Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance (18 page)

B
rent wasn’t
home by ten p.m. and didn’t answer my texts. I was anxious and needed to stop thinking, so I went to bed. I meant to just close my eyes for a few minutes, so I could hear him when he came home. But fatigue crept in, slowly smothering the thoughts running laps through my head, and I fell fitfully asleep. Looking out my window now, I try to relish the newborn sunlight on my face, try to let it banish the overwhelming worry of last night. I’m still in my yoga pants and tee from yesterday, and my crusty eyelashes make me almost regret not bothering to take off my makeup last night. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t care. I’m numb today. I thought sleep might take some of the ache away, but it didn’t.

If anything, I might feel worse today. I get like this each time I roll around the hard memories of my sister. Combined with my own uncertainties and fears, I’m simply overwhelmed—and not seeing Brent last night, I feel even lonelier. I know it will pass. Sometimes it takes a couple days, but I always pull myself out of it. Except...I’m under Brent’s roof now. I can’t just hide away like I usually do in my apartment, invisible to the world until my morose funk passes. I don’t want him to see me like this, to see my weakness.

Determined to beat the blues, I shower and dress in the type of fluttery blouse and pencil skirt I’d normally wear to the office, pulled from my things Manuel delivered yesterday. I get ready the same as I would if I were actually going to work, and the act of routine soothes my mind and my nerves. The scent of fresh coffee greets me as I go downstairs, and my heart flips at the possibility of seeing Brent. He’s not in the kitchen, but the trail of his cologne is. The scent travels through my veins and settles at the base of my spine, a hum of wanting and missing and fearing him all coalescing together.

So…is he avoiding me?

Trying not to overthink it, I startle when an unfamiliar woman in a maid’s uniform greets me with a cup of coffee. She’s not Brent’s normal housekeeper, but she returns to her tasks with a comfortable stride that says she’s been at this kind of work a long time. She doesn’t speak as she sets out a plate of English muffin breakfast sandwiches and a bowl of fruit.

I can’t take the suspense any longer.

“Who are you?” I ask her bluntly. She casts a smile over her shoulder at me, her brownish-gray curls bouncing. She’s filling the sink with water and returns to her task.

“Mary.”

“What happened to…?” I realize I don’t know the other housekeeper’s name.

“I’m not sure, ma’am.”

I look blankly at the food. My stomach rumbles, but I can’t eat. Perhaps in his frenzy to scrub his security out and start fresh, Brent hired new staff. After all, it is possible the past housekeeper didn’t set the alarm, or left the door open, or somehow failed to secure the house.

I’m contemplating this as the security guard walks in. It’s the same guy as yesterday. He looks exactly the same, like he hasn’t even changed clothes. He’s so much like a stock character in a film playing the part of Security Detail #1 that it’s almost funny, except his somber expression and intensity scare me just a little.

He turns my way, probably remembering how I freaked out and smashed a mug yesterday—something I’m good at, it seems—and how he subsequently refused to let me clean it up myself.

I flash a quick smile and gesture a greeting with my coffee, showing him I have a solid grip on my mug this time. He doesn’t smile back. I don’t know, but for some reason, I want him to
see
me. To know that I’m here, to remember me if the time comes when I’m not here. First Liz. And now the housekeeper. Both just gone. Yes, it could be my overactive mind at play again, but until I have answers—hard and true answers—I won’t be able to stop wondering.

Picking up a sandwich, I offer it to him.

“Breakfast?”

He waves me off. “You shouldn’t be speaking to me, ma’am.”

I frown and set the food down. “One of Mr. Master’s rules?”

“No ma’am. Something you learned in Kindergarten.” He pauses a beat while I stare at him, not comprehending, one eyebrow cocked. “Don’t talk to strangers.”

With that, he goes to the security panel, same as yesterday, and does his thing. His dismissal stings. Even with the staff around, I’m still alone. That’s when I spot a large computer bag on the opposite counter with my name on it. Inside I find my laptop, work files in manila folders with my handwriting scrawled on the tabs, and other things that I’ll need to essentially set up my office right here. I heave the strap over my shoulder and take my coffee upstairs to the office next to my room.

Since the strangers won’t give me a little human interaction, I’ll have to settle for my email.

Without much fanfare, I set my collection of work things on the sleek, wooden desk and log on to my computer. There’s nothing too exciting in my company email inbox, but the feeling of getting into my routine stimulates my brain and pushes the boredom to the sidelines. I flip through the messages, deleting some, responding to others. I’m almost done when I see a heading with my name on it.

Erica on medical leave

Confused, I click the message open and find out that I’ll be on extended medical leave because I have mono, but that I’ll be working from home as I’m able.

How fucking perfect.

Brent gave me mono.

I laugh at the ridiculousness of it. He needed a reason to keep me out of the office, I suppose, but mono? I’m sure everyone is giggling about how I came across that teenage nightmare of a disease. Also, talk about HIPAA violations. Come on, Brent.

Mildly irritated that he made yet another decision about me without consulting me first, I flip open my spreadsheets and figure out where I’d left off the other day. I dig out the manila folders with paper copies of expense reports from the computer bag and set them aside. Diving back into the bag for a pen, I feel around the bottom without looking, grabbing the first thing I feel.

It’s a plain, unmarked silver flash drive, and I definitely don’t recognize it. I only use a company-issued, hilariously bright pink flash drive when needed, which is not often. Curious what’s on this one, I close my computer files and slip the connector into the USB drive.

Suddenly, my office door slams open and Brent barges in. His face is hard, petulant. He closes the door just as hard as he opened it and I sit a little straighter in my chair. Our eyes connect and I feel a familiar rush. It’s like wind bursting through me, making it hard for me to catch my breath so all I can do is hold it until the rush passes.

He comes over to my desk and simply stares at me. I swallow, worried at first that it’s me he’s angry with. His eyes drag to my throat and lower, and I quickly realize he’s not mad at me. Probably something with work. He wants my attention and hasn’t gotten around to working his anger off before coming to see me.

My heart flips. He and I have never had trouble working off steam together. The rush returns and I inhale through my nose as a hot flush spreads down my torso and settles between my legs.

I know just what he needs.

What
I
need to kill the boredom and anxiety and doubt still lingering. What we both need to feel right.

Getting up from my chair, I smooth my skirt and kick off my heels. Slowly, I walk around the desk. Brent watches as I trail one hand on the edge of the desk and then fall to my knees at his feet.

I bow my head, blood flushing my face as I get into position. “How may I help you Sir?”

He makes an appreciative sound and I smile, but not enough that he’ll notice. Points for me. Playing boss and secretary is what we both need.  God knows I need an orgasm or twenty to take the edge off.

I think about how much I can still want him, and desire to please him, even as I question his intentions where I’m concerned. It’s twisted, but I can’t stop it. I’m his puppet.

He tips my chin up with one finger. “I’m in a hard mood right now, Erica.”

Brent steps closer to me, washing me in his delicious scent. He breathes once, twice, staring at me as if he expects me to simply vanish before his eyes. I blink and breathe and wait.

“Stand up.”

I swallow hard and stand. Brent grabs my blouse and rips it free from the waist of my skirt. My chest is rising and falling hard now as the darkness on his face deepens. He splays his fingers over my chest and pushes me backward. It takes a second for me to realize what he wants.

Placing my hands on the edge of the desk, I scoot my ass to the edge and he keeps pressing. I bend, bringing my legs out in front of me as I lie back onto the desk. The hard wood presses into my spine, the hard edge cuts into my back, and I feel as if my feet are going to slide out from under me on the carpet.

I’m not normally this flexible and every muscle is screaming to remind me. He sidles between my legs, firmly gripping and then tearing at the side of my skirt. The seam gives way as he tears it from hem to waist. I gasp but don’t move. I don’t dare move.

Roughly, Brent palms beneath my thighs and pulls my legs around his waist. He leans down until his chest presses into my aching breasts. He reaches beside me for something. Then, he takes my arms and bends them up by my head.

“Don’t move.”

I make a tiny nod in agreement and close my eyes. There’s a metallic sound near my ear and a tug on my sleeve, then the unmistakable click of a stapler shooting into wood. He’s stapling my blouse to the desk!

Brent tacks down my arms with five staples on each side. I figure they couldn’t have gone far into this solid desk, so it won’t take much for me to free myself.

If I wanted to.

“That’s right, all it will take is a couple pulls and you’ll be free,” he says, reading my mind. Brent’s lips hover over mine, sparking an electrical current that makes me wet my lips and ache to press mine to his.

“But if you free yourself before I tell you that you may, you will be fucking punished.”

Brent works free the last of my skirt and tosses it away. My eyes are glued to his as he unbuttons his pants, his hands bumping against my inner thighs. My pussy aches, begging for his touch. It takes all my will not to squeeze my thighs around his hips and pull him closer to where I need him the most.

Brent frees himself and yanks my hips down so the head of his cock presses against my pussy. With one hand, he pulls my panties to the side, and guides himself into me with the other. I’m panting and shift so I can open my legs for him.

But he grabs my thigh hard and keeps me in place, my legs snug around him. Still, he slides in easily, filling me until I moan and cry out. Brent grabs my hips and starts to thrust hard. Mercilessly. His lips find mine, our tongues racing and tangling as he pulls me even lower, pounds me even harder.

The spiral of pleasure and pain consumes my entire body. My mind is flooded with pulses of ecstasy that keep growing, fast and insistent. I try and look down, but he’s covering me almost completely. The angle of his hips lets him stroke my clit with each thrust. It’s frustratingly not enough—but somehow, just enough.

I come out of nowhere, exploding beneath him. I break the kiss and cry out, my hands instinctively coming toward my head to cover my eyes, but I can’t move them. I’m so wet that I feel him sliding in and out with ease, but our position makes everything tight, and he’s rubbing me just right. Suddenly, Brent’s cock swells. He grabs my head between his hands. His lips crash onto mine as he comes in long, hot pulses.

I want to touch him.

I need to touch him.

But my arms are trapped. His head dips to my shoulder as he struggles with his breathing. My back screams with discomfort, but my body is still singing from the orgasm and already begging for another.

It was over too soon. He promised if I was naughty, I’d get more.

Closing my eyes, I pull my right arm up. It only takes one hard tug and the staples pop free.

I swear I feel him smile against my neck. Disregarding the possible consequences, I dig my fingers into his hair and hold him close.

And wait.

“
G
et up
.” Brent extends his hand to me and I take it. I tug my left arm free and slide off the desk.

He pulls up his pants and hastily does up the button. Then his fingers find the buttons on my blouse and carefully pop them one by one. It’s weird that he’s being so meticulous about it, considering he’s already ripped my skirt into pieces. But I stand obediently as he strips off my shirt and bra.

“Hold your breasts in your hands.” Brent sits on the edge of the desk, and pats his thighs. Taking my breasts in my hands, I stand beside him. Before I can do more, he grabs my hair and pulls me down over his legs with my ass in the air.

The first slap on my ass comes as a surprise. I yelp but quickly muffle it. I knew this was coming; I really did. But the first sting of pain is always shocking, no matter how much I might expect it. He delivers another slap, then another in quick succession, on the same spot.

My fingers dig into my breasts, and I pull my lower lip between my teeth to keep from crying out. Thankfully, Brent doesn’t spank me again and the pain blossoms into a heated, full-bodied sensation that spreads over my body.

I love this part.

I live for this part.

Gently, he tugs my hair, indicating that I should stand. I do and am careful not to meet his eyes. I like how this is going, and I don’t want to do anything that might change the course away from awesome. Liquid pleasure spreads over my body from the spanking, leaving behind a warm glow.

“That was a taste of what you’re in for. Go to the playroom. Lie on the bed and give yourself an orgasm while you wait for me. I want to hear you coming when I walk into the room.”

I hitch an eyebrow. That… doesn’t sound like punishment, but who am I to argue?

“Yes, sir.”

I duck my head and leave the room, slightly worried as I navigate the hallway that I might run into a security guard. Mostly naked isn’t the way I wanted him to remember me. I relax once I’m safely inside the playroom. The lights pop on to a soft glow as I cross to the bed and settle on top of the covers.

Resting my head against the soft pillows, I take a breath and close my eyes. Despite my willingness to do as he asked, I feel exposed and vulnerable. I don’t have many sexual boundaries, but something about his request is openly personal.

Slowly, I smooth my right hand over my stomach and up to my breasts. The air is cool and my nipples are perked. Goosebumps decorate my skin. I don’t know how quickly he’s going to arrive, and the added pressure of performing for him makes it that much harder to get into it. But as I roll my nipple between my fingers and put my other hand between my legs, my mind starts to warm up to the idea.

And my body starts to respond.

As soon as I stroke my clit, my libido bursts to life. Finding a perfect rhythm is easy and I barely realize as I lose myself in the pleasure. Maybe I’m moaning; maybe I’m not. I don’t really care. Let him punish me some more—damn, that’s good—because I welcome whatever he can dish out.

The door opens just as I’m about to come. I don’t open my eyes. If I look at him, I’ll lose my orgasm and God, I can’t not come now. I don’t hear him come closer, but I probably wouldn’t even if he had. I cry out as the pleasure explodes. Barely conscious of anything happening around me, I startle as Brent’s hands press into my thighs and spread them wide apart.

I look down to find his dark head bent between my legs. His fingers smooth over my pussy, gently parting me. He looks up at me, a wicked half smile making his eyes dark. I shiver with the realization that he’s up to something.

That’s when I smell it. The faint whiff of smoke and the sweetness of beeswax. He holds a small round candle in a metal tin. My heart flips, but it’s too late to resist. With a flick of his wrist, he tips the candle and a stream of hot wax runs down the tip of my pelvis and over my clit.

I can’t cry out or draw a breath or do anything but stare at him in shock. The burn flashes with an intensity I’ve never felt before. Brent purses his lips and blows on the wax, cooling it, yet inflaming the heat until I’m torn up with sensation. I can’t.

I just can’t…

“You asked for this,” he croons, blowing another stream of air over my clit. “When you pulled yourself free from the desk, you gave me permission to punish you. Didn’t you, Erica?”

I can’t speak.

I can’t think.

I can’t move.

Brent moves and brings my legs together. My thighs touch and cradle the warring sensations between them. The pain has begun to change, and I can’t decide if it’s pleasure or torture. Both. The same.

Brent digs his fingers into my knee. “Answer me.”

I don’t know what the question was. Covering my eyes with a shaking hand, I remember.

“Yes. Yes, I gave you permission.”

Softly, he pets my thighs and splays his fingers over my hip. He ordered me come earlier so my body would be extra sensitive when it received the hot wax. He knew exactly how to punish me. But now a new sensation was developing. It’s taking its time, teasing me with how amazing, and delicious, and indescribable it is.

“Turn over.” Brent helps me lie on my stomach. Involuntarily, I press my pelvis into the mattress. The pressure flames the newborn pleasure between my legs and I moan. How can he be so cruel, yet give me so much gratification?

I hear the flick of a lighter. He kneels beside me on the bed and takes his time moving my hair away from my shoulders and back. My stomach flips at the idea of what he’s going to do. I’ve never had wax on my skin before, but I’m willing to try. After all, if the burn results in this same floating-type of pleasure as it did on my clit, then I’m all for it.

The first stream of wax crosses my back in a hot line. I flinch at the sensation. There’s a flash of discomfort that instantly fades. Brent drizzles another line, and then another. Each drop of wax on my skin pops hot and fades cool, leaving behind a tail of discomfort mixed with incredible pleasure.

It’s impossible to relax completely, but I try. Minutes pass, maybe an hour, and my back is stiff with a layer of cooled wax. But Brent doesn’t stop. He decorates my arms and the backs of my thighs. Every now and then, he sets down one candle tin and picks up another. I’m breathing hard, and a moan slips out now and then.

When he finally turns me onto my back, the wax breaks into pieces and cool air assaults my tortured skin. It burns all over again until I press into the comforter. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but I don’t have time to think about that.

“Hold very still.” He blows out the flame and tips a candle over my peaked breast.

I tense and try to prepare myself as liquid black wax drizzles over my nipple with fierce, consuming heat. I push at him, but he leans down and takes my other nipple in his mouth, soothing me with the heat of his mouth. I’m so conflicted. I want it to stop, but I never want it to stop.

“Relax, beautiful. Take your punishment.”

“I’m trying,” I sob. I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional. This isn’t hard; it doesn’t even really hurt. He makes a soothing sound and moves back. The wax pours down onto my naked breast, quickly wrapping me in luscious heat. I look down as he coats both breasts in ribbons of wax, crisscrossing and masking the one part of my body I’ve always hated.

I barely feel the heat anymore, just the soft weight of the wax as it cools. He adds red on top of the black and the web it creates is beautiful. Suddenly, my small breasts are remarkable. Lovely.

That’s when I realize that Brent is like the wax. Unpredictable, and sometimes painful. He consumes me fast and completely and no matter how he hurts me, I crave more. He covers up the worst parts of me.

He smiles, as if wondering what’s going through my head. I fork my fingers through his hair and pull him to me. I barely give him time to set the candle down before my lips find his. I kiss him with a longing born of love that I can’t confess to him. I kiss him with my lips, but also my soul. I don’t worry about slipping out of my role, or that he’ll be upset. I just feel and give him everything I can in that one, simple kiss.

Brent cups my face and takes my mouth softy, gently. Something snaps inside of me at the tenderness of his touch, and it comes back together again as he parts my legs and brushes the wax away before filling me.

Rocking me.

Leading me to the place only he can take me.

He comes with a gentle fierceness, and I do too, and together we lay on the wax dotted bed. I slip in and out of sleep, but the sound of water running finally pulls me from the lull.

“Come here.” He lifts me in his arms and carries me into the bathroom. He’s filled the large, round tub, complete with floral scented bubbles. Setting me on my feet, Brent holds my hand while I step into the water, and then he slips in behind me and cradles me back against his body.

We sit like that for a long time. I don’t feel the need to talk. I’d say something that I’d regret later anyway, like “I love you.” It’s too dangerous, so I keep to myself and enjoy the feel of his body against me.

Brent makes a sound as if he’s going to speak, but doesn’t. Instead, he grabs a loofa and takes his time washing me. By the time he’s done, I’m languid and relaxed but too energized to sleep.

“I’m going to get out. Do you want to stay in?” He pulls my hair into a long ponytail and arranges it over my shoulder.

“No. How about some dinner?” I’m starving.

“Order out?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I’ll cook. It’ll be a…surprise.”

Really, because I’m not the best cook, but I’ll figure something out. Cooking for him seems exactly right considering I’m now living with him. Plus, I want to do something nice. If I botch dinner, takeout will be my backup.

“Okay.” He pushes himself up on his impressive arms and steps out of the tub. I take my time watching water and tiny beads of soap bubbles run down his sculpted body. He dries off before wrapping the towel around his hips and walking out. I enjoy the water a few more minutes after all, before getting out and going back to my room.

Pondering what to make for dinner, I dress and decide to pop into the office and pull up my food porn board on Pinterest. Something there will spark an idea. Sitting behind my desk, I take a moment to study the faint red marks the candle wax left behind on my pale skin.

I log onto my computer and the download screen pops up. Realizing I’d left the flash drive connected to my computer, I take a minute to scroll through the file it dumped onto my hard drive.

It’s a spreadsheet of an expense report. A recent one, from the date.

I frown as I peruse it. Why haven’t I seen this before? I reconcile all expenses into the master worksheets. But I don’t recognize these entries.

There’s an entry for maintenance and others for construction and waste removal. The largest expense is marked personal, and it amounts to close to half a million dollars.

“What the hell is this?” I utter. There are over a million dollars’ worth of expenses listed here. All of them to someone marked
HtesLLC
.

Absently, I stare at the wall. Why does that sound so familiar? It’s possible this is a personal account instead of a business one, which would explain why I hadn’t seen it before. Brent’s personal finances are nothing I have anything to do with. Except that this spreadsheet was created under the Casino heading, so by all appearances, it’s business.

I should just ask him. He put the flash drive in my bag so he must want me to reconcile this somehow.

Closing the laptop, I get up and decide I’ll bring it up during dinner. My stomach rumbles, but then something crosses my mind and nausea takes over.

I know that heading. HtesLLC. Htes.

I can’t believe I didn’t think of it immediately. Those few letters, so innocuous. So innocent. Just a few letters that contain a multitude of evil.  Because of course, those are the letters printed on the window of Georgios’ office door. The name of his shell company, the one they launder the money through.

I grab my middle and double over as bile creeps into my throat. Brent’s been working with him all along. He’s paying him off.

My nightmare is coming true—all my worries, my suspicions—are coming into light.

Bret is still working with Georgios.