Boss On A Leash: A Single Dad Billionaire Romance

by Kara Hart

  I can’t look away. It’s just not an option now.

  Feeling insatiable, I drop to the floor. My hair is matted and wild, but I don’t care. I reach out, brushing my hand against his leg, slowly curving it up toward his dick. As I lower over his pelvis, I’m so close to him, and all I want to do is please him now.

  I take hold of his shaft. The skin at his base so hard and unyielding. Having it right in front of my mouth is a bit unnerving. But I am determined, using my hand to pump up and down.

  He jolts, moaning, as I cradle his shaft with one hand and cup his balls with my other. I stroke him, softly. More pre-cum glides down my hand, like a thin liquid tickling the skin of my palm. Watching him, I lower my tongue and lick it off. In an earthquake of pure desire, he pushes into my fist and moans loudly. I can tell he’s enjoying this as much as I am.

  “Suck it,” he moans.

  I close my eyes and feel his warmth pulse against my lips. His hands curls around the back of my head. One travels down to feel my curves, my ass, and my pussy until he has both hands around me. I’m so wet I can feel my pleasure escape me.

  I’m on my knees, serving my man as he leans back and relaxes. I never do this, but here I am, breaking all my rules. I look up. He’s in a daze. The moans are never-ending.

  He spanks me lightly.

  My eyes dart open. “Mr. Wylan,” I breathe.

  With his cock in my hand, he shifts in his seat and blushes. “Sorry. Too much?”

  It stings in the best way possible, evolving into a deep need. It’s like a hunger, a fuel that won’t burn out. I need his cock inside me. This isn’t enough.

  Shaking my head, I drop back down and take him in my mouth. “If you’re going to spank me, you’ll need to do it harder,” I say.

  His eyes widen, but the impulse to be naughty is in the air. I push up my ass, so he can get a better view. He feels my pussy with his hand, cock bouncing at the much-too-drawn-out thought of finally getting to fuck me. Tonight, he gets the full treatment. All of me and more. And if he’s a good boy, he’ll get this for the rest of his life.

  He spanks me again, and this time, the sound is like a gasp. I reach behind to feel his handprint. The sting turns urges me onto his lap. He places his hand over mine. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he says.

  Kissing the taste of my pussy off his lips, I feel him pulling his shirt over his head. I slide my hands up his muscular back, feeling every delicious ridge of man-candy. It’s amazing he doesn’t work out. He’s got those natural genetics, I guess.

  I want to take this to the next level.

  “Wait,” I say.

  “No good?”

  Feeling his rock-hard abs again, I shudder. “I’ve changed my mind. I want you in that bed,” I say, leaning over to grab my dress.

  I want him everywhere. On the floor, in the shower, on the balcony…

  I put on my dress as best I can, but I look like a ravaged wench. Behind Marc, a neon Jessica Rabbit shows some leg. I’m not sure looks matter at a place like this.

  He kicks the door open. “Let’s go,” he says.

  We’re running through the cold night toward the wall of neon candy canes, cupids, and heart-shaped arrows. As he gets the key from the lobby, I wait outside the window, shivering from the cold and the pleasure. The entire time I’m staring at Marc through the window and thinking about how lucky I am.

  His hair is insane, and he’s a little wet around the lips. But he’s the hottest, most loving father I’ve ever met. Somehow, money never changed him. It’s a miracle.

  Our room is on the second floor, so we run up the stairs, kick open the door, and get to kissing again. He pushes me against the doorframe, grinding his pelvis against mine. I get his pants and shirt off, and he practically rips this expensive dress in half. His hands form around my breasts, and he hungrily kisses my neck.

  Lips against mine, he spins and backs me into the room. I nearly trip on my dress as I walk backward. My ankles hit the bed frame. I fall onto the mattress, legs spread. He feels my body and strokes his cock. We’re both seething with desire.

  “How do you want me?” I ask, breathless.

  His chest rises. “Is that a trick question?”

  I turn on all fours. For good measure, I wag my ass, spreading just enough so he can see my pussy. He gives me his hand, and then he gives me the ride of his life.

  Hand around my shoulder, legs positioned around mine, Marc mounts me. I had my fantasies about Marc Wylan, and with one solid thrust, he shows me he’s interested in fulfilling every single one. Our bodies smacking together, my own screams of pleasure falling into the background as Marc starts fucking me with passion.

  I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensations. All at once, I’m hit with the strangest excitement. Releasing every bit of emotion, I rock my hips back and forth and give in to his touch. I feel like I’m floating, but I soon recognize the feeling as finally being grounded. I’m just not used to it.

  This is bliss. Everything with Marc so far has been. The only thing getting in the way is our hesitance to allow someone new in. We’re both a little guilty of that. We’re both unlearning a lot, but as long as we stay this close, nothing can stop this.

  As he catches his breath, I drop to the mattress and roll on my back. He teases my stomach with a finger and smooths out the tingling of my nerves with a solid kiss. Moving up, he scales my body like a snake, driving in deep as soon as he finds my lips.

  Marc Wylan is a determined man. As far as I know, he has spent his entire life looking for the next thing to satisfy him. I hope I’m the last.

  Correction: I’m going to be the last. Because I love him.

  I love Marc Wylan.

  “Fuck, I’m coming,” I moan.

  It hits me like a brick wall. Suddenly, I’m unraveling. Everything he does feels perfectly timed to create another explosive moment. There is nothing he can do to me that will make me stop loving him.

  I bite into my bottom lip to keep it from trembling, holding on to the tingling euphoria. “Oh, yeah, baby, I’m about to come,” he moans.

  My nails dig into his skin as I come up for air. “Come with me.”

  “Fuck...”

  Marc doesn’t slow down, even when I’ve caught my breath. After about 10 more thrusts, I feel his cock swell and bob erratically. He’s losing control, carrying a shocked expression that lasts. When I feel him explode, it’s inside me, and it’s everything I thought it might be.

  But thank God I’m on the pill, or this might get messy.

  Wave after wave of orgasm, we come together. And even when we’re both back to baseline, we’re going again. A second time is necessary. A third time is to seal the deal and make things official. But our fourth time is just absurdly hot.

  When the clock hits four in the morning, we’re exhausted, sweaty, and there isn’t a spot in the motel room that hasn’t been touched. The maid is not going to have a great time cleaning this place up later.

  Marc brushes my bangs from my eyes. “Your body… Your gorgeous face...” He leans down to kiss me once more. “You are so perfect. So out of this world. How did I get so lucky?”

  I hope he hasn’t gone soft on me. At the very least, his dick is still harder than a brick wall. “We both did,” I say. “We’re perfect for each other.”

  He curls his fingers around mine. “Let’s promise to never leave this,” he says.

  I kiss his knuckles. His chest. Lastly, his lips are begging for me. “I promise.”

  “I promise.”

  I’m sure of one thing, and one thing only.

  I am in love with Marc Wylan. I couldn’t run even if I wanted to.

  Marc

  I wake up feeling like I died and went to heaven.

  Ali’s body is spooned against me, her hips and curves so form-fitting and perfectly aligned that I have to actively fight the urge to reach out and cup her right breast in my hand. I do it anyway.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” I murmu
r as she stirs in my arms.

  I want to tell her to stay in bed. I want to take her in my arms and make love to her. But there are a thousand reasons why I can’t.

  I check my phone. The number of missed calls is almost at triple digits. Sandra, Brian, and Jim are like the trifecta of annoying assholes.

  I haven’t thought about Jim, the office, or that stupid fucking party for many blissful hours. Spending time with Ali makes me realize what life could be if I just didn’t have to deal with the bullshit. Today, however, is when everything comes together. The moment of truth.

  Maybe I can avoid it…

  There’s no way I can avoid it.

  Ali turns, nudging her eyes with the back of her hand. “Morning, baby,” she says, giving me a sweet kiss. “Sorry. Morning breath.”

  I kiss her again, this time with some tongue. “You can’t gross me out, Ali Greenwald,” I say, holding her chin. “Even if you are a farter.”

  Her face turns hot and red like coals. “Your daughter is a dirty liar.”

  Laughing and feeling a little sticky, I practically leap toward the shower. “Jump in with me,” I say.

  Groaning, she rolls out of bed. “I guess I could use some hot water.”

  She’s still wearing the same lingerie. Ali never really has to try to look hot. She could probably go without showers for weeks and still be the most attractive woman on the planet. The great thing is she doesn’t know it. It gives her the humility that rounds out her personality.

  In the shower, I’m too tempted not to touch her. We fuck against the tile wall. We fuck on the ground. We fuck on the toilet. We fuck against the door. You better believe we fuck on the sink counter. By the time our checkout time hits, that entire bathroom is destroyed.

  It’s the best sex I’ve ever had, which is why I’m so... fucked. Directly after we both came for the last time, she kissed my chest and sighed a breath of relief. Then she whispered, “I’m so excited to spend tonight with you at that party. I have a dress at home that I picked out. It might not be as flashy as the McQueen, but you’ll still be able to show me off.”

  She still wants to go?

  My brain replaces that dopamine and oxytocin with a fresh batch of cortisol and epinephrine. The immediate hit of stress nearly knocks me on my ass in the parking lot. As the driver waits near the open door, it feels more like a funeral than a time of celebration.

  “Can you drop me off at my place? I’ll need to get Rowdy first,” she says.

  I smile, but I’m a mess. “Anything you want.”

  I just want Ali, alone. None of the other shit. At this point, I’d sacrifice everything for her. Except, if I do that, Sammy and I won’t be able to stay here. I’ll have to sell Momma Bear, and it’ll be Back to Manhattan, starring Marc and Sammy.

  Inside the limo, she leans against my chest. I hold her, kissing the top of her head and breathing in her scent. If she hated Valentine’s Day and thought all men were bastards before, she’s never going to forgive me for this. I keep wondering how much longer I have before the guillotine arrives.

  I used her image to stay solvent. Am I a fucking idiot?

  As I pull into my driveway, the answer to that question is glaringly obvious. Ragamuffin is up against the window, barking her lungs out at the sight of me. Rowdy comes out of nowhere, too. Amidst the forgotten chaos of coming back to the real world, Sammy opens the door. She drops to her knees and mimics the dogs’ incessant noises.

  “Ruff!” she barks. “Ruff, ruff!”

  Behind her, the house looks worse than the bathroom in our hotel room. Another brand new couch is completely ruined. A lamp lay broken on the floor. The rug has some kind of liquid collecting near the center in a small pool. I really don’t want to know what that liquid is.

  I’m not pleased, but I know how to put on my good dad outfit. “Very nice, sweetie,” I say. “Where is Stacey?”

  Stacey, the babysitter, steps into the hallway. She’s covered in some kind of thick paste. It looks like peanut butter, but I’m a little too scared to walk in and check. “Mr. Wylan,” she says with an expression of shock. “I am so sorry.”

  I take a step inside as Sammy zooms right past me. She screams and flies from room to room, dogs at her heels. She’s like the Pied Piper of puppies.

  My boots crunch on a piece of some glass. “I don’t understand what happened. When you called, everything sounded fine.”

  She’s shaking. “Everything was,” she cries. “And then Sammy went to find Ragamuffin.”

  As soon as I make eye contact with the little dog, it makes a whining noise and backs into the corner of the room. “She did all of this?”

  Attempting to avoid persecution, Rowdy comes to my side. He nudges his head against my leg. Nice try. In my book, he’s guilty too.

  She nods. “Yes. The other dog was fine,” she says. “Please, don’t sue me. I don’t have a lot of money.”

  I plug my nose as my shoe smudges against a pile of dog poop.

  It’s really bad. There are broken items on counters that look way too high for that little fluff-ball to get on. But then I see the low bar stool that Sammy sits on to eat breakfast. It acts as a perfect stepladder to my chair, which sits tall and near the table.

  “Did Ragamuffin jump onto the counter using these chairs?” I ask.

  “I’ve never seen a King Charles do something like that before,” she says.

  “She’s… unique.”

  “She’s a demon,” she cries. “I can’t stay another night here. I just can’t.”

  Shit, shit, shit!

  I was already stressed about tonight. Now, I’m at a complete loss. Ali’s not going to let this party thing go. Then again, this is a pretty good excuse.

  I feel a smile forming.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeats.

  “Stacey, it’s fine,” I say. “The dog is clearly unhinged. I understand where you’re coming from.”

  She takes a few steps forward, avoiding a rotting slice of pizza. “You... do?”

  “I should’ve warned you,” I say, leading her to the front door. “When I bought her, she was so sweet.”

  She walks down the front steps. “You should get her checked out, Mr. Wylan. Something could be going on with her,” she says.

  She needs anger management for dogs. “I’ll do that,” I say.

  Shuffling her out to her car, I pull out my wallet and count a few hundred dollars. Sensing that Ragamuffin might’ve left some unforeseen emotional scars, I flick through a few more bills. “Here. For the damages,” I say.

  She looks at the money. “But the dog destroyed your house.”

  I put the cash into her hands. “I have worse to worry about. Take the money. Buy something nice,” I say. “Or, better yet, invest it.”

  Just watch what you buy. You never know when the thing you bought will come around to bite you in the ass.

  After she leaves, I come around the side of the limousine with Rowdy. He jumps in, slobbering all over her. “That’s my good boy.”

  I’m the bad boy about to ruin all the fun. Hope this works.

  I put on my best frown, sighing as loud as I can.

  Ali’s eyes dart to mine. “What’s wrong?”

  Throwing my arms up, I look back at the house. “Ragamuffin destroyed everything. The front room, the stuff on all the counters, the kitchen...”

  She goes to jump out of the vehicle. “The book?”

  I scratch the back of my head, a little worried myself. It would suck to lose those relics. Plus, Ali really seems to enjoy them. I was looking forward to the day when she could read them to Sammy.

  “I haven’t checked. Point is, the babysitter wasn’t too thrilled. She bolted,” I say.

  “Okay,” she says, waiting for more of an explanation.

  “She’s been our sitter ever since we moved in,” I say.

  Truth is, it doesn’t matter who watches Sammy. I get my sitters from a dependable agency. Only the best get through those do
ors.

  “What are you trying to say?” she asks.

  I deflate. “I don’t think I can go to this office party tonight. Not that it’s going to be any fun.”

  She twists her mouth and falls against the seat. Rowdy puts a paw on her shoulder. “Not now, Rowdy.”

  I hate seeing her get sad, but this is for her own good. Meeting Jim isn’t a noteworthy experience; it fucking sucks. I’m sparing her the pain and torment of meeting him when he’s drunk.

  “It’s just hard to get a sitter so fast,” I say.

  “You got one last night,” she says. “Anyway, don’t rich people go through agencies?”

  She’s onto me. “Yeah, but the place is wrecked. I’ll need to hire a maid, too.”

  Nodding, she takes it in. I feel like she’s about to give up when her eyes flash with sudden excitement. It’s like a light goes off in her head. She checks her phone for the time and smiles. “We have eight hours.”

  “Seven,” I say. In reality, it’s about seven and a quarter, but who’s counting?

  “You hire the cleaners,” she says.

  “It could take days to clean,” I say.

  She holds out her hands, telling me not to worry. Of course, I take them and squeeze because I'm a slave to the feeling she gives me now. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Is it something to do with last night? You didn’t have fun with me?”

  Her eyes glow. Every time I look at her, I see another piece of her that I can’t turn away from. It’s just a reminder of what is important. “I just don’t want to lose you,” I say.

  She stops. Embarrassingly enough, my hands are trembling. I close my eyes and repeat the words. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  I wasn’t expecting to come out and say it, but there it is. That’s why I’m giving white lie after white lie. It’s why I can’t stop pushing her away from coming to that party. I’m not a man who hears the word no that often. Under no circumstances can I lose her.

  She looks at me with a mixture of empathy and confusion. “Marc, you’re not going to lose me,” she says, reaching out to brush my cheek. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”