My Boyfriend's Boss: A Forbidden Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  But instead, I’d rolled onto my stomach and shaken my hair back, the dark strands covering his chest.

  “Matt,” I said, my tone light. “Aren’t we going to the women’s shelter today? You know the one that houses women and girls who were victims of sex abuse?”

  “Mmm,” was his grunting reply, eyes closed.

  But I was insistent. “Matt,” I continued. “Sex abuse is rampant where I come from, in fact girls as young as thirteen often flee on their own, with no money, no connections, no nothing except the idea that the United States represents safety. You know that right?”

  “Mmm,” was the sleepy grunt I got in return. “Honduras is bad, huh?” he said, his eyes still closed.

  I was so tempted to spill the beans, to tell him about Uncle Gordo and how I’d been molested for years, the nightly tongue-lashings. But the moment had been so perfect, our skin glowing in the dim light, his breathing even, soft and sated, that I couldn’t bear to mar the reverie with something so horrific.

  So instead I let the moment pass. But I was gratified the next day when Matt demonstrated caring and empathy at the women’s shelter, taking the hand of one particularly downtrodden twelve year-old and listening to her story for an hour when we should have moved on to the next stop.

  “That was utter shit, what happened to that girl,” he commented to me once we were in the car again.

  And yes, it had been bad. I’d acted as translator, my voice breaking sometimes as I conveyed the story of her gang-rape by neighborhood thugs in Guatemala. But I’d maintained my composure and Matt had sworn afterwards to do something about it, even if he didn’t become mayor. With his resources, the options were limitless and I knew he’d stand by his word.

  So I watched with mixed pride and sadness as my man disappeared into the crowd. The clock was ticking … and it was almost time for me to disappear.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Teresa

  He was amazing during his acceptance speech. Charismatic, persuasive, filled with promise for the people of San Francisco. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the gorgeous man on stage and I smiled happily, proudly, as Matt expounded on themes of inequality, fair housing, and access to justice for all.

  The lights were bright so I couldn’t see the crowd very well, but who would be in the front row but that bitch Vanessa from the party. The one with the slut attitude, who’d stuck her fingers into Matt’s mouth, rubbing her bare snatch against him. He’d assured me it was nothing and I believed him. After all, he’d picked me at his running mate and not her.

  So I watched disinterestedly as the brunette whipped her cell phone out and began typing away. How rude! How disrespectful not to listen to my man in his moment of triumph, especially sitting in the first row. But it was only a few seconds before she hit send, and then the phone disappeared back into her bag with a smug smile.

  Unmistakably, I saw something vibrate in Matt’s breast pocket. The movement was subtle, no one would have noticed except I was standing only a few feet from him, playing the role of loyal and supportive girlfriend. Was it a coincidence? Or was Matt getting a text from Vanessa during his shining hour?

  Couldn’t be, I shook my head. There’s no way that she just texted him while he was on stage giving a speech to hundreds of people. Even Vanessa wasn’t that shameless.

  And afterwards, the party was a whirlwind. The mood was celebratory, more than a little drunk, and I was congratulated as if I’d been the candidate.

  “Teresa, awesome job, we’re looking forward to seeing you at City Hall more.”

  “Ms. Ramos, you know the diocese needs more backing, make sure to keep in touch alright?”

  I wish I could have told these supporters the truth. That I was never going to see them again, that there was nothing I could do for them going forward because my contract was up. But I nodded and smiled graciously, unwilling to spoil the night.

  Amidst the revelry, Matt’s personal assistant ran up. Jeremiah was a brilliant nerd, a bright young fellow with horn-rimmed glasses, gangly and skinny, the perfect staffer.

  “Hey Teresa,” he said breathlessly. “Great party huh?”

  “Yeah Jeremiah,” I said kindly. “It’s been an amazing run and we got what we wanted. Where are you headed next?”

  “Don’t tell Matt,” he said in a hushed voice. “But I want to get out of politics, maybe land a real job. You think he could put in a good word for me at Sterling Pharmaceutical?”

  I almost laughed. Although Matt had taken leave from his job to campaign, he could certainly do more than put in a good word … he could get Jeremiah a VP position in a snap.

  “Sure, I’m sure our mayor would be happy to help out,” I smiled again. “I’ll tell him so myself.”

  “Oh thanks Teresa, I really appreciate it. Listen, can you hold onto this stuff for a sec?” he asked breathlessly. “I see the Senator over there and I don’t want to look like a clown juggling a million things as I speak with him about the latest land-use ordinance.”

  Laughingly, I took the items from his arms. Clearly, Matt’s PA hadn’t lost his interest in politics given the way he was hotfooting it to the Senator’s side. And dang, but Jeremiah had a heavy load -- a headset, walkie talkie, two notebooks, a PDA handheld, plus a couple pens and highlighters. Being a personal assistant to a powerful man certainly came with a lot of baggage!

  The handheld was interesting. If I wasn’t mistaken, the chrome blue steel was the same as Matt’s. Why did Jeremiah have it? I turned it over in my hands. And at that very moment, it buzzed with a push notification, the screen flickering to life. I didn’t recognize the number but the message was explicit:

  Hey hot stuff, you got what you wanted.

  Time to ditch the maid. Poor people behind you one hundred percent. Spanish voter turn-out high.

  When are you home tonight? Meet me there at one?

  Kisses, xoxo

  And then there was the photo. There was no face, no identifying characteristics to the pussy shot, the woman with her legs spread holding herself open, baring her pink insides to the camera. She was shameless, one finger partially embedded, her cunt wide and engorged, moist and damp as she fingered herself.

  My cheeks flamed and I hurriedly slapped the screen against my chest. Oh my god, oh my god. Who was the sender? I felt physically ill, my skin flushing, the bile rising in my throat. Oh god. I bent over, breathing deep, trying to get some oxygen.

  As I struggled for air, my mind raced at a million miles an hour. So someone knew, someone knew that I’d been Matt’s cleaning lady, that he’d just hired me for a three month period as a fake girlfriend, there to mobilize the working class vote.

  And I forced myself to look at the handheld again. Yep, there was the word “maid” and the photo seemed even more repugnant than before, the woman’s lacy panties down around her ankles, her red stilettos visible, matching that fire engine lace.

  Wait a minute. Hadn’t Vanessa been wearing red stilettos today? I couldn’t recall but remembered she’d been wearing a scarlet dress. My eyes began scanning the crowd, my mind running in circles like a lunatic. Maybe Vanessa was in the bathroom at this very second fingering herself while sending dirty texts to Matt. In fact, maybe he was with her in the restroom, enjoying a celebratory fuck.

  With a choked sob, I realized that Matt had outed me, that his warmth, his caring attitude, had all been a front for my benefit. He’d probably been fucking Vanessa the whole time, ready to toss me out on the street the minute votes were counted.

  I heaved a few more breaths, then made myself straighten, my eyes bright. Thankfully, this had all happened in a matter of seconds and no one had noticed, the partygoers too wrapped up in their revelry. I quietly set down Jeremiah’s things and turned to go. The night breeze bit through my thin dress, making me shiver, but I forced myself to walk to the nearest bus stop. There were no golden gooses, no happy endings, for girls like me. I was just a poor immigrant girl.

  CHAPTER NINETEENr />
  Matt

  Vanessa was a fucking leech and I was getting more and more annoyed at her come-ons. What the fuck was wrong with this bitch? It takes a lot of gumption to come on to a man in a relationship, especially in public at my own victory party.

  “Listen,” I growled impatiently. “Thanks so much for your support, but I’ve gotta find Teresa,” I said.

  “Honeeeey,” she purred, pulling out that last syllable, running a fingernail suggestively down my neck. “Let go of that trash. We all know it’s just a front.”

  I froze for a moment before pulling away. What the fuck was she talking about? But Vanessa continued.

  “Honey Teresa Ramos is a piece of trash! She’s an illegal, she’s been using a fake social security number, the tax man is going to be after her,” Vanessa crowed. “It’s time to let it all go … now that the campaign it’s over, it’s time to rejoin your own social class, wouldn’t you say?”

  My mind whirred furiously. Sure, Teresa was illegal, I’d discovered that when I asked the PI to investigate long ago. But how had Vanessa found out?

  “Please baby,” she said dismissively. “Everyone knows she was just a front. How many billionaires really date destitute immigrants? How many people really pick up their cleaning ladies? I mean, life is not a fairytale, not by a long shot.”

  “Vanessa,” I growled, grabbing her by the shoulders. “How the fuck did you find out?” My only thought was that it must have been the PI, Platt. I was going to have that guy’s license, if not get him thrown in jail.

  But Vanessa waved a hand dismissively. “Everyone knows,” she reiterated. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

  Clearly this bitch was not going to be any help, but I was determined to get to the bottom of it, determined to whisk Teresa out of here before she became a laughingstock, the crowd jabbering about our contract. Oh god.

  Where the fuck was she? I turned to find Jeremiah behind me, his gangly form balancing a ton of stuff.

  “My phone,” I growled.

  But Jeremiah turned beet red. “Mr. Sterling,” he said, practically crying. “I’m so sorry, I turned to speak to the Senator and misplaced your handheld. I swear, it was only a minute and suddenly your cell was gone.”

  Really? Gone? This was some motherfucking messed up day. Even though I’d just won an election it was like the sky had gone dark, my horizons closing in, my chest tightening with pains. What the fuck?!?!

  I was angry but forced myself to do one more round of toasts, one more round of thanking loyal staffers, supporters, and interest parties alike. It would do no good to alienate anyone on what was supposed to be my night of triumph. It was only when I got into the black car that the full force of my fury took over.

  “To the Mission District,” I said in a gravelly voice. I knew with a sneaking suspicion that Teresa had already moved out, that she was no longer resident in my Pac Heights townhouse.

  We drove through some dilapidated areas, but frankly, the Mission was better than I thought. Once the home to a Latino base, it’s been gentrifying quickly with a slew of hipster bars, artisanal coffee shops and the like. Hmm, I hadn’t been here in a long time and it’d be good to start building coalitions in this up and coming neighborhood.

  But as I directed the driver to Teresa’s home, I saw a shadowy figure walking in the dim light. Gentrifying neighborhood be damned! What the fuck! It was my girl, walking alone in the dark, trying to find her way home after some godawful ride on public transit in the middle of the night. The sedan pulled over and I banged open the door, almost jumping on her.

  “Teresa, what the fuck? What are you doing walking alone at night?” I growled, hauling her close to me. Fuck, this was unbelievable. The night was dark but I could still see her face in the low light of a street lamp, covered in tears, her belated efforts to wipe away the moisture too late.

  “Matt,” she said slowly, pulling away and holding her head up high. “It was the end of our contract. I earned my hundred thousand and that’s all there is,” she said simply.

  “Hundred thousand be damned!” I roared. Thank god we were on a relatively deserted sidewalk. “What, you weren’t going to say goodbye?”

  She turned her head away, but I pulled her chin back to me. “Tell me,” I ground out roughly. “Were you really not going to say goodbye?” My heart pounded in my chest, my breathing quick, my eyes unable to leave her curvaceous form. Was I alone in my infatuation, did this girl feel nothing for me, ready to leave on a moment’s notice?

  But slowly, she reached into her purse. “You don’t have to pretend,” she said woodenly, pulling a familiar cell from her pocket. “I saw what Vanessa texted you.”

  I was filled with rage but grabbed the handheld and flicked it open. It went straight to a series of damning texts. There was the pussy shot, unmistakably Vanessa with the red stilettos, and then some banter back and forth between Vanessa … and me.

  “What the fuck?” I asked. “I didn’t write these texts. How did you get my cell?”

  Teresa looked at the ground, closing in on herself. “Jeremiah left me with your phone while he partied,” she said. “It wasn’t his fault, he’s young and wanted to talk to the Senator, so I offered to hold some stuff for him. Matt,” she added. “I don’t blame you, I don’t hate you, I don’t anything. We had an arrangement and that’s all it was,” she concluded simply.

  But I still couldn’t figure out how this situation had become so twisted.

  “But how the fuck did Vanessa know all those things about you?” I asked. “She mentioned the contract, your illegal status, all that stuff.”

  “Matt,” said Teresa. “Read the texts more closely.”

  I had glanced at them, but really my focus had been on the pussy shot. Reviewing them again, I realized that Teresa had outed herself … to that scheming bitch. She’d revealed the contract, the fact that she was my maid, the fact that once the campaign was over, I was dumping her. And all the while pretending to be me, using my cell.

  “Why Teresa? Why would you do this?” I choked. Only a girl who’d given up would engage in this kind of self-sabotage.

  She shrugged. “There was no need to pretend anymore,” she said quietly. “I’m not ashamed of being illegal, I’m applying for deferred immigrant status and should be able to legalize soon,” she said. “And I was just tired of living a lie,” she concluded. “I realized that we’re going to go our separate ways now, you back to your glamorous life, me back to mine as a maid.”

  “Thank you for the payment by the way,” she said quietly, meeting my eyes for the first time. “It’ll help me get through the next few years.”

  I was so consumed with rage I almost shook her, the ring still burning a hole in my pocket. And I wasn’t about to let this go.

  “Teresa,” I said roughly, grabbing her by the shoulders. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to end. Look,” I said reaching into my pocket. “I got this for you.”

  I wish I’d been a bit smoother, at least gotten down on one knee, but I was a desperate man at this point. She inhaled sharply at the sight of the velvet box but turned her head away.

  “You don’t have to Matt,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to pretend.”

  “No,” I insisted, pushing the box into her hands. “Open it.”

  And she did. Inside was a beautiful five carat diamond, one that I’d picked out with this girl’s brilliance and sparkle in mind. I’d decided that she was the one for me … a permanent running mate if you will.

  “Matt,” she said, her eyes growing big and tearing. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s only one answer,” I replied. “And that’s yes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Teresa

  He hoisted me into the air, the tulle bunching around my waist like a ballerina’s tutu.

  “Matt,” I squealed. “The guests are already waiting outside!”

  “I don’t care Mrs. Sterling,” he rumbled while nuzzling my cleavage,
popping out one boob from my strapless bodice and suckling. “I don’t give a flying fuck,” he said again, his voice muffled in my luscious flesh.

  And I sighed, throwing my head back, winding my legs around his waist. It was finally happening. I was getting married to the Mayor in front of a crowd at Mission Dolores, although you’d hardly know it given how determined he was to fuck me, the processional hymn already starting outside, the murmur of voices growing quiet.

  But I couldn’t fight him, his hands were so clever. Bracing me against the wall, Matt ran a hand between my legs, snapping my g-string so that my pussy was bare, ruining my wedding lingerie before we even got to the honeymoon. With a groan, he slid his fingers through my folds, savoring that wetness before unzipping his fly and pushing into me with an urgent thrust, his dick rubbing my clit, angling me so that I seized almost immediately, my cunny clamping down on him, that hot box like a vise on his monster member.

  But Matt wasn’t done yet. Shifting me in his arms, he pushed my knees up so that my ass was exposed, that pucker pink and bare, contracting reflexively in the cold air. Without missing a beat, he pulled out from my vag and shoved into my anus hard, drilling my rectum on our wedding day.

  And reader, it was so fucking disgusting, so fucking wrong that I came immediately. I cried out loudly, uncaring of the guests waiting, uncaring that we were already late for our own ceremony. All I could feel, think about, was that huge cock in my butt, the one that would be lodged in my ass for years to come.

  Because I’m a slut still. I’d come clean with Matt, telling him everything about me there was to know, wanting to give him a way out, the excuse he needed to break up before beginning his new life.

  “My uncle,” I’d said slowly. “He raped me when I was a child. I don’t know if “rape” is exactly the right word, but remember how I screamed the first time you did oral? It was because my uncle licked my pussy for three years when I was a pre-teen.”