch another man fuck you?”

He hits me once, twice, three times in rapid succession. I jerk and try to roll to my side on instinct, but my bonds hold me tight.

“She was eager to please me. Did everything I asked without question or hesitation. I was sad to see her move away. But then . . . then there was Heather.”

Tears run down my cheeks as my back screams with a bubble of pain that is stubborn to ease into the pleasure I so desperately need. Brent’s hand moves between my legs, his fingers thrusting into me while he rubs my clit. It’s exactly what I needed. The chaos of sensations come together into a blinding orgasm. He strokes me through it with gentle thrusts and caresses until I’m spent and weak.

“Heather was defiant and aggressive.” He shifts on the bed. I don’t want to hear more. I only want to bask in the afterglow of release. But then something solid and hard runs down my arm. I know immediately that he has a riding crop.

He doesn’t warn me. Just brings the looped tip of leather down across the back of my arm. I scream around the gag. The initial sting is double the sensation of the flogger . . . and the melt into pleasure is a hundred times better.

“Heather liked to challenge me just so I’d punish her. The harder I beat her, the stronger she’d come.”

He whacks my arm in quick succession, causing burning lines down my flesh. Tears soak the blindfold and it takes everything in me to hold still. To let the pleasure come. Already, a renewed, needy pressure is building between my legs. The more Brent hurts me, the greedier the ache becomes.

He knows I’m like Heather—I welcome pain even as my body does everything to reject it. Brent moves to my other side, and I brace myself. He strikes my other arm in the same even, controlled motion until it burns just as hot.

“Heather was a demon in bed. Drawing blood was her thing. She bit me, clawed me and made me punish her for it.” Something went thud in the corner of the room, and I realized he’d thrown the crop. Leaning over me again, he strokes my hair with one hand as the other finds my clit again.

His lips brush my ear, his warm breath blowing against the sensitive skin. “There will never be another Heather.”

Anger flashes and I want to fight the orgasm—fight him! But he brings it on fast. White lights burst behind my eyes and I’m drowning, dying with sensation even as I know he’s taunting me. Insulting me. Making me hate him just as much as I need him. What’s the point in telling me about his other women?

And why did he leave out the one I’m most curious about?

It would be so easy to sink into the aftershocks of the orgasm—to blissfully forget the stinging, aching chaos on my arms and back. But he’s started another fire in me with his words and I refuse to drift off.

Gently, Brent unfastens the gag and blindfold. Then he releases my wrists, and my legs from the spreader bar. It takes me a minute to move properly because my muscles are stiff and everything hurts. My heart, too. But I’m limp and spent and I want nothing more than to curl up in his arms.

After I spit out the words brewing in my mouth.

“That’s all of them?” I don’t care that he hasn’t given me permission to speak. I’m pissed, and he’s going to know it. “That’s all of your submissives?”

Brent is holding a small jar of lotion in one hand, the other hovering above it as if he were about to open it. His nostrils flare but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, I push myself into a sitting position, mindful of my back and the marks he left there.

I just let the man beat me and he’s going to give me the silent treatment?

“What about Liz?” I ask because I can’t not ask. He had a collar with her name on it for fuck’s sake. His eyes bore into mine as he slams the little jar onto the nightstand. His lips press together as if he’s going to say something, but silence fills the air instead. The space between us fills with uncomfortable tension. I want to take my question back.

But I can’t.

Brent narrows his eyes at me, and then turns and leaves the room.

I bark out a breath and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My palms press into the side of the mattress as I dig my fingers into the sheets. He walked out.

He walked out.

I can barely control my anger. I’m dizzy with it, lightheaded. My body wears his goddamned marks and he walked away without providing the aftercare a man owes his submissive. Without an explanation to the one question he knows I need answered.

I listen for him coming back, but time ticks on and the house remains quiet. Finally, at the end of my strength, I slide off the bed and lather on the Vitamin K lotion he left behind. I can only reach some of the welts and I get pissed all over again.

I’m hurt.

Physically and emotionally.

And he left without giving me what I need—what he owes me in return for giving him my body.

If he’ll ignore the very basic tenderness required of a Dom after play, what other lows will he stoop to? Where the hell is the line drawn?

I don’t have the energy to think about it as I slowly, carefully, dress and leave. He doesn’t magically appear to try and stop me.

And I’m not fool enough to even hope he might.

But I am fool enough to realize that if he asked, I’d be right back in his bed.