Her Old-Fashioned Boss

by Laylah Roberts

  Her Old-Fashioned Boss

  By

  Laylah Roberts

  Copyright

  Laylah Roberts

  Her Old-Fashioned Husband

  © 2012, Laylah Roberts

  Laylah.roberts@gmail.com

  laylahroberts@blogspot.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This story contains the consensual spanking of an adult woman. This story contains explicit sex scenes, spanking, anal play, flogging and paddling. R18

  Cover Design by: ebookcoverdesignsbycarey.com

  Contents:

  Her Old-Fashioned Boss

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  A Note from Laylah

  Well, I guess this is the part where I bare all and hope people don’t stare and snicker.

  In my early teens I was overweight, in my late teens and twenties I was far too thin, and now I am, well, curvy, I guess. I have to constantly remind myself that I am not overweight because my mind keeps reverting back to thinking that I must lose weight. I look fat. I must diet and so on….

  When I was fourteen I was sent to a nutritionist to lose weight and it became an addiction for me. I started to get all these nice compliments. It became almost like a game (doesn’t that sound awful?) but I wanted to see how much more I could lose, I felt euphoric each day when I hopped on the scales and it was lower than the day before.

  When I was at my lowest point, I was around nineteen and I weighed around 42-44 kilos (about 90-95 pounds?). I’m five foot six. I never thought of myself as having an eating disorder because I still ate. Only a handful of cereal for breakfast and a tiny bit of salad for lunch and dinner weren’t really enough to keep me going

  I became anemic and my friends and family started to grow terrified. With the help of a great doctor and support from those around me I managed to get through the worst of it.

  But some issues linger on.

  I still find myself wanting to go on every fad diet. I look in the mirror and often don’t like what I see. I get a thrill each time someone says I look like I’ve lost weight.

  And I chew and spit.

  The chewing and spitting began in the midst of the anorexia. As the years have continued I’ve managed to gain more control over the urge to binge and spit, and rarely do it now.

  I read a review once where someone asked why most of my female characters have problems with food. I guess because all of my characters have a little bit of me. So I decided to do one story that deals with eating disorders and body image.

  But this is just a story. Everything in it is fictional. It’s just my take on Sam, Roarke and Ava and their relationship. I wanted to highlight chewing and spitting in this story because it seems to be a hidden eating disorder. I never knew about it. Until I had it.

  Love to all,

  Laylah

  Prologue

  “Are you getting sick of me?”

  Roarke, who’d been in the middle of rolling out of bed, stilled at the quiet question and turned around to gape at Sam.

  His lover. His submissive.

  Sam stared back at him, his startlingly blue eyes serious.

  “What the hell would make you say that?” Roarke asked, working hard to suppress his building panic. He had to remain in control. He was the Dom. Whatever was going on here he could fix.

  Except if Sam decided to leave him. Roarke could refuse to let him go, could follow him wherever went, but it would probably do little good. Once Sam made a decision he stuck with it.

  Sam shrugged, a surprisingly elegant movement. The sheet covering his chest slipped, displaying his mouth-watering abs, his perfectly tanned skin.

  Sam was perfection. Gorgeous, generous, sexy beyond belief.

  And his.

  His.

  Roarke would not lose him.

  “Sam. Tell. Me. What. You. Meant.” Roarke put plenty of Dom into his voice, shocked when Sam just stared at him with a sad smile.

  Roarke floundered, unable to find his voice. Sam had always obeyed him, looked to him to lead. They’d been together five years and, although there had been an adjustment period in the beginning, they worked together perfectly.

  Until now.

  “Are you asking for punishment, pet?” he asked in a low voice. A small shiver crossed Sam’s body. Finally, some reaction. Roarke’s relief was tremendous. For a moment he’d worried that he’d lost Sam already.

  “Maybe. At least then you’d be touching me,” Sam said sadly.

  “What are you talking about? I touch you.”

  Sam shrugged again. “Not really. You give me the occasional kiss or pat.”

  “We had sex three nights ago,” Roarke pointed out.

  Sam sat up, leaning against the wooden headboard. “Yes, and it was nice.”

  Nice? Nice! Talk about damned by faint praise.

  “But we haven’t played in months. I thought…I had hoped...” Sam faltered for the first time.

  “Yes?” Roarke asked, pushing him, even though he didn’t know whether he could stand any more dints to his pride.

  “I thought after you settled everything with Tom that things would be better. But you don’t seem any happier, so I can only think that the problem is me.”

  Roarke reeled back as though he’d been slapped. God, what had he been doing to Sam?

  “If you don’t want me anymore, I’d rather you just told me,” Sam continued. “I feel like you don’t want me. That you don’t need me...and that’s the one thing I can’t take.”

  No, and Roarke knew that. Sam was a nurturer; he loved taking care of those around him. He’d been looking after Roarke for years. Roarke might be the dominant one in their relationship, but Sam was the heart.

  “Sam,” he said hoarsely. “I love you. I do need you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”

  Sam blinked, his eyes glazed with tears.

  “I am certainly not sick of you. You are everything to me. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I do know that my life would not be worth living without you. You are going nowhere, except over my spanking bench if you ever start spouting such nonsense again. Now, come here.”

  Roarke held open his arms, holding his breath. Sam hesitated for a few seconds, and that told Roarke more than anything else how much he’d harmed their relationship. Sam had always been openly affectionate.

  But he moved forward and Roarke gave a prayer of relief as he clasped him close. The knot in his stomach unraveled slightly.

  He kissed the top of Sam’s head. Sam’s silken white-blond hair glistened in the light.

  “How long have you been feeling this way?” he asked, running his hand over Sam’s hair.

  When Sam didn’t answer, Roarke wrapped his hand in the long strands and tugged sharply. Sam’s head snapped back and his eyes glazed with pleasure at the slight pain.

  “Answer me, pet.”

  Sam shivered and licked his lips. “Since before we left to go to Waco, Sir.”

  Roarke kept hi
s shock from showing on his face. Barely. “That was over two months ago. Why didn’t you speak up before now?”

  The cornerstones of their relationship were honesty, communication and respect. Roarke knew he’d failed in the communication part, but it seemed his sub had some atoning to do as well.

  “I thought I’d give you time. I thought you were upset about Austin...” Sam’s voice trailed off.

  Roarke could understand his hesitation. In the past, Roarke would shut down any time someone mentioned his baby brother’s name. He’d carried Austin’s death on his shoulders for years. He knew his inability to let go of his guilt had scarred him emotionally. Except for Sam, he’d been unable to let anyone close since, and even then he’d shut certain parts of himself off from his lover.

  He’d always been too scared to let anyone but Sam close, too scared to lose anyone he loved again.

  Scared to kill anyone he loved again.

  It had been ten years since he’d fought with Austin over a girl. Roarke thought she’d been using Austin to get to him and he’d tried to warn Austin away from her. Austin had stormed out of his apartment, jumped on his bike and been hit by a drunk driver. It had been left to Roarke to make the decision to pull the plug on his brother. His parents couldn’t do it. He was the oldest so it had fallen to him.

  But it haunted him. He blamed himself. Tom, Austin’s best friend, had blamed him. It was only recently, when Roarke had opened a new club in Waco, that he’d had a chance to make things right with Tom. That he’d finally started to forgive himself. Even though he had a ways to go, he was starting to let go of the guilt.

  But he had business keeping Sam at a distance. Sam, who had stayed with him through thick and thin, who’d held him through nightmares, supported him during the holidays when he couldn’t bring himself to go home, even though he missed his family.

  Sam. The only person he’d ever been in love with.

  “I can understand why you would think that, Sam. But that’s no excuse for keeping this from me. You know you are not supposed to bottle things that are hurting you inside. I expect you to come to me with things like this.”

  “Like you’ve been talking to me?” Sam asked bitterly.

  Roarke gaped down at him. Then he gathered himself. Sam was testing him. Something he hadn’t done since they’d first got together.

  “Sam,” he said warningly.

  The other man sighed and relaxed slightly. Sam glanced up at him. “If it’s not Austin, and it’s not me then what is it?”

  Roarke sighed. “I don’t know, my love. And that’s the honest truth. I feel tired. Maybe I need a break. I think maybe it’s time to sell the clubs.”

  Sam sat up. “What? No!”

  Roarke simply stared at him. Sam swallowed heavily. “I mean, you love those clubs.”

  “Do I? Lately they seem more a chore than fun.” He’d started off years ago with one small BDSM club in Austin. Then he’d expanded out until he now had ten clubs spread across Texas and Arizona.

  Sam stared at him, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Maybe what you need is a challenge. If things come too easily to you then you tend to get bored.”

  “What does that mean?” Roarke growled.

  “Well, maybe it’s time to finally look a bit harder for that third we’ve talked about. I think it’s time to shake our lives up a little.”

  Roarke reached his arm out and cupped the back of his neck. “I only need you.”

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t think that’s true. Not anymore. I think you need more. I think we both do. We need someone we can pamper and cherish and love.”

  Roarke sighed. In the past they had talked about adding a woman to their relationship, but had never found someone suitable. Besides, Roarke had never felt he could open up to someone else. Women were delicate, vulnerable. Any woman of his would be coddled, pampered and probably smothered to death. He sighed. On the one hand he’d want to protect her from the outside world to the point of total overkill, and on the other, he’d want to place clamps on her nipples so they pinched, flog her until she glowed and Lord forbid she disobey him and put herself in the slightest bit of danger.

  She wouldn’t sit for days.

  “And just where would we find this elusive woman who’s going to want to be a part of a threesome with an overbearing Dom and his protective sub?”

  Sam’s lips twitched. “We’ll find her.”

  “We haven’t so far.”

  “Because we’ve been looking in the wrong places. We only interact with subs at the clubs. What we need is a real woman, one like Frankie.”

  Roarke snorted. “Are you trying to kill me? I don’t know how Tom keeps up with Frankie, that woman is a menace. He should tie her to his bed and spank her daily.”

  Frankie was Tom’s wife and a bit of a brat. She was forever getting into trouble and kept her husband on his toes.

  “And that is exactly what you need. A perfect sub wouldn’t interest either of us. You don’t want someone who’ll jump at your every word.”

  “Don’t I?” Roarke drawled. “I wasn’t joking before. If Frankie was mine, she’d be confined to her bedroom for at least a week for coming to the club by herself the way she did.” He shuddered at the memory of Frankie entering his BDSM club alone. There was no way any sub of his would be in any of his clubs without his protection. “And her bottom would be bright red the entire time.”

  “Neither of us finds the subs in the clubs attractive, even the brats are usually doing it for show. We need a woman with fire and passion, someone to love. Someone real. Because neither of us play at this. It’s our lives.”

  Roarke sighed and dragged Sam close once again. He was right. Most of what went on at the club was all for play. For show. Yet that wasn’t what Sam or Roarke wanted. It wasn’t the way they lived their lives. They weren’t in a twenty-four seven relationship, but they didn’t just switch things off when they left the bedroom. There was no denying that Roarke was a man who took charge. In every aspect of his life.

  “I don’t believe she exists.”

  “She exists. Just you wait.”

  Ava Scott bit back tears of disbelief as she stared around her small apartment in despair.

  Redundant. Redundant. Redundant.

  The word echoed around her head, filling her with shock and fear.

  How would she pay her rent? Buy food? Pay her bills?

  Swallowing back the nausea bubbling in her stomach, she took a deep breath. She’d just get another job that was all.

  In this climate? What would she do? She was young. Her job as personal assistant to the Head of Marketing at Bradford and James had been her first job. She didn’t have a lot of experience. And there were a lot of other people out there looking for jobs with more qualifications than she had.

  Panic welled and her hands shook as she opened the box of donuts she’d bought on her way home. She couldn’t even remember stopping at the bakery on the corner, but she must have, the evidence was in her lap.

  Twelve donuts, a varied assortment.

  Ava closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa.

  “No, no, no,” she muttered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I won’t do this. I can’t. I’ll get severance pay. I’ll get a new job. Everything will be fine.”

  Opening her eyes, she sobbed. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

  She needed to take the donuts over to her next door neighbor, come back and cook herself some dinner. The trembling rocking her body was more than just shock and nerves, her blood sugar was low and she needed to eat.

  But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t fight the old feelings.

  Inadequate.

  She lifted a cream-filled donut to her mouth and took a bite. She chewed and chewed, carefully not swallowing. Jumping up, she ran to the bathroom and spat out the mouthful, running the water so the chewed up mess drifted down the drains.

  Ava raised her head to stare at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were too
large in her pale face, the skin beneath dark and bruised.

  Her face had fleshed out some. Was she putting on weight?. She had to watch herself, she didn’t want to become that fat girl she’d once been. The one who’d never been able to wear jeans comfortably, who’d been ignored and teased.

  Sinking to the floor, she drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her body and sobbed.

  Chapter One

  Three months later

  Ava trudged up the sidewalk, slowly putting one foot in front of the other as she tried to fight back her nerves and fatigue. She’d misjudged the bus stop and gotten off earlier than she should have. So although she’d left her apartment with plenty of time to spare, having to walk five blocks in her friend Asia’s uncomfortably high shoes had severely eaten into that time. Especially when this last block had been up a steep hill.

  Panting, she reached the summit and looked down at the address she held in her hand. When she’d called about the job, the man on the other end had kindly given her not only the address, but a description of the building. And as she stared up at it, she realized he’d done a good job. The large manor was set back from the road, with a wide wrap-around porch. The wooden exterior was painted white with a dark trim. Standing three levels high, it was huge. Years ago, it must have been someone’s house but now it was a club. A kink club.

  Oh bubbles.

  Seriously. What am I getting myself in for?

  When she’d seen the ad in the paper asking for an open-minded, hard-working personal assistant, prepared to work any and all hours, she’d been very interested. And a bit desperate. She’d never imagined the job would be located in one of the most exclusive BDSM clubs in the city. And if she got this job, she’d be the personal assistant of the man who owned this club and a number of others across Texas, Arizona and Nevada.

  Oh Lord.

  She knew a bit about Bondage and Discipline, she loved reading BDSM romance. But the real thing might be more than she could handle.