Dirty Boss

by Crystal Kaswell

  "I can't promise anything more than sex."

  "Oh." I bite my lip. Before I met Nick, I didn't have any interest in a romantic relationship. Even in dating casually. The guys in my classes didn't interest me.

  Nick is so different from anyone else I've known.

  So much more appealing.

  "Is it that you've never wanted a girlfriend or that you don't see yourself with me?" I tap my fingers against the table. I can't just sit here. I need to move.

  "I don't want to hurt you. If you can't handle—"

  "Don't do that. All you have to say is that you want a casual relationship, and I understand." It shouldn't bother me this much. It's not like a relationship between us has any chance of working.

  "You don't have to be defensive with me."

  "You don't have to be condescending to me." I bite my lip. "I've never been particularly interested in having a boyfriend." My stomach twists in an unpleasant way. It's all true though. I've never wanted a boyfriend before. Not since the accident.

  I pull my dress over my thighs. No matter how much I like Nick, I can do casual. I'd rather do casual.

  It's safer. Less painful when the world figures out how to take him away.

  I meet his gaze. "The last guy who wanted to be my boyfriend seemed nice. But he couldn't stand that I was smarter than he was."

  Nick smiles. "You're sure you were smarter than he was?"

  "Yes." I fold my hands in my lap. "I realize that it's not a concern with you. You're the most intelligent person I've ever met."

  "Thank you." His voice is soft. "What happened?"

  "He didn't like me when I corrected his grammar, when I fixed his broken computer, when I had an opinion that wasn't the same as his. He only liked me when I was quiet and sweet and exactly who he wanted me to be."

  "He was a boy."

  "The world is full of boys. Dating isn't worth the trouble. It would be one thing if I didn't have to worry about my back, if I could have casual sex without—"

  "Lizzy."

  My heartbeat picks up. It's been such a long time since I've been able to be honest with anyone. I love my sister, but she's hopelessly idealistic. There are things she'll never understand.

  I play with my dress to calm my nerves. "A lot of people don't like me. In high school, people thought I was bossy, opinionated, whatever. I learned to choose between having friends and being myself. I have Kat and Sarah. That's enough. But that night in San Francisco last year—it didn't matter if you thought I was a hopeless bitch. You were never going to see me again. It was the first time I could be myself in a long time."

  "You don't have to worry about that." His voice is warm. "I like you."

  I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. There's no way that Phoenix Marlowe, billionaire CEO, says something as plain as "I like you" when he's sweet-talking.

  "You like me? What kind of twenty-seven-year-old guy tells a girl he likes her?" This warmth spreads through my chest. Nick likes me. "You know, the last time a guy told me he liked me was high school."

  "A whole ten months ago?"

  "Does it bother you that I'm young?"

  "I don't enjoy abusing my position of authority." His gaze drifts to the window for a moment. Then it's back to me. "What did you say to the guy who liked you?"

  "I let him down easy. He liked sweet Lizzy, not the real one."

  "You can always be yourself with me." He leans closer. "Your angry, demanding, strong self."

  "You know, I have positive traits."

  "Those are positive traits." Nick's lips curl into a smile. "Men will find you appealing, Lizzy. Boys will be scared."

  "I don't care what men think. I only care what you think."

  "Right now. One day, you'll meet a man who will mean something to you, and you won't care what I think anymore."

  "How would you like it if I told you what you'd want in six months or a year?"

  "You're young—"

  "I've been through enough to know what I want. The only thing you have any say over is sex. Got it?"

  "Yes, I do." His gaze goes to my chest.

  I flush. He still has that remote somewhere. I'm still waiting. I latch on to something easy to talk about. "Have you seen The Matrix?"

  "The first one."

  "You haven't seen Terminator or The Matrix? How can you watch so little sci-fi?"

  "I stay busy."

  "Sometime, we're going to sit down and have a crazy fictional AI marathon."

  He smiles. "I can't remember the last time someone told me what I was going to do."

  "Does it toy with your massive ego?"

  "No. I like it."

  That warmth spreads all the way to my stomach and thighs. The words echo around my head. I like you. How can it feel like such a momentous declaration?

  I like him too.

  Too much, considering how little I know about him.

  I try to steer the conversation back to safer waters. "So... when we're together, alone or out of the office, we're fuck buddies, more or less."

  He nods.

  "What about at Odyssey? Are you going to call me into your office and order me onto my knees?"

  "You want the risk of getting caught."

  My cheeks flush. My sex clenches. I've never thought about it before, but I do want the thrill. I'm fucking my boss. I want to do it on his desk.

  His eyes connect with mine. "When we're alone with the door locked, then it's Lizzy and Nick, and not Miss Wilder and Mr. Marlowe."

  There's something about his expression, something dominant and totally appealing. I nod.

  "There's minimal soundproofing in my office. Can you manage that?"

  "Yes."

  And then it happens—there's a buzz between my legs. I gasp, loudly, grabbing onto the bench for relief but finding none. The vibrator is pressed up against my clit, and it's intense.

  I lock eyes with Nick, searching for an explanation and finding nothing but that same in-control look.

  The buzz stops. I nearly fall over panting.

  "What was that?" I ask.

  "A test."

  "How do I pass?"

  "Convince me."

  I nod.

  His hand moves under the table and there it as again—the toy vibrates against my clit, only the thinnest layer of silk in between it and my painfully sensitive skin.

  I bite my lip, trying hard not to make a sound.

  Nick's eyes stay on mine. It's like he's transfixed.

  Tension builds in my core. I'm close.

  But the vibrations stop.

  I gasp as quietly as I can manage. "Are you trying to kill me?"

  "You want me to stop?"

  "No."

  His expression is cocky as hell.

  It takes me a full minute to catch my breath. My sex is pulsing. I'm desperate for release and he's sitting there patiently, daring me to ask him to finish.

  The waitress drops off a water and a fresh glass of whiskey for Nick. "Your appetizers will be out shortly, Mr. Marlowe."

  Right on cue, the vibrator turns on. I press my eyelids together, fighting my desire to scream.

  Pleasure spreads out to my thighs, my calves, my toes.

  When my eyes open, I study our server's expression. There's no sign she knows what we're doing.

  How is that possible? It feels like the entire bench is vibrating.

  "Thank you." He speaks calmly, like he's not controlling my orgasm with a remote in his pocket.

  Oh, God, that vibration is fucking intense. I try to look into Nick's eyes, but I can only manage a few seconds before my lids press together.

  The room disappears until I'm nothing but the sounds and the sensations in my body. The faint buzz of the toy, the sharp exhale escaping my lips, the calm inhale filling Nick's lungs.

  I'm close.

  "Look at me." His voice is commanding. "Or I turn it off."

  I force myself to open my eyes. It's so much more intense staring back at Nick
.

  Without the anonymity of a one-night stand or the inhibition loosening powers of rum and diet, I feel shy and exposed by my ragged breath and flushed cheeks.

  I sink my teeth into my lip. Even with my desperate attempts to stay quiet, I moan.

  The toy is so much stronger than my hand.

  My sex clenches. Almost. I stare back at Nick, at all the desire in his eyes. He has me under his thumb. God help me, the thought makes me want him more.

  My eyes close of their own accord. Instantly, the vibrator turns off. I bite my tongue, barely muffling a curse.

  "Please don't stop." I look back at him, studying his expression.

  When the toy turns back on, I give up on staying silent.

  "How do you feel, knowing I can keep you from coming?" he asks.

  "Powerless."

  "Do you like it?"

  Pleasure spreads through my core. "Yes."

  "Do you trust me?"

  The intensity of the vibration makes it hard to concentrate.

  I look into Nick's eyes. They're determined and in control, but they're also earnest.

  I nod. Yes. I do trust him.

  "Keep your eyes open," he demands.

  An orgasm rises up inside me. Almost. It's so intense I can barely breathe. My eyes threaten to close. "I can't."

  "You can. Look at me."

  The desire in his deep brown eyes pushes me over the edge.

  The pressure rises to a fever pitch. It's too much to contain. My lids get heavy, but I fight my impulse to close them.

  Instead, I moan. I moan loud enough for the people at the next table to hear.

  There. The pressure unravels, spilling through my thighs, spilling all the way to my toes.

  Another groan escapes my lips. It's too loud, but I can't stop myself. I have to do something to contain it.

  I let my eyelids press together.

  The toy shuts off.

  It takes a few minutes to catch my breath. When I finally look back at Nick, I feel even more exposed.

  How did he get me forget myself like that?

  How did he get me to risk so much for him?

  I look around the room, certain everyone knows what we're doing. But no one is looking our away. No one is the wiser.

  We spend the soup and dinner courses talking about TV. Nick only watches mysteries, mostly police procedurals, and only when he can't sleep.

  It should be a safe conversation topic, but I keep imagining him alone on a couch in some big empty room, no sound except the low roar of the TV. It must be so lonely living like that.

  Dessert is a rich chocolate torte. I'm too wound up to keep eating. We'll be at his place soon. We'll be on to the next part.

  Nick licks a crumb off his lip. "I want to take a car home."

  I swallow hard. He's watching me, focused on me the way he focuses on his computer.

  "Why?" I ask. "We can walk."

  "Of course. But I can make better use of the time in the backseat of a limo."

  My hand shakes. A limo is the worst of all. No seat belts. Nothing to protect you if it crashes.

  He takes the last sip of his coffee then slides the remnants of dessert to the side. "Do you know how to drive?"

  "No, and I don't want to learn."

  The shaking in my hands spreads to my shoulders. I squeeze my thighs together to keep my legs calm.

  I can't learn to drive. It's bad enough suffering in the backseat of a cab.

  My heartbeat picks up. My mouth gets dry. I reach for the coffee to wet my throat, but I can barely swallow.

  The waitress drops off a sleek black check holder. In one swift movement, Nick pulls his credit card from his wallet and hands it to her. No need to look at the bill. Money doesn't mean anything to him.

  It's not enough to distract me from the dread in my gut. I'm still terrified to get in a car.

  He sees through me.

  I hate that he sees through me.

  His voice is a dare. "If you're afraid—"

  I stammer some incomprehensible collection of sounds.

  "Admitting fear isn't a sign of weakness."

  I press my lips together. "Have you ever admitted fear to anyone?"

  "I was terrified that night in San Francisco."

  "Of what?"

  "Losing something important to me."

  I take another sip of my coffee, but my mouth is still way too dry. "That's not the same. It's not like you're afraid of bees or spiders or something everyone else is sure won't hurt you."

  His voice softens. "I understand if you aren't ready—"

  "Stop making it sound like I'm failing to meet some challenge. I don't need to know how to drive. I don't ever need to get in a car again."

  "What if you want to go to the airport?"

  "I can take the bus."

  "If you want to visit a friend who lives upstate?"

  "I can take the train."

  "And if she lives twenty miles from the nearest train station?"

  "I can ride a bike."

  "Your knuckles are white."

  I pull my hands into my lap. The waitress interrupts our stare-off. Nick nods a polite "good night" and signs the check.

  His attention stays on me, even as his gaze focuses on the paper.

  "I'm afraid of losing this project," Nick says.

  "Everyone worries about losing their jobs. Their work."

  "Not like this. It would be like losing a limb. When I think about it, I stop breathing." He slides his wallet into his slacks as he stands.

  Nick offers his hand. I don't take it.

  This isn't casual. I rush towards the exit. The tables here are spread out, but it's still hard to move fast. I run into a server with a blonde ponytail and mummer an "excuse me."

  Ow. The impact shoots pain up and down my spine. It settles in my mid-back. My muscles tense.

  Too much work, too many nights out in heels. I take a deep breath but it doesn't relax my muscles. It's a minor ache. Ibuprofen should send it packing.

  I can deal with it when I get home. Even if the tension is getting worse by the second.

  My gait steadies as I get closer to the elevator.

  Fuck. It hurts. Everything from the back of my neck to the bottom of my shoulder blades is tense and achy.

  Nick slides his arms around me.

  He holds me against his chest. "Are you okay?"

  "Not here."

  He takes me into his arms, carrying me like I'm some kind of damsel in distress, and sets me down on a bench at the end of an empty hallway.

  I turn away from him, curling my body inward.

  He slides my coat off my arms. His fingers trail over my spine. "Where does it hurt?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You don't have to take a car, but don't lie to me. Where does it hurt?"

  "A little lower."

  He rubs my back with a gentle touch. When the tension eases, I let out a heavy sigh.

  His movements soften. "I know you're strong. You don't have to convince me. I want to know if you aren't okay."

  "I panic whenever I'm in a car." I lean into his touch. "I try to keep it to myself, so I won't ruin anyone's good time. It doesn't come up often in the city."

  "I understand." He presses his lips against my neck. "I'll walk you home."

  "Are you coming in?" My voice is needy.

  "No."

  "Please. I want to... I want to fuck you. My back is okay. I swear." I turn back to him and stare into his eyes. "I won't lie about that."

  He runs his fingertips over my cheek. "It's a fifteen-minute walk to my apartment."

  I practically jump to my feet. Ouch. Too fast. I remind myself to slow down as I stretch.

  Nick helps me into my coat. He slides his hand to my lower back and guides me to the elevator then to the street.

  Our walk is quiet. His hand stays pressed against my back, soft and hard at once.

  We stop at a huge apartment building right across from Battery Park.


  I shift out of my coat as we walk into the lobby. "You live here? The rent must be a crime."

  "It is. I'm making a fortune."

  "What?"

  "I own the building."

  I bite my tongue, attempting to work out the math in my head. Thirty floors plus twenty apartments a floor equals a shit-ton of rent money. Of course money means nothing to him.

  He's swimming in it.

  "Lizzy." Nick runs his fingertips over my collarbones. "Are you all right?"

  I nod as I follow him into the elevator. It's all glass. There are four elevators in the building, and each one is glass.

  The reflective surface mocks my inability to hold a poker face.

  How can I be nervous about something I want so badly? I'm not a virgin. I've even been with Nick before.

  Everything is different now.

  He's my boss.

  My friend even.

  He likes me.

  Nick turns to me, his expression intense. "How is your back?"

  "Fine."

  "Then unzip your dress."

  I swallow hard, my gaze going to the glass doors. "Someone will see."

  "I'm not going to ask again."

  I recognize that look. It's a test. And I'm pretty sure I won't like the consequences of failing.

  Chapter Ten

  He wants me to get naked in a glass elevator? Someone will see. Even at this time of night, it's a risk.

  His eyes are on fire. There's something about his expression that commands me. My body moves of its own accord. My hands go to my zipper.

  I hesitate. Can I really do this?

  "I'm not going to ask again."

  He's staring back at me.

  My nipples tighten, my body answering for me.

  I have to do this. I have to give myself to him.

  I pull the zipper as low as it will go.

  Nick pushes the dress off my left shoulder. My breast spills out, on display to anyone in a passing elevator, anyone in the hallway next to the elevator bank.

  My sex clenches.

  He does the same with the right shoulder. There's nothing covering me above the waist.

  I'm exposed.

  To him.

  To anyone who happens to see.

  The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I go to push my dress to my feet but Nick stops me.

  "You don't get a say in when you take off your dress." His eyes are on fire. "Not when we're doing this."