The Boss

by Abigail Barnette

  He leaned back down and kissed the shell of my ear, tender in contrast his body pinning mine. "I see you enjoyed the gift I sent you."

  I whimpered, trying to rock my hips, to relieve the pressure. He didn't let me move, but he did slowly circle his fingers inside me.

  "And you read the books. You even put notes in the margins.” He sucked my earlobe between his teeth and nibbled. My whole body shuddered. "There was one note in particular that I liked very much. Shall I read it to you?"

  I nodded, and held back a mewl of disappointment as he let me up and eased his fingers from my cunt. He picked up the iPad and turned on the screen, then opened the book. "Here, in the section about determining what type of submissive you are..."

  My breath caught audibly. He looked up, a small, crooked smile crossing his lips. "You've written, 'yours.' What do you mean by that, Sophie?"

  "I don't know what else to call it." I swallowed, and wet my suddenly very dry lips. I could do a lot of things with him that I would have never expected myself capable of doing with another person, but admitting that out loud? I couldn't even look at him. I would have to work on that. Maybe a time when my stomach didn't feel absolutely sick with denied desire. "When we're together, I... I don't just like to be controlled, I need to be completely controlled. And it isn’t something I’ve wanted with another man, or would want with another man. I want you to dominate me. I don’t want anyone else doing these things to me. Just you. You make me feel things I've never imagined feeling. I want more of that. I want to be... yours. Totally under your control. And that scares the hell out of me.”

  I looked up. When my eyes met his, I was shocked to see tenderness in his gaze. My entire body was trembling. I was so frustrated at losing his touch that I thought I would weep. Maybe it was the frank way I'd just had to speak to him, or the heightened danger that someone might try to walk into the room and catch us. Maybe it was the entire weekend, full of unfulfilled longing and highly sexual reading material. I was shaking all over, like a drug addict denied a fix.

  "Oh, Sophie." His voice was raw and strained. He looked for a moment as though he didn't know what to do. Striding over to me, he took my quivering body in his arms and pulled me into his lap as he sat down. His hand found its way between my thighs, gentler this time, his fingertips parting me to circle my clit. I clung to him, my arms around his neck, my face buried against his shoulder, stifling my relieved sobs into his shirt. Tears streamed down my face. I was embarrassed at how much I wanted him, that my emotions had gotten the better of me. I came with a full-body shudder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, reveling in the touch of his bare skin under my wrists.

  It was exactly what I needed, to come from his touch, not a plastic toy or my own hand. I needed it to be him, to get my release under his total control.

  He smoothed my skirt down and pulled back, just enough that he could look into my eyes. "Better?”

  I nodded, a ragged breath escaping me.

  “Sophie, I am so sorry."

  I slid from his lap and wiped my eyes, hating that he could plainly see the tear tracks on my cheeks. My makeup would be wrecked, I was sure of it. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cry. I swear, I'm not psycho –"

  "Of course you're not." He seemed put out at the very suggestion.

  "This is entirely my fault. I teased you on Friday, sent you home with books to groom you in the submissive mindset then I sprang this on you, knowing that you’re inexperienced. You weren’t at all prepared for what you felt."

  "But it didn't bother me," I insisted. It really hadn't. “If someone told me that getting pushed over a desk and roughly fingered would be the highlight of my workday, I would high-five myself. I can handle this. Really, I can."

  "It isn’t a matter of will power. You needn’t be ashamed. I’m the one who should be." He examined the spot of mascara on his shirt then carefully donned his jacket to cover it. "It was irresponsible and selfish of me to take things too far, before you were ready."

  I stood awkwardly in front of his desk, not knowing what I should do, or how I should respond. I never felt this way with anyone else. My brain was usually working a mile a minute, staying a few steps ahead. Now, it seemed like it was shut off.

  "Will you come over tonight?" He asked, pulling the black key card from his wallet. "To talk? No expectation of sex.”

  “Of course.” I took the card from him.

  “Good. Right now, I'd like you to take the rest of the day off."

  "That's not necessary," I said quickly, swiping at my cheeks. God, I felt like such an ass. "I can pull myself together."

  "I know you can." He came to stand beside me, his hand on my upper arm, stroking me through my shirt. His voice was low and patient. "This isn't because of anything you've done. It's because of what I've done, and I'd like to make it right. What you're feeling is the result of bad behavior on my part. It’s called sub drop, I’m sure you read about it in the books I gave you?”

  “Yeah.” I had read about it, but I’d kind of skimmed over it. “I thought maybe it wouldn’t apply to me because I’m...”

  “Capable of controlling your emotions through sheer force of will?” Neil asked with a raised eyebrow.

  I sniffled miserably.

  “Sometimes, it’s unavoidable. But this was. I should have taken more time with you before diving straight ahead with all this. And now I’m not able to properly handle the situation because I was stupid enough to cause it at work. Please, take the day off. Consider it a gift from me. You'll still be paid. I'm sure Deja is more than equipped to run the office for half a day, and we can meet tonight at my suite and talk more. But in the meantime, please take care of yourself. I feel terrible that I can’t do more at the moment."

  "Are you sure?" I was still hesitant to take any special treatment. Going home and getting a hot bath and a nap did sound tempting, though. "I mean, I'll go, but – “

  "Porteras hasn't failed in fifty years, I doubt it will on the one day you're not present to hold the place together." He leaned down and kissed my cheek. His face was much softer midday than in the evening, without sharp five-o-clock shadow on it, and I liked that he let his lips linger a touch longer than he had to for a casual peck.

  "Give yourself a moment. I'll leave first, and tell Deja you're not feeling well. And I’ll see you tonight." He gave my arm a gentle squeeze then walked away, leaving the office door open a crack behind him.

  I waited a few minutes, until I knew he had left. He'd taken down the decorative mirror that Gabriella had hanging behind her desk, so I sat down to his computer and woke up the screen. Immediately, I saw Photo Booth open in the dock.

  "You're just as vain as the rest of us, Mr. Elwood," I said under my breath. "You're just sneakier about it."

  I checked my face on the screen and dabbed around my eyes with a tissue. It didn't look too bad. I shook my shoulders and took a deep, cleansing breath before heading out to my desk.

  "Hey, is everything okay?" Deja asked as soon as I emerged. She'd been sitting in my chair, but immediately got up and motioned me over.

  I nodded, mortified. "I'm fine. I'm just... not feeling great. I'm going to go home."

  "Did he upset you in there?" Her head turned just slightly, as if she were about to back away. "I don't want to work for a yeller."

  "He's not a yeller. He’s not mean, I'm just..." I didn't want to lie to Deja, but obviously I couldn't tell her the whole truth. I quickly settled on, "I'm just having a hard time with this whole company takeover thing. I really liked my old boss."

  "I get that, believe me." She gave me a closed-lipped smile of understanding as she nodded her head. "See, I thought you were upset because I'm here, taking over your old job, and you really liked Mr. Elwood or something. I thought you guys had worked together for a long time."

  "No, we've just known each other for a while." That didn't sound too bad. People met and did not fuck each other every day.

  She crossed her arms, compre
hension dawning on her face. "Okay. Okay, that explains it."

  "Explains what?" Go, go, just go, don't become friends because you'll be tempted to tell her too much just go -

  "I'm not sure I should say anything." She pressed the fingertips of one hand to her forehead. "This is embarrassing, but I kind of got the impression that you guys were... I don't know. Playing James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal in there."

  I knew my mouth was hanging open, and I hoped she took it for shock because the idea had never occurred or was revolting to me. "Wow, you have a very good imagination."

  I'd said "imagination" and not "intuition," right?

  "Yeah, a little too good. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to say anything about you or your ethics. At all." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, let's start over. Hi, I'm Deja."

  I forced a laugh, and hoped it didn't sound too psychotic. "It's okay. No offense taken."

  "No, that was off-sides." She shrugged. "It's just... have you noticed the way he looks at you? And he's always looking at you."

  "No, I never noticed." I suddenly remembered how very sick I was supposed to be. I blinked and pressed a hand to my temple. "I'm sorry, I have just the most crushing migraine, and the lights are going to drive me bonkers. Are you going to be okay here today?"

  "I'll be fine; I think I have this under control." She patted the desk. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

  "Yup." But tomorrow, I'd be sure to wear my romantic-speculation-proof hazmat suit.

  * * * *

  A long afternoon off restored me, just like Neil had predicted. I was still furiously embarrassed at how the morning had turned out, and disappointed in myself for being so strangely emotional about sex.

  Okay, yeah, the books had mentioned that heightened endorphins and stuff could mess with my emotions. But I was usually bulletproof when it came to separating sex from feelings.

  When I arrived at eight, I entered the suite and heard the sound of the shower running in the loft. David Bowie's "Lady Stardust" played over the sound system throughout the room, loud enough that I pitied Neil’s temporary neighbors.

  I wondered if I should stay downstairs, or go up and join him. But he'd wanted to talk tonight. Maybe he didn't want sex at all? I wasn't sure where we stood on that subject at the moment. Still, I put down the bags of takeout I'd brought along, slipped off my coat, and headed up the stairs.

  The shower in the bathroom was "European" style. Which I guess means that all of Europe loves spilling gallons of water directly on their bathroom floors. When I'd used the damn thing, I hadn't quite gotten the trick of it, and would have much preferred a curtain to the single glass wall.

  I revised that opinion, when I realized what a great view it gave me.

  Neil stood beneath the spray, his hair slicked back from his face. The single overhead light cast shadows on his body, deepening the lines of muscle in his back and legs. But the best part of catching Neil in the shower was, hands down, the loud, awful singing. I'd always remembered him as being composed and crushingly cool, and interrupting his secret bathroom rock star moment completely destroyed all that. He was just a guy, with the same goofy habits and bad shower singing the rest of us had. I was so relieved to discover this, I giggled to myself, and he turned his head, startled. His momentary expression of shock immediately transformed into bashful laughter as he wiped water from his eyes.

  "I'm fairly certain that spying on a coworker in the shower is against the Porteras sexual harassment policy." He turned off the water and reached out for a towel to wrap around his waist.

  "I think fingering them on your desk might also be a no-no. I'm not saying that two wrongs make a right..." I lost my train of thought as he came toward me, towel riding low on his hips. He reached for me, and I dodged him. "No! You're all wet. And I have takeout downstairs, so don't dawdle."

  I hurried to the living area, where I started unpacking cartons from the plastic bags I'd carried it in. Neil was down just a few moments later, barefoot, bare chested, clad only in his black cotton sleep pants. He leaned over my shoulder, hair still dripping from the shower.

  "What is all this?" he asked, dropping a quick, wet kiss on my neck. I squealed and tilted my head away to avoid the now cold drops clinging to him.

  "It's me, paying you back for the burgers the other night. I hope you like greasy, bad Chinese." I popped one of the containers open and inhaled the scent of syrupy orange chicken.

  "The worse, the better." He sat on the couch, grinning up at me. "You look like you're feeling well again."

  "I am." I gave him a little smile. "I'm sorry about earlier, I was such a complete ass.”

  "No, no, it was my fault, entirely." His brows drew together. "I sometimes mistake your... enthusiasm for experience. I know that you're game to try new things, and that excites me. This time, to the point where I didn't exercise good judgment."

  "I'm not usually that emotional about sex. I'm pretty good at shutting down that part of me entirely." Put bluntly like that, it sounded sort of pathetic. "What I mean -”

  "Don't be silly, Sophie. I don’t want you to completely separate your emotions from sex." His tone softened. “In my experience it doesn’t make for very good sex. Happiness, at the very least, should be an emotional side effect of sex.”

  He had me there. I'd never had anything close to a great sex life, only just serviceable. I sighed. "Okay, you're right. I was emotional. I was emotional about sex with you. It's just... I feel like I've been sober for six years, and now I've fallen off the wagon. I'm completely hooked on you. It's terrifying."

  "Agreed." He reached for my hand and pulled me down to sit beside him. It felt strange to have all my clothes on, pressed against his bare skin. I'd come over in some tight-legged jeans and a striped blue sweater, totally casual, but I still managed to somehow be overdressed.

  "I feel the same way. It is a heady thing, and confusing, when I'm trying to separate you from the Sophie who's been on my mind for six years." He laced our fingers together as he continued, "I had the two of you mixed-up this morning. I sprang some very rough play on you, in an unusual setting, without consulting you first. I'm very sorry, and if you do wish to continue this relationship, you can trust me not to make the same mistake in the future."

  "If I wish to continue?" I sat up a bit, alarmed, my elbow braced against the low back of the sofa. "If?"

  "I never want you to feel trapped with me," he admitted. "And I don’t want you to forge ahead as my submissive despite misgivings. If at any time you find this arrangement isn't working, I want you to be comfortable telling me, whether you want to remove just the submission element or get out entirely. I'm not going to do anything vindictive or extreme about it."

  I kicked off my ballet flat and ran my painted toes over his big, bare foot. “I read about that orgasm denial thing, in The Big Book of Kink. I thought that was what you were doing. But it’s supposed to be a punishment, right?”

  "It can be used as a punishment, but I prefer it as a game all on its own." With his other hand, he reached up and smoothed back a few errant strands of my hair that had escaped my messy top knot. His fingers skated down my jaw as he lowered his hand. "As a matter of fact, there are some rather interesting things you can do with mental conditioning and orgasm training, though the books I gave you didn't go in-depth. And I would never initiate such an activity without your express consent."

  "What kind of things can you do?" I noticed suddenly how warm my face was, how my pulse was fluttering with anticipation. I was totally turned-on, but I didn’t remember how I got that way. I guess around him, I was in a constant state of sexual readiness.

  His answer was much more clinical than I expected: "Training your body to respond to a certain pattern of touches, or a verbal cue, so that you can climax on command."

  The sound of his voice already made me clench in anticipation, so I could easily imagine him being able to make me come from a word alone. "That seems like it could be kind of dangerous. What if you made me
get off when we were out in public or something?"

  "I would only do that if you asked me to," he said softly. "That sort of exercise takes an extreme amount of trust. We can revisit the idea another time. Tonight, let's just start with the basics. Only if you want to, of course."

  "Um, yeah. I pretty much wanted to fuck you when you were in the shower,” I said, shocking my own ears with my bluntness. “But first, let's eat."

  It seemed counter intuitive to stuff my face with cheap takeout if I wanted to feel sexy, but I was starving, and the sound of my empty stomach would probably not make a good soundtrack to an erotic interlude.

  We sat on the couch, happily digging through cartons with our chopsticks, when suddenly a thought occurred to me. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. You said at the office that you don't eat stuff full of sodium."

  "Rules are made to be broken. Occasionally," he amended with a guilty pause.

  The quiet reservation in his answer pricked at me. "You ate a burger the other night, too, after you said no red meat."

  "I try to be conscientious of my health most of the time," he said wearily. "But it's damned depressing when I'm sitting next to someone who was born the same year my metabolism deserted me. My father died in his fifties, and I’m aware that the clock is ticking for me, too. So I try to stay healthy and avoid things I shouldn’t have. Bad foods, stress, the lot of it. But the odd indulgence won't kill me."

  I felt like an asshole for bringing up a subject that was clearly touchy to him. I plucked a chunk of broccoli from the container of beef stir-fry and held it out to him. “Hey! I found Neil food."

  He gave me a very stern look, but couldn't keep it up for long, and we laughed as I fed him a bite.

  "Ugh, I'm stuffed." I patted my stomach, which was slightly rounder after my scarfed down meal. "I hope you like a woman with a potbelly."

  "I like you," he said, quite serious as he sipped from his glass of water. "Any way I might have you."

  "Well, we have that in common." I grinned at him. “Oh! I got my paperwork in the mail today!" I hopped up from the couch, figuring I could explain away his puzzled expression easier with the documentation in hand. I retrieved the torn Planned Parenthood envelope from my purse and brought it to him.