The Boss Upstairs (Orchard Heights Book 3 (standalone))

by Roya Carmen

  Next, he gently removes the clip from my hair, and lets my locks cascade over my shoulders. Then he spins me around and unzips my skirt. This dance is already familiar. I love when he undresses me. I’m left with nothing but my bra and undies, which he quickly peels off. “Oh damn… I’ve done a number on you.” He crouches to his knees and kisses my bum softly.

  “You have.”

  “And here I wanted to take photos of your delicious behind.”

  I laugh. “Well, you still can. I can easily airbrush the bruises out if you’d like. It’s what I do.”

  “Yes,” he says happily. “I’d like that. I promise I won’t bite you again. I want you to be bruise-free.”

  “Yes, right… you say that,” I tell him. “Until the next time.”

  “I may have a problem. I admit it.”

  I smile as he unclasps my bra and frees my breasts. He takes them in his hands and rubs my nipples, driving me wild in the process. “God, you are so sexy,” he breathes, his words lost in my hair.

  My chest aches, feels heavy. I feel it low in my belly. I want him again. “Can we… fuck first?”

  “My, my, my… sweet grasshopper. Such language,” he teases. “But yes, we can definitely fuck first.”

  “Just like this,” I whisper and bend down over the edge of the bed. I press the palms of my hands against the bed cover. “Take me from behind.”

  He wastes no time. His fly is undone, and his hard cock is free in the flash of a second. He’s gentle when he drops butterfly kisses down the length of my spine. I close my eyes and revel in the feel of his lips on my skin. I’m so lost in the sensation, I don’t even notice that he’s managed to restrain both my wrists in his large hand. With the other, he slaps my bum. I smile and enjoy the delicious mix of pain and arousal. The sound of the slaps reverberate against the walls of the room, and I wonder if Rosetta can hear them.

  He rubs the sting gently, and kisses it softly. “Good girl,” he whispers. I wait eagerly, legs spread slightly, my body anxiously awaiting his touch. He is driving me absolutely insane. But sure enough, as soon as his hand slides along the inside of my thigh and finally touches my wet pussy, my whole body melts. I’ve never felt this with anyone, not even Donovan. It scares me. I’m completely under this man’s control, hypnotized by him, fully lost to him. I’ve never given anyone so much power over my emotions and physical sensations. He could completely destroy me with just a few words, and he could hurt me, and I would willingly let him. I would let him take me places I’ve never been, places I’m scared to go to. That’s how much power he has over me.

  He slides his finger along my sweet spot leisurely, teasingly, knowing he’s driving me wild. He gives me pleasure, but quickly takes it away. That’s his game. And I’m his toy. My eyes are closed, and I don’t see his expression but I know exactly what it looks like; playful and impish. “You’re so wet, sweetie,” he says softly. “So many things I want to do to you… I can’t decide.”

  Oh God…

  “Tell me what you want, sweetie.”

  I swallow hard. “I want… you to make me come.”

  He keeps teasing, trailing his hand along my sex, nearing but not quite exploring. My whole body wants it so bad, I can barely tolerate it. And he knows exactly what torture he’s putting me through. He’s enjoying every second of it. He gets off on the teasing, on the control and domination. He’s in charge of my pleasure, and he thinks I won’t take it into my hands. I’m just not that bold.

  But he’s wrong. I smile playfully as I reach for my pussy. I can’t believe how wet I am. I moan as I stroke myself. But before I can even bring myself anywhere close to orgasm, he grabs my wrist and pulls it back. “Uh-uh…” he says, and I hear the laughter in his voice. “Boss Man is in charge of that. I do all the work here.”

  I laugh.

  He’s got my hands in a wristlock again, and I struggle just to be bratty. Because he loves when I’m a bit bratty. I struggle harder but I still can’t free myself as he grips my wrists harder. Sometimes his strength surprises me.

  “Settle down, sweetie,” he breathes against my ear. “I won’t make you wait too much longer. I’ve played enough.”

  Finally.

  He slides his hand along my folds gently and skillfully. He brings me to the edge so fast, I’m taken aback but how swiftly my body responds to his touch. I moan my pleasure as the amazing sensation slides along my spine and stretches to my extremities, wanting him to know how good he makes me feel.

  “Wait for me,” he commands. “Don’t let go quite yet.”

  His hand leaves me, and I crave its return. When I feel his hard-on slide up against my wetness, I melt onto the bed. A loud moan escapes me as he ventures inside me. “Not yet,” he warns.

  He sinks slowly into me, and my whole body responds instantly. “Wait for me,” he says again, but I’m not sure I can. He manages to be both hard and gentle as he thrusts into me and brings me closer and closer. I grasp onto the bed covers hard, taking him inside me, enjoying every second, wanting to climax so badly. “C-can I now?” I ask, breathless.

  “Yes, baby. I want to hear you.”

  I rub my pussy to edge myself along. And before long, we both come, and it is glorious. So glorious, my legs shake afterwards. When I finally come to, I crawl onto the bed.

  “Wow,” he says.

  I turn to face him. “Wow is right.”

  He’s already zipped up, and he reaches for his phone. “Can I take some photos now?” he asks. “You look very sexy, all flushed and freshly fucked.”

  I smile. “Sure, but remember… tasteful.”

  38

  I stretch out on the bed and strike a pose. I lean my head on one hand, my elbow buried in the bed cover. I know I’m far from perfect, but in Weston’s presence, I feel so pretty.

  He’s pointing his phone camera already. “Stick out your hip a little more.”

  I do as he says, a little self conscious. I don’t hate my body, but I don’t love it either. My breasts are a little too small, my nipples a little too big for my liking. My waist is a little too wide, and my hips a little too narrow. And my legs are a little too short. I know I’m being silly. Most of us women are. We are way too critical of our own bodies. We should stop obsessing and just appreciate what our healthy bodies do for us. They can bring us pleasure, can bring children into the world and feed them. They can share a hug, and feel the love of close ones. They can carry us from one place to another, and do so much, things that we take for granted every day. Yet, we can’t help but scrutinize ourselves.

  I study the way Weston looks at me, with nothing but adoration. I’m sure he doesn’t see the imperfections like I do. I decide to embrace my body, and let him take as many photos as he likes.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  He dances around the room, barking out orders. Sit up. Lay down. Stick out your bum. Pull up your hair. It’s exhausting, but also very fun.

  “Now, I want you on your stomach,” he says. “I want a shot of that great bum of yours.”

  I smile and turn around. I stick out my rear before he even tells me to.

  “Oh, sweetie… I hate what I’ve done to you.”

  I laugh. “It’s all good.”

  “You know I’m not usually this wild,” he confesses. “There’s just something about you. I’m less inhibited with you, less inhibited than I’ve ever been.”

  “Really?” I say. “So you’re telling me you don’t usually go around biting bums?”

  He laughs. “Nope… just yours, baby. There’s a certain quality about you… it makes me want to be playful.”

  “I like it when you’re playful.”

  He bites his lip. “Yes, I like our playtime very much too.”

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  “Perfect,” he says. “You’re a natural. Good girl.”

  I smile. I’m kind of loving this. Who knew I was such an exhibitionist. “You need to send me all the pictures. All of them. Including the ones from th
e park.”

  “I will.”

  “And after you send them, I want you to delete them all from your phone.”

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  “What?”

  “I’ll erase the ones I don’t like,” I explain. “Touch up the others, and send them back.”

  “Oh… okay. As long as you don’t erase too many.”

  “I won’t,” I promise. “They’ll be beautiful, you’ll see.”

  I spend all Friday night and Saturday morning working on the photos we took. He’s actually not a bad photographer. He seems to have an eye for composition, and a relatively good understanding of his phone camera.

  Some of them are horrible though, and I quickly get rid of them and pretend they never existed. And thankfully, I manage to touch up the bruises on my behind. I add vignettes and play with the lighting until they look like professional photos. I’m giddy when I email him the finals, and wonder what he’ll do with them.

  The more I look at the photos, the more I’m thankful he took them. I may not be perfect but I like what I see. I especially like the photos we’ve taken of the both of us, and the ones I took of him. I like the idea of having images of him, memories of our happy times. No matter what happens in the end, I’ll always have these to cherish.

  It’s Saturday morning, and Ethan is enjoying his favorite cereal again. I’m cooking him an egg, scrambled like he likes. He loves it with ketchup, just like I do. I’m super excited about today’s excursion; lunch and a trip to Shedd Aquarium.

  “We’re going to see lots of fish,” I tell him. “And all kinds of sea life like stingrays and jellyfish and maybe seahorses.”

  He smiles up at me, completely clueless. He doesn’t know what I’m babbling on about, but he knows I’m excited. So he’s excited too, of course.

  I hand him his sippy cup. “Maybe we’ll even see a shark.”

  His eyes widen, as if he understands me. I wonder if he does.

  “And then we can go to the gift shop, and I’ll get you a stuffie. Maybe a dolphin or something.”

  My phone pings, and I get excited when I see it’s an email from Weston.

  Hello Grasshopper,

  I’m so very sorry but something has come up. Due to very recent circumstances, I won’t be able to make it today. I was so looking forward to it, and I’m sure you were too. Give my apologies to Ethan. We will reschedule as soon as convenient.

  Best, Weston

  My heart sinks. I reread the message twice. Ethan is still smiling, happy as a clam. I was so looking forward to this. This is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been trying to avoid. This breaks my heart. More than it should. And why? Because I’ve let myself fall for him.

  No more.

  How dare him send me an email to cancel. He should have called. The man has the social skills of a chimpanzee. Actually not even. Chimpanzees are pretty social beings. He’s more like a bear or a rhinoceros.

  Being the masochist that I am, I read the message again.

  Recent circumstances. What freaking recent circumstances? He could have been a little bit less cryptic.

  Give my apologies to Ethan. “Mr. Hanson sends his apologies, Ethan,” I say matter-of-factly. “He unfortunately won’t be able to make it today.”

  Ethan giggles. He apparently finds my serious voice very amusing.

  Well, at least one of us is still in a good mood.

  We will reschedule as soon as convenient. Convenient for whom? For him, I bet. What a narcissist jerk. He seems to think my life revolves around him. No, we will not reschedule.

  Best, Weston. Best? Really? He could have left it with Yours, like he usually does.

  Ugh.

  I hate him.

  I try to make the best of the weekend and put on a brave face for Ethan. The fact that I’m stewing inside shouldn’t ruin our time together. We go to the park and the library. We watch a few Disney movies and make cupcakes.

  I really enjoy this time with him. Weekends are now cherished. I took them for granted before when I had him almost twenty-four seven.

  I’m glued to my phone all weekend, waiting for another message from Weston, an email or possibly even a phone call. Every hour that goes by without a peep from him brings me closer to rage. I find it extremely insensitive on his part to not send another note of apology. I’m not expecting flowers or anything, just a hello and possibly another sorry.

  Sunday night rolls around, and still not a single peep. I lay in bed wondering what kind of messed up relationship I’ve gotten myself into. Does he even care about me? Or am I really just his plaything? I fall into sobs for the first time in a long time. Following what seems like endless hours, I finally drift into slumber, my pillowcase wet from my tears.

  I’m exhausted and very cranky as I get Ethan ready for daycare. I’ve not bothered much with my hair or outfit today. I just don’t care anymore. I’m planning to give my two weeks notice now. This ends now. I will not be treated like this. I deserve better.

  As soon as I settle into my desk chair, I fire up my laptop and get to work on my letter of resignation. I’m sure they can easily find a replacement to take over what I’ve already begun. I will try to leave as soon as I can, but I’m willing to stay up to two more weeks since that’s the professional thing to do.

  Every word I type cuts me to the core. I was so excited about this opportunity. I still remember my first day like it was just yesterday. I was so eager. I glance over at Rosetta who is laughing at what I imagine is a youTube video featuring a cat, a puppy or a piglet. She watches those a lot, and it’s really none of my business. I’m not the one who pays her.

  I’ll miss her and her silly humor. I’ll miss the atmosphere of this place and my comfy chair. I’ll miss wearing my cute outfits. And I hate to admit, but I’ll miss Weston the most. And I will miss my spankings too. He’s awakened a kinky side of me I didn’t even realize I had. Perhaps I’m not all vanilla after all. I’ll probably be begging the next man in my life for a little slap. He’s ruined me forever.

  I hate that he’s done this to me. He’s shown me the goods, an exciting fun life. He’s shown me affection and what I thought was love. And then he’s wrecked me to pieces. I know I might be overreacting, but I can’t help it. If only he had contacted me again after the initial message, this might have all been water under the bridge.

  But he didn’t. He let me stew for two whole days while he busied himself doing who knows what.

  Finally, my letter is completed, and I dash quickly to retrieve it from the printer before Rosetta sees it.

  I swipe the letter and trudge down the hall of his office. My heart is beating a mile a minute when I finally reach his desk. He’s busy at work and doesn’t notice me for the longest time. I walk up slowly, letter in hand, and he finally glances up. “Oh, good morning, Grasshopper.”

  I hand him the letter. “Sorry. I can’t do this anymore.”

  He peruses it quickly. “What?”

  He looks up at me with wide eyes. “What is this? Why? Is it because of Ethan? Because of this weekend?”

  “No, Weston,” I snap. “It’s because of us. Because of you and me.”

  “What in the heavens do you mean?” He clearly doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even realize he’s hurt me.

  “I can’t keep having this relationship with you,” I try to explain. “Whatever this thing between us is. I can’t—”

  “This thing between us?” he scoffs. “This thing between us is a relationship, Gretchen.”

  “Is it?” I ask. “Sure. You fuck me over your desk, and you slap me on the ass, but what am I really to you?”

  “Lower your voice, please.”

  “No, I won’t lower my voice. I’m tired of obeying you. I’m not your little grasshopper, your good girl, your sweetie. I’m not just some thing for you to play with.”

  His jaw is on the floor. I’ve apparently left him speechless, and I’m not even done.

  “And I’m not your employee anymore. Yo
u can no longer tell me what to do.”

  “But… I don’t tell you what to do,” he points out. “If anyone has anyone wrapped around their little finger, it’s you.”

  I shake my head. “Right.”

  “What in the heavens is going on, Gretchen? What has changed between now and last Friday?”

  “You really are clueless, aren’t you?” I scoff. “For someone so intelligent and accomplished, you really are stupid when it comes to people.”

  He jerks back in his chair, and his face falls. My words have really hurt him.

  “I… I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

  “Just tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads. “We need to communicate.”

  I clear my throat. I really don’t want to get into this, but I have no choice since he doesn’t seem to have a clue. “Okay, well,” I start. “At first, I was upset because you cancelled Saturday.”

  “Again… I’m sorry. I had a crisis at work. Two crises actually.”

  I shake my head. “Well, I found your message abrupt, and I was hoping you would send me another message, or maybe even call me to explain better.”

  He blows out a long breath. “I was swamped all weekend, Gretchen. I had to deal with major issues with one of my buildings. And I also had the kids, and Elizabeth got her first menstruation and all hell broke loose. When it rains, it pours.”

  “Oh…”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t more specific, and I’m sorry I didn’t contact you again.”

  Now I officially feel like a huge idiot. “I’m sorry… I just…” my words trail off. I don’t know how to say what I want to say, the fact that I often feel taken for granted, that I’d like to know I mean something to him. “I just think that you don’t really care about me,” I finally manage. “You don’t love me the way you loved Mirella.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I sound like a spoiled child. What the hell is wrong with me?

  He stares up at me for a long beat, and I can’t quite decipher his expression. “No, I don’t,” he finally says.