Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance

by Rae Lynn Blaise

  “Stop worrying so much, Erica. I swear, you’ll give me a migraine.”

  “You never used to get migraines.”

  “You never used to bitch at me so much!”

  She was disappearing in front of my eyes. The sparkle that had followed her forever was gone. I could tell she was trying to cling to it, to hang onto what little of herself she had left, but she was letting go and it terrified me.

  I took her bony arms in my hands, holding back tears at the feel of her changed body under my palms. Drugs had ravished her.

  “Look at you, Nathalie, wasting away to nothing. You have to leave him. You have to end this…this relationship. . .before it kills you!”

  She pulled away from me and sank into a chair as if her legs couldn’t hold her anymore. Slowly tapping a cigarette from the package, she held it tight as her hand trembled and attempted to light it.

  She took a puff, blew it out. “I’ve never been happier, Erica.”

  “Liar.”

  I needed to get her out of this city that was slowly eating her alive. She needed treatment and a fresh start. Away from him and somewhere safe, with me, where I’d have her in my life. Forever.

  “Look, my life is exciting. Fast paced, adventurous, and a little dangerous. But I love it. I love him.”

  Deep purple crescents cradled beneath eyes; eyes that had already lost their shine.

  “You’re dying,” I pleaded, a sob choking me so that I can’t say anything else.

  She rolled her eyes and waved me off, taking another long drag on her smoke. She didn’t take me seriously. She’d already blocked me out.

  “I can’t do this without you, Nat!” I tried again.

  “Do what?” She snapped. I dropped to my knees and looked up at her, begging, my heart bleeding my fear.

  “Live.”

  She had refused to leave him, and he made her expendable.

  I jerk as I try to wipe the memory from my mind. My coffee mug goes flying, shattering on the floor. Heavy footfalls thump towards me, but I barely process them.

  I feel darkness rushing in as I think about how expendable I am, too. Brent could easily tell everyone at work that I quit, hide my dead body, and wash his hands of me forever. If that’s what he wants…if that’s what Georgios makes happen, no one will miss me.

  No one will ever look for me.

  “Ma’am?” The guard rushes in, pausing at the doorway to look around the room before approaching me. He knows I’m here, but he’s paid to forget things, I’m sure. He’s no consolation.

  Oh, God, Nathalie, I silently sob. What have I done?

  5

  Brent wasn’t home by ten p.m. and didn’t answer my texts. I was anxious and needed to stop thinking, so I went to bed. I meant to just close my eyes for a few minutes, so I could hear him when he came home. But fatigue crept in, slowly smothering the thoughts running laps through my head, and I fell fitfully asleep. Looking out my window now, I try to relish the newborn sunlight on my face, try to let it banish the overwhelming worry of last night. I’m still in my yoga pants and tee from yesterday, and my crusty eyelashes make me almost regret not bothering to take off my makeup last night. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t care. I’m numb today. I thought sleep might take some of the ache away, but it didn’t.

  If anything, I might feel worse today. I get like this each time I roll around the hard memories of my sister. Combined with my own uncertainties and fears, I’m simply overwhelmed—and not seeing Brent last night, I feel even lonelier. I know it will pass. Sometimes it takes a couple days, but I always pull myself out of it. Except...I’m under Brent’s roof now. I can’t just hide away like I usually do in my apartment, invisible to the world until my morose funk passes. I don’t want him to see me like this, to see my weakness.

  Determined to beat the blues, I shower and dress in the type of fluttery blouse and pencil skirt I’d normally wear to the office, pulled from my things Manuel delivered yesterday. I get ready the same as I would if I were actually going to work, and the act of routine soothes my mind and my nerves. The scent of fresh coffee greets me as I go downstairs, and my heart flips at the possibility of seeing Brent. He’s not in the kitchen, but the trail of his cologne is. The scent travels through my veins and settles at the base of my spine, a hum of wanting and missing and fearing him all coalescing together.

  So…is he avoiding me?

  Trying not to overthink it, I startle when an unfamiliar woman in a maid’s uniform greets me with a cup of coffee. She’s not Brent’s normal housekeeper, but she returns to her tasks with a comfortable stride that says she’s been at this kind of work a long time. She doesn’t speak as she sets out a plate of English muffin breakfast sandwiches and a bowl of fruit.

  I can’t take the suspense any longer.

  “Who are you?” I ask her bluntly. She casts a smile over her shoulder at me, her brownish-gray curls bouncing. She’s filling the sink with water and returns to her task.

  “Mary.”

  “What happened to…?” I realize I don’t know the other housekeeper’s name.

  “I’m not sure, ma’am.”

  I look blankly at the food. My stomach rumbles, but I can’t eat. Perhaps in his frenzy to scrub his security out and start fresh, Brent hired new staff. After all, it is possible the past housekeeper didn’t set the alarm, or left the door open, or somehow failed to secure the house.

  I’m contemplating this as the security guard walks in. It’s the same guy as yesterday. He looks exactly the same, like he hasn’t even changed clothes. He’s so much like a stock character in a film playing the part of Security Detail #1 that it’s almost funny, except his somber expression and intensity scare me just a little.

  He turns my way, probably remembering how I freaked out and smashed a mug yesterday—something I’m good at, it seems—and how he subsequently refused to let me clean it up myself.

  I flash a quick smile and gesture a greeting with my coffee, showing him I have a solid grip on my mug this time. He doesn’t smile back. I don’t know, but for some reason, I want him to see me. To know that I’m here, to remember me if the time comes when I’m not here. First Liz. And now the housekeeper. Both just gone. Yes, it could be my overactive mind at play again, but until I have answers—hard and true answers—I won’t be able to stop wondering.

  Picking up a sandwich, I offer it to him.

  “Breakfast?”

  He waves me off. “You shouldn’t be speaking to me, ma’am.”

  I frown and set the food down. “One of Mr. Master’s rules?”

  “No ma’am. Something you learned in Kindergarten.” He pauses a beat while I stare at him, not comprehending, one eyebrow cocked. “Don’t talk to strangers.”

  With that, he goes to the security panel, same as yesterday, and does his thing. His dismissal stings. Even with the staff around, I’m still alone. That’s when I spot a large computer bag on the opposite counter with my name on it. Inside I find my laptop, work files in manila folders with my handwriting scrawled on the tabs, and other things that I’ll need to essentially set up my office right here. I heave the strap over my shoulder and take my coffee upstairs to the office next to my room.

  Since the strangers won’t give me a little human interaction, I’ll have to settle for my email.

  Without much fanfare, I set my collection of work things on the sleek, wooden desk and log on to my computer. There’s nothing too exciting in my company email inbox, but the feeling of getting into my routine stimulates my brain and pushes the boredom to the sidelines. I flip through the messages, deleting some, responding to others. I’m almost done when I see a heading with my name on it.

  Erica on medical leave

  Confused, I click the message open and find out that I’ll be on extended medical leave because I have mono, but that I’ll be working from home as I’m able.

  How fucking perfect.

  Brent gave me mono.

  I laugh at the ridiculousness
of it. He needed a reason to keep me out of the office, I suppose, but mono? I’m sure everyone is giggling about how I came across that teenage nightmare of a disease. Also, talk about HIPAA violations. Come on, Brent.

  Mildly irritated that he made yet another decision about me without consulting me first, I flip open my spreadsheets and figure out where I’d left off the other day. I dig out the manila folders with paper copies of expense reports from the computer bag and set them aside. Diving back into the bag for a pen, I feel around the bottom without looking, grabbing the first thing I feel.

  It’s a plain, unmarked silver flash drive, and I definitely don’t recognize it. I only use a company-issued, hilariously bright pink flash drive when needed, which is not often. Curious what’s on this one, I close my computer files and slip the connector into the USB drive.

  Suddenly, my office door slams open and Brent barges in. His face is hard, petulant. He closes the door just as hard as he opened it and I sit a little straighter in my chair. Our eyes connect and I feel a familiar rush. It’s like wind bursting through me, making it hard for me to catch my breath so all I can do is hold it until the rush passes.

  He comes over to my desk and simply stares at me. I swallow, worried at first that it’s me he’s angry with. His eyes drag to my throat and lower, and I quickly realize he’s not mad at me. Probably something with work. He wants my attention and hasn’t gotten around to working his anger off before coming to see me.

  My heart flips. He and I have never had trouble working off steam together. The rush returns and I inhale through my nose as a hot flush spreads down my torso and settles between my legs.

  I know just what he needs.

  What I need to kill the boredom and anxiety and doubt still lingering. What we both need to feel right.

  Getting up from my chair, I smooth my skirt and kick off my heels. Slowly, I walk around the desk. Brent watches as I trail one hand on the edge of the desk and then fall to my knees at his feet.

  I bow my head, blood flushing my face as I get into position. “How may I help you Sir?”

  He makes an appreciative sound and I smile, but not enough that he’ll notice. Points for me. Playing boss and secretary is what we both need. God knows I need an orgasm or twenty to take the edge off.

  I think about how much I can still want him, and desire to please him, even as I question his intentions where I’m concerned. It’s twisted, but I can’t stop it. I’m his puppet.

  He tips my chin up with one finger. “I’m in a hard mood right now, Erica.”

  Brent steps closer to me, washing me in his delicious scent. He breathes once, twice, staring at me as if he expects me to simply vanish before his eyes. I blink and breathe and wait.

  “Stand up.”

  I swallow hard and stand. Brent grabs my blouse and rips it free from the waist of my skirt. My chest is rising and falling hard now as the darkness on his face deepens. He splays his fingers over my chest and pushes me backward. It takes a second for me to realize what he wants.

  Placing my hands on the edge of the desk, I scoot my ass to the edge and he keeps pressing. I bend, bringing my legs out in front of me as I lie back onto the desk. The hard wood presses into my spine, the hard edge cuts into my back, and I feel as if my feet are going to slide out from under me on the carpet.

  I’m not normally this flexible and every muscle is screaming to remind me. He sidles between my legs, firmly gripping and then tearing at the side of my skirt. The seam gives way as he tears it from hem to waist. I gasp but don’t move. I don’t dare move.

  Roughly, Brent palms beneath my thighs and pulls my legs around his waist. He leans down until his chest presses into my aching breasts. He reaches beside me for something. Then, he takes my arms and bends them up by my head.

  “Don’t move.”

  I make a tiny nod in agreement and close my eyes. There’s a metallic sound near my ear and a tug on my sleeve, then the unmistakable click of a stapler shooting into wood. He’s stapling my blouse to the desk!

  Brent tacks down my arms with five staples on each side. I figure they couldn’t have gone far into this solid desk, so it won’t take much for me to free myself.

  If I wanted to.

  “That’s right, all it will take is a couple pulls and you’ll be free,” he says, reading my mind. Brent’s lips hover over mine, sparking an electrical current that makes me wet my lips and ache to press mine to his.

  “But if you free yourself before I tell you that you may, you will be fucking punished.”

  Brent works free the last of my skirt and tosses it away. My eyes are glued to his as he unbuttons his pants, his hands bumping against my inner thighs. My pussy aches, begging for his touch. It takes all my will not to squeeze my thighs around his hips and pull him closer to where I need him the most.

  Brent frees himself and yanks my hips down so the head of his cock presses against my pussy. With one hand, he pulls my panties to the side, and guides himself into me with the other. I’m panting and shift so I can open my legs for him.

  But he grabs my thigh hard and keeps me in place, my legs snug around him. Still, he slides in easily, filling me until I moan and cry out. Brent grabs my hips and starts to thrust hard. Mercilessly. His lips find mine, our tongues racing and tangling as he pulls me even lower, pounds me even harder.

  The spiral of pleasure and pain consumes my entire body. My mind is flooded with pulses of ecstasy that keep growing, fast and insistent. I try and look down, but he’s covering me almost completely. The angle of his hips lets him stroke my clit with each thrust. It’s frustratingly not enough—but somehow, just enough.

  I come out of nowhere, exploding beneath him. I break the kiss and cry out, my hands instinctively coming toward my head to cover my eyes, but I can’t move them. I’m so wet that I feel him sliding in and out with ease, but our position makes everything tight, and he’s rubbing me just right. Suddenly, Brent’s cock swells. He grabs my head between his hands. His lips crash onto mine as he comes in long, hot pulses.

  I want to touch him.

  I need to touch him.

  But my arms are trapped. His head dips to my shoulder as he struggles with his breathing. My back screams with discomfort, but my body is still singing from the orgasm and already begging for another.

  It was over too soon. He promised if I was naughty, I’d get more.

  Closing my eyes, I pull my right arm up. It only takes one hard tug and the staples pop free.

  I swear I feel him smile against my neck. Disregarding the possible consequences, I dig my fingers into his hair and hold him close.

  And wait.

  6

  “Get up.” Brent extends his hand to me and I take it. I tug my left arm free and slide off the desk.

  He pulls up his pants and hastily does up the button. Then his fingers find the buttons on my blouse and carefully pop them one by one. It’s weird that he’s being so meticulous about it, considering he’s already ripped my skirt into pieces. But I stand obediently as he strips off my shirt and bra.

  “Hold your breasts in your hands.” Brent sits on the edge of the desk, and pats his thighs. Taking my breasts in my hands, I stand beside him. Before I can do more, he grabs my hair and pulls me down over his legs with my ass in the air.

  The first slap on my ass comes as a surprise. I yelp but quickly muffle it. I knew this was coming; I really did. But the first sting of pain is always shocking, no matter how much I might expect it. He delivers another slap, then another in quick succession, on the same spot.

  My fingers dig into my breasts, and I pull my lower lip between my teeth to keep from crying out. Thankfully, Brent doesn’t spank me again and the pain blossoms into a heated, full-bodied sensation that spreads over my body.

  I love this part.

  I live for this part.

  Gently, he tugs my hair, indicating that I should stand. I do and am careful not to meet his eyes. I like how this is going, and I don’t want to do any
thing that might change the course away from awesome. Liquid pleasure spreads over my body from the spanking, leaving behind a warm glow.

  “That was a taste of what you’re in for. Go to the playroom. Lie on the bed and give yourself an orgasm while you wait for me. I want to hear you coming when I walk into the room.”

  I hitch an eyebrow. That… doesn’t sound like punishment, but who am I to argue?

  “Yes, sir.”

  I duck my head and leave the room, slightly worried as I navigate the hallway that I might run into a security guard. Mostly naked isn’t the way I wanted him to remember me. I relax once I’m safely inside the playroom. The lights pop on to a soft glow as I cross to the bed and settle on top of the covers.

  Resting my head against the soft pillows, I take a breath and close my eyes. Despite my willingness to do as he asked, I feel exposed and vulnerable. I don’t have many sexual boundaries, but something about his request is openly personal.

  Slowly, I smooth my right hand over my stomach and up to my breasts. The air is cool and my nipples are perked. Goosebumps decorate my skin. I don’t know how quickly he’s going to arrive, and the added pressure of performing for him makes it that much harder to get into it. But as I roll my nipple between my fingers and put my other hand between my legs, my mind starts to warm up to the idea.

  And my body starts to respond.

  As soon as I stroke my clit, my libido bursts to life. Finding a perfect rhythm is easy and I barely realize as I lose myself in the pleasure. Maybe I’m moaning; maybe I’m not. I don’t really care. Let him punish me some more—damn, that’s good—because I welcome whatever he can dish out.

  The door opens just as I’m about to come. I don’t open my eyes. If I look at him, I’ll lose my orgasm and God, I can’t not come now. I don’t hear him come closer, but I probably wouldn’t even if he had. I cry out as the pleasure explodes. Barely conscious of anything happening around me, I startle as Brent’s hands press into my thighs and spread them wide apart.