My Boyfriend's Boss: A Forbidden Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  It was only when we heard a scream that we realized we’d been discovered. Mami stood there in the moonlight, watching us, her dumpy figure swathed in a shapeless housedress. She screamed again, a bloodcurling howl, before launching herself at us, knocking Gordo aside and me to the ground.

  “How can this be happening?” she jabbered in Spanish. “What’s going on? What are you doing?” she shrieked in a mixture of fury and fear.

  By now, we were rolling on the ground, my mom and I a struggling mass, me trying to explain something, anything, while my mom pulled my hair, her hand scrabbling at my night gown, crying and howling all at once.

  And the truth is, there was no explanation.

  “Mami, stop!” I gasped. “Stop, stop!”

  “Aieeee! Teresa, what has become of you? What has happened? Aieeee!” came her primal howls, the wails mixed with tears as she assaulted me, our bodies twisted together as we rolled around on the forest floor.

  It was finally Gordo who pulled her off of me, her plump form like a cannonball as she was heaved to the side. She landed with a thunk and grew still, harsh sobs the only sound, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  My heart cracked, the sight of my mother broken and sobbing in the Honduran countryside, the worst turn of events possible. Because she had believed that there was safety here, hoping to protect me from growing up too fast in a dangerous world. And instead, her plan had completely backfired. I’d become a slut in my three years away, having sex with my uncle at a too-young age, even enjoying it, losing myself in the experience, sneaking out at night so that I could indulge.

  “Mami,” I panted breathlessly. “Please! Please,” I gasped, not knowing what to say.

  Because again, there was nothing to be said. I knelt on the ground next to her, crying myself, trying to stroke her hair, stroke her hand, somehow express my sorrow and regret, confusion outlined in the girl-woman body which had betrayed me.

  “Mami,” I cried, my heart breaking under the Honduran moonlight.

  But my mom’s a tough cookie, she’s lived a long life and I hadn’t given her credit for her backbone and resolve. She got up and grabbed a handful of my hair, forcing me to stand as well. She frog-marched me back to the house, my Uncle Gordo trailing behind wordlessly, and threw me into my bedroom, the force of her actions bringing me to my knees.

  “Pack!” she barked, her voice tight and angry, tears still evident in her eyes. Then, as now, I didn’t have much and the packing was done in a few minutes flat. She threw me my coat and we left the house, walking on a country back road.

  “Mami, where are we going?” I asked plaintively, almost afraid to hear the answer. “There’s no one around here, no cabs, no people, this is the hinterlands, remember? It’s one in the morning, where are we going?”

  Mami didn’t answer, her gaze resolute, refusing to meet my eyes. She marched ahead, her shoulders ramrod straight, proud even in her shabby nightclothes. I gave up and we walked and walked and walked, for hours at least, until the sun came up the next morning.

  A mini-bus drove up the dirt road and my mom flagged it down.

  “Where are you going?” the driver leered. Honduran men leer at every woman, even weary housewives like my mom.

  “North,” she replied curtly. “I have money, I’ll pay you to get us to Tecohitas,” she said, naming the closest city. “For me and my daughter,” she clarified, nodding at me.

  And so we were off. I didn’t realize how apt the word “North” was for things to come. Because, reader, as you’ve probably deduced, my mother had decided that fateful night to smuggle us into the United States, come hell or high water. There was no way we could stay in the Honduras. Her attempts to protect me had utterly failed, and the City wasn’t safe.

  All that mattered was going north … to safety.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Matt

  Cocktails were boring but I was charming the crowd. I pressed the flesh of not a few high net worth individuals, laughing at their jokes, expounding on my views of the ongoing war in Syria, how to resolve our lovely city’s ongoing homelessness problem, yada yada yada. It was only when a hush came over the crowd that I broke off my glad-handing, turning to see what had happened.

  Or more accurately, who had happened. Teresa stood at the front door, unsure of herself, looking around warily. She was gorgeous, hands down. A black velvet cocktail dress hugged her curves, a hint of cleavage apparent but not obscene. Her legs were sheathed in gossamer silk topped off with black stilettos, a perfect outfit for a curvy girl.

  Our hostess though, was more than a little frosty. Usually the chicks at these events are model-types, tall, dressed to the nines, so painfully thin that you can almost see through them. Teresa was the opposite – curvy, ripe, with a body so bodacious that every guy here was salivating, wondering what it’d be like between those thighs.

  “Can I help you?” asked Mandy Hurst in a clipped tone. She was our hostess for the night.

  “Um,” murmured Teresa, “Is Matt Sterling here? I was hoping to catch him.”

  Mandy was about to snipe some retort when I made my way over, smoothly leaning down to give Teresa a kiss on the cheek. She threw me a grateful glance, thankful for saving her from this social piranha.

  “Mandy,” I rumbled, “I see you’ve gotten a chance to meet my girlfriend, Teresa,” I continued. “Mandy, Teresa, Teresa, Mandy. I think you ladies have a lot in common,” I winked.

  “Oh?” asked Mandy with an eyebrow arched. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Are you a part of MOMA’s Young Patrons club? Or maybe the Firehouse Brigade out at the Aquarium?”

  Teresa flushed but handled the questions evenly. “Yes, I’m in Young Patrons,” she said in a calm voice. “I haven’t been to many events recently, but I plan on stepping it up.”

  That’s my girl. I was proud of Teresa for fending off these veiled attacks, and of course I’d be buying a membership to the Young Patrons club as soon as I could get my accountant on the line.

  “And where are you from?” asked Mandy pointedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around San Francisco,” she said.

  Most folks in our crowd hail from some tony suburb, maybe Hillsborough or St. Francis Wood, going to country clubs on the weekends or hitting up their chalets in Tahoe for some skiing. Teresa, however, didn’t miss a beat.

  “I live in the Mission,” she said. “It was pretty rough when we settled in but there’s been a lot of gentrification,” she continued. “I was hoping to help Matt on the campaign trail by emphasizing his commitment to the working class,” she added, looking up at me with adoring eyes. “My Mission roots and City cred are strong, and we know Matt has such a commitment to helping the working man.”

  I had to applaud Teresa for that one as well. Of course, it was exactly what I’d hired her to do, but I hadn’t realized she’d slip into the role so quickly and so well. Her speech was elegant, refined and articulate, the perfect example of a woman who’d risen past her humble origins to be here today.

  “Isn’t my girl savvy?” I said to our hostess as I slipped an arm around my girl’s waist. It felt so good there, so right, and I was more than happy to trumpet our relationship to the world. “Sweet and smart, my favorite,” I said, nuzzling her neck.

  “Okay love birds, what’s going on?” came a deep masculine voice. It was my younger brother Caleb, here to support me at the fundraiser. Although not a political guy himself, Caleb had seen fit to tear himself away from his computers for one night, to do his part in promoting my candidacy.

  “Caleb, you haven’t met my girlfriend yet,” I said smoothly. “Little bro, this is Teresa, Teresa, Caleb, the CTO of Sterling Phara,” I said by way of introduction.

  Caleb threw a swift glance my way. Given that he’d never met Teresa, it was surprising that suddenly I had a girlfriend but he knew better than to embarrass me at a public function.

  “Charmed,” he rumbled, giving Teresa a peck on the cheek. “Don’t believe a wor
d my brother says, he’s a politician, it’s all lies,” he said with a smile.

  And the rest of the night went along swimmingly. I squired Teresa about, introducing her to folks, making sure that people knew she was my significant other. And the girl was wonderful, making real conversation, with a nice smile and even nicer ass. I could tell some of these old dudes, they were into it.

  “Where’d you find her, my boy?” asked George Terkel. Terkel was an early investor in our company, someone who’d believed in Sterling when we were just four brothers trying to get an idea off the ground.

  “Right under my nose,” I replied with a sly wink. “The Mission is filled with undiscovered treasure.” And I was being truthful in a way because Teresa was from the Mission, but instead George inferred something totally different given the neighborhood’s sleazy vibe.

  “The Mission District?” he asked dumbfounded. And then leaning in, “And does she still dance? She got an older sister for me?”

  I snorted. Just because a girl has a bodacious bod doesn’t mean she’s taking it off for dollars, pulling her g-string aside for men to ogle and touch. In fact, the thought was fucking infuriating. No way my Teresa was showing her puss to any man but me.

  “Nah, never danced,” I said with as much country charm as I could summon, the rage simmering underneath. “But I’ll find a dancer for you if that’s what you want. Just a sec, I gotta unload the fire hose,” I said, making my way off into the crowd.

  I went upstairs in search of a restroom when I was suddenly halted by a silky voice, a manicured hand on my arm.

  “Well well well,” purred a familiar voice. “What have we here?”

  I turned to find a ravishing brunette sheathed in a clinging red dress, dripping with jewels. The predatory glint in her eyes was going strong, her voice high-pitched and insistent. Oh fuck, I knew this girl from somewhere.

  “I’m Vanessa,” she reminded me seductively. “We met at Delinda’s party a couple weeks back? You promised we’d hit up L’Osseria’s wine-tasting event later this month,” she pouted. “I haven’t heard from you.”

  “Um yeah,” I replied vaguely, “about that.” I’d completely forgotten about the so-called date, but it’d just been a brush-off. Women today were so pushy and aggressive it was insane.

  “I work as a sommelier, I’d love to teach you about mouth feel,” the brunette continued seductively. “In fact, we can start right now.” And damned if she didn’t hike up her skirt to reveal a peachy pink pussy. It was pretty, I have to admit, ripe and juicy for someone so thin. Seductively, she ran a hand through her wet folds, coating her fingers in cream and pushed them into my mouth, forcing me to suck.

  “Tastes good, right?” she asked huskily, eyeing me from under her lashes.

  And reader, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I closed my mouth over her fingers and tasted. It was instinctive, pure reflex, all base reaction, and fuck, I’m into pussy no less. If it’s in my mouth already, I’m going to sample the cream.

  But Vanessa’s particular brand of juice wasn’t my type. It was bland and mealy, probably because she was underfed. I wanted to spit her fingers out of my mouth, but it was too late. A gasp on the stairs let us know we’d been caught.

  Who would it be but Teresa, ascending to the second floor, watching as I sucked another woman’s cunt juices. Her red lips were pursed in a silent “O,” her eyes wide with shock. And I have to admit, I was in a compromising position. Vanessa’s fingers dripping with juice were in my mouth, her dress was pulled up to her waist, and her snatch was obviously bare, gyrating against my crotch.

  With a quick gasp, Teresa turned on her heel and fled downstairs immediately, my heart sinking as she left. Oh shit, oh shit.

  “Who was that?” asked Vanessa silkily. “Oh well, doesn’t matter, probably just another ho who wants the hottest up-and-coming politician in San Francisco,” she purred, humping my crotch even harder with her bare twat.

  But I’d had enough. I pushed the bitch away and snarled something, I have no idea what, my thoughts completely focused on hunting down Teresa and explaining what had just happened. But the crowd below was still mingling, still clinking their champagne glasses, and fuck, I couldn’t make a scene with so many potential donors. So I ambled downstairs and forced myself to mix with guests, to smile jovially and shake more hands until the event ended. Never had I been at a party so fucking tedious, so fucking unbelievably long, when all I wanted to do was to talk to my girl.

  And I found her at the end of the night, when I got into the car’s backseat. She was waiting for me, her eyes dry but oddly bright, as if she’d been crying.

  “Teresa,” I began. “Let me explain. Seriously, it’s not what it looked like.”

  “No Matt,” she said slowly. “Don’t start. I’m just a hired gun and what you do on the side is your business. We never talked about getting nookie elsewhere, it’s an undefined part of the contract,” she said frozenly. “I just need twenty five thousand more,” she concluded swiftly.

  “Teresa, seriously, please,” I pleaded. “It’s not like that. I only met that bitch once before in my life, she came onto me, I had nothing to do with it, I swear!” Even to me, it sounded like the lamest bullshit.

  “Twenty five thousand,” she said again woodenly, looking out the window, not meeting my eyes. And what else could I do but agree?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Teresa

  I’d been so clueless, it was pathetic. What had I been thinking? I berated myself again and again as the black car sped to the townhouse. Matt was SF’s most eligible bachelor, the toast of the town as a newly-minted billionaire, celebrated for his success and charisma. I, on the other hand, was a lowly cleaning lady, an illegal immigrant trying to scrape by in this beautiful city. I’d been stupid to think I could be someone special to someone like him.

  Then why did it hurt so bad? I shouldn’t have been so emotional, so distraught at catching him with that woman. He’d never promised to be monogamous, he’d never promised that he wouldn’t flirt with other women. Heck, Matt probably had to sleep with old crones just to get them to open their checkbooks, isn’t that how politics worked?

  I shook my head, mentally steeling myself, preparing for the job ahead. Because this just was a job, I reminded myself viciously, nothing more than payment for services rendered. I wouldn’t get attached, no matter what happened, no matter how emotional and uncomfortable I felt. Eyes on the prize, I screamed at myself -- a payout of one hundred thousand dollars for three months of work. Tax-free, no less.

  So when the car pulled up to the curb, I exited gracefully, the chauffeur following with my suitcase.

  “In the guest room please,” I chimed.

  But Matt had other ideas. “Jones, master suite,” he pointed before handing the chauffeur a tip.

  “Of course, sir,” Jones bowed, making his way upstairs.

  As soon as the driver was out of earshot, I spun on my heels and hissed at the big man.

  “You can’t possibly think that we’re sleeping together after what I just saw tonight,” I snarled like a cat in pain.

  Matt was prepared, his blue eyes glinting. “Honey, nothing happened,” he drawled. “Women in this city are predators, especially if there’s money flying around,” he said. “Besides, you were the most beautiful girl at the fundraiser hands down.”

  I was about to utter a sharp retort but caught myself. What had happened to not being emotional? I needed to check myself.

  “Yes of course,” I purred. “I’m sorry I overreacted, I see what you mean. If I could just get that twenty-five thousand now?” I asked sweetly.

  With a quirk of his eyebrow, Matt led me upstairs and dashed off another check for twenty five, this time made payable to cash.

  “Thank you so much,” I said silkily. “After you,” I gestured towards the bedroom.

  If it was odd that I’d morphed so quickly into willing fuckdoll, he made no comment, instead putting his big hands on my w
aist and guiding me into the cavernous space. Before I could flick on the light, he nuzzled my neck from behind, lightly tracing the rim of my ear with the tip of his tongue, inhaling the scent of my hair.

  “You were the most beautiful girl there tonight, you know,” he murmured in a low voice. “I wasn’t making that up.”

  And my heart started to beat faster, my insides heating. It was just so hard to be an ice princess around this man, but again, I steeled myself, reminding myself that this was just a job.

  “Thank you baby,” I purred, sinuously writhing against him, making sure to brush that burgeoning hardness with my ass. “And you were the star of the show, a real politician in the making,” I cooed.

  Matt’s hands paused for a moment as they roamed my body. Maybe I’d gone overboard because my normal self was sweeter, more genuine, less saccharine. But he made no comment and after a moment, the big hands continued questing over my body, cupping my breasts, exploring the swell of my hips, before pulling up the hem of my skirt.

  “I want you,” he growled low in my ear, hitching up my dress so that it was bunched around my waist. I circled my ass against his groin again, this time grinding harder, making sure that hot rod nestled between my ass cheeks.

  “Oh fuck,” he groaned, his hips reflexively pushing into mine. “You’re so fucking wet,” he moaned as his hands slipped over my g-string, dipping between my legs to stroke my engorged cunt.

  “Mmm,” I sighed, leaning my head back against his shoulder. “Let me make it exciting for you.”

  And with that, I pushed him onto the bed and began dancing in the cavernous space. There was a giant bulge at his crotch and I stared at it hungrily, almost starving, before calling up the slut within.

  Because that’s what happened as a result of my molestation by Uncle Gordo. I unleashed my inner hooker at an early age, and the fact is that I love that side of myself, that sensuous, disgusting, nasty girl that wallows in hot sex, showing men her dripping pussy, letting men touch, smell, feel and fuck. And Matt was going to be no exception.