The Boss

by Abigail Barnette

  His lips brushed over my ear and he said, low, "I did get you a small gift in London. I can't wait to use it on you."

  If I'd had any doubt in my mind as to what he meant by that, he removed it entirely by smacking my bottom as he turned away.

  I wondered if Neil's car could wait until after I dragged him to my bedroom. Probably not, and besides, he had a lunch meeting to attend.

  "I'll see you tonight," he said from the door. I just grinned in reply.

  Holli emerged after he left, and resumed her place holding down the couch.

  Now that Neil was gone, I could ask the question I had been dying to ask since the party last night. "So... Deja is cool, huh?"

  Holli shrugged. "Yeah, she's okay."

  That was Holli denial speak for, "I want to marry her and have a million babies and wear matching outfits for our family photos." But I wasn't about to point that out, because she might turn it around on me.

  "Where did you guys go?" I flopped onto the couch beside her.

  "Oh, this really cool twenty-four hour Korean place she knew of. They had the best spicy beef soup." Holli sighed, her mood turning suddenly glum. "But then... she said it."

  "Oh no." The dreaded thing that people were always saying to Holli. Or, one of the dreaded things. There were several. "'You're so lucky?'"

  "Yup. 'Ooh, you're so lucky, I have to diet all the time.' Why? Why, when she's so cool?" Holli shook her head. "I don't know if I'll hang out with her again. I'm just getting to the point in my life where I feel like I shouldn't have to train people to not say stupid shit about my body."

  I chewed my lower lip. Of course, she was right. And I shouldn't meddle or anything. But they were so alike, they seemed destined for each other.

  I supposed I should clue Deja in. Or, I could mind my own damn business. They were both grownups. If Holli didn't like Deja, it wasn't as if there weren't millions of other people in the city to hook up with. If it was going to happen, it would happen on its own. And it wouldn't happen if I tried to mash them together like two Barbie dolls.

  "So, Neil seems pretty cool. And he spent the night," Holli pointed out, slowly widening her huge eyes before narrowing them to knowing slits. "There's more to the story here."

  My first instinct was to snap that she should mind her own business because nothing else was going on. Holli was my best friend, she would see through that in a heartbeat.

  "Okay, I did notice he was... slightly more affectionate than usual last night. But he's never not been affectionate toward me. This was different though. He was on drugs from flying and -”

  "Oh, he did the 'I'm so high I'm honest' thing?" She cringed. "He didn't say the L-word, right?"

  "No, oh god. No, no, no." I shook my head. "He just said he missed me a lot."

  Holli scoffed. "Oh, that's not that bad. As long as he didn't cry or anything."

  “Yeah,” I agreed, but my heart suddenly wasn’t in it. My fuzzy memory of the night started to slowly filter through some really fucking disturbing daylight clarity. I’d made some choices I never would have with another guy, because I was way more comfortable with Neil than I had ever been with another guy. The fact that I didn’t know why- or didn’t want to think about why- didn’t give me a lot of faith in my decision-making skills where he was involved.

  In the past, I would have used that as proof that things were moving too fast, that I should put some distance between myself and the object of my confusion. I’d just had a whole week’s worth of distance from Neil, and it hadn’t helped. It had just muddled my brain up even more.

  Was I doing what he’d admitted to doing, mixing up the guy I’d fantasized about for years with the man I was just getting to know? I supposed that could have been a part of it. My daydreams had all been strictly confined to sex. I’d never given any thought to what might happen if he really showed up in my life again, or what my feelings might be.

  Tempting as it was to spill out all of this to Holli right that second, I wasn’t sure I could face such a conversation with a hangover. I got my coffee and headed back to my room, where I placed the mug on my nightstand and flopped onto my bed. I could smell Neil’s cologne on my pillow. I am not proud of the way I buried my face into the pillowcase and squealed like a teenager, but it happened.

  So, things were moving quickly, when I hadn’t expected any change. Was that enough for me to slam on the brakes?

  Not even a little bit.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I decided that Neil’s confusing declaration about how much he missed me had more to do with Klonopin than any amount of actual missing me. To put myself at ease about just how physical and not emotional our relationship was, I planned to show up at his place looking like a sex bomb in mid-explosion.

  Holli has this really awesome D&G black tulle dress with a tiny waist and boned bodice. Normally, I would never dream of borrowing her clothes. I wear a size four, and she wears a size zero. Adding in her Amazonian height, our wardrobes are just not compatible. However, the point was not to have everything firmly strapped down tonight, or even to have the dress on for very long. Even though we had to work super hard to get the zipper up- and breathing was probably not going to be an option- it was worth it.

  Beneath the dress, I wore the lacy black Agent Provocateur corset I had saved for months to buy, and black silk thigh-highs with a dark seam up the backs. No panties. That's just how I was gonna roll.

  When I stepped out of the bathroom all glammed up, with my hair long and loose around the perilously tight straps of the dress, Holli whistled.

  "Thank you." I did a stupid little curtsey in my heels. The door buzzed, and I hurried to the intercom to answer, "I'll be right down."

  "Just make sure he doesn't rip it off of you," she warned. "It's my favorite."

  I grabbed my coat off the rack by the door and shrugged it on, then picked up the overnight bag I'd packed. Bending down felt like I was in a full-body cast, but my tits looked amazing. "No ripping, I will tell him."

  "And don't get cum on it," she called after me as I stepped out the door.

  I giggled and shushed her. I really hoped none of our kindly old neighbors heard that remark echoing in the stairwell.

  The Maybach was waiting downstairs, the driver standing beside it awkwardly. "Mr. Elwood specifically requested that I not get your door for you... unless you wanted me to."

  I smiled and shook my head. "Would it make you feel better to get the door?”

  "A lot better, thanks," the guy said, grinning as he took my bag. I scooted inside the car carefully, mindful of the super short dress. My boobs wobbled precariously, barely contained, and I was super glad I had a coat on.

  The partition between the front and back was down, so once we were underway, I asked the driver, "Hey, uh... where does Neil live, exactly?"

  "Nine-sixty Fifth Avenue." The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "You’ve never been to his place before?"

  "No, first time." It took a minute for the address to really hit me. "Wait, did you say Fifth?"

  "Fifth, park adjacent." The guy had a cheerful, working class New York accent. "There's a doorman, he'll get you pointed in the right direction."

  Okay. So, I was kind of sleeping with a guy who, yeah, I knew he had some money. It hadn’t seemed this intimidating before now. Which was totally stupid, because after all, I'd been willing to sleep with him when I'd just thought he was a writer heading to Tokyo.

  Still, I couldn't help but feel some trepidation when we pulled up in front of the dignified pre-war building.

  "This is Mr. Elwood's guest, make sure she gets upstairs all right,” the driver instructed the doorman. I clutched my overnight bag as we headed through the posh decorated lobby, straight to the elevator.

  "Mr. Elwood is the sixth floor. I'll let him know you're on the way up."

  Maybe in the future it would be more comfortable at my place, where there wasn't a "get Neil Elwood laid" committee working behind the scenes.
Seriously, I was expecting an elevator operator to greet me with, "Which floor? Oh, Mr. Elwood? Have a nice fuck!" But thankfully, I was on my own for the ride.

  The doors opened onto a foyer that looked exactly how I imagined the hall of doors Alice tumbled into after falling down the rabbit hole. The golden wood paneling on the walls seemed to glow, thanks to the light from the bronze and ivory glass pendant fixture overhead. The floor was white and black check, all in marble. The door subtly matched the paneling, and when it opened, I expected a butler like Lurch or something to be standing there. But it was just Neil, looking surprisingly casual in a sweater and jeans.

  "Look at you." He beamed at me in open appreciation. "Come in, come in."

  If he thought my hair and makeup were good, he was going to die when he saw the dress. I dropped my bag at my feet as he reached to help me with my coat. I slipped my arms from the sleeves and turned to face him, so he got the full view of my epic cleavage balanced on the whim of gravity in the top of the dress.

  "Jesus Christ." The blasphemy crossed his lips in a reverent gasp, and he pulled me into his arms so fast I stumbled in my too-tall heels.

  The kiss I got was exactly the response I was looking for. I melted against him, my coat crushed between us, my mouth coming open under his. His arms wound around my waist, holding me up, holding me captive. He let me go too soon, though, and I tottered in my shoes, gripping his arms for support.

  He raised his head, a mixture of confusion and embarrassment in his uncertain expression. My lipstick was smudged across his mouth, and there was a pause before he spoke, like he wasn’t sure what to say. "Sorry about that. You surprised me."

  "That was the point." I gingerly ran my thumb along my bottom lip line. "Oh, now this is embarrassing. We're wearing the same shade."

  He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "There's a powder room through there."

  I took notice of my surroundings for the first time. The checked marble from the vestibule continued into the larger interior foyer, but the walls here were painted linen white. A half-bath stood open to the right, and I stepped in just long enough to check my lipstick in the mirror. When I turned back, Neil had hung up my coat. He gestured to the other doors. "Let me show you around. I should do at least that much before I rip that dress off you."

  "You can't rip it, it's Holli's, and it’s her favorite," I told him sternly as I followed him further into the apartment. There was a hallway to the left of the front door. I realized the elevator must run through the center of the apartment.

  "Three bedrooms that way, media room, gym, and service." He waved it off as though those details were unimportant. "And fine, I won't rip the dress."

  "Service?" The word seemed utterly foreign to me as I tried to place exactly what type of room would be considered a service room. Then it snapped into place. "Oh, like a maid?"

  "A housekeeper, but I've given her the night off. She doesn't live here, anyway. I use those rooms mostly for storage." He motioned toward the other side of the foyer, where a short L-shaped hallway bent out of sight. "That way is the master suite- we had better leave that part until after dinner, I think- and there is the library."

  "Library?" I let him guide me with his hand on my back. He reached through the door and flipped the light switch, and it seemed far too casual a motion to herald the revelation of French Empire style furnishings and a floor-to-ceiling collection of gorgeous, leather bound books.

  I scrutinized the shelves from the door. "You don't really read these, do you? They all match."

  "I've read some," he defended himself. "But you're right; the books for reading are in my bedroom. These are just a shamelessly showy collection.”

  I walked with him to the living room, a huge space with high ceilings and a monstrously large stone fireplace. The furniture - a couch, a backless sofa, a few chairs and a low, blocky mahogany table - were all modern, but flavored by classic styles. All the upholstery was a shade of pale eggshell that highly discouraged eating or drinking near them. Overhead, dark wood beams crossed the ceiling, and the largest embroidered rug I'd ever seen concealed the wood parquet that wouldn't have matched the furnishing.

  Okay. Deep breaths. Neil was really, really, really super rich. I guess it had been easy enough to ignore when he was living in a hotel room. A swanky hotel room, but still, technically homeless. Yeah, he rode around in a Maybach, that should have clued me in, but to see the place he actually called home? Well, my reality was significantly adjusted.

  "The kitchen is this way," he led me through the arched glass double doors at the other end of the living room. We moved through the dining room, past the long table and its fourteen chairs, and we passed through another door into the kitchen.

  "I was just cooking dinner," Neil explained, moving away from me to the huge marble-topped island in the center of the room. There were tall wrought-iron chairs positioned on the side opposite the stove, and I took a seat as gracefully as I could in the world’s tightest dress. On the other side of the island was a cutting board heaped with bok choy and sliced mushrooms.

  "You gave your housekeeper the night off so you could cook for me?" That was very sweet, and it put me more at ease. I watched as Neil expertly cut a pepper into thin slices, his forearms flexing subtly beneath his rolled back sleeves.

  He smiled and scraped the slices aside, reaching for a clove of garlic. "I gave my housekeeper the night off so I could fuck you in any room I wanted."

  My pulse sped up.

  "And to impress you with my culinary skill, of course." He looked up, winked at me, and turned his attention back to mincing the garlic. "There's water in the cooler, or white wine, if it won't make you too tipsy."

  "What's wrong with tipsy?" I slid off the chair and peeked around the corner of the island. There was a built-in, glass-front cooler beneath the island's bar sink, and it was fully stocked with bottled water. Two bottles of wine rested on their side, and I was reaching for one when Neil explained exactly what was wrong with tipsy.

  "I’m not comfortable playing with a sub who’s drunk.”

  I grabbed a bottled water. "Sounds like you have plans, Sir."

  There was that half-smile again, the one that made me weak all over. I leaned against the counter beside him, willing him to stop chopping up vegetables and just touch me already. Somewhere, anywhere, it didn't matter.

  We were on more comfortable ground now, I realized. There was no talk about missing anyone, nothing even vaguely sentimental. I was there to be fucked, to continue our purely sexual relationship with a side of unthreatening friendship. This, I could handle.

  He laid the kitchen knife aside and wiped his hands on a towel, looking down at me with amused heat in his eyes. He seemed to loom over me; I always forgot how tall he was, compared to five-foot-four me. I felt tiny next to him, strangely vulnerable, but not afraid, even when he caressed the back of my neck and exerted gentle pressure to bend me over the counter.

  "I like these stockings," he murmured close to my ear, bending down to trace his fingers up the dark back seam from my knee to the thick black band at the top. His fingers skated along the curve of one bare cheek, and he whispered in approval, "Naughty girl."

  He hitched my skirt up high, exposing my naked lower half to his gaze. His palm smoothed over my skin and I shivered, waiting for the slap that I knew would come. Eventually. My pussy clenched with the anticipation, but when he lifted his hand, it was to reach for something on the counter, not to spank me.

  I raised my head. He held a wooden spoon, and he slapped it hard against his open palm.

  "Oh fuck yes,” I moaned. My toes curled in my shoes. I didn't have to wait long for the first blow, which surprised me and jerked a ragged cry from my lips. It was definitely more intense than his hand, more of a surface pain on my skin than the deep, bruising burn of a hard slap.

  “What should you say, Sophie?”

  “Thank you, Sir.” And I was grateful with every scorching hot cell in my bo
dy.

  His other hand slipped around the front of my throat, up to cover my mouth, two fingers forcing past my lips. I sucked on them, tasting the garlic and the peppers he had cut up. I almost laughed at that, at the absurdity of being spanked over a kitchen counter in the middle of dinner prep.

  "You'll pardon me if I don't really give this my all." He smacked me with the spoon again, and I jumped. "But I have plans for more... intense activity later. I wouldn't want you to be too sore to enjoy it."

  I moaned and swirled my tongue around his fingers. My clit ached to be touched, but I had no doubt he was going to make me wait an eternity before I could come.

  Honestly, that didn't bother me as much as it would have in the past. I liked the idea of waiting. I knew that the entire time he was teasing me, making me die from anticipation, I was as much the focus of his attention as he was mine.

  He gave me another whack with the wooden spoon, then jerked my skirt back down and pulled his fingers from my mouth. He turned away and washed his hands at the bar sink as I stood up, my head spinning. Then he went casually back to the cutting board to grate some ginger with the edge of his knife.

  I stumbled to the chair I'd been in, and he passed me the bottle of water I'd forgotten, smiling pleasantly as though nothing had just happened. "I hope you like sea bass."

  Damn him. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He was torturing himself, as well; I could tell from the slight tremor in his hands as he worked.

  Still, he hadn't been kidding about showing off his culinary prowess. I'd been somewhat concerned that the whole cooking-me-dinner thing had been for show, to display how "normal" he was despite living in a Fifth freaking Avenue palace. But he was actually a really good cook, whipping up an amazing meal of grilled sea bass on a bed of peppers, bok choy, and shiitake mushrooms in a ginger and chili sauce. We settled down at the nook in the kitchen.

  "The formal dining room is a bit... formal, I think," he suggested, and I heartily agreed.