Lila texted a come-on to her sometimes hook-up Jason, but instead it wound up going to her boss, Jaron. Afraid to upset her sadistic superior, Lila follows through when he responds with excitement, only to discover that Jaron knows how to hurt her in exactly the way that she needs.
Right Message, Wrong Man
Annabeth Leong
ForbiddenFiction
www.forbiddenfiction.com
an imprint of
Fantastic Fiction Publishing
www.fantasticfictionpub.com
RIGHT MESSAGE, WRONG MAN
A ForbiddenFiction book
Fantastic Fiction Publishing
Hayward, California
© Annabeth Leong, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the publisher, except as allowed by fair use. For information contact [email protected].
CREDITS
Editor: Rylan Hunter
Cover Design: D.M. Atkins, Siolnatine
Cover Photos: Duey and Honktownman at Dreamstime
Production Editor: Erika L Firanc
Proofreading: Jae Knight
SKU: AL1-000135-01 ARE
ISBN: 978-1-62234-061-3
Published in the United States of America
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction which contains explicit erotic content; it is intended for mature readers. Do not read this if it's not legal for you.
All the characters, locations and events herein are fictional. While elements of existing locations or historical characters or events may be used fictitiously, any resemblance to actual people, places or events is coincidental.
This story is not intended to be used as an instruction manual. It may contain descriptions of erotic acts that are immoral, illegal, or unsafe. Do not take the events in this story as proof of the plausibility or safety of any particular practice.
Contents
1. The Wrong Recipient
2. The Wrong Revelation
3. The Right Kind of Pain
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
The Wrong Recipient
I’m in the neighborhood, I texted Jason. Can I come over? I want to get that big cock down my throat.
He wasn’t my boyfriend, by his choice, not mine. He was willing to hook up when I was horny, so long as he didn’t have anyone else over, and about three times a year, I’d get lonely enough to take that raw deal.
Tonight I just needed someone’s body touching mine. Work had been hell. My boss, Jaron, had ridden me like a show pony all damn day. If it took more than five minutes for me to answer an e-mail, he accused me of reading Internet gossip sites instead of doing my work. At the daily meeting, he threw me under the bus for a project I hadn’t been able to finish because of documents I needed from him. Asshole.
By the time 7 p.m. rolled around and it felt safe to leave—as in, enough other people had left that I wouldn’t be branded a slacker for going home—my shoulders had attached themselves to my ears, my stomach churned, and I desperately needed relief. I couldn’t afford massages or acupuncture. So I went home, threw on a short black skirt and pulled the bra out from under my red camisole, and texted Jason.
My nerves had me so edgy, I couldn’t sit still, so I worked the phone with one hand while balancing on one foot in the foyer, strapping on my sandals with the other hand. I started walking toward Jason’s neighborhood, figuring I ought to support my “in the neighborhood” lie. My dignity hung on how casually I could play this.
I kept having to consciously slow down my pace, because I didn’t want to get to Jason’s place looking sweaty and desperate. The phone buzzed in my purse with a return text, and I sighed loudly enough that a couple walking past turned and rolled their eyes at me. Fishing the phone out, I leaned against the window of a Chinese restaurant and squinted at the tiny screen (yeah, I was rocking a flip phone). Would Jason condescend to fuck me, or did he have a better offer?
This is... unexpected, the reply text said. Too soon for my place. If you want to meet at Crema, we can see what we can negotiate for my cock and your mouth in the alley out back.
I had to read it a few times. Crema? That wasn’t Jason’s neighborhood. That was some fancy neighborhood overlooking the river. And I’d never known Jason to use complete sentences.
Can you be there in 45 minutes? Another message popped up. This time, I watched it come through, complete with a picture of the sender. A military-style buzz cut framing a chiseled face and hard black eyes. A scar notched on the side of his jaw, making him look rough despite the suit he wore. My boss, Jaron. Not my fuck buddy, Jason. I fought down the urge to hyperventilate. Until that moment, I thought the expression, “So embarrassed that she wanted to die,” was an exaggeration.
“Shit, I’m such an idiot.” I said that out loud, and a hipster girl pushing her bicycle smirked at me.
Quickly, I ran through my options. I could ignore his response and try to pretend nothing ever happened. I could answer and try to explain my mistake. Or, I could—was I actually considering it?—tell him I would be there in 45 minutes. A slow, aching pulse between my legs alerted me that at least some of me was definitely considering it.
I stared at the phone as if it would bite me. A lot of foot traffic passed me on the sidewalk. I imagined that each and every one of those people could somehow see through my cell phone, to the screen, and understand what a horrible mistake I had just made.
If I ignored Jaron’s texts, he might ask me about them at work, which would be humiliating as all hell. He might punish me on top of it, if he turned out to be angry at me for teasing him and then disappearing. I couldn’t deal with either of those possibilities.
The sensible thing to do would be to explain my mistake and hope we could both move on from the embarrassment. But what then? He’d just confirmed his interest and sent a lewd text back to me. I’d seen how Jaron reacted when he thought he’d been hung out to dry. Hell, he got mad the time I asked if he wanted coffee and then forgot to go out and get it. How much worse would it be if I offered him a blow job and then made him feel like a fool?
I lifted the phone and made a few attempts to write an explanation. So sorry. That text was meant for this guy I’m seeing, whose name is a lot like yours. I can’t believe I did that. I deleted it. You will not believe how similar your name is to this guy I’m seeing... I deleted that one, too.
Wishing I could throw the phone, I looked at his texts again. Nothing could possibly be a suitable response to his line about his cock and my mouth and the alley out back—especially not after my line about wanting to get his big cock down my throat. I tried one last message. Yes, I typed. I can be there in 45. My heart pounded as my finger hovered over the send key.
I tried to talk myself out of it. Was giving my boss a blow job in an alley really less humiliating than explaining my stupid texting mistake? The boss who made me miserable every single day at work with his unreasonable demands and total lack of empathy? I pictured his unsympathetic, ex-marine face, his hands like iron around the back of my head, his cock driving down my throat harder than I’d ever had it. But the image wasn’t unappealing—on the contrary. I couldn’t imagine Jaron accepting anything less than a full deep throat, and the idea was about to make my panties melt. I really did need someone to make me forget all my stress.
The real question, I decided, was whether blowing my boss would be less humiliating than accepting yet another sympathy fuck from a guy who rejected me afresh every time I saw him. And actually, it seemed like it was. The idea of Jaron seemed hotter by the minute. I pushed send and headed for the bu
s that would take me to his neighborhood.
Crema turned out to be an Italian-style coffee shop that served seventeen kinds of espresso but no coffee, and displayed racks full of tiny chocolate-based pastries with astonishing prices. Jaron waited at a corner table that didn’t seem nearly private enough for the conversation we were about to have.
Compared to the rest of the clientele, I looked like a total slut. The other women all wore business suits.
My cunt let me know how much it liked the disparity, then Jaron looked up, his eyes traveling up and down my body with naked lust. A wave of hatred crashed through my guts, even as my nipples hardened.
I usually didn’t lie to myself about sex. Had I really never noticed how attracted I was to him physically? I cleared my throat and made a mental note to reevaluate the anxiety I always felt around him.
Walking toward him, my body knew exactly what it was doing. My stride changed, rolling my hips as I moved. My chest stuck out. Jaron loved every moment of it, I could tell. He wore the tiny, tight smile that meant he was pleased. For him, it was a bold expression.
“You weren’t really in the neighborhood,” he said when I sat down across from him.
“No. But now I am.”
“You know, I considered reporting you to HR. I didn’t think you were the kind of slut to have such a filthy mouth. But then I decided I liked it.”
My throat caught. I’d never wanted to hear sentences like this coming from my boss. For a second, I fantasized about reporting him for sexual harassment. But what kind of case would I have considering my opening text? And that I’d shown up here? I forced a smile. “I’m glad.”
“It would certainly have gone badly for you if I’d decided I didn’t like it.”
All moisture fled my mouth. The reminder of his power over me dropped like a hammer onto my head. “I’m sure that’s right, sir.” Sir? I blushed. His military demeanor had often brought the word to mind, but it had never come out by accident before.
His smile widened, more than I’d seen before. “How long have you known you were kinky, Lila?”
“Kinky?” I watched porn clips about BDSM on the Internet all the time, but I’d never before thought of myself as a kinky person.
“You’ve never acted on the fantasy before.” He nodded, his expression almost comically similar to the one he took on when writing down requirements for a project at work. I would have giggled, except that the image of seeing him again at work after all of this was more than enough to kill any mirth I might otherwise have felt. “I’d love to know what was going through your head when you sent me that text message.”
“Believe me. Me, too.”
He laughed, and his whole face transformed. I’d never seen him laugh before. It made him look younger, and a lot less horrible. Handsome, even? I squinted, cocking my head to one side. He always looked handsome, when I thought about it, but the military severity gave him a sense of coldness that made it hard to consider him sexually. He was warming up a lot now, right before my eyes.
“I’m not cruel, Lila. I know how to take care of a woman. I’m glad you came to me. If you’re the kind of girl who fantasizes about her hard-ass boss—I know I’m not nice to you during the day—I’m surprised you haven’t been taken advantage of before, in a bad way.” He paused, a nearly invisible frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows. “Have you?”
“Um, not the way you’re talking about?”
“You’ll need to be more specific with me.”
“Well, I’ve never done anything with someone from work before. But there have been plenty of guys who didn’t seem to care very much what happened to me.”
“In a BDSM context?”
“In a life context.”
“You’re saying you’ve had your heart broken.”
“Right.”
“That’s okay. That’s normal. I can’t guarantee I won’t do that, too, or that you won’t break mine. What I will promise is that I will always treat you with the respect and care that you deserve.” He lowered his voice to a gravelly buzz. “Even when I’m fucking you so hard that you’re questioning your own existence.”
This whole conversation surprised me. I didn’t think Jaron would talk about this so seriously, or with such obvious long-term intention. My stomach turned again. I thought I could put up with a throat-fucking and swallow a mouthful or two of his come, all for the sake of avoiding trouble at work. Unfortunately, Jaron didn’t sound like he planned to stop after one blow job.
“You sound like we’re having a relationship,” I managed to say.
“Was that not what you wanted?” He leaned forward, face hardening beyond all recognition. I imagined this must have been how he looked during his military days, right before shooting someone in the head. “Let me explain my reasoning to you, Lila. My response to your message might have sounded casual, but you can believe that it wasn’t. You or I or both of us could lose our jobs over this. Even if we don’t get caught, we may have to change jobs. Fucking someone you work with—especially someone from a different pay grade—can have serious, long-term consequences. It’s not a game. It’s not a thing you do for one night. I assumed you had made the same calculation, and decided it was worth the risk. If you didn’t, then you’re not the kind of girl I thought you were. You can get out. And you might want to think about what other jobs you’re qualified for, because I will teach you that up until this point I have been lenient with you.”
I swallowed hard, feeling sick. I’d been with a lot of guys, but no one had ever talked like this. No man had ever thought so hard about what it would mean to be with me. He’d threatened me, but the whole thing was really not what I expected. The longer he talked, the more I wished I wasn’t sitting there lying to him. “Why would you risk so much to respond to one text message?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been up late thinking about this too many nights. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
I blinked. “I didn’t know.”
“You must have. If you thought I’d shoot you down, you never would have gotten in touch the way you did.” Jaron slid his hands across the table toward me, his eyes eating me alive the way they had when I’d walked in the door. “It’s worth it to me, Lila. But I wanted to be sure you’d thought this through.”
“What now?”
“If you want this, then I’ve changed my mind about taking you to my place. We should have privacy, the first time. I’ll humiliate you in an alleyway later. Soon.”
Jesus. His words aroused me so much that it was hard to think straight. If this were up to my body, at this point I’d just say yes and go wherever he wanted. The consequences could wait. Still, I tried to cling to what was left of my mind. The longer this situation lasted, the deeper I would get into this mess, and I couldn’t see any easy way out. If I was going to end up needing a new job either way, maybe I should cut my losses before actually fucking him.
“You made me so miserable at work today,” I murmured, trying to talk myself into telling him the truth. “It would take, like, ten professionals to untwist my muscles.”
Jaron smiled. “It’s how I knew I wanted you. You eat it up when I make you miserable. I can’t wait to hurt you in more pleasurable ways.”
I opened my mouth to answer, then took a deep breath and sat back. I detected a little ring of truth in his words. He thought he knew so much about me. Was he really wrong? My mind ran back over the day. Had I done something to encourage the way he treated me? An image flashed to my mind. Myself, voluntarily bringing up that late project, when the big bosses hadn’t asked a thing about it. The delight in Jaron’s smile when he met my eyes and blamed me for the delays. And there was the tension I’d been feeling for weeks—no, months. Tonight, I’d told myself I needed relief, but maybe I was really just horny. Aroused by Jaron’s harsh demands? Whatever had caused it, I’d been ready to humiliate myself for sex, after swearing I wouldn’t do that anymore the last three times I’d called my fuck buddy.
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I cleared my throat and looked Jaron in the eye. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say, but by now, it wasn’t about not being able to back out. I didn’t want to back out. “Please, sir. Take me to your place.”
Chapter 2
The Wrong Revelation
Jaron didn’t seem to be able to take up enough room to fill his apartment. What little furniture he had pressed up against the walls, as if hanging back from the lonely space in the center of the room. This worked out OK, though, because it allowed his big picture windows to command the attention they deserved.
I’d only ever seen a view that nice by paying for a half hour of it. I stood barefoot on the floor of his minimalist living room, trying not to betray the excitement I felt from looking out the window at the river. Sailboats and kites and grassy banks lined with college students sunning themselves. I felt the wonder of a five-year-old, not the jaded acknowledgement that I thought would go better with having come here to get a taste of my boss’s cock.
Jaron came up behind me, allowing the front of his body to just touch my back. He smelled like leather, with a hint of sweetness. This whole thing was starting to feel like the good kind of mistake. I leaned my head back against him and sighed. His fingertips grazed my hips, working their way under my camisole. I shivered when they made contact with my bare skin.
“We’ll talk negotiation in just a minute,” he murmured into my hair. “But first I have to do this.”
I smiled, arching my neck back further, expecting a kiss. That wasn’t what he had in mind.
Before I knew what hit me, his hands shot up beneath the silky fabric and latched onto both of my nipples. Jaron twisted, hard. I was so surprised, I screamed and pounded my fist into the side of his stomach. He grunted, but didn’t let go, using his leverage to spin me to face him.
“Be quiet,” he said, and made sure I would by plugging my mouth with his tongue. I struggled to get away from the choking kiss, but his grip on my nipples discouraged me from going too far. What had he said earlier about making me question my existence? I thought I understood that comment better.
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