The Boss (16 page)

I felt his lips curve into a smile against my
ear. "It would mean 'proceed.' Just like a traffic light, as I
said."

His fingers were twisting the fabric of my
tights, and my body was hyper aware of the hard edge of the desk
grinding into the fronts of my thighs.

I wriggled a little in his hold and said,
"Green."

Faster than I could anticipate his movement,
he ripped the crotch of my tights, found my panties and pushed them
aside. When he encountered my wet, willing flesh, he jammed two
fingers in roughly, and a strangled sob escaped me.

Calmly, he reached for the phone and dialed
the desk outside. "Deja? Tell Rudy I'll meet him at the car... No,
it's not urgent. ‘Urgent’ is code, he just wants to go for a drink.
Tell him I'm on to him, and I'll be down in five minutes. I have to
go over my schedule for the rest of the week with Sophie, I won’t
have time later... No, not now. You stay by the phone, Sophie can
show you when we’re finished."

I listened to whole exchange, the air crushed
out of me by the desk, my pulse in my ears - and other parts -
almost drowning out the sound of their conversation. His fingers
stayed still in me, as deep as they would go, until I was fairly
certain I'd taken in his knuckles, too. White-hot sparks of mingled
pleasure and pain surged through me. I thought I might come from
the pressure alone, and wondered how reasonably quiet I could stay
if that happened.

He leaned back down and kissed the shell of
my ear, tender in contrast his body pinning mine. "I see you
enjoyed the gift I sent you."

I whimpered, trying to rock my hips, to
relieve the pressure. He didn't let me move, but he did slowly
circle his fingers inside me.

"And you read the books. You even put notes
in the margins.” He sucked my earlobe between his teeth and
nibbled. My whole body shuddered. "There was one note in particular
that I liked very much. Shall I read it to you?"

I nodded, and held back a mewl of
disappointment as he let me up and eased his fingers from my cunt.
He picked up the iPad and turned on the screen, then opened the
book. "Here, in the section about determining what type of
submissive you are..."

My breath caught audibly. He looked up, a
small, crooked smile crossing his lips. "You've written, 'yours.'
What do you mean by that, Sophie?"

"I don't know what else to call it." I
swallowed, and wet my suddenly very dry lips. I could do a lot of
things with him that I would have never expected myself capable of
doing with another person, but admitting that out loud? I couldn't
even look at him. I would have to work on that. Maybe a time when
my stomach didn't feel absolutely sick with denied desire. "When
we're together, I... I don't just like to be controlled, I
need
to be completely controlled. And it isn’t something
I’ve wanted with another man, or would want with another man. I
want you to dominate me. I don’t want anyone else doing these
things to me. Just you. You make me feel things I've never imagined
feeling. I want more of that. I want to be... yours. Totally under
your control. And that scares the hell out of me.”

I looked up. When my eyes met his, I was
shocked to see tenderness in his gaze. My entire body was
trembling. I was so frustrated at losing his touch that I thought I
would weep. Maybe it was the frank way I'd just had to speak to
him, or the heightened danger that someone might try to walk into
the room and catch us. Maybe it was the entire weekend, full of
unfulfilled longing and highly sexual reading material. I was
shaking all over, like a drug addict denied a fix.

"Oh, Sophie." His voice was raw and strained.
He looked for a moment as though he didn't know what to do.
Striding over to me, he took my quivering body in his arms and
pulled me into his lap as he sat down. His hand found its way
between my thighs, gentler this time, his fingertips parting me to
circle my clit. I clung to him, my arms around his neck, my face
buried against his shoulder, stifling my relieved sobs into his
shirt. Tears streamed down my face. I was embarrassed at how much I
wanted him, that my emotions had gotten the better of me. I came
with a full-body shudder, breathing in the scent of his cologne,
reveling in the touch of his bare skin under my wrists.

It was exactly what I needed, to come from
his touch, not a plastic toy or my own hand. I needed it to be him,
to get my release under his total control.

He smoothed my skirt down and pulled back,
just enough that he could look into my eyes. "Better?”

I nodded, a ragged breath escaping me.

“Sophie, I am so sorry."

I slid from his lap and wiped my eyes, hating
that he could plainly see the tear tracks on my cheeks. My makeup
would be wrecked, I was sure of it. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to cry. I swear, I'm not psycho –"

"Of course you're not." He seemed put out at
the very suggestion.

"This is entirely my fault. I teased you on
Friday, sent you home with books to groom you in the submissive
mindset then I sprang this on you, knowing that you’re
inexperienced. You weren’t at all prepared for what you felt."

"But it didn't bother me," I insisted. It
really hadn't. “If someone told me that getting pushed over a desk
and roughly fingered would be the highlight of my workday, I would
high-five myself. I can handle this. Really, I can."

"It isn’t a matter of will power. You needn’t
be ashamed. I’m the one who should be." He examined the spot of
mascara on his shirt then carefully donned his jacket to cover it.
"It was irresponsible and selfish of me to take things too far,
before you were ready."

I stood awkwardly in front of his desk, not
knowing what I should do, or how I should respond. I never felt
this way with anyone else. My brain was usually working a mile a
minute, staying a few steps ahead. Now, it seemed like it was shut
off.

"Will you come over tonight?" He asked,
pulling the black key card from his wallet. "To talk? No
expectation of sex.”

“Of course.” I took the card from him.

“Good. Right now, I'd like you to take the
rest of the day off."

"That's not necessary," I said quickly,
swiping at my cheeks. God, I felt like such an ass. "I can pull
myself together."

"I know you can." He came to stand beside me,
his hand on my upper arm, stroking me through my shirt. His voice
was low and patient. "This isn't because of anything you've done.
It's because of what I've done, and I'd like to make it right. What
you're feeling is the result of bad behavior on my part. It’s
called sub drop, I’m sure you read about it in the books I gave
you?”

“Yeah.” I had read about it, but I’d kind of
skimmed over it. “I thought maybe it wouldn’t apply to me because
I’m...”

“Capable of controlling your emotions through
sheer force of will?” Neil asked with a raised eyebrow.

I sniffled miserably.

“Sometimes, it’s unavoidable. But this was. I
should have taken more time with you before diving straight ahead
with all this. And now I’m not able to properly handle the
situation because I was stupid enough to cause it at work. Please,
take the day off. Consider it a gift from me. You'll still be paid.
I'm sure Deja is more than equipped to run the office for half a
day, and we can meet tonight at my suite and talk more. But in the
meantime, please take care of yourself. I feel terrible that I
can’t do more at the moment."

"Are you sure?" I was still hesitant to take
any special treatment. Going home and getting a hot bath and a nap
did sound tempting, though. "I mean, I'll go, but – “

"
Porteras
hasn't failed in fifty
years, I doubt it will on the one day you're not present to hold
the place together." He leaned down and kissed my cheek. His face
was much softer midday than in the evening, without sharp
five-o-clock shadow on it, and I liked that he let his lips linger
a touch longer than he had to for a casual peck.

"Give yourself a moment. I'll leave first,
and tell Deja you're not feeling well. And I’ll see you tonight."
He gave my arm a gentle squeeze then walked away, leaving the
office door open a crack behind him.

I waited a few minutes, until I knew he had
left. He'd taken down the decorative mirror that Gabriella had
hanging behind her desk, so I sat down to his computer and woke up
the screen. Immediately, I saw Photo Booth open in the dock.

"You're just as vain as the rest of us, Mr.
Elwood," I said under my breath. "You're just sneakier about
it."

I checked my face on the screen and dabbed
around my eyes with a tissue. It didn't look too bad. I shook my
shoulders and took a deep, cleansing breath before heading out to
my desk.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Deja asked as soon
as I emerged. She'd been sitting in my chair, but immediately got
up and motioned me over.

I nodded, mortified. "I'm fine. I'm just...
not feeling great. I'm going to go home."

"Did he upset you in there?" Her head turned
just slightly, as if she were about to back away. "I don't want to
work for a yeller."

"He's not a yeller. He’s not mean, I'm
just..." I didn't want to lie to Deja, but obviously I couldn't
tell her the whole truth. I quickly settled on, "I'm just having a
hard time with this whole company takeover thing. I really liked my
old boss."

"I get that, believe me." She gave me a
closed-lipped smile of understanding as she nodded her head. "See,
I thought you were upset because I'm here, taking over your old
job, and you really liked Mr. Elwood or something. I thought you
guys had worked together for a long time."

"No, we've just known each other for a
while." That didn't sound too bad. People met and did not fuck each
other every day.

She crossed her arms, comprehension dawning
on her face. "Okay. Okay, that explains it."

"Explains what?"
Go, go, just go, don't
become friends because you'll be tempted to tell her too much just
go
-

"I'm not sure I should say anything." She
pressed the fingertips of one hand to her forehead. "This is
embarrassing, but I kind of got the impression that you guys
were... I don't know. Playing James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal in
there."

I knew my mouth was hanging open, and I hoped
she took it for shock because the idea had never occurred or was
revolting to me. "Wow, you have a very good imagination."

I'd said "imagination" and not "intuition,"
right?

"Yeah, a little too good. I'm sorry. I'm not
trying to say anything about you or your ethics. At all." She shook
her head. "I'm sorry, let's start over. Hi, I'm Deja."

I forced a laugh, and hoped it didn't sound
too psychotic. "It's okay. No offense taken."

"No, that was off-sides." She shrugged. "It's
just... have you noticed the way he looks at you? And he's always
looking at you."

"No, I never noticed." I suddenly remembered
how very sick I was supposed to be. I blinked and pressed a hand to
my temple. "I'm sorry, I have just the most crushing migraine, and
the lights are going to drive me bonkers. Are you going to be okay
here today?"

"I'll be fine; I think I have this under
control." She patted the desk. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yup." But tomorrow, I'd be sure to wear my
romantic-speculation-proof hazmat suit.

* * * *

A long afternoon
off restored me, just like Neil had predicted. I was still
furiously embarrassed at how the morning had turned out, and
disappointed in myself for being so strangely emotional about
sex.

Okay, yeah, the books had mentioned that
heightened endorphins and stuff could mess with my emotions. But I
was usually bulletproof when it came to separating sex from
feelings.

When I arrived at eight, I entered the suite
and heard the sound of the shower running in the loft. David
Bowie's "Lady Stardust" played over the sound system throughout the
room, loud enough that I pitied Neil’s temporary neighbors.

I wondered if I should stay downstairs, or go
up and join him. But he'd wanted to talk tonight. Maybe he didn't
want sex at all? I wasn't sure where we stood on that subject at
the moment. Still, I put down the bags of takeout I'd brought
along, slipped off my coat, and headed up the stairs.

The shower in the bathroom was "European"
style. Which I guess means that all of Europe loves spilling
gallons of water directly on their bathroom floors. When I'd used
the damn thing, I hadn't quite gotten the trick of it, and would
have much preferred a curtain to the single glass wall.

I revised that opinion, when I realized what
a great view it gave me.

Neil stood beneath the spray, his hair
slicked back from his face. The single overhead light cast shadows
on his body, deepening the lines of muscle in his back and legs.
But the best part of catching Neil in the shower was, hands down,
the loud, awful singing. I'd always remembered him as being
composed and crushingly cool, and interrupting his secret bathroom
rock star moment completely destroyed all that. He was just a guy,
with the same goofy habits and bad shower singing the rest of us
had. I was so relieved to discover this, I giggled to myself, and
he turned his head, startled. His momentary expression of shock
immediately transformed into bashful laughter as he wiped water
from his eyes.

"I'm fairly certain that spying on a coworker
in the shower is against the
Porteras
sexual harassment
policy." He turned off the water and reached out for a towel to
wrap around his waist.

"I think fingering them on your desk might
also be a no-no. I'm not saying that two wrongs make a right..." I
lost my train of thought as he came toward me, towel riding low on
his hips. He reached for me, and I dodged him. "No! You're all wet.
And I have takeout downstairs, so don't dawdle."