Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance

by Rae Lynn Blaise

  “Needy.”

  “Does your pussy ache?”

  I squirm. “God, yes.”

  Brent brings both hands to the button at his jeans. I can’t look away as he methodically works it until the button is free, and pulls down the zipper. With a swift move, he pushes down the waist of his jeans and briefs and his cock springs free. My mouth waters at the sight of the plump head glistening in the light. Brent wraps his hand around himself and catches my eyes.

  “What would you do if I let you have my cock right now?”

  My nipples press painfully against my bra. My breasts ache for his touch, ache for him to suck and bite and tease them. I’m two seconds away from touching them myself, but he hasn’t commanded me to do so, so I won’t.

  “Suck you off. “I say this hopefully, more than ready to lean forward and take him in my mouth. He closes his eyes and throws his head back, pumping his cock in with long strokes. My inner thighs are definitely wet now too as my pussy pulses, throbs, demands.

  All I can do is watch as he pleasures himself and imagine what he could be doing to me right now. I imagine his hands tangling through and pulling my hair while he fucks me, slapping my ass while I suck him off. God. Each thought makes me wetter, the desire to fuck him crashing over me like waves.

  “Brent…“ It comes out as a needy whine. A smile teases the edge of his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. Another low moan works up from his throat and I squirm again, answering with a pleading one of my own. I squeeze my thighs, thrilled at the burst of pleasure that comes from it, and do it again. He pumps his hand as I keep time with a squeeze-and-release that stimulates my clit more than I thought possible.

  A little more of this and I’m going to fucking come.

  “What else?” He’s a bit breathless and I can’t help but lean into him. My hands grip his thighs, and when he doesn’t stop me, I kiss the back of his hand as he strokes his cock, flicking my tongue out and across his knuckles. He tastes salty. He sucks in a sharp breath and pushes me back. “I said, what else?”

  “I’d get on my hands and knees so you could fuck me.”

  A crooked smile pulls his lips. “Oh, baby, you’ll be on your hands and knees to be fucked. But it’s not your pussy I want this time.”

  His eyes clash into mine and I shudder with the meaning of his words. I don’t smile, though I want to. I don’t do anything because the darkness in his eyes says I’d better not. Suddenly, Brent stands and fists my hair, pulling me upright onto my knees.

  “Stand up.”

  His hands are on the waist of my yoga pants, pulling them roughly down as soon as I get onto my feet. Hastily, I kick off my sandals and pull my legs free from my pants and thong. He pulls off my sweater and spins me.

  “On your hands and knees.”

  I lower again to my knees, this time in the center of the boat. I’m so damn primed with lust that I no longer care that the boat is rocking the barest amount. Or that waves lap at the sides, or that cold air is ravaging my mostly naked body.

  Brent kneels behind me and I instinctively back up until his cock presses into my ass cheek. I know what he wants. He’s going to fuck my ass, and I’m ready. I’ve been ready for this for a long time. I keep clenching my thighs, whimpering with the anticipation of his cock sliding inside my body.

  His hand slides over my pussy. I jerk hard at the contact. It nearly sets me off, the heat and pressure of his fingers against my clit. He palms me, squeezing just so right before diving two fingers into me. I cry out. I’m so wet, exactly what he wanted… what he needs.

  Brent pumps his fingers in and out, pulling out to swirl his fingertips on my clit, then gathering my wetness and dragging it up between my cheeks. I stiffen as his fingers run over my hole. He doesn’t give me the chance to relax before he drives his cock into my pussy. I’m not prepared and it makes the pleasure that much more explosive. He pumps hard, three, four times before pulling out and softly tickling my ass with the head of his dick. I can feel him rubbing my juices all over his cock with his hand, as he teases more wetness out of me.

  “Relax now,” he croons. I try to take a deep breath as I lower myself onto my forearms and push back against him. The first breech of his tip into the tight rosette has me tensing and whimpering. He strokes his fingers along my hip, brushing his way along my belly and lower. Parting my pussy lips, Brent finds my clit again and strokes. I cry out, then again as he slowly guides his cock into my ass, inch by pleasurable inch, until he’s completely inside me. He gently rocks his hips against me without withdrawing his cock, the forward and backward motion moving us together like the boat on the quiet lake’s waves.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I moan at the intrusion. It burns and the pressure threatens to panic me. He’s slow and careful as he withdraws a few inches and then enters more, slightly quicker, repeating until he’s fully seated inside me, stroking my clit the entire time.

  The pressure—it’s too much but not enough.

  “I can’t!” I sob, both wanting to pull away from him and thrust my hips as far back against him as I can.

  “You will,” he whispers. His hips begin to move and my body responds with a build-up of increasing fire and pleasure and the promise of release. Brent makes sounds I’ve never heard before—so raw and primal and full of passion. He works my body with expert control, knowing exactly what I need. I take a deep breath and relax my muscles, allowing him to slide in and out more easily.

  His free hand grips my hips as he increases his pace. My body is on board now, every pleasure center alive as he fills me, strokes me.

  Suddenly, Brent cries out, slamming his cock into me. Pain soaked in pleasure spears through me, again as he thrusts one more time and comes hard. His cock is intensely hard as he shoots his cum inside of me, and the sound of his moans set me off. I come as his fingers dig into my flesh. He dips his head to my back and bites my shoulder, holding my flesh between his teeth until we both stop shuddering with pleasure, floating down from our high.

  Brent eventually pulls out, the motion causing me to shudder again, and then slips my sweater over my shoulders. I wrap it around myself and stumble a little as I get into my pants, feeling delightfully, thoroughly fucked. He holds the blanket out to me with a cocked eyebrow, and I take it before sitting beside him at the front of the boat.

  We don’t speak as he turns the boat and heads back to the boat house. The silence is more than okay, because I’m too exhausted to feel anything but relaxed now. My head feels blissfully emptied of concern, the stress of the day disappearing. The revelation that I’m not scared for the first time in the entire day makes me smile. It amazes me how easily he manipulates my mind, and my body.

  I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them, studying Brent as he navigates. The breeze lightly ruffles his hair, making him look younger. Innocent. It’s an illusion, because a man with this much skill at getting what he wants is anything but. I’m in as deep as Nathalie was when she fell for the wrong man.

  And God help me, falling for Brent may be the last thing I ever do. I don’t know what he’s capable of or what might happen next.

  But I do know one thing with a clarity.

  I’m in love with Brent Masters, and there’s no way out now.

  4

  I wake in the morning with Brent’s arms wrapped around me. At first, I’m confused about where I am, but the scent of his cologne and skin quickly remind me. Smiling, I sink into his warmth and snuggle against his firm chest. He brushes his fingers over my cheek and strokes my hair.

  My body is deliciously sore in all the right places, reminding me of our sexcapade on the boat last night. Despite the aches, I’m ready for a repeat. My skin flushes from his scent, my pulse racing faster from the press of his body. My breaths deepen in anticipation, and turning in his arms, I open my eyes to find him watching me.

  I throw my leg over him and scoot my hips closer to his until we’re nestled together, limb to limb.

  “Good morning,” I
purr and nuzzle his neck. That’s when I realize he smells like soap and his hair is wet. I pull back and look him over. He’s dressed in a button down shirt and slacks. I’m disappointed that he’s already dressed and ready for the day when I just want to keep him in my bed and encourage him to do dirty things to me.

  “Good morning. You slept well.”

  Did I? The scent of coffee reaches me and I spy a tray on the table beside Brent. My stomach rumbles at the whiff of eggs and bacon.

  “Must have been all that fresh air last night.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t stay. I love how his features light up when he truly smiles, how the deeper lines around his eyes seem to melt away. I don’t like to see stress and tension on his beautiful face, but those seem to hallmark his expression. He searches my face, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. And feeling.

  My heart flutters. I love him. I only know this because I’ve never felt this way about anyone, except my sister. The bond I had with her—the way I felt for her—has only been a replicated, somehow, in the attachment I have with Brent. Love is the only thing that explains why I continually offer myself up for his pleasure, even at the risk of my safety and emotional wellbeing…and for all I know, my life.

  “Erica,” he says in that way he has when he wants my full attention. I rein in my wandering thoughts and focus on him. His gaze falls to my mouth and he leans in, twining his fingers through my hair as he kisses me softly. His tongue slips in and out of my mouth before I have a chance to taste him, and he pulls away as I push towards him for another kiss.

  “Yes, Brent?” I breathe, unable to focus on anything but his mouth.

  “You’re moving in.” His voice is hard and even, a complete switch from the way he felt just a moment before. He props himself up on one elbow. “Today. Right now. You’re not to go back to your apartment.”

  “I’m…what?” I try to blink away my overwhelming desire to touch him, to clear my mind and process what he just said. Pulling the covers over my breasts, I sit up and brush my hair from my face. He can’t be serious. I can’t be understanding him correctly. Except. . .the hard glint in his eyes says he is. Dead serious.

  “Until the threats have been contained, I can’t allow you to return home. A bodyguard won’t be enough. I’ll worry too much, and it will distract me from my work.”

  Threats. Contained. It feels like biological warfare or something. I’m both touched and bothered that he made this decision for me. I’d rather we thoroughly discuss it instead of him just outright choosing for me.

  “I appreciate this, Brent, but—“

  “Don’t argue. It’s final.”

  My mouth opens with unspoken questions as my brain races with a million arguments, even though he’s right. A bodyguard might not be enough. Someone broke into my home. There’s no telling where the threat will draw a line, if there’s a line at all. As if reading my mind, Brent leans in and nuzzles a warm kiss in the hollow between my neck and my ear, nipping me with his teeth so slightly that it immediately sends flush of warmth between my legs.

  “You can perform your work here, where it’s safe,” he growls quietly in my ear. “The new security system is bombproof, and I’ve hired guards to watch the front and back doors. No one will get in or out without me knowing.”

  He gets off the bed and smooths his clothes as if this conversation is over. As if my mouth isn’t watering for another touch. The full meaning of what he’s just said continues to swirl through my mind, and as usual, I have more questions than answers. Moving in isn’t as simple as just...staying. All of my very necessary stuff is at my apartment. But the fact that I’ll be so close to him, that I’ll see him every single night, makes my heart flutter and silences the loudest parts of my apprehension.

  “What about my things? I can’t live here and not have my clothes and…you know.” I trail off, realizing that the importance of anything I own suddenly pales next to the idea that I could be here, could be his to fuck every single night if he wishes.

  “I’ll send someone to collect everything.”

  “Everything?” Fear and doubt creep back in. Just how long am I staying here? I can’t imagine this will be a permanent arrangement. That’s just too permanent.

  “Fine. Make a list of things you need, and leave it and your apartment key on the kitchen counter. I’ll have Manuel pick them and head to your apartment at noon.”

  I’m not as uncomfortable with the idea of his driver rifling through my things as I should be. Behind the annoyance of a stranger haphazardly collecting my lingerie and eyeliner are the mixed emotions of being resettled into this magnificent house.

  I begin to worry that I’m losing a part of my identity—rather, that he’s taking it from me—by having to go into hiding in his home. I search his eyes, wondering just how bad the threat could actually be that Brent needs to keep me under lock and key. Like a captive. A flash of last night crosses my mind—the way he gripped my hips as he fucked me, the way he groaned and dug his nails into me as he came. I feel thoroughly wet again just remembering, and I realize that the thought of him so thoroughly owning me pleases me. But him needing to keep me under his protection, versus him wanting to keep me captive for his own pleasure, scares me more than anything.

  I have to know how bad this is.

  He turns to go, but I snag his sleeve with my fingers, trying to hook him back down onto the bed again. He looks down to where I’m lightly holding him hostage and then meets my eyes.

  “How much danger am I in?” I ask, biting the corner of my lip. I trail my hand down his forearm. Despite the comforter covering most of my body, the cold, dispassionate look on his face gives me goosebumps, and I feel my nipples hardening under my sheer, cotton top. I straighten my shoulders, letting him catch him a quick glance at them, then quickly cross my arms across my chest, dropping my eyes.

  The move isn’t lost on Brent. He adjusts his tie and runs his fingers down the length of the silk. I tilt my chin down even farther, let my loose hair fall in front of my face, pretending to stare intently at my lap and masking my quick glance as I check out the growing bulge in his fitted pants. “That depends.”

  I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. His cell phone rings, and he clears his throat before turning away from me to answer. With a few strides of his long legs, he’s at my door. He looks over his shoulder at me and tells the caller to hold on.

  “I’ll have someone bring your company laptop by so you can get some work done. The office to the right of this room is all yours.”

  With that, he returns to his conversation, walks out, and shuts my door behind him. So now I’m moving in and working from home?

  This is more than I can process, and I’m frustrated in more than one way. I hop out of bed and take a long, hot shower. I try sliding my fingers between my legs to relieve the ache, but give up after just a few moments. He’s all I want; inside me, on me, filling me and surrounding me and comforting me that I don’t need to be scared.

  The shower does little to settle my nerves or the general restlessness that’s grown from the constant unknown. My life is one big “what if” at the moment, and I despise it. Someone is toying with Brent and me, and it’s exhausting me. I don’t know who, for certain, though I highly suspect it’s Georgios. With a deep sigh, I suppose that if I have to be a sitting duck, then locked inside Brent’s fortress is the best place to be.

  Remembering the breakfast he’d brought me, I head to the tray and pick at it. It’s long gone cold by now. I take the tray down to the kitchen and nearly drop it when I almost run into a huge man dressed in a solid black suit with shoes polished to a mirror shine. He’s wearing an earpiece with a coil that disappears inside his collar, and sports black sunglasses—even in the house—and hands big enough to crush my skull like a grape.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He steadies me with one of his meaty paws. “I’m doing my morning security check, and then I’ll be out of your way.”

  I can’t a
scertain his expression thanks to the hulking black glasses, but his voice is kind enough. I nod wordlessly, and he continues to the touch screen panel on the kitchen wall. He quickly taps the panel a few times, moving between screens with text I can’t decipher from where I stand, and then strides into the next room without another sound. Brent wasn’t kidding when he said he’d increased security. Leaving the tray in the kitchen, I go to the front door and spy another man through the narrow pane of glass on the side of the door. He’s in black, too, and appears to be taller than the actual doorway.

  Two huge men. Although I didn’t see a gun, I suspect they’re both probably well-armed.

  I feel safe, I suppose, but doubly trapped now. I can’t help but think that Brent hired them to keep me contained as much as he did to keep intruders out.

  I make a fresh pot of coffee, pull a notepad from a kitchen drawer, and work on the list of things I need from my apartment. I spy my purse on the table and fish out my key, though I can’t remember if I locked up again last night before I left with Brent. Not that it matters, really. Someone already broke in once; they could certainly do it again.

  I keep thinking that I should call someone and let them know I’m here and that I’m staying a while. But the sad reality is that there is no one to call. I’ve made no real connections with anyone either at work or outside of it, aside from Donetta. I can’t reveal my situation to her without risking my professional reputation, and I’m not willing to do that. Aside from Brent, I have no one. I’m isolated.

  I’ve isolated myself. I sigh and rub my forehead. I know that I’ve had chances to make friends, but I never did. It just that it’s scary getting that close to someone. I was never good at letting anyone in—especially after my sister died.

  Nathalie was all I had.

  And she was wiped away because of her obsession over a man she should have stayed away from. Absently, I trace the rim of my coffee mug with a finger. A memory of her voice floats through my head, her tone weak despite an obvious attempt to be cheery.