"Sorry," I say as I run my fingers through his hair.
"Well, come see me first thing in the morning. I've been given the office next to Gibson's"
"I'll be there," I promise. "First thing."
"I'll be thinking about you all night," he says while running his fingers over the red marks around my throat.
"I'll be thinking about you too."
Chapter Eleven
I'm convinced it was all a dream. Even when I pull on my dressing gown and head out into the kitchen to grab a coffee, I still think it was all a beautiful fantasy. I stumble across Alex in the hallway with a latte in her hand and her eyeliner smudged below her eyes.
"Heavy night?" I ask.
"Yeah, headed to some club last night. It was pretty hectic," she says as she rubs her eyes. "Where were you? Please tell me I didn't actually see you driving around with that Milton mogul and what the fuck are those?"
"What?"
"On your neck!"
She pulls me by the arm until I'm standing in front of the mirror. Large purple circles are spreading out across my throat like exploding hibiscus flowers.
"Erm... It's nothing," I lie.
She looks deeply unamused.
"Are those love bites?" she asks.
"Sure," I lie again. "They're love bites."
And I head into the kitchen and flick on the coffee machine while looking up at the clock. He said to see him first thing but how early is that? If I turn up before eight I'll look super desperate but if I turn up later on in the morning he might not be there. Fuck, what do I do? I decide to get ready slowly and make my way over to his office just before my first class, choosing to stay out the way of Alex and Morgana. Right now, I can't bear the thought of all their questions.
I feel like skipping across campus but restrain myself and limit my stride to a jaunty walk. I can't stop smiling and as I push open the doors to the math department, I see Gibson making his way out the door with a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"Hello, Stephanie! You look happy this morning. The poker class must have gone well."
"It sure did!" I smile and point to the cigarette. "I thought you were quitting?"
"I am!" he beams. "Tomorrow."
And he saunters off down the steps.
Making my way through the maze of corridors, I finally find Fredrick's office hidden away within the recesses of the building. Through the foggy glass of the door I can make out a shape at the desk, a head and torso moving as though they're looking through the drawers. Pleased to see he's in, I burst through the door.
"Morning! I brought you breakfast!" I say then stop in my tracks.
A woman in a yellow dress stares up at me with a mixture of anger and surprise in her eyes.
"Sorry, I thought this was Fredrick's office," I say and begin backing out the room,
"It is!" she says.
"Oh."
"Are you one of his students?" she asks.
"Yeah. Sorry, I was told to meet him here this morning," I explain.
"I'm sure you were."
"Are you one of his students too?" I ask although she looks a little too old to still be in college and she seems too confident and refined to be a student.
She moves to stand up and I notice her perfectly curled hair doesn't move. Placing a manicured hand on the desk, she pushes herself up and it's then that I see the bump of her stomach.
"Woah, let me help you up."
I place the breakfast down on the desk and help her stand.
"You look ready to drop!" I say.
"Only two weeks to go," she replies.
It's then that I notice that she never answered my question.
"So you're not a student here?" I ask.
"No," she frowns as she walks over to the window.
Despite being heavily pregnant she has the most beautiful figure and her skin is glowing in the bright morning sunshine.
"I'm Fredrick’s wife," she announces proudly as she puffs out her ample breasts. "I thought he was here already because his car's parked outside but he seems to have disappeared."
"His wife!" I ask hoping that I'd heard wrong.
"Yes," she says in her clipped aristocratic voice. She reaches out a hand to shake mine. "Penelope McIntosh,” she says. “It’s not often I get to meet my husband’s students.”
Boss Me Dirty
A Steamy Billionaire Romance Series
Book Two
Brooke Kinsley
© 2016 All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses per law
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
"Pornography is about dominance. Erotica is about mutuality."-Gloria Steinem
Contents
Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Description
“He never told me he had a wife!”
With Stephanie’s chance encounter with socialite, Penelope McIntosh, she’s enraged to discover Frederick is married.
Storming off campus, she heads straight to London’s seedier side of town where a mysterious encounter with a future groom at his bachelor’s party almost lands her in hot water. But does she decide to do the right thing and not give in to temptation? And will she say yes to that lap dance?
Arriving back at Foxley Halls, she’s suddenly thrown back into Frederick’s orbit when disaster hits the poker championship and the two find themselves alone in the basement with an empty safe.
Will she discover that all is not what it seems with Penelope? And that the billionaire and her have more in common than she could ever imagine? And will she discover just how much fun an ice cube and a belt can be?
Chapter One
Wife? He never said anything about having a wife!
I'm stumbling down the stairs feeling as though they'll give way beneath me.
Bastard! He's been married this whole time. And her bump, that rotund sphere that protruded from her elegant body. That was his child!
I storm through the front doors, barging past a bemused looking blonde kid in the process. My shoulder hits off his and he loses his balance, drops his books and looks up at me as though he's a frail wounded animal.
"Sorry!" I yell then make my way down the stairs.
Alex and Morgana are at the bottom,cigarettes poised between their dainty fingers as they discuss whatever is enraging them this morning. They turn to see me when they hear the stomping of my boots on the steps.
"Steph? You ok?" Alex gasps as she sees the look on my face.
"Fine, I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," Morgana says while placing a hand on my arm to stop me walking away.
"I am fine. Never better," I say and shrug her off.
"Hey!" she calls after me. "We have class! Where are you going?"
"Bed!" I shout back without looking round.
A moment later there's a tap on my shoulder and, realizing I'm out of breath anyway, stop and look round to see Alex chewing on her bottom lip anxiously as Morgana looks up into my eyes with her worried, little baby face.
"What's going on?" she asks.
"Nothing," I lie.
She reaches out to touch me again and this ti
me I don't pull back.
"It's Milton isn't it?"
I don't say anything, don't breathe or move an inch but the silence says it all.
"What's he done?" Alex asks. "Don't tell me he's fucked you over already!"
Again, I don't say a thing but my eyes are filling with tears. I sniff and wipe at my face feeling utterly humiliated for falling for him.
"I'm sorry, I just need to go lie down for a bit," I say. "I'll be in class this afternoon."
"Won't you tell us what happened?" Morgana pleads.
"Later," I sniff. "I just need to be on my own."
And I walk away, hurrying over to Foxley before jumping up the stairs two at a time. When I reach our floor, I'm pleased to see no one's around. Flopping on my bed, I let out a sob and snivel into the pillow. I've never felt so naive and stupid. He's married! And he has a child on the way. I should have known. There was no way I could be all the things he said I was. He probably sleeps with loads of students, says all the right things then beds them and moves along.
"Idiot, Stephanie. You're a fucking idiot."
Biting down on the pillow to stifle my cries, I feel the salty tears cover my face and soak into the pillow. I don't even know what I'm crying over. Is it the humiliation of being taken for an idiot? Or is it that I really feel something for Fredrick? Last night I was certain there was something so genuine between us but... obviously not.
Sitting up, I start to feel a migraine pounding across my forehead. I need a strong coffee and some even stronger painkillers. Shuffling through to the kitchen, I rip open the top drawer, pull out some aspirin and take three for good measure. Then I flick on the coffee machine and try to remember the name of the girl who brought the thing. Casey? Laney? Annie?
Outside, the sun glints off something metallic and catches my eye. Looking out the window, I see the Bentley, the beautiful car that had brought so much pleasure last night. I imagine the two of us pressed into the back seat and cringe at the memory. Did he remember his wife when he thrust into me with his hands around my neck? Then an idea flashes through my mind.
In a flurry of madness, I race into my bedroom and whip through my wardrobe pulling out every item of clothing I own until I see THE dress. When I’d packed it into my suitcase I wasn’t sure why I was bringing it but it’s my lucky dress, the one I catch everyone’s attention in. It’s the one that makes my breasts pop up high above my small waist as it clings around my ass and thighs like it’s struggling to confine them.
I pull it up to my body and look in the mirror. I’ve put on a few pounds since the last time I wore it but that’ll just make it tighter, sexier, more alluring. Letting my jeans and sweatshirt fall to the ground, I look at my naked body and see the small, circular marks that show up where Frederick’s fingertips had been. Prodding them lightly, I feel the subtle heat they emanate and remember the tantalizing pain of last night. How the breath had been torn out of my body and the blood had pumped south.
“He has a wife,” I sigh and feel the tears start to prickle my eyes once again.
Stepping into the dress, I sniff and dab at my face one last time then attempt to pull myself together.
“You’re a hot American in London and you have a Bentley. You can do whatever you want.”
I take a deep breath and set about redoing my makeup, flaking the tear streaked mascara off my cheeks and wiping the smeared eyeshadow off the bridge of my nose. Urgh… Why do I always look like a crazy lady when I cry?
~
Twenty minutes later I’ve polished and perfected my look and standing in front of my new car in heels I can barely walk in let alonedrive. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I run my hands across the leather of the steering wheel and feel the upholstery stick to my bare thighs. As I pull the door shut and twist the key in the ignition, I’m suddenly aware that I can still smell us on the back seat. There’s the familiar tang of sweat and sex, a hint of his cologne and the slight essence of his ejaculate mixed with the supple leather. The engine rumbles quietly and I step on the accelerator. Fuck going to class, I think. I need to have some fun.
Chapter Two
The day has passed by in a haze of unfamiliar streets. It feels like I've been driving for hours, moving in between neighborhoods, some rich, some poor. I've passed houses as big as Roman temples and experienced the squalor of the inner city as I craned my neck to see the tops of high rises. London is a city I don't think I'll ever understand. It's both friendly and hostile. It houses every kind of person but is a home to very few. It showcases wealth and power like no other city but yet seems so dismal and gray at the same time. Today is the first day I don't feel like a tourist, and the novelty of the place seems to have worn off.
I park the car on the edge of an industrial estate. Nearby, there's a sign for somewhere called Stratford but I don't know where that is. Isn't Stratford-Upon-Avon where Shakespeare was from? Somehow I don't reckon I'm thinking about the same place.
For a long, while I sit and think. The Thames flows in front of me, the same river Frederick and I had made love in front of, but the same magic doesn’t exit down here and the water looks murky like it's hiding a thousand filthy secrets.
Frederick... It was only one night but there was something between us, I was sure of it. There was a sparkle in his eyes when he looked at me. There was no way he could have faked it. But his wife... she had definitely said she was his wife. All day I've been churning over her words in my mind wondering if I'd heard her wrong but I know that I hadn't.
"Milton you... you fuck!"
I slam my hands against the steering wheel, annoyed at both him and my lack of a better insult. Still, if anything good has come from meeting him, it’s this car. It's taken me all over the city and made me feel like a queen. It's just a shame it's full of memories.
I look in the rearview mirror at the backseat then a thought flutters through my mind. I ignore it for a moment thinking it's too crazy, but it comes back again, and again. It won't leave. It's tormenting me with the most exquisite revenge. Torch the car, I think. It'll hurt him, show him how angry I am. It'll show how worthless I think his money is.
A wicked smile spreads across my face as I reach for my lighter. How do I even do this? A quick look online on my phone tells me everything I need. A rag found in the trunk, check. Fire, check. Stepping out, I pull open the flap for the gas tank and slowly start to insert the rag, making sure to leave a loose end to set alight.
With a quivering hand, I hold the meager flame of the lighter to the rag but it blows out before it connects. I spark the lighter again and once more, the wind blows it out.
At the back of the industrial estate, a double decker bus drifts by, the passengers on the top floor looking down at me as though they know I'm up to something. Behind me, a shutter rolls up as a man in paint streaked overalls exits a workshop.
Looking down and seeing a lighter in one hand and a rag in the other, I feel as though I'm seeing myself for the first time.
"What are you doing, you psycho?" I say to myself as I toss the rag and lighter away. "Fucking get your shit together."
~
The car snakes silently through the narrow streets of Soho, a place that's as sordid as I always imagined it would be. Strip clubs litter every corner and sex shops entice people in with their cherry, red blinking signs.
I drive slowly, savoring every sleazy detail. It's hard to imagine that so close to the all the tourist loving, Union Jack tote bag touting stalls sits something so lurid and dark. It's too easy to imagine the old unfortunates of the Victorian era hanging out the ancient crumbling windows. As I pull up at a stop light, I imagine Jack the Ripper hopping between the shadows, the trail of his coat tails writhing behind him.
Then I'm snapped back into the moment as loud, hip hop starts to blare out the car beside me. Looking over, I see a car full of young men. They all smile and the driver winks. They're not my type but I wink and smile back anyway, then rev the engine. As the light turns green, I kick
the accelerator and speed off, leaving them behind as they become caught up in the traffic.
In front of me, more red signs flash and without thinking, I pull into the nearest parking space and climb out. Somewhere across the road, I hear a wolf whistle but don't look up. I'm too distracted by the building beside me, the one that's eclipsing the air polluted sky with its fan-shaped roof. The Windmill, isn't that like, the English version of the Moulin Rouge? I've heard about it before, I'm sure of it, seen it on some documentary or something. My thoughts are confirmed when I notice the plaque on the wall.
THE WINDMILL
LONDON'S FIRST STRIP CLUB
EST. 1930
The doorman sees me looking up at the building. He glances at my ass, then at the car, then back at my ass before scanning his eyes over my tattoos.
"You looking for a job?" he asks with a cheeky smile.
The red light glistens off his bald head while his wide shoulders fill up the doorway.
"Nooooo...." I laugh. "Not a job, a good time."
"In here that means the same thing."
I don't know what to say. There's something about him that's so intimidating yet he's grinning like a schoolboy.
"Like your tats, love," he says as he points to the pin up girl on my thigh.
"Thanks. She's my favorite.”
"American?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Uhuh..."
He sticks his tongue into the side of his mouth for a moment and looks up in thought.
"I can get into trouble for doing this but... what's the point in having rules if you can't break 'em, eh?"
He glances behind him to make sure no one's looking then he lifts the red, velvet rope.
"Go on," he nods inside. "Free entry for a pretty American girl. Go straight down that corridor and keep going until you reach the curtain. That's where the VIP is,” he explains. “But don't tell anyone I sent you."
The Boss Me Series: Complete Billionaire Boxed Set Romance Books (1-3): (A Billioniare Steamy Romance Series) Page 6
