Boss Naughty

by Hart, Alexa

  “No, it’s not.” His normally warm voice is cool steel, calm, but menacing. “She doesn’t belong to you— “

  “She sure as hell doesn’t belong to you!” My father bellows, cutting him off.

  “You’re absolutely right. She doesn’t belong to me because she’s not a fucking object.” Julian releases my hand, stepping forward instinctually with each icy word he hurls at my father. I suppress a smile, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him right here in this room. As much as I adore Julian for sticking up for me, this is my fight.

  “Julian,” I gently grab his arm, willing him to look at me, instead of my father, “I need to speak with my father alone. Can I call you later?”

  He searches my eyes for a moment, hesitation flooding his own emerald orbs, before conceding with a small nod. “Of course.”

  His voice is calm, all traces of it’s earlier ice gone as he mutters the warm words, sending me messages with his eyes. I love you. I’m here for you. I’m not above killing your father.

  I shoot him a reassuring smile as he plants a small peck on my cheek, retrieving his phone from the coffee table, where he’d abandoned it last night. As he makes his way to the door, Julian stops beside my father, leaning in deliberately to unsettle him.

  “One more thing – I was never going to endorse you. You bartered your only child to me for fucking nothing.”

  My father flinches as though the words themselves struck him, a flicker of fear in his expression as he meets Julian’s intruding gaze. They hold like that for a small moment before Julian breaks the eye contact, strolling out the door leisurely, finally leaving me alone with the devil.

  “You’re quitting, today, and you’re moving home. I’m not arguing with you about this Ryan. And you’re never to see that man again.” The orders tumble from my father’s mouth, rushed, lacking their earlier conviction. It’s clear that Julian’s words had an effect on him.

  “No. I’m not. I like my job. I like my apartment. And I love Julian.” I announce, continuing quickly, before my father has a chance to interrupt me. “He cares about me, and my writing. That’s two things more than I can say for you.”

  My father scoffs at me, waving his hands in dramatic exaggeration. “We’re still on this? When are you going to grow up? You’re acting like a child with this foolish hobby, and I won’t have any more of it. You’re coming home, and you’re finding a real job, away from that man, and that’s final.”

  “I’m not, and you can’t make me.” I work to maintain the even tone of my voice, despising the childish feeling of arguing with my father. As many times as I’ve tried I’ve never quite been able to figure out how to explain to him that I’m an actual autonomous person, with real thoughts and feelings of my own. Instead, I always end up sounding like a brat, whose stomping her feet at not getting her way.

  My father’s eyes are blazing with fury, threatening to engulf me. His brow raises with one last challenge.

  “You will, or I’ll make sure you never see your trust fund.”

  I pause for a split second, out of pure shock at the blindsiding threat. To be fair, I haven’t thought about my trust fund in years. The account isn’t set to be released to me until I turn 25 anyway, and it’s funded entirely by my grandparents’ estate. My father has never contributed a single dime to it. Would I really miss something I haven’t had yet anyway?

  “Okay.”

  “What?”

  “Okay,” I repeat myself, a sudden sense of calm washing over me. This was his last-ditch effort at controlling me, and he’s failed. “Keep the trust fund. You need to leave now.”

  My father sputters for a moment on his lost words, failing to find a counter for my calm acceptance of his terms. Brushing past him, I open the front door, expectantly, chin held high. After a few moments of disbelief, he gathers himself, stomping out of my apartment in a childish huff.

  I gently close the door behind him, uselessly locking it.

  Chapter 18

  Julian

  My heart threatens to jump out of my chest, racing in pure, white-hot rage as I sit statue-still in the seat of my car, waiting out-front of Ryan’s building. She’s asked me to leave so she can speak with her father alone, but knowing Christian Blake, it’s going to be a fairly short conversation. Clenching my fists in my lap, I work to steady my breathing, doing all that I can do to alleviate the shaking in my arms; an unfortunate byproduct of the fury-induced adrenaline. Without anything to pound my anger into, the energy sits, rattling inside me.

  Predictably, after only a few short minutes, I see Christian emerge from the doorway of her building, slyly passing the doorman several bills. His face is scrunched in dissatisfaction. Good.

  As if on cue, my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket, the screen lighting up as I retrieve it, Ryan.

  “Are you okay?” I answer the call immediately.

  “Are you still here?” Her voice is terse, like it could crack at any moment.

  “Yes. I’m coming up.”

  Ending the call, I slip the phone back into my pocket, signaling to Nick in the rearview to follow me out of the car.

  “Sir?” He greets me on the sidewalk. Though his words are directed to me, his eyes dart around us, ever-alert.

  “Nick.” I acknowledge him, “I need you to deal with someone for me.”

  * * *

  “Ry?” I call out her name through the thick wooden door of her apartment, accompanying the words with two short knocks. She opens it immediately, not bothering with a response as she barrels into my chest, burying her face in my shirt. I couldn’t catch a glimpse, but I am almost positive her cheeks are tear stained.

  “I know. It’s okay.” I whisper the small platitudes to her, backing us gingerly into her apartment and closing the door behind us. I run my hands down the length of her still bed-messy hair, planting a short kiss atop her head. Her arms grip me as tight as I’m sure she can manage. I return the gesture, squeezing her reassuringly, and murmuring promises in her ear that it will all be okay. On the inside, though, I am boiling. How dare he make her cry? What did he say to her?

  “He wanted me to quit, and leave you, and move home.” Ryan sniffs, pulling away from me to wipe her red-lined eyes. Of course he did. I clench my jaw in a failing effort to reign in my anger. Running a comforting caress along her cheek, I don’t respond, allowing her time to gather her thoughts. I’ve found that sometimes it’s better to simply listen, rather than to give advice.

  “I said no,” she continues, swiping the back of her hand across her cheeks to wipe away the salty remnants of her upset. Her voice grows stronger with her explanation. “He took away my trust fund.”

  “What?” The exclamation leaves my lips before I have a chance to stop it. That fucking bastard. He can’t control her with emotional abuse, so instead he resorts to financial abuse?

  The adrenaline-induced shaking appears once more, this time coursing throughout my entire body as I pull her into another hug. Kissing her cheek, I reassure her.

  “Everything will be okay, Ryan. You don’t need him. I’ll make sure you have a salary to rival the trust fund anyway.”

  A small chuckle escapes her lips, cutting through the tears, eliciting a twinge of pride in my chest, for being able to make her laugh despite her upset. The small ray of the moment eclipses back into darkness as a sudden realization overtakes her, prompting a whole new flood of silent tears to cascade over her blotchy red cheeks.

  “I don’t have my parents anymore.”

  She curls around me, nuzzling her head into the crook of my neck, shaking with small sobs. I encircle her in my arms, rubbing her back and whispering small useless platitudes to her. The truth is, nothing will fix the devastation she’s feeling right now. Nothing but time.

  Brushing a kiss to her temple, I silently resolve to ruin Christian Blake for this.

  Chapter 19

  Ryan

  “Shocking News tonight as New York’s most beloved CEO, Julian Price, comes
out in support of Anne Recker for governor. The move, just a few days before the election, by the philanthropic billionaire will come as quite a surprise to many who believed he would be sure to endorse Governor Blake, who's daughter he’s currently dating—“ pointing the sleek chrome remote at Julian’s absurdly oversized flat screen, I mute the nightly news, uninterested in hearing more updates about my father’s declining success in running for re-election. It’s been three months since I kicked him out of my apartment, the day he caught me with Julian. And it’s been three months since I’ve spoken to him, or my mother. I stopped hoping she’d reach out despite him weeks ago. Now, I’m working to focus only on us.

  “Good evening, beautiful.” Julian’s warm voice greets me from behind as he wraps his strong arms around me, planting a kiss on my cheek.

  “Mm, good evening, handsome. You’re home early.” I observe, twisting in my seat to greet him with a kiss.

  Despite my initial resolve to keep my apartment, Julian finally convinced me to move in with him a few weeks ago. After many bribes of a newly renovated library, and home office, I relented, breaking my lease early. To be fair, I couldn’t remember the last night I’d spent there anyway.

  Julian came through on all of his promises, just like I knew he would.

  The library is gorgeous. He brought in a home designer, who paneled the walls in dark wood, all the way up to the high ceilings, adorning them with ornate shelves, and a wrought iron rolling ladder, to ensure that I can reach every book despite my lacking height. My writing desk is tucked in the corner, illumined in soft golden light from the hidden bulbs that light the shelves around it. It is the epitome of the word grand. Its dark-stained wood is thick and ornate, without a single flaw to give away the vintage piece’s age. Behind it sits a large leather chair, whose heavy padding is great for curling up in, when I want to read a book, or for other things, when Julian visits me as I work.

  As a result of the incredible room he gifted me, I finally finished my book just a few weeks ago, and sent it to another editor at my company to publish. I initially had reservations about taking the job that Julian essentially bought for me, but now that I’m in it, I can’t imagine things any other way. Though, I do miss seeing him at work every day.

  “How was your day? Have you heard anything about your book yet?” Settling into the beige accent chair across from my desk, Julian undoes the button on his suit jacket, reaching up to loosen his tie, discarding the day’s discomforts.

  “It was good! I’m almost done with this manuscript submission we received, it’s really incredible. You have to read it when you get a chance,” I push the thick stack of unbound papers across the smooth wooden surface to him, he picks it up gingerly, thumbing through it as I continue. “I haven’t heard anything about a first-printing yet. Though, I imagine they’re being extra thorough with the editing process, being that I happen to be their boss’ boss’ boss’ live in girlfriend.”

  Julian grins at my explanation, long having abandoned his efforts to convince me that no one at work will think poorly of my relationship with him. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. Let them think whatever they want to think.

  “I don’t suppose I’m allowed to read it yet?” He chuckles at me as he asks the futile question. He’s been trying for weeks now in this particular endeavor, but each time I find some new way to stave him off. ‘When it’s finished,’ or ‘once it’s edited,’ or the upcoming, ‘once it’s published.’ In truth, I’m hoping he’ll eventually give up, and forget about it. I don’t answer the borderline rhetorical question, instead passing him a knowing smile and subject change.

  “The news is rather interested in you today,” despite the lightness in my voice, there is a shift in the electricity of the room. This always happens when my father comes up in conversation, though neither of us has heard a peep from him since the day he caught us.

  Julian sighs heavily, pushing against his seat to stand and approach me from around the desk. “I know, I’m sorry, beautiful. How are you feeling?”

  He sits casually against the inner corner of the desk, his soft hand cupping the side of my face in concern. I nuzzle into the sweet embrace, never growing sick of the warmth of his skin against mine.

  “I’m okay,” I lament. “I could be better, though.” With a small quirk of my brow, I shift the air around us, transforming the dark mood from worry, to something entirely different.

  “Well, I do believe I can help with that.” Julian chuckles, gripping me by my upper arms to pull me from the chair, settling me in front of him, standing between his legs. He brushes a soft kiss across my lips, a gentle and comforting caress. Though I understand his reservations, gentle and sweet is not what I’m looking for in this particular moment.

  “Do you remember that wager I won?” I ask him, my smirk growing as I see the memory flash across his eyes, a trace of resentment still evident in their glassy reflection.

  “Wager? I believe you hustled me, Miss Blake.” I chuckle at the use of my surname, a tactic he only employs when he’s admonishing me.

  “I don't think you can hustle in chess, Mr. Price. That practice is solely reserved to billiards.” I correct him with an overflowing amount of amusement in my voice, goading his competitive nature slightly, with my superior chess skills. “Anyhow,” I continue, “I’d like to cash in on my prize now, sir.”

  Julian studies me intently, his posture straightening a fraction of an inch at my use of the title we designated in London. We haven’t revisited the “rules” topic since that night, and I suspect it’s because he doesn’t want to push me too hard too quickly.

  The sentiment is sweet, but I’m more than ready to be pushed.

  “Well, a bet’s a bet. Your wish is my command sweetheart.” Julian outstretches his arms, waiting for me to order him. Running my fingers gingerly up and down his thighs, I pause for a moment of hesitation, the foreign-feeling words tasting out of place on the tip of my tongue.

  “Actually, sir, I was hoping it’d be the other way around.”

  Julian’s brow raises in apprehension, an amused and delighted shock adorning his sinful features as his lips bloom into the challenging smirk that I’ve grown to adore.

  “Oh princess,” his hands tangle roughly in my hair, “you don't know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask that.”

  Pulling me into a rough and feverish kiss, Julian tightens his grip in my locks, maneuvering my head as he pleases to suffocate me with deep and commanding kisses, each one longer than the last. When I finally push against his hard, flat chest, I am heaving for air. He chuckles darkly against me, leveraging his grip to push me to my knees as he stands in front of me.

  “Remember what I taught you, princess?”

  Unbuckling his belt, Julian snaps the thick Italian-leather accessory at me, raising goosebumps along my skin as he frees himself from his slacks. Would he actually use that on me?

  “Yes sir.” I nod dutifully, looking up at him as I wrap a strong grip around the base of his shaft, guiding his already-glistening tip into my mouth. The mild salty taste of his pre-cum washes over my tongue, eliciting a moan from deep in my throat. Julian curses at the vibrations, pushing me further down onto him, refusing to relent his grip until he is hitting the back of my throat. My fingertips dig into the muscles of his thighs as I work to steady my breathing, my core clenching at the erotic feeling of submitting to him so fully. Julian glances down to catch my tear-filled eyes, making sure that I’m ready before he begins to move. I blink at him once, a small gesture of reassurance. He understands my meaning, just like I knew he would. With that, he is moving. Harshly. His grip on the hair at my temples burns as he uses it for leverage, fucking my face at an unforgiving speed. I struggle not to gag as he assaults the back of my throat, over and over, focusing on breathing through my nose. After a few minutes of enjoyment, he pulls out of my mouth, lifting me without warning to slam me over the desk, his grip pressing the side of my face into the hard wood.


  I silently thank God that I wore a dress today, shifting on my feet as he raises the loose hem to rest around my waist. Picking up the discarded belt from its place on my leather chair, Julian tugs on my hair to command my already undivided attention.

  “Is this what you want, princess?” He rubs the soft leather against the bare skin off my ass, being strangely gentle with the weapon.

  “Yes sir.” I breathe the confirmation, hot condensation spreading across the polished wooden surface in front of my gaping mouth.

  With a dark chuckle, Julian cracks the belt across my skin harshly, its length spanning across my ass, brushing my sensitive pussy with its force. I scream out against the desk, wriggling in his grip, despite having no desire for him to stop. He snaps the belt against my skin again, and again. I am sure each new assault raises a welt in its wake, but I don’t care. There is a deep and peaceful warmth growing in my chest, filling me with utter comfort at the feeling of being completely and helplessly his.

  “I think I need to find new ways to punish you, princess. You’re dripping all over my belt.” Julian runs two fingers along the outside of my opening, teasing me with the contact as he admonishes me for my response to his punishment.

  “I’m open to that.” I inform him, moaning as he inserts a single finger into me, up to its hilt.

  “Are you sure about that?” The wicked challenge in his voice makes me pause for a moment – what could he have planned?

  “I’m sure.” Despite the conviction in my voice, it is an utter lie. I’m slowly learning that my imagination is absolutely no match for his, when it comes to deviant sexual activities. Julian snickers darkly, tightening his grip in my hair, rousing my suspicions.

  Withdrawing his finger, he trails it upwards, causing me to jump in his grip, a surprised shriek escaping my lips as his touch grazes across the tight knot of muscles he’s been hinting at exploring.

  “Are you still sure, princess?” He challenges me, daring me to provoke him.