SUBMITTING TO THE BOSS
BOOK TWO IN THE WEST COAST SERIES
A tale of hotwifing
Jasmine Haynes
Copyright 2012 Jasmine Haynes
Cover design by Rae Monet Inc
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Summary
In Revenge Sex, Ruby Williams broke a few too many rules. She gets her comeuppance in Submitting to the Boss.
Ruby completely underestimated her live-in lover. She thought she had him wrapped around her little finger, and she could do anything she wanted without any consequences. Now she’s just another dumped woman bemoaning her fate.
Then her boss, West Coast Manufacturing’s CEO Holt Montgomery, calls her into his office and gives her the punishment she so richly deserves.
Holt is determined to show Ruby the error of her ways with his own special brand of dominance and submission. Her sexuality now belongs to him, and he’ll give her permission as to when, where, how, and with whom she’ll use it. From voyeurism to exhibitionism to more than one man at a time, with a little tying up and a bit of well-deserved spanking, Ruby discovers she likes following a man’s rules. But she still won’t let a man have the upper hand.
Can their naughty affair move from just sex with the boss to something more lasting? Or will Ruby learn her lessons a little too late.
Author Note: This book contains explicit sex
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my special network of friends who support me, brainstorm with me, and encourage me: Bella Andre, Shelley Bates, Jenny Andersen, Jackie Yau, Ellen Higuchi, Kathy Coatney, Pamela Fryer, Rosemary Gunn, and Laurel Jacobson. Thanks to Clio and Cody Alston for all their input and help. And a special thanks to Rae again!
Chapter One
“Ruby, in my office, now,” Holt Montgomery barked over the intercom.
Ruby Williams pressed her lips together, staring at the offending device. It was just before five on Thursday, and Ruby always left at five. Still, she pushed the Talk button obediently. “Yes, Holt.”
She hadn’t found a decent apartment and had been living in a hotel for over a week, since the day Clay kicked her out of his house. All the rumors being bandied about last week had been squashed, and the demise of her three-year relationship with the CFO hadn’t yet made it to West Coast Manufacturing’s gossip mill, but her boss, Holt Montgomery, knew all about it. She couldn’t be sure if Clay had told him the specific reasons why, but they’d been friends and coworkers for twenty years in Silicon Valley, the last ten at West Coast where Clay was chief financial officer to Holt’s chief executive officer. It stood to reason that Clay had told Holt.
And Holt had been treating her...differently. There was a new harshness in his tone when he spoke to her. Like now. Before, Holt would have asked if she had a minute, and he wouldn’t have used the intercom; he’d simply have called out. These were subtle differences, true, but there were other signs. He hadn’t joked with her. He’d rarely smiled at her. Holt had always been an easygoing boss from the day she’d started as his executive admin a little over four years ago. Now it seemed that not only had she screwed up her living arrangements, she’d screwed over her job as well.
There was nothing to do but pick up her pad and pencil and enter the proverbial lion’s den the way he demanded.
Behind his big mahogany desk, surrounded by report folders and his two computer monitors with which he effectively multitasked, Holt Montgomery looked like a captain at the helm of his battle ship. At fifty-two, with a head of thick steel-gray hair and the fit, muscular body of a man fifteen years younger, his bearing inspired respect, awe, and even fear.
Ruby had always felt the respect and awe, but today there was also a smidgen of fear.
“Close the door,” he ordered, his voice deep and hard-edged.
Ruby jumped to do his bidding. Her smaller office was an annex to his much larger one. In many respects, she was his guard dog, vetting all his calls and his visitors. She had to admit she liked the power in that, but with the door closed and the scowl on Holt’s face, she wasn’t feeling particularly powerful.
She’d lost so much more than she could have imagined when Clay kicked her out.
“Sit.” Holt pointed at the chair dead center before his desk.
It was one of the conference chairs, and that wasn’t its normal place. His office was spacious with a six-man conference table, coffee-service trolley, and a sofa grouping by the large window, all this in addition to his massive mahogany desk. He conducted meetings, entertained customers, and signed multimillion-dollar deals in this domain.
That chair was out of place, and Ruby’s tension ratcheted higher. Clay was paying for her hotel, but he wouldn’t do that forever. She had to find a new place, and she needed a job in order to sign a lease.
Holt wouldn’t fire her because of what happened with Clay. Would he?
She sat, wishing she’d worn something more circumspect. But Ruby owned very little that could be called circumspect. Her skirts were short, and her tops had plunging necklines. Holt had never complained.
He stared at her silently. He didn’t even blink, just regarded her with piercing eyes so dark they were almost black. Holt was the only man in the world who made Ruby’s palms sweat. She could wrap most men around her little finger, even Clay—at least until last week. But never Holt. She’d always felt subordinate to Holt, and funnily enough—probably because of her respect for him—it had never been an unpleasant feeling. Until now.
“What can I do for you, Holt?” Her voice seemed to crack, and her mouth was dry.
Finally, he spoke. “You’ve been a very bad girl.”
Ruby swallowed; it hurt going down. “You mean about Clay?” She wasn’t going to admit anything until she knew exactly what Clay had told him.
“Yes,” he said. “You fucked around behind his back.”
Okay, she could explain. She had to explain. “It wasn’t behind his back. He knew. In fact—”
Holt held up his hand, and she didn’t dare go on. That was another thing about Holt: he was the only man Ruby would shut up for. “Don’t prevaricate. I know about your arrangement with Clay.”
Her face flushed. Ruby wasn’t the type to get embarrassed, yet there was something about knowing that Clay had—potentially—revealed all her faults to Holt that made her jumpy. But she wouldn’t cave by asking how much he knew. She’d wait him out.
It didn’t take Holt long to come back at her. “You had sex with a coworker in Clay’s office.”
All right, yes, she’d done that. She hoped that was the only thing Clay had divulged. “Clay and I had a special relationship where he enjoyed my being with other men.” She allowed herself a slight smirk. “And he loved to hear all about it.”
Holt gave her the silent treatment. Maybe the smirk was ill-advised.
Then Ruby just couldn’t shut up despite herself. “That’s what he wanted from the beginning. That was always our relationship. I love sex, and he liked to hear about it. The more the better. It’s what got him off. He...” Her voice died into the echo of her own words. A car drove by on the road visible outside Holt’s window, a big, rumbling die
sel engine that set her nerves jangling.
“You didn’t mention the little matter of rules,” he said. His handsome face was granite hard.
She couldn’t believe Clay had told him everything. Clay wouldn’t be so vindictive as to want to ruin her job as well. Her only course of action was to tell the truth. “He liked it when I broke certain rules, so I didn’t think he’d mind if I broke others.”
“But Bradley Palmer?” For the first time, Holt made a face, one of distaste.
She’d been a total idiot. She fully admitted that. “Having sex with him on Clay’s desk was a mistake.” Bradley was young, twenty-nine. His desire had stroked her ego. Not that she didn’t have a healthy ego. At forty, she was hot, and she wasn’t ashamed to say that, but every woman sometimes had a little niggling of doubt, and Bradley caught her at a weak moment. Still, she hadn’t thought Clay would get all riled up. She’d truly thought he’d get off on it.
“And what about the other places you fucked him, Ruby? Not to mention the rumors.”
She felt herself blanch. God. Clay really had told him all. “I didn’t start those rumors, and I made sure they were laid to rest.”
“Damage done, Ruby.”
She almost snorted but thought better of it. “No one ever believed any of that.” Because she’d taken things in hand. And really, by the following week, it was all just a blip on the rumor mill’s timeline. They’d weathered the whole debacle, and Bradley was gone from West Coast’s horizon.
Holt merely stared. It was completely unnerving.
And again, she couldn’t shut up. “Why are you doing this? When I moved in with Clay, you told us business was business and personal was personal.”
“It is. But you brought it here. And against Clay’s wishes.”
She pursed her lips and puffed out a breath. If she wanted to keep her job, she was going to have to grovel. She wasn’t good at it, but she simply couldn’t afford to be fired. Besides, she liked working for Holt. He was fair-minded. Usually. “I made a mistake, and I’m very sorry. I told Clay it would never happen again, and I’m telling you it won’t.”
If he was silent after that, she’d have to scream.
“There’s only one solution,” he said softly. Holt could be dangerous when he spoke that quietly. She’d heard that deadly tone in meetings. And seen the results.
“What?” she asked, her heart racing.
“You need to be punished.” He waited a beat. “Severely.”
Then he rose, strode to the door. And locked it.
Ruby’s pulse began to beat against her eardrums.
* * * * *
Never in his four-year history with Ruby Williams had Holt witnessed that deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes. It wasn’t Ruby’s style. If you looked up self-assured woman in the dictionary, there’d be a picture of Ruby right beside it.
More gorgeous than a forty-year-old woman had a right to be, with dark hair falling past her shoulders, deep brown, very knowing eyes, and long legs that made a man dream of running his hands up them to the hem of her short skirt, Ruby had no doubt of her sex appeal. She was efficient yet never cowed, sexy in her choice of clothing—some might even say halfway to being slutty—but always professional in her dealings him and any visitors to his office, be they subordinates, vendors, auditors, or customers. She was his gateway.
Yet after four years, she was about to become more.
Holt folded his arms over his chest and regarded her with a steady gaze. “Stand up,” he ordered.
She was elegantly tall, and he especially enjoyed her spiked heels, which put her on eye level with him as she rose from the chair. A creamy vee of cleavage was bared above the jacket of her less-than-staid suit. Her full breasts were a mouthwatering sight, and her lips were painted a ruby red to match her name. At the moment, however, they were minus their usual seductive smile.
“What’s this all about, Holt?”
“Pull the blinds.”
She glanced over her shoulder. The window view was of the lawn, a few shrubs, West Coast’s monument sign, and the road curving around to the freeway. It was unlikely that anyone would glance in his window, but his plan called for the privacy of closed blinds.
“But Holt—”
He cut her off with a look. “By not obeying immediately, you’ll make the punishment worse.”
“Well—” Obviously on the verge of arguing, she stopped herself this time. She actually bit her lip momentarily before realizing what she was doing. Ruby wasn’t a lip-biter or a hand-wringer. “So I’m supposed to just do whatever you tell me to”—she raised a brow—“then everything will be the way it was?”
He allowed long seconds to pass before he answered. First he unbuttoned his suit jacket. Ruby’s gaze fell below his waist. Her eyes widened. He’d been making plans, and planning had made him hard.
“Nothing will be the way it was,” he said. “Everything has changed. Close the blinds. Now.”
Ruby swallowed. She had the long, beautiful neck of a swan. He imagined touching his tongue to the hollow of her throat, tasting her. Those were the kind of thoughts that made him harder still.
Ruby took a step back, toward the bank of windows behind the sofa, as if she were afraid to turn her back on him. Finally she pivoted, skirted the coffee table, and leaned with one knee on the sofa to reach the pull. The blinds snapped closed. It wouldn’t be dark for another three hours, but the shades bathed the room in shadow.
He shoved the chair she’d been sitting in back beneath the conference table, then stood in the center of his office. “Come here,” he demanded.
Ruby had never taken orders from anyone, not even him. His management style was in the form of polite requests that, nevertheless, didn’t take no for an answer. For the most part, his subordinates followed those requests. The few times someone hadn’t—suffice it to say, there was only one chance per customer. The next time he made a request, they jumped. Ruby had never been a problem, but his requests had never been out of line.
Tonight, however, they were going way over the line. And he wasn’t allowing her to say no.
Ruby knew it, too. She stood in front of him, a foot and a half between them. He could smell her perfume, something light and a little sweet, definitely exotic. And he could scent her. Musky, warm, all woman.
“You will do everything I say without question.”
Ruby blinked, and her lips parted.
He sensed an argument and ruthlessly shut it down. “There will be severe consequences for every infraction.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to fire me?”
“I will never fire you. There are other things worse than that. Undo your jacket.”
A pulse beat at her throat, but her bravado hadn’t completely deserted her. “I don’t have anything on under it except my bra.”
He gave her a steady look. “I know. I’ve always known exactly what you have under there.” He let that sink in.
Her eyes flitted across his face, assessing, analyzing, wondering. Then she slowly raised her fingers to the buttons of her jacket. It was short-waisted, cream-colored, fitted, and hugged her large breasts. Her fingertips were the same ruby red as her lipstick. There was nothing like red nails wrapped around a man’s flesh.
She did what he’d ordered and no more. The lapels hung open slightly, giving him only a glimpse of the lavender lingerie beneath.
“Take it off,” he said, recognizing the huskiness in his own voice. It was his turn to swallow, his throat suddenly dry with anticipation.
Ruby slid her nails up the jacket’s lapels, then slipped under, pushing it off her shoulders and shrugging it down her arms until it fell to the carpet. Her nipples were tight beads beneath the lavender lace. Underwire plumped her breasts, held them high, a hint of dusky aureole peaking above the cup.
His mouth watered.
It wasn’t polite to entertain serious sexual fantasies about your friend’s lover. Unless you were invited. Clay had n
ever invited him, and Holt was a stickler for propriety.
But Ruby had cheated, and Clay had left her. They’d been together for three years, and though their relationship had ended, Holt still didn’t poach on another man’s territory. So he’d briefly outlined his plans and requested Clay’s permission to carry out Ruby’s punishment. That was all they’d talked about, no gory or explicit details, very little explanation, and no rehashing of the relationship.
Permission granted. Ruby was now his.
Bra and skirt, he wondered. Or bra and panties? “Take off your skirt, but leave the heels.”
Ruby didn’t protest this time, reaching behind, unzipping. The skirt dropped to the carpet, pooling around her shoes. She stepped out of it.
And stole his breath.
Miniscule thong panties cut high on the hip, a barely there thatch of trimmed hair showing through the lavender lace, which matched her bra. Her stomach was flat, her hips rounded, her thighs beckoning a man to slip between them.
He reached out, tracing a finger along her collarbone until the tip touched the strap of her brassiere. He slid it off her shoulder. She looked elegantly debauched.
“Perfect,” he murmured. Though he was supposed to be the one in charge, he found himself mesmerized. Ruby was extraordinary. He almost lost focus.
He brought his gaze back to hers and met the knowing look in her eyes. Ruby knew her own power. She needed to learn that his was greater.
He stepped aside, pointed. “Bend over, elbows on my desk,” he instructed.
Her brows knit with a question, but she was smarter than to ask it.
“Now,” he emphasized.
She stepped forward, leaned over, and assumed the position, ass in the air.
Jesus. Ruby’s ass in her short skirts was delectable, but framed by the thong, the creamy globes were mouthwatering.
Submitting to the Boss: A West Coast Hotwifing Novel, Book 2 Page 1
