Rule Me Dirty: A Royal Bad Boy Romance

by Parker Grey

  She looks up at me again, and we lock eyes for a moment.

  “What’s yours?” she says, her face totally serious.

  My heart slams against my chest, because I said it without thinking, but it’s how I feel. Like I want to own her, claim her, possess her. I walk forward and push her legs apart, standing between them, and she leans back slowly, opening herself to me.

  “Yes, what’s mine,” I say, my voice coming out a low, needy rasp. My cock twitches again, because Sloane is like a drug, an addiction I can’t get enough of.

  I stroke her pussy, wet with her juices and sticky with mine, and her eyes drift closed.

  “This is mine,” I say. “Tell me.”

  She swallows.

  “My pussy is yours,” she whispers, and I feel her flutter, my fingers just at her opening.

  I touch the plug in her ass, nudging it.

  “This is mine,” I say.

  “My ass is yours,” she says, her words nearly a moan.

  With my other hand, I take her face and run a thumb along her lips.

  “This is mine,” I say, and she doesn’t repeat it, just sucks my thumb into her mouth, eyes glazing over with lust. “You’re mine.”

  I pull my thumb out.

  “I’m yours, Mr. Declan,” she whispers, and now she’s lying on the bed and I’m between her legs again. “All of me is yours.”

  I kiss her savagely and she kisses back.

  I’m late to my next meeting.

  For two days, Camille asks Sloane if she can get fifteen minutes with me, and when Sloane asks, I tell her to say I’m busy. Camille’s not very smart — it’s why she hasn’t been promoted in almost twelve years on the job, but it’s kind of amazing that she’s dumb enough to go through my assistant, who she knows I’m fucking, to meet with me about how I’m fucking my assistant.

  It gives me time to plan, though. If she hasn’t already gone to the board, then she wants to see what I’ll do first. What I’ll give her.

  The answer is nothing, but like I said: Camille’s not very smart.

  She asks Sloane again to get on my calendar, and Sloane says no. Camille starts to get angry.

  Good.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sloane

  Even with the threat hanging over us, I can’t stop. At least we take it out of the office, even though I got a thrill from sucking his cock while he was on a phone call, or being bent over the desk at ten in the morning.

  Thursday, the day before the retreat starts, I’m running around like crazy long before Mr. Declan arrives in the office, promptly at nine. I’m excited for the retreat, but also nervous — I want to do my job well, and I don’t want to get caught, but I also want to do nothing but let my boss fuck me for a whole weekend.

  He walks in. For just a moment, I feel like the world stops as he looks at me and nods, casual as can be.

  “Good morning, Sloane,” he says.

  “Good morning, Mr. Declan,” I respond, as he goes into his office.

  This part of the morning is always the hardest. Usually he calls me in soon; ever since we started this there hasn’t been a day where something didn’t happen, but I never know what it’s going to be.

  Today I don’t have to wait long before he calls me in. I close the door behind myself, already giddy with anticipation.

  “Come over here,” he says, sitting behind his desk, voice a little brusquer than usual.

  I obey, walking to him and turning around. He likes to check every morning that I’m plugged and bare, our little ritual.

  I like it too.

  “Bend over,” he says, and I do it. He pushes my skirt up and snaps one garter against the back of my thigh, runs his fingers over my seam, touches the plug in my ass.

  Then, suddenly, he twists it and I suck in a breath at the strange, subtle sensation.

  He pulls it out, and all at once I feel odd and empty.

  “Congratulations, Sloane,” he murmurs, his face so close to my pussy I can practically feel his voice vibrating. “You’ve graduated.”

  He wipes the plug down carefully, then puts it in a box. I can barely breathe because of the anticipation, praying that what I’m graduated to is his cock in my ass.

  I don’t care that it’s Thursday morning, that what I’m fantasizing about is my boss fucking me in the ass within easy hearing range of my coworkers. I’m desperate for it.

  “What did I graduate to?” I ask, nearly trembling.

  Fuck me, I think. Please please please.

  “A larger plug,” he says, his voice perfectly calm.

  I can’t help but be disappointed. I know I’ll get him there, soon, but I want it now.

  I bite my lip and relax as he takes out a new plug and smears it with lube.

  “How much bigger?” I ask, my voice coming out a whisper.

  “See for yourself,” he says, holding it up.

  I look over my shoulder and can’t help but be surprised. It’s a lot bigger, maybe an inch in diameter, and for a second I wonder how I’m supposed to do anything with that monster up my ass.

  Then I think about how good it’ll feel, stretching me out, filling me up, and my pussy practically drips.

  Mr. Declan pushes the tip against me, and I force myself to relax as he slides it in slowly. My hole stretches further than before, much further, but it feels good.

  Soon my breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. I’m halfway to orgasm already, mostly from the sensation of Mr. Declan filling me like this, partly from thinking of how good it’s going to feel when he fucks me with it in.

  When it’s in I exhale long and hard, I want to moan but don’t, knowing I shouldn’t make noise, and Mr. Declan strokes me again, from plug to clit and back.

  “How does it feel?” he whispers, dipping his fingers into my dripping cunt.

  I take in a deep, unsteady breath, willing myself to stay quiet.

  “It feels good,” I say, nearly moaning. “Mr. Declan, I like it when you stretch out my ass and fill me up.”

  I can’t believe I’m saying this to my boss, but here I am. Practically begging him to fuck me in the ass, telling him how much I like having something in my ass.

  “Stand up straight,” he orders, and I obey, still facing away, the sound of his belt and zipper coming from behind me.

  My mouth waters, even though it makes me feel filthy. It’s been almost a week since I sucked him off in his office, and—

  With no warning, Mr. Declan grabs me by the hips and pulls me back. My legs go around his and if it weren’t for his strong arms, I’d be falling backward.

  Instead I feel his thick cock against me, and then before I know it he’s pulling me down onto him, the head of his cock inside me, pushing up against the thick plug in my ass at the same time.

  I moan quietly, and his hands tighten on my hips.

  “Shh,” he says in my ear.

  He eases me down onto his cock, and between him and the plug, it feels so fucking good that I nearly come on the first stroke. I’m totally filled, the sheer pleasure almost enough to make me pass out, even though I’m straddling him. I pant for breath, trying not to whimper, and he pulls me back against his cheat, my knees wide around his.

  “I can’t fucking resist you,” he whispers into my ear.

  He starts shifting my hips back and forth as I lean back against him, and the movement presses him against every sensitive part of my channel, moving the plug in my ass too.

  “You’re my dirty, filthy girl,” he goes on. Now I’m moving my hips on my own, and he moves one hand to rub my clit. “You like every single thing I do to you, no matter what. You like it when I push my cock down your throat and you like it when I spank you and when I fill your ass up and fuck you as hard as I can,” he goes on.

  My eyes drift closed. I know I shouldn’t be here, fucking my boss ten minutes before he has a meeting, but I can’t stop myself.

  “You like me filthy,” I whisper, my voice faltering.

&
nbsp; “Guilty as charged,” he says. “And I like fucking you when I get to work, and I’m going to like fucking you in the ass this weekend.”

  I moan. He claps one hand over my mouth roughly, pulling my head back to rest on his shoulder, his other hand still working my clit.

  “Come for me, Sloane,” he growls, his cock still deep inside me, my hips working furiously.

  He doesn’t have to ask again, because I explode. Strangled noises come out of my mouth, his hand over it, and my whole body shakes and squirms as I come and come, his thick cock deep in my pussy and the huge plug in my ass. I come so hard I think I might pass out, but I don’t.

  Mr. Declan hisses in my ear as he comes inside me, hard, his cock pumping and pumping, his hand still over my mouth. I can barely move, head thrown back, pinned on his cock, but when he finishes he kisses my neck softly. Almost tenderly.

  “Sloane, why do you let me do such dirty things to you?” he asks, and takes his hand off my mouth.

  I’m still leaning against his shoulder.

  “Because they feel good,” I whisper.

  He kisses me again and I stand, his cum dripping down one thigh. I wipe it with a tissue, pull my skirt down, and get back to work.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mr. Declan

  That afternoon, Camille finally figures out that Sloane's never going to schedule a meeting for her with me. I’m sitting at my desk, just back from a meeting with the head of creative, when she stomps in and closes the door behind her.

  I glare at her and her ugly, angry face.

  “I’m afraid I’m—”

  “I know what you’re doing,” she snaps.

  I’ve been in a thousand situations with angry people, much worse than this, and I know there’s only one solution. She’s angry, so I stay calm.

  I lean back slightly in my chair and watch her fume.

  “Responding to emails and trying to run my company?” I say quietly.

  “No,” she says, nostrils flaring. “I know what you’re doing with Sloane.”

  I nearly smile as I reach into my pocket.

  “Sorry, one moment,” I say, pretending I got a text. “I need to respond to this.”

  “I’ll wait here,” she says.

  “That’s fine,” I say, distantly.

  There’s no text. I turn on my voice recorder and put the phone back in my pocket. If Camille actually wanted to do something, she’d have gone to the board already. She’d have reported us to one of the other partners, or she’d be collecting evidence.

  She wouldn’t be here, in my office, accusing me of fucking my assistant. No, she wants something, and she thinks this is how she gets it.

  “All right,” I say, and lace my fingers together. “Now, what was it, Camille?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, face a mask of fury.

  “I know about you and Sloane,” she says. “When I stepped into the elevator the other day it absolutely reeked of — of — vagina.”

  I raise both eyebrows. It’s a perfectly good word, vagina, but coming out of her mouth it sounds ugly.

  “I’m very sorry about that,” I say, staying calm and even-keeled.

  “And she keeps coming in here, and staying for a long time with the door closed,” Camille goes on, taking a step forward. “I hear noises, you know. She leaves your office and her skirt is rumpled and her hair’s messed up.”

  “Camille, I’m afraid you’re—”

  “I want a raise and a promotion or I tell the board,” she snaps. “And I tell your partners, and I sue, and your pretty girlfriend gets fired.”

  I tap my thumbs together, just watching her face. She’s played all her cards already, without even knowing which ones I’ve got up my sleeve.

  “I’m not having an affair with Miss Bridge,” I say, referring to Sloane as formally as possible.

  It’s a blatant lie, a huge one. A few hours ago she was in here, sitting on my cock, moaning while I called her my dirty girl, but Camille can’t prove it.

  “Yes, you are, and I know it,” Camille snaps.

  I shrug.

  “Anything you say is useless without evidence,” I say. “Even if I were involved with Miss Bridge, you’d need evidence before making wild accusations like this.”

  She steps closer, putting her hands on my desk and leaning forward. I want to lean back, away from her, but I don’t. Instead I stare her down.

  “We both know you’re fucking that slut,” she says.

  I nearly punch her in the face, but that will get me sued.

  “And if I have to, I’ll make evidence,” she goes on. “I’ll lie through my teeth and I’ll find something, so help me God. I’ve been here twelve years, goddammit, and I deserve this!”

  I look at her for a long moment, trying not to smile.

  “Give me what I want or I tell everyone,” she says. “You think I can’t put something together to make you look guilty as fuck? I can do it, Jasper.”

  “I think you should leave, Camille,” I say, keeping my voice low and quiet. “I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

  She stands up straight, her face still a mask of anger.

  “Good,” she says, then whirls around, opens the door, and leaves my office, stomping past Sloane on the way out.

  Sloane glances over her shoulder at me, just for a moment, but I realize there are tears in her eyes.

  I ball my hands into fists, rage spiking inside me. I want to murder Camille for making Sloane cry, want to march over to her desk, sweep everything off it, and tell her she’s fired.

  I can’t. I know I can’t, but the urge is almost overwhelming.

  I can’t even go to Sloane, kiss her, tell her it’s going to be fine.

  I pick up the phone and hit the intercom button to her desk, and she answers seconds later.

  “Yes, Mr. Declan,” she says. I might be imagining it, but her voice wobbles, just a little.

  “I’ve got everything handled,” I say, as professionally as I can.

  She takes a deep breath.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  Camille’s not going to know what hit her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sloane

  By 6:55 Friday morning, I’m standing on the curb, waiting for Mr. Declan’s car service. I know no one else is getting a car to the Hamptons, but he’s picking me up himself.

  My whole body is tingling with anticipation, even though I’m still tired. We’ll be together in the back seat, almost alone, for an hour. I know we can’t do anything since the driver is there, but still.

  At seven exactly, the car drives up. The driver gets out, puts my suitcase in the trunk, and then opens the back door for me.

  The car’s empty.

  I clear my throat tentatively, and look at the driver.

  “I thought Mr. Declan was picking me up?” I ask, as politely as possible.

  “I got new instructions,” he says. “There was some kind of hang-up at the office.”

  He shrugs.

  “Oh. Well, thank you,” I say, and get into the car.

  I try not to be disappointed, but I am, I can’t help it.

  What kind of hang-up? I wonder. It has to have something to do with Camille’s visit to his office yesterday, that harpy.

  He said it was taken care of, I think. What if he was wrong?

  She knows, after all. Maybe he’s getting sued right now, and when I get to the retreat I’m going to find out I’m fired...

  It’s all I can think about for the whole drive. In a way, it’s almost a welcome relief from what I’d normally be thinking about — the huge plug in my ass, getting Mr. Declan for a weekend. How much I want him.

  The moment we drive up to the house, I feel poor. The place we’ve rented is enormous: three stories, painted butter-yellow and decorated like a birthday cake with columns everywhere, fancy little details and curlicues picked out in white. The car pulls into a round drive surrounded by shrubbery, with a fountain in the m
iddle.

  I’m the help, I think.

  Inside, a man immediately takes my bags and shows me to my room. It’s not outlandishly large, but this room is bigger than any apartment I’ve ever lived in. It’s got its own lavish bathroom, outfitted entirely in marble, and a sumptuous king bed with a canopy.

  I spend one more moment standing here, looking out the enormous window at the ocean. All I can do is hope that whatever happened with Camille turns out okay.

  If I get fired, don’t let it happen here, I think. Please don’t let everyone find out.

  I know if I do, I’ll never work in advertising again, and that’s my dream.

  You know, I think. If you get fired, you’re free to have Mr. Declan as much as you want.

  It’s not a bad thought, but I want everything. I’m greedy. I know.

  I run around all day, fetching paperwork and arranging flowers, but by dinner, Mr. Declan still isn’t there. Neither is Camille, and taken together, those two facts give me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve called him a few times — he’s my boss, after all, and he’s supposed to be here — but he’s not answering.

  It’s later still when I finally catch Mr. Soames, alone, checking his phone in a hallway. He looks up at me when I approach, a whiskey in his other hand.

  “Is Mr. Declan still coming?” I ask.

  I need to know for business reasons, I think. Not because I want him to fuck me into next week.

  Mr. Soames shakes his head.

  “Nasty business,” he says, shaking his head.

  My stomach plummets. I can’t help but remember that the very first time Mr. Declan took me, it was on this man’s desk. I came on top of his paperwork.

  I blush.

  “I shouldn’t say more,” he goes on. “But he’ll be here tomorrow. All the meetings can go on as planned. Is he not answering his phone?”

  I shake my head. Mr. Soames shrugs.

  “I’ll let him fill you in when he gets here,” he says, and goes back to looking at his phone.