I don’t reply. He left me guessing all weekend and now it’s his turn. He’s cocky and confident enough to assume I’ll show up, but it won’t hurt him to be kept wondering.
I can barely focus on my work the rest of the day. Something that comes so easily and usually centers me is completely out of my ability, thanks to Brent and his sexy texts. By the time I get home, I’m still high with anticipation. I slick lightly scented body oil on my freshly shaved skin and prepare myself the way he asked—form-fitting work skirt, pale pink blouse with the top button undone, my hair in a chignon. No panties.
It’s almost dark by the time I get in my SUV and drive to Brent’s. I’m on autopilot really, not overthinking tonight, not dwelling on what’s happened between us before. It’s exciting to take each new experience as it comes, especially as each one seems to unveil something new.
His half-circle driveway is completely dark as I drive in. Pulling up to the house, I frown to see the windows and porch are completely dark, too. Did he forget? A shiver goes down the back of my neck. Maybe my plan to keep him guessing just backfired. His car isn’t here, but then again, he probably parks in the attached carriage garage.
Getting out of the car, I pause to look around and listen. It’s quiet out here with just a layer of crickets sounding in the air. Rubbing goosebumps from my forearms, I go up the steps, but pause again before knocking. My lungs go tight and I breathe hard around the constriction. This is silly. He forgot to turn on a light … maybe fell asleep waiting for me. A tingle shoots between my legs as I reach for the door. I’ve been looking forward to this all day. My body is ready.
But my shoulder muscles go tense and I spin to look behind me. The shadow of my car greets me, the outline of Brent’s immaculately trimmed shrubbery and the single, dark lamppost in the drive.
I’ve navigated darker streets than this. Dangerous ones. And I’ve made it this far unscathed. With a nervous laugh at my silliness, I knock. The door pushes open a little when I do. Frowning, I grab the handle. The door was unlocked, open.
Warning flares through me and I’m frozen in place for a second. Did someone break into Brent’s home? I should run back to the car and call 911. But Brent could be inside, needing help. I dig into my purse and grab for my cell phone. I can’t find it in the other junk, but I know it’s there. Forcing myself forward, I slowly push the door open with my elbow and step over the threshold.
My skin goes ice cold, and the urge to flee is so strong, I almost give in. Almost. For some reason, I’m drenched between my legs as if fear and lust can’t tell each other apart.
Story of my life lately.
Finally, I feel my cell phone beneath my fingertips and reach in a little more to grab it.
I’m just about to call Brent’s name when the strap of my purse is jerked off my arm. The motion half spins me. I scream, but it’s cut off as a hand closes around my throat.
I pull in a startled half-breath as the hand cinches slightly.
Suddenly, my feet leave the floor as I’m dragged backwards. I grab the forearms crossed over my body and dig my nails into the supple flesh. Hard muscles meets my attack, so I dig harder. A male grunt sounds in my ear, but whatever pain I’m inflicting doesn’t seem to faze him.
We stop and I’m pulled even more firmly against a hard chest. Something long and hard presses against my ass and it takes a second to realize it’s his erection.
Oh, hell no. I haven’t come this far to be raped on the floor of my boss’s home. Not after surviving the streets I was on six years ago.
I start to thrash, twisting in his arms but they hold me so tightly, I barely move at all. Kicking behind me, I cry out in frustration when I only make contact with air. A sound like a chuckle sounds in my ear. He’s enjoying this.
It dawns on me … Georgios.
Did he hurt Brent? Did Brent … did he send Georgios’ men here for me?
I think of the images of him and Brent together that I found in my Google search. I still don’t know what their connection is, but Brent never gave me any verifiable indication that he was working with the Greeks.
He wouldn’t set me up this way. Would he?
Oh, God. The panic floods my nervous system in an instant.
I pant around the pressure on my throat, surprised to find it’s easier to breathe than I thought. One hand is pressed against my abdomen. It starts to wander, the fingers walking down, the palm sliding flat against my skirt. He ruffles the fabric, pulling it up as he keeps sliding lower.
I wait for my opening. My body goes alert, my senses sharp as I struggle to listen around my own breathing. I have to do something, but I don’t know what. I’m completely overpowered. I can only make out basic shapes in the dark … hear his breathing, slow and even and unbothered behind me.
Maybe I can …
Damn … little sparks of pleasure dart between my legs as his fingers stray close to the apex of my thighs. Something feels familiar about this but I can’t pinpoint it through the fear. Suddenly, my thighs are bared and his fingers delve between my lips. I jerk, disgust and passion equal in my blood.
I’m slick, completely soaked. What the hell is wrong with me? Tears prick my eyes because I’ve gone still again and I don’t want to move. His hand moves up my throat to palm my chin and jerk my head up.
“Fight harder, kitten.”
I sag with relief at Brent’s voice in my ear. I realize then that I’ve been wrapped in his scent. My brain recognized it, and it took away the sharp edge of fear even as my body was prepared to fight. No wonder I’m so damn turned on. Deep down, I knew it was him. Didn’t I?
“Jesus, you’re so fucking wet.” He strokes my clit with purposeful glides of his fingers. I want to sink into the sensation, but his arm tightens around me. He wants me to struggle. He wants me to fight him. Tying me to the bed was nothing—this is another sexy game of his. It’s raw and my pulse pumps through me, but I’m so turned on that I can’t deny him, the panic having melted into an equal amount of lust.
Twisting in his arms, I grunt and try to push away from him. He breathes hard in my ear, holding me tight as his fingers work me into a fucking frenzy. But I don’t stop fighting, kicking and clawing at his arm. With a growl, he spins me in the dark. My hands come out in front of me on instinct, my forearms pressing into a wall as he pushes me against it. Moisture runs down my thigh, my clit so swollen and needy that I’m going to come any second.
But I don’t stop fighting. I get one hand free and twist. With all my strength, I slap, my palm making contact with the side of his face. The crack fills the air and we both pause. Oh shit. I don’t know how far he’ll take this … how far I’ll allow him to take this. Danger crackles between us. Not waiting to find out, I keep struggling, a little bit afraid for real again.
Brent bends me lower and jerks my hips back toward him. In a flurry, my skirt falls away and his fingers are on my clit again. I can’t think straight. It takes all my willpower to keep struggling because the sensation is taking over.
The tip of his cock breeches my pussy. I cry out, and he thrusts so hard, I nearly lose my balance.
“You’re going to pay for slapping me.”
“Yes. Yes, sir!” I sob as he thrusts hard enough to push my knees into the wall. I’m riding the edge of an orgasm that won’t fucking come and it’s making me mad.
“Brace yourself.”
I scramble to put my palms on the wall and then he’s riding me hard, fast. It’s almost brutal, but the pleasure makes the power worth it. Suddenly, another crack fills the air and my ass cheek stings from his slap. He thrusts again and it sends me over.
I can’t fucking stand it. I scream. I can hear myself, crying out over and over, and the pleasure keeps coming. My legs go weak and I can’t stand because I’m so consumed with the feeling. Brent’s hands grip my hips, his nails digging into my flesh as he fucks me like a wild animal.
He pulls out, his hot cum shooting across my lower back and down my ass.
“Holy shit.” I gasp. My legs give out and I slide to my knees. My head swirls as consciousness threatens to fade. I feel myself being lifted, cradled against warm flesh and then laid on something soft.
Brent’s voice fills my head. “Good girl. So, so good. Just lie back.”
Through heavily-lidded eyes, I watch as he leaves and comes back with a warm washcloth. He rubs it over my back and inner thighs. Turning me, he adds more warm water and bathes my breasts. It’s hot and soothing and I drift off.
When I come to, I’m alone in the bedroom and I can hear the sound of the shower running in the ensuite bathroom.
I lie there for a minute, soaking everything in—what we just did. How wrong it should have been to play that way, but how incredible it felt anyway. I’ve never come that hard in my life. Each time with Brent gets more and more intense. How long can this last? How long can I?
I feel languid and lazy, but I if I don’t get up, I’m going to fall back asleep. I want to be awake when he gets out of the shower. Groggily, I get up and stretch. His room is warm, the lighting soft. No wonder I can’t seem to wake up. Looking for something to stimulate my brain, I wander to a painting he has hanging above his dresser. Similar artwork is neatly placed throughout the room. Same artist, I realize. He has a thing for art and antiques. The finer things in life.
I smile at these little peeks into Brent as a person. A pair of silver cufflinks lay atop his dresser. They’re simple squares. The watch next to them is plain, too. Not a fancy brand I recognize, though he could more than afford one if he wished. Beneath the polish, Brent still has some simple tastes, it seems.
I touch the watch, eager to hold something that he’s worn as if it might give me more insight. One of the cufflinks catches in the watch band and drops down into the slightly open top drawer of his dresser.
“Oops.” Quickly, I set the watch down and open the drawer a bit more to retrieve the cuff link. Reaching in, I grab something firm lying beneath a shirt. I have to move the shirt aside to get the cufflink, and whatever lies there looks like a belt. Strange place for a belt, between two shirts.
A wicked thought crosses my mind, about what Brent could do with that.
Setting the cuff link down, I go back for the belt. As I lift it, I realize it’s not a belt.
It’s a collar.
The kind a submissive would wear.
The dark, glossy leather has a lighter feminine edging and a beautiful gold clasp and ring. Absently, I open it and hold it to my neck. What would he do, to see me wearing it? I finger the leather, relishing the smoothness of it. What would it be like to wear one of these again?
I know he wants me to be his. Maybe he bought this, just in case?
The thought gives me joy. I … I want to wear it. I want to be his.
Elated with the realization, I bring the collar back toward my neck. I just want to feel it against my skin. But that’s when I see it.
Lowering it a bit, my eyes narrow as I spy words written in gold thread on the inside of the collar.
Nausea rises in my throat.
My Liz.
Volume Three
1
I can barely see through the rain and my tears.
The sky let loose moments after I jumped into my car and sped away from Brent’s house. I can’t get the image of those two words out of my head. My Liz. He lied to me. He flat out lied. After I trusted him enough to let him play a violent scene with me. After I allowed myself to secretly love every second of fear and discomfort and ecstasy that scene gave me.
He fucking lied.
Never had an employee as a submissive, my ass! He told me Liz had been the head of marketing when he launched the casino. Considering the casino’s remarkable success, she must have worked pretty closely with Brent to pull it off—while he pulled off her clothes and put her in a pretty collar.
God, I’m so fucking pissed, I don’t even know where I’m going. Home, probably.
No, no. Not home. He’ll just find me there. Knowing Brent, he’ll be at my door before I can manage to turn the lock. He’s too arrogant to let me slip out on him like this.
And he’s too much of a dick to tell the truth.
I bypass the route I’d normally take to my apartment. Rubbing my forehead with one hand, I turn in a different direction and stop trying to control my thoughts. I have to let them run their course or the pressure inside my head will just get worse.
I need to cry, but I won’t, because once I let loose, I’ll crumble.
How many other employees have there been? How damn many women’s skirts has he ripped off before bending them over his desk? This is probably a pattern with him. Hadn’t Donetta said he rewarded exceptional talent?
The sick feeling in my gut gets worse when I think of Donetta. She’s probably part of his office harem, too. No wonder she gets away with talking back to him, drags apologies from his reluctant lips, and puts candy bars in his desk. She knows how to work Brent.
And he’s rewarded her by moving her up the ranks. Like he’s doing with me.
The bitter sting of tears worsens. I know the life of a true submissive, what it means to completely hand over my power to a man in exchange for pain and pleasure. The need to submit has always been a secret inside of me that few people know about. It’s hard to believe that he finds so many ready women willing to live that role.
If you’re not submissive by nature—if the promise of pain and pleasure doesn’t turn you on—it’s not something easily faked. It would be difficult for any woman not into Brent’s kind of play to endure it for long.
So does he have a radar for finding women who love it? Maybe Donetta does. She does most of the hiring, after all. Could she be hand-selecting women for Brent’s use?
“Stop it!” I say out loud, hitting the steering wheel with my palm. I’m taking this way too far right now. Or am I? Anger and hurt are running with my basic fears and stretching them into flat-out nightmares.
I press the gas pedal, going faster than I should through the empty city streets. A red light flashes up ahead and I blow through it. My entire relationship with Brent to this point has felt out of control, as if I’ve been heading for this very moment of recklessness. I could walk away unscathed, or I could crash and burn. All I know is that I need to go faster, to press my luck and gamble with fates. Adrenaline pumps through me, taking away the edge of pain I felt as a result of Brent’s lies.
Another light ahead fades from yellow to red. I take my foot off the gas but don’t brake. A Camry cuts through the intersection mere seconds before I blow the light. Heart racing, a burst of elation goes through me, but it fades fast. I’ve been riding the highs and lows since the moment I met Brent, and I’m going to get myself killed if I don’t cool it.
How did I let my life get this messed up? Again?
Wiping at my eyes, I take a sharp left and head to Van Dyke. The roads are narrow and lead away from the city with gentle turns amid a frame of billowing trees. The rain slows to a trickle, my headlights cutting through the wet air in brilliant stripes ahead of me. I focus on the lights, my mind quieter now. I need to talk to someone about Brent and about how easily I let him lead me on.
Only one person could ever understand how Brent captured me so completely.
Pulling into a circular gravel drive, I get out in the foggy mist and clutch the cool, wrought iron bars of the arching gate at Mt. Olivet cemetery. A chain lock holds the gates together, but it won’t stop me. This isn’t the first time I’ve come to talk to her after the cemetery was closed for the night.
Kicking off my heels, I walk the length of the fence until I find the right spot. The entire fence is made of twisted black iron bars topped with peaked spears, and interwoven with horizontal bars. I climb until I’m at the top. There’s just enough space between the tops of the bars for me to slip through without impaling myself—sort of.
I have to wiggle gingerly until I slip between them and carefully swing my leg over so I ca
n climb down the other side. My skirt catches on one of the points. I jerk, trying to pull it free but it only snags harder. Gripping one bar in each hand, just below the spears, I try to get enough leverage to free myself, but each movement brings me closer to piercing my thighs on the sharp tips. Deciding to just go with it, I manage to go up and over. A loud ripping sound rents the air as my skirt tears on the spear.
Cold air assaults my mostly bare ass as I start the descent on the other side. I’ll get the skirt on my way out. Right now, I just need my sister.
Moving through the headstones and marble angel statues, it only takes me a few moments to find her grave in the dim moonlight. The ground is slick and mushy beneath my bare feet. I slide a bit when I reach her, falling to my knees and crawling until I touch the base of her headstone.
A bouquet of pink roses lies near the stone. I do a double take, thinking I’ve gone to the wrong plot. I’m the only one who leaves flowers here—there is no one else to care about Nathalie but me. It touches me that a random person might have seen that. Some kind-hearted stranger will be in my prayers tonight.
Carefully moving the bouquet aside, I lie on the wet ground and curl around the stone as if I’m protecting a precious child.
The turmoil inside me recedes, leaving behind a lump in my throat. For a long time, I simply breathe, drawing in chilly air in and letting it puff slowly out. Mist covers me like a tickly, wet blanket, slicking across my bare arms, hip and legs. If anyone saw me, they’d probably be scared out of their mind to find a crazy, half-naked woman lying with her arms around a headstone. I don’t have it in me to care, and no one will come here anyway, save for other lost souls. I want to say something to my sister, to let her know I’m here, but my mind becomes silent and aware, as if she already knows.
We never did have to say much to each other to know what was going on in the other’s heart.
“You’ll never believe it!” I hear her voice in the deep recess of my mind, and a memory sparks to life.
Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance Page 11