The Boss's Daughter

by Jasmine Haynes

  He leaned in, his eyebrows knit together. “I’m not comfortable fucking you with someone I know.” His hand on the table was fisted white.

  “But I thought you weren’t comfortable doing it with someone you don’t know.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then if it can’t be someone you don’t know and it can’t be someone you do know, who does that leave?”

  He stared at her hard, his brown eyes so dark they were almost black. “I guess that leaves no one.”

  * * * * *

  They were playing the silent game in the car as he drove them out of San Francisco. And he was pretty sure he was the one who’d started that particular competition.

  She’d actually agreed to let him cook for her. He shouldn’t have gotten angry about Spence. It had only been a matter of time before she asked for something like that. And hadn’t he thought of it, too? Yeah, he’d imagined holding her by the hair and feeding his cock to her while one of her guys—Samson, Joe Average, whoever—took her doggy style. Jesus, he was actually hard right now. Around her, he was always hard. She oozed female sexuality. Even now, her scent filled the car and clouded his mind.

  He wanted her. He didn’t want Spence to have her. And that was the pathetic crux of the whole matter. What if, at some point, she wanted to do Spence without him? He’d go fucking nuts. It would be like his wife fucking his best friend all over again. He couldn’t handle it.

  But if he didn’t play her game? She’d tire of him pretty damn quick. He couldn’t stand that either.

  He was a sorry example of a man as he opened his mouth and said the words she wanted. “All right. I’ll talk to Spence. But we have to have ground rules.” You don’t fuck him without me. You don’t kiss him, only me. You don’t talk to him. You don’t... There were too many don’ts. They revealed way too much about how he felt so he didn’t enumerate them. And Cassandra didn’t ask.

  “It’s about us,” she said. “He’s just there to make us feel good. You kiss me while he’s fucking me, while he’s going down on me. I suck his cock and look at you while you’re fucking me. You lick his come off me and kiss me with it.”

  He imagined it, and his cock surged. He didn’t see the traffic on the road; he saw her face as she came, tasted her lips as she climaxed, kissed her with salty come on his tongue. And she fucking made him want it bad. She said the right words, drew him in, convinced him.

  “Have you done a threesome before?” He was a glutton for punishment.

  She turned in her seat to face him. “Yes. But not like this.”

  Speeding cars flashed by. He was more circumspect, not to mention that a ticket was disastrous on the insurance bill. But really, all he cared about was the web she wound around him. “What is this like?”

  “Where I’m with you and we choose the man. Where we feed off each other’s pleasure, watch each other, make everything hotter than either of us alone.”

  Everything inside him tightened with need. He wanted that with her, as if they each existed only for the other, that anyone else was a toy to be utilized for their pleasure. Except that he wasn’t sure exactly what she meant on one point. “I’m not having sex with him.”

  “No. But you’ll enjoy watching him take me the same way you’ve enjoyed it with the others. And you’ll love fucking me while he watches.”

  Yes, he would love it. He had on each of the nights before. But he wondered who would have the greater effect on her? Who would give her the better climax? Multiple climaxes? He knew he’d go mad if it was Spence.

  Which meant he’d just have to try harder.

  * * * * *

  Memorial Day was blazing by ten o’clock in the morning. Summer was definitely here. Even the breeze, as Spence sped them along in the golf cart, was warm. Perspiration dripped down the side of Ward’s face. That, however, wasn’t just the heat.

  Spence pulled in by the next hole, and they sat beneath the cart’s canopy, waiting for the group in front to finish. They usually played golf once a month when the weather was good.

  “A threesome with the boss’s daughter?” Spence gave him the eye accompanied by a sly smile. “You’re a bold one, dude.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, bold as hell,” Ward quipped. Inside he was seething. Why the hell had he asked? Because she’d seduced him with the whole we thing. It’s about us. It’s for us. And he’d wanted it. Until he left her on Sunday. Then he’d devolved into anger and jealousy.

  If it had been one of her other men, Joe Average, Samson, a stranger in a bar, someone impersonal and meaningless to him, that would have been easier. He was an idiot for not going with one of those choices in the first place, but now he’d backed himself into a corner.

  Spence reached into the small cooler behind the seat. Retrieving two bottles of water, he handed one to Ward. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  He wanted to say Hell no. But he wasn’t dating Cassandra. They’d made no promises. They weren’t anything to each other. It was just sex. He knew all that, yet his gut roiled that she’d chosen Spence for their threesome. He’d broached the subject this morning trying to prove to himself that her partnering choice didn’t mean anything. But of course it meant a hell of a lot. He’d brought it up, though, and if he backed down... “Yeah, I’m sure.” Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot.

  Spence chuckled. “Well, hell, count me in.”

  If Spence had said something about how gorgeous Cassandra was, how hot and sexy, how he’d always wanted her, Ward would have belted him. But all Spence added was “We’re up.”

  Ward’s mind ceased to be on the game, and his drives were wild, his putting pathetic.

  When Spence asked, “So when do you want to do this thing?” Ward swung and sent his ball into the woods ringing the course.

  And Spence remarked, “Dude.”

  I can’t take it. I won’t take it. I’m not letting Spence touch her. “Wednesday night work for you?” He couldn’t seem to shut up, saying exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

  Spence grinned. “Works for me. Just let me know when and where.”

  Not Ward’s house, that was for goddamn sure. “Will do.”

  “Now about that ball...” Spence studied the line of trees.

  Ward closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.

  He was a well-educated man, supposedly intelligent, in a position of power in his career. He made the hard decisions every day without flinching. So why was he doing something he was so obviously conflicted about?

  Yeah, he did know why. Because Cassandra wanted it. Because deep down, he loved being filthy and kinky with her, he craved the aliveness just being around her imbued him with, he enjoyed watching her. And the thought of coming deep down her throat as another man filled her made him so crazy with need that he’d said yes to everything she wanted.

  It would be too fucking hot. If they weren’t doing it with Spence.

  Chapter Twelve

  Still fully clothed in his suit, though he’d removed the jacket, Ward had her stripped down to the pretty lace underthings she’d bought for the event. He’d rented the hotel room—No, we are not fucking at my house—he’d driven them to the hotel. He’d called Spence with the room number.

  Then he was on her. Picking her up and tossing her on the bed, he flopped down between her legs and pulled the lace panty aside. She didn’t care that the room wasn’t five-star, just a basic bed, desk bolted to the wall, TV mounted on a metal bracket, and a bathroom. All that mattered was that it was clean. She actually liked the seedy nature, the sound of the traffic on the street, the bang of a door down the outside corridor, the vacuum sucking up all the dirt in the room below them. It made her feel deliciously slutty.

  She moaned the moment his tongue touched her. Her body seemed to gush with moisture. She wanted, she needed, she was so damn ready.

  Grabbing him by the hair, she held him tight against her. “Make me come right now. I need it bad.”

  Ward went at the task with d
iligence and inspiration, licking, sucking, fingers inside her, tongue right on that spot, the perfect spot he’d found just below her clit that no man had ever known to touch. It didn’t make her come, but it heightened the tension until her body was so tightly wound that the next moment in which he sucked on the swollen button of her clit, she imploded. Bucking, crying out, holding him tight, tight, tight, she fell into that slice of time and space where nothing existed except sensation.

  When the last shudder faded away, she flopped boneless against the mattress. Ward crawled up her body and planted a kiss redolent with the taste of her climax.

  She looped her arms around his neck. “Oh, baby, with that beginning, I can’t wait for the encore.”

  He pulled back. “You can have the encore right now.” He rose to stand beside the bed, yanking on his tie, his shirt buttons, his belt.

  His face was flushed, his lips glistening with her juice, and his eyes dark with...something. She didn’t know what. He was actually a bit manic, silent in the car, then his he-man act the moment they were in the room. Kissing, touching, tearing the clothes off her. She loved the wildness of it. Ward made her feel things more deeply. With other men, it was completely physical—which might have been why she got bored easily—but Ward brought emotion into it.

  “Yeah,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbows, her legs still wide. “Do me before he gets here.” That would be totally hot. The more she climaxed, the more she wanted to climax. Over and over. Until she couldn’t move.

  The flimsy door rattled with a knock.

  A shadow darkened Ward’s face. He didn’t move. His chest rose and fell beneath his white undershirt. And his fists clenched. Then he swallowed.

  “Aren’t you going to get it?” She was not entirely clueless. He’d been iffy about this from the beginning. But she knew she could make this so good for him. She’d even had fantasies of doing variations of it together all the time. She could no longer imagine having sex without him, whether that meant a threesome, or something voyeuristic, or simply running to him afterward and having him lick the remnants of another man’s sex off her. Which might have been frightening, except that Ward made her feel so damn good. Maybe, just maybe, having one special man made sex with all the others that much better. Perfect.

  Ward closed his eyes a moment. Opened them.

  The knock, a little louder this time, jiggled the chain.

  “Get under the covers,” he said.

  Cassandra wasn’t used to hiding herself, but she rose and entered the bathroom, standing just inside the door. This wasn’t going according to plan. She probably shouldn’t have let him undress her. Ward was somehow...off.

  She heard the chain sliding. The door opened, Spence’s Hey. And Ward’s manly Hey in reply.

  She leaned out of the doorway, visible only from the shoulders up. “Hi, there. I’m afraid we started without you.”

  Spencer Benedict, his red hair shades lighter than hers and his eyes an almost pretty green, was handsome in a boy-next-door way. Except for the slightly crooked nose, broken once upon a time, which turned him from the boy next door into a bad boy. She preferred taller men—he couldn’t have been more than five-nine or ten—but he had a powerfully built body with muscles a woman could sink her teeth into. There was something in the depths of his eyes, though, a hardness that was both compelling yet off-putting. He would always have to be in control. If she was a woman who liked dangerous men, she might have found him terribly intriguing. But she’d never preferred bad boys. As a third, though, he’d do nicely.

  Or he would if he was actually paying attention to her. Instead he was staring at Ward. And she knew something was wrong.

  “No offense, Ms. Montgomery, but I’ve changed my mind.” Though he used her name, his gaze was on Ward. And whatever he read on Ward’s face.

  “Uh, sure, okay.” You didn’t beg if a man decided to walk away. But what was up?

  Without another word, he opened the door, closed it behind him, his footsteps fading into the traffic noise on the street.

  “Ward?” She padded across the carpet, touched his arm.

  He turned on her, the muscles of his face tense, his eyes dilated, nostrils flared. That face had driven Spence out of the room. “That’s it,” he snapped. “I’m not finding your fuck buddies for you anymore.”

  She stepped back as if he’d shoved her.

  He advanced on her. “In fact”—he put his finger to her chest—“I’m done playing your games.”

  “What’s up with you? Are you suddenly jealous or something?”

  His brows went up. “Suddenly? I’ve been fucking jealous all along. And you fucking love that.”

  She rolled her lips between her teeth. He was right. She’d enjoyed what she called his he-man antics. She knew he was jealous, and she loved that. But she hadn’t thought he cared as much about who she was fucking as he did about the hot sex they had before, during, and after. “The jealousy made it better for both of us.”

  His jaw worked. “It made it better for you.”

  She put a hand to his chest. “And for you.”

  “Well, I’m fucking tired of sharing.”

  Fucking. He’d said the word several times. Ward wasn’t a true cusser, and his use of it only brought attention to his agitation. She’d known it was there, right from the moment she said Spencer Benedict’s name. All you had to do was say no. She did not, however, let those words slip past her lips. The truth was she hadn’t let him say no to her from the moment she’d had that first sublime orgasm simply because he was watching her. She couldn’t let him say no. But she’d pushed him too hard this time, gotten him to agree to something he wasn’t ready for. They needed to take one step back.

  Instead of taking that one necessary step, she asked, “You’re tired of sharing women?” She lowered her voice. “Or you’re tired of sharing me?”

  * * * * *

  His teeth hurt he had them clenched so hard.

  He’d intended to go through with it, swear to God. But somehow, through all the planning and the two days of waiting, even as he tasted her, made her body quake with pleasure, kissed her, he couldn’t stop imagining her face as she climaxed for Spence. He could not drive that goddamn image out of his mind. Everything had been written on his face, and Spence had taken one look at him and backed out. Ward had wanted to claim her before Spence got there. Maybe if he’d been able to do that... But he wasn’t fast enough.

  Jesus H. Christ. Spence had seen his feelings written all over his face like a pitiful adolescent.

  Now she wanted to know.

  “I’m not sharing you.” There. He’d said it. Declared himself. Revealed his pathetic feelings.

  “That’s not so bad,” she said.

  What the fuck?

  “We’ll just go back to the way it was. The role-playing, where you burst into the room and kick the other guy out. That worked so well.” She was actually smiling. “I’m more than fine with that.”

  He was sure he’d lost his mind. He was most certainly in over his head. “It’s way too fucking late for that.”

  She didn’t say anything to that.

  The anonymity of the other men hadn’t bothered him. The jealousy, the anger, she was right, the emotions made it hotter. But not with someone he knew, not a friend, not a man he saw at work every day, golfed with. Not his friend. And now Spence had seen the truth. They couldn’t go back.

  Her breasts rose and fell with her breath. Her skin was still flushed pink, her blue eyes wide, her hair tousled from their earlier play on the bed. He’d never wanted her more.

  Bending, he picked her dress up off the floor, handed it to her. She donned it silently as he buckled his belt, buttoned his shirt, then stood in front of the mirror to knot his tie.

  They didn’t speak in the car. When he stopped in front of her father’s house, she kissed his cheek and climbed out.

  As she walked up the front path, she was no longer Cassandra. She’d once again
become the boss’s daughter.

  * * * * *

  She should have told him she loved when he dragged her away from whatever man she was with. She loved when he took her with anger. She loved the power in that. She loved the way he made her feel. She could get used to that with him. Oh yes, she could.

  But she couldn’t be monogamous. She didn’t do relationships; she did men. Even for him, she couldn’t give up how men—a lot of men, sexy men, her men—made her feel.

  “Sweetheart, we weren’t expecting you home so early.” Holt was in the living room, Ruby on the couch beside him. The TV screen was blue as if they’d just stopped a movie. Perhaps when they heard the car outside?

  She felt like an intruder. “Sorry. My meeting finished earlier than I expected.” She wasn’t ashamed of her sex life, but somehow it was inappropriate to tell her father that she’d had a date to screw two of his executives.

  Even as she had the thought, something about it bothered her.

  “We were just about to start a new movie.” Her father ejected whatever had been in the player. “You want to join us?”

  Ruby smiled as if she agreed, but, hmm, Cassandra was left wondering if she was overstaying her welcome here at the house. Even after giving them the weekend to themselves.

  “No thanks. Paperwork.” She smiled, fluttered her fingers, and went to her room, closing the door to give them their privacy. She no longer felt as welcome in her father’s house, not in a bad way—Ruby had actually been quite pleasant since Cassandra gave them the sketch of the wedding dress—but she sensed they needed to be alone together, not together with a third wheel.

  With the door shut, she could hear herself think and that thought echoed in her mind. She had a date to screw two of his executives. It sounded so one-dimensional. She wasn’t screwing Ward. Not like she screwed her other men. What they did was something more than that; she just wasn’t sure exactly what. He was special. He made her feel special. With him, her emotions were intense, and the sex was fabulous. But it was fabulous because he was intense as well. Their needs fed each other. She hadn’t had quite this kind of relationship with any man. She didn’t do relationships, but there really wasn’t a doubt that’s what this was with Ward. He’d walked into her life and pushed just the right buttons in the perfect sequence to unlock something inside her. She actually saw a future with him that lasted longer than a month, a future that was beyond just sex. It was dinners and discussions and asking his opinion and showing him her new creations. There was a certain delicious intensity to those fantasies, to thoughts of coming home to him at night, waking up beside him. The intensity was frightening.