Beneath the Boss: Omnibus (The Complete Collection)

by Lydia Rowan

  She wasn’t altogether surprised to see him, though she’d hoped she wouldn’t. She was too raw to think clearly around him, and the rush of awareness that sizzled through her at the sight of the broad expanse of his back as he got out of the car proved as much.

  She parked on the curb in front of the house and got out of the car.

  “Who wears a suit on Saturday, Leighton?”

  He didn’t say anything, just watched and waited as she walked up the driveway to unlock the door, but, as seemed to be the case recently, his disproval was clear.

  “Please come in, Leighton,” she said in a sarcastic tone and ushered him into the house.

  She dropped her keys and purse, removed her shoes, anxious to shift her focus from the alien feeling of Leighton in her home. Strange, but in all the years she’d known him, he’d never been to her house. In fact, she wasn’t even sure he’d known where she lived.

  She turned to face him and said, “How did you—”

  His lips, pressing down insistently on her own, cut off her words. He kissed her hard and deeply, forcing her to yield to his command.

  He pulled back as abruptly as he’d started. “Why weren’t you here earlier? You knew I was coming.” His tone was even, but she felt the tightening of his arms around her waist.

  Layla’s mind was fuzzy from his kiss, but his words brought her to full alertness. She tried to pull herself from his hold. He was unyielding. She looked into his gray gaze, and as the moment stretched, Layla slowly inclined her head and stood on her tiptoes, a rare experience for a woman of her stature, and captured Leighton’s lips with her own. She felt his confusion and smiled, happy to have the upper hand for once.

  Her advantage was brief.

  Leighton quickly took control, thrusting his tongue between her lips and pushing her against the foyer wall, lifting his left hand to her neck, while roaming his right over her back and ass. She was helpless in the face of his onslaught, and she heaved a deep sigh as she grabbed handfuls of his shirt and lifted her hips, trying to get closer, her pussy aching at the emptiness. He rewarded her by rocking against her, and she lifted her leg to his hip. He grabbed it and held her generous thigh as he traced a pattern against her skin through the fabric, mimicking the action with his tongue in her mouth that she wanted him to make with his cock in her cunt.

  And again, he was abruptly gone.

  She opened her eyes, eyes she hadn’t even realized she closed, and barely managed to suppress the frustrated groan at the sight of him standing, calm and collected, in her foyer like he owned it.

  “I asked you a question.”

  She rolled her eyes, felt every bit the chastised schoolgirl, and, acting as mature as she felt, left the foyer and headed across the living room and into the kitchen without speaking. She needed some space to gather her thoughts, but he followed, though he didn’t say anything else. She grabbed two bottles of water out of the fridge and offered him one before walking into the small dining room and settling at the banquette. It was one of her favorite pieces of furniture, deep, cozy, and perfect for seating extra guests, or for her to unwind after a long day. Odd, maybe, that she used the dining room for relaxing more than dining, but she’d spent countless hours in this spot, often thinking of the man who’d settled beside her. She looked over at him, knowing the reckoning was at hand.

  “And, as I’m soon to be out of your employ, I’m no longer on your schedule.”

  He had the nerve to look hurt.

  “You’ve had a few days to reconsider this...this resignation,” he stumbled over the word, “and I thought you’d be over this silly idea by now.”

  “Ugh, you just don’t get it! I can’t do this anymore, Leighton. I have to move on.”

  His eyes darkened, and she saw a flash of uncertainty, something she’d so rarely seen, even when he’d been so young and untrained, thrown into the deep end by circumstance and necessity.

  “What about that night?”

  “What about it?”

  He scoffed. “Come on, Layla. You gave me your virginity, and now I’m supposed to believe you’re quitting?”

  She scoffed back at him, incredulous. “You arrogant jerk. For your information, I wasn’t a virgin. And even if I had been, you think that just because you deigned to fuck me, I’d be happy, stay at your side like an obedient puppy?”

  She stood up, kept her back to him, no longer willing to look at him. She heard him rise, flinched her he his encircled her in his arms from behind, knowing she should pull away, but wanting the contact despite everything.

  He nipped her shoulder, her earlobe, before whispering, “How many?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. How many?”

  His breath, warm on her ear, caused a pleasured-filled tingle to spread over her, and she could feel her nipples pull tight against the lace of her bra. The tingles intensified as he began to roam his hands over her breasts and abdomen before slipping them into her pants. He cupped her mound and squeezed, the light pressure making her close her thighs in an attempt to keep him there. When she loosened her thighs, he moved the delicate fabric of her underwear aside and slicked a finger through the moisture gathered there.

  “How many?” He punctuated the last word by stroking her clit and sliding the tips of two fingers into her, the unexpected but welcome entry just enough to make her squirm but not nearly enough to satisfy.

  He held her still, his arms like iron bands.

  “Answer me, Layla.” He pumped his fingers, giving her the smallest taste of the satisfaction she craved.

  She moaned. “One,” she finally said.

  He rewarded her by burying his fingers to the hilt and scissoring them, opening her.

  “So I only have to erase the memory of man’s fingers, cock, tongue in this hot pussy?”

  She stiffened, not wanting to correct him, but he must have sensed her reaction because she felt his smile, heard the pleasure in his voice when he said, “You’ve never had a man worship you with his tongue? Spread you open and lick you from hole to clit, lap at you until you come and then do it again. And again.”

  He worked his fingers in and out of her as he said the words, and she gripped his forearm and tightened her pussy around his fingers, his words and the image they created making her heart pound.

  “Let’s change that, shall we?” he said, before he pulled his fingers out of her pants and panties, and, keeping her back to his chest, turned her around to face the banquette.

  He stroked her ass and then pulled down her pants and underwear, exposing her. He smoothed his hands over her ass and thighs, and she stood silent, unsure how to react. He’d seen her ass before, just this week in fact, but that been like a dream. This felt different, somehow more intimate here in her home. And suddenly, she felt a deep stab of insecurity. At the very least the power suit she’d worn to meet with Smythe had given her some armor, protection against the outside word, and even with her skirt hiked around her waist and her boss buried balls-deep in her pussy, she’d been work Layla, stronger more confident. Here, in her hidey-hole wearing her Saturday-errand uniform of cotton pants and a tee, she was just plain old Layla. Fat Layla, with a big butt and cottage-cheese thighs. Not Leighton’s type. Not by a long shot.

  As if he felt her ardor cooling, Leighton rubbed his hands up her thighs, the contact making her shiver despite her thoughts, and he put his hands on her hips and guided her down to her knees.

  “Lean forward for me, Layla. Let me see you.”

  Despite her bout of shyness, at the insistence and desire in his voice, she complied, the seed of trust in Leighton she’d always had guiding her movements. She pressed her cheek into the banquette cushion and closed her eyes. They popped open when she felt the sharp sting of a slap on her ass cheek, followed by Leighton’s chuckle.

  “Just wanted to make sure I had your attention,” he said. “I want you to know who’s bringing you this pleasure.”

  So arrogant and so Leighton, his wo
rds had the intended effect, brought her back to the moment. She felt cool air hit her back, quickly followed by heat as he traced the indentation of her spine with his tongue, swirling it in the deep hollow at the base of her back. He worked his hands in tandem with his tongue, gripping her ass, running them up the inside of her thighs. He moved lower then, nicking and licking the full globe of her ass, moving lower still to trace the crease between her cheek and thigh with his tongue. The sensation, so foreign, chased all other thoughts away, demanded she pay attention to it alone. He pushed her forward, making her spread her thighs farther, which lifted her ass high and opened her to him. She felt his breath hit her cheek and then her pussy, and she shrieked at the first contact of his hot tongue on her clit.

  Pleasure, fast and hard, sliced through her, and she spread her thighs, pushing her cunt into his face. He laughed, the hot rush of air flowing over her clit and igniting more pleasure in its wake.

  “So eager, Layla,” he said.

  Her only response was a grunt, which was followed by another when he plunged his tongue into her. He pulled it out and licked her labia, spreading the cream that now coated her inner lips. He then ran a finger through her cream, tracing it from her clit up, up, until her reached her back hole. He circled her clit with his tongue and her rosette with his finger, and the dual sensation was too much. She flew apart, the warmth of Leighton’s breath, the heat of his hands, pushing her higher and higher on the wave of passion he had unleashed.

  ••••

  Leighton watched as she came down slowly, tremors occasionally racking her body. He was mesmerized by the tremble of her ass and thighs. He needed more. With one final nip at her ass cheek, he sat up, quickly unbuttoned his pants and freed his cock, and kneeled behind her.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” he said.

  At her mumbled yes, he rubbed his cock between her cheeks, briefly stopping at her rosette before he moved down and pushed into her pussy in one hard stroke. The both groaned, but Leighton didn’t tarry. He wanted to see her cheeks dance, feel the vibration as the generous flesh moved in rhythm with his thrusts. He locked an arm around her waist, mindful of the edge of the banquette, and then begin to pound, the tight, wet grip of her cunt and the sight of her ass moving combining to create an erotic haze.

  “I won’t last,” he ground out and delved his fingers between her thighs to latch on to her clit. “Can’t go alone.”

  She moaned in response, and he felt another gush of moisture issue from her, the tight hold of her pussy as she came. He struck by another thought, and at the last minute, he pulled out and came on her ass. A jab of pleasure hit him at the sight of his cum painting her ass, the pearly fluid stark against her darker skin.

  He stayed there, lost in the vision, until Layla’s shifting reminding him of their awkward position. He pulled back and stood, feeling drained but energized.

  “Don’t move,” he said, when she attempted to shift.

  “Ugh...”

  “Just stay still for one damn minute, Layla.”

  “I told you not to curse at me,” she said, but her words lacked their usual sting, her lazy, loose tone filling him with masculine pride.

  He went to the kitchen, grabbed and wet some paper towels, wiped his mouth, and went back. He cleaned her off slowly, reverently, and was somewhat reluctant to finish. When he did, he turned her around and helped her sit on the banquette. Then he leaned in and kissed her, a low hum of arousal thrumming through him at the thought of her tasting herself on his lips. She reached up, ran a hand through the hair at the base of his neck, but then pulled back. He offered her water, and she looked away, drinking it slowly. After a few moments, he put a hand under her chin and turned her head to face him.

  “Now, we talk.”

  Chapter Four

  Talk? She could barely think. She looked at Leighton, surprised at the soft expression in his eyes, how relaxed, open, he seemed. He’d never looked at her like that before. She didn’t recall him looking at anyone like that in fact. Warmth settled in her chest, and she looked away. This was dangerous. Him, this Leighton she’d never seen, was dangerous. The cold, ruthless billionaire was hard to resist, but she could hold her own. This side of him was devastating, and if she wasn’t careful, she would lose her heart. If she already hadn’t.

  No. She couldn’t go there. She steeled herself, tried to marshal her defenses against what she knew would be a relentless offensive, his charm and command working in tandem to bend her to his will.

  Then, to her surprise, he leaned over and kissed her sweetly and said, “I’ve changed my mind. We’ll talk later.”

  Maybe he’d sensed something, decided to show some uncharacteristic mercy, but whatever his reason, Layla was grateful.

  “Okay,” she stood, “I’ll walk you out.”

  “I’m staying.”

  “Here?” she squeaked.

  “Yes, Layla, here.” He smiled indulgently.

  “No need. I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “Nope. You’re the only thing on my agenda.”

  Her ingrained hospitality warred with her need for space. Hospitality won.

  “Umm, sure.” She smiled brightly, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in her stomach. She stood awkwardly, not quite sure what to do.

  Leighton took over. “Great. I brought a change a clothes. We’ll clean up, and I’ll make you an early dinner.”

  She raised a quizzical brow. “You brought a bag. And you cook.”

  That earned her a hearty laugh.

  “I’m a man of many skills, and I always plan ahead. Come on.”

  He stood and offered her a hand, which she took.

  “Okay, there’s a bathroom down here. Make yourself at home.”

  With that, practically sprinted out of the dining room and up the stairs into her bedroom and leaned against the closed door. She’d officially entered the twilight zone. Maybe a shower would clear her mind, and if not, at least it would give her some time alone. She shed her clothes and headed into her attached bathroom, preparing for her shower as she always did, like he wasn’t right downstairs. It was strange. She’d spent countless hours with Leighton, slept with him twice, but she was as nervous as she’d ever been. She wrapped her hair and stepped into the shower, relaxed into the steam.

  “Are you hiding, Layla?”

  She screamed and almost jumped out of her skin, turning at the sound. A naked Leighton stood before her. Her reprimand shriveled in her throat, and she took a sharp breath.

  Leighton was the personification of masculine perfection. His finely tailored suits always cast his body in an amazing light, but his naked form was a sight to behold. She took in the well-defined planes of his lightly haired chest, the way his soft breaths emphasized the tight, hard ripple of his abdomen, the trail of hair dusting that abdomen leading down to his cock, which, to her amazement, stirred under her gaze. He stepped into the shower, his cock and sac bobbing with the movement.

  “I’ll wash your back.”

  He grabbed the body wash out of her hands and squirted a generous amount in his palms. He gestured, indicating that she turn around. She turned and chuckled, the hilarity of Leighton in her house, now in her shower, her with her hair wrapped in a towel like any other day making her relax in spite herself. He rubbed her back, spreading the lather over shoulders and down over her ass and thighs. Then he moved closer, his surprisingly hard cock slipping between her thighs, and she arched her back, bumping her clit against the head of his cock, eliciting a moan from them both. He continued his exploration, caressing her breasts, teasing her nipples, all the while gentling bumping his cockhead against her clit. She heard his moan, and the blast of his hot semen on her clit triggered a climax, softer, less explosive than the others but still winding in her gut.

  After a moment, Leighton directed her to stand under the spray, washing off the last bit of body wash.

  “Time to dry off and get you fed,” he said, smacking her bottom.

&n
bsp; ••••

  “Let’s see what we have. Bacon, frozen peas, wilted lettuce...”

  Layla laughed as he cataloged the contents of her refrigerator.

  “My employer is quite demanding. I rarely have time to grocery shop.”

  He looked over at her. “I’ll have a talk with him if you think it’d help.”

  “Undoubtedly it won’t. He doesn’t even listen to me.”

  “Foolish man,” he said, smiling. “Do you have any pasta?”

  “Yeah, there should be some spaghetti here.” She stood from her perch on one of the bar stools around her island and walked to the cupboard. “Here it is.”

  “Prepare yourself, Layla,” he said, “you’re about to experience something I’ve shared with few others.” The humor in is eyes drew a laugh from her.

  “I wait with bated breath.”

  They fell silent, the only conversation Leighton’s occasional requests for specific items. Layla watched his graceful, efficient movements, amused by the extreme domesticity of the sight and not at all surprised that Leighton seemed to master her kitchen as he’d mastered almost every other area of her life. He topped the bacon-pea-pasta mix he’d been sautéing with a single egg and then poured the concoction into two bowls before crossing the kitchen to join her at the island.

  “Bon appétit.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He looked at her expectantly as she tentatively took a bite. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was nervous about her reaction. The flavors exploded across her tongue, the pasta rich and creamy, the bacon crisp, the peas the perfect hint of freshness.

  “Umm, wow. That’s really good.”

  He nodded and started eating.

  “When did you learn to cook?” she asked after she’d swallowed at bite.

  “Here and there. I got tired of going out, so it seemed like a useful skill. And the ladies love it.” He flashed her a killer smile.

  She smiled back, but the thought of the other women he’d cooked for, no doubt after he’d fucked them senseless, made her stomach curdle.