Taming Her Boss

by C. M. Stunich

  I intend to change that.

  A smirk curls the corner of my lip as I tuck my cock away, moving around the coffee table and grabbing the white throw that's folded atop the back of the couch.

  “I'll be praying for Monday morning, Miss Ashcraft,” I whisper, covering her naked lower half with the blanket. After a moment of consideration, I dig my wallet out of my back pocket and retrieve a business card. “Something to remember me by, my sweet.” I lift up the blanket and tuck the card between her cheeks with a grin.

  Now. Let's see how she likes that.

  I wake up the sound of the moms chuckling and whispering.

  “It's too early for this,” I whisper, squeezing whatever I have clutched in my hands tighter. My addled brain tells me this is my alarm clock, even though it's pretty obvious that it's not. I lift the item up to my face for inspection and crack my eyes. My lids feel like they're weighted down, dragging across my eyes like sandpaper. I blink a few times, expecting to see my mothers standing above my bed, framed by the lavender paint of my bedroom walls.

  Only the walls are beige instead.

  I blink again and find that the item I've lifted up to my face is a condom.

  Uh.

  I sit up suddenly, feeling a draft I really shouldn't feel and finding myself with two women bent over in hysterical laughter. What the … fuck? I toss the condom onto the coffee table as I try to get my bearings. Okay, okay, so I'm in the living room and I'm … I glance down and find that my legs are bare, my naughty parts about an inch away from being on vibrant, brilliant display. Something stabs me in the ass, and I yelp, digging my hand under my bottom to find … a business card.

  A business card.

  Stuck between my ass cheeks.

  With Lex Lyndon's name on it.

  Memories come rushing back and with them, a bright red blush that colors my cheeks and draws a groan from my throat. Oh. My. God.

  “What have I done?” I whisper as my mothers continue to laugh at me. I watch in abject horror as Carol pokes at a pile of clothing with her toe, a pile of clothing that's topped off with my very comfy but entirely unattractive grey cotton panties. Lex … saw these? He took them off of me? “I almost had sex with Lex,” I whisper, gathering the excess bit of white blanket to my chest. “Oh my God.” I groan and tuck my legs up onto the couch, making sure all of my private parts are one hundred percent covered up.

  “What a night you must've had after we left,” June says, doing her best to sound motherly but failing miserably. “As soon as we walked in and found your clothes on the floor, we figured you must've gotten in touch with your boss.”

  “Actually, he got in touch with me,” I say, pulling a pillow over my head and wishing that last night had never happened. How the hell am I going to march into the office Monday morning and threaten Lex with a lawsuit if I can't stop thinking about what happened between us? Did we finish? I wonder, but I'm guessing the answer is no. The last thing I remember is stumbling into the living room to grab a condom (don't ask why I keep them in here, long story) and then nothing.

  I crinkle the business card up in my fist and let it flutter to the floor.

  “You're going to kiss me. And you're going to fuck me right here, against this wall.”

  I just commanded my boss, the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation to have sex with me. Monday at the office is going to be … interesting.

  “Well, I for one am glad to see you breaking out of that shell of yours,” Carol says, knowing full well that she's not making things any easier for me. “I hope the sex, at least, was good?”

  “We didn't get that far,” I grumble, feeling a surprising tinge of remorse at the thought. Did I – do I – want to have sex with Alexander Lyndon? Ugh. I mean, the man's attractive enough, but rock hard pecs and a big dick don't make up for that sour attitude. Do they? I mean, dear God, why am I even asking myself that question? My brain does a quick calculation: three months since I last had sex.

  I resist the urge to cry.

  Fucking Lex Lyndon, working me to the bone, and then storming into the lunch room looking equal parts delicious and downright mean. How dare Lex threaten to fire me like that, after all I've done for the company. All the late nights and the weekend trips to the office. It's no wonder I haven't found the time to get laid. It's all his fucking fault.

  I sit up suddenly, drawing my righteous indignation around my shoulders like a suit of armor. With this baby in place, I can ward off anything. Lecherous CEOs included.

  “Are we still going out for breakfast?” June asks, standing up and smiling sharply at me. She straightens out her sleeveless baby blue Giorgio Armani blouse – even though there's not a single wrinkle in the damn thing. I used to tease her and say she dressed pretty damn nice for a hippie, but she'd just cut right through me with that smile of hers and shake her head like I wasn't getting it. I've wanted to get it so badly, I haven't spoken a word about it since I turned twenty-one. Nine years later, I still don't get it. My moms are mysterious like that. “We can discuss this over coffee and pancakes. I'm starving.” She gestures at me to get up, moving me along with that essential motherliness that I also don't get.

  With a sigh and a groan, I stand up, keeping the white blanket wrapped around my hips like a skirt. It's only as I'm shuffling across the carpet in my knee-high panty hose (which somehow, I'm still miraculously wearing) and black lace bra, that my brother decides to let himself in and pause in the doorway to the living room.

  My eyes widen and my cheeks flush with heat as he looks down at the pile of clothes on the floor and then up at the mortification spreading across my face like a disease.

  “Dude,” Craig says, twirling his keys around on his finger. “Those are some ugly ass panties.”

  “Until you were seventeen,” I reiterate, just to be sure that everyone at the table has heard me. “Seventeen years old.”

  “Oli,” my brother begins, leaning across the table with a smirk on his face that reminds me so much of Lex Lyndon that I feel my fingers curling into an angry fist. “It's okay.” He takes off his shades with his left hand and then touches them to his chest in a gesture of mocking contrition. “We don't care that you screwed your boss.”

  I narrow my eyes at the twinkle in his green gaze before fishing an ice cube out of my glass and throwing it at his face. Craig laughs and sits back, letting the cube smack him in the neck. I, apparently, don't have the world's best aim.

  “Sorry that you screwed your boss and let him see those horrible fucking panties of yours.”

  “Peed the bed until you were seventeen,” I mutter as our waitress walks by and tosses Craig a sultry wink. I hate to admit it, but my brother is the world's most stereotypical bad boy. He has an entire sleeve of tattoos and a tongue ring that I know he thinks looks hot but that probably won't look all the great when he's pushin' sixty. “He peed the bed until he was seventeen,” I tell her and then lift up my iced tea glass. “And can I get a refill?” The woman raises her eyebrows at Craig before moving away to – hopefully – fulfill my request.

  “That was six years ago, Oli. Your transgressions occurred at a very ungodly morning hour today. Look, if you want, I can get one of my girlfriends to take you shopping, get you some nice lingerie for that smexy ass boss of yours.”

  “Smexy?” I ask, looking over at my mothers, aghast that they actually raised this guy. It doesn't seem possible. How? Why? “What does that even mean?” I ask, looking back at him and curling my fingers around the edge of the glass table top as I lean forward. Sunlight streams across my brother's hair, highlighting that strange red-violet color we both seem to have inherited from our mystical birth father. Considering the fact that June is a brunette and Carol a blonde, it can't have come from either of them. “And besides, do you hear what you're saying? One of your girlfriends?” I look back at the moms, neither of which are paying us any attention. Yes, Crag is twenty-three and I am thirty years old, but that doesn't mean we can't bicker and squabbl
e like we're ten. We're siblings – we reserve the right to fight for the rest of eternity.

  Craig sighs and sits back, slumping in his chair like he, too, is waiting for me to get it.

  “I'm polyamorous,” Craig states clearly, slipping his sunglasses back on his face and smiling at the waitress as she delivers my iced tea. The street next to us teems with life – shoppers carrying bags, cars crawling through the manic twist of traffic that is San Francisco, gawking tourists – but all I can do is sit here and stare at my brother with a raised eyebrow, ready to hear the explanation of his alternative lifestyle for the one hundred and eighty second time. I mouth the words as he starts to speak. “Which is not the same thing as polygamy. My lovers and I are a family. We're all dating and sleeping with each other. Josh is dating Marina who's dating Maggie who's dating Lisle who's dating Angie who's dating me. See? And the circle repeats itself.” My brother twists his finger in a circle as I sigh and plant my forehead in my hand. “I'm dating Josh who's dating Lisle who's dating Maggie … ”

  “Yes, thank you, Craig,” Carol says, turning to her son and patting him on the head. “We appreciate your uniqueness and ability to think outside the box. Now, shut up and eat your pancakes.” She leans over to kiss him on the cheek, looking more like one of his girlfriends than she does his mother. I secretly pray that Carol's my birth mom, so I can age like a beauty queen.

  My brother smiles tightly at me and stabs his fork into his food.

  “So, Olivia,” June begins, adjusting herself in the metal chair to turn and stare at me with that penetrating gaze of hers. Crap. “What exactly happened with Mr. Lyndon last night?”

  “Jesus Christ, Mum, I'm eating,” Craig says before getting smacked in the back of the head by Carol. I look between the two of them and then back at June, her brown eyes wide and staring. I have a feeling that if I don't at least tell a simplified version of the story, that I'm going to get banned from our family trip to the farmers' market.

  “He, uh, stopped by the house.” I look back at my half-eaten blueberry pancakes and pick up a fork, stabbing a bite and thrusting it between my lips. Kind of like I thrust my tongue into Lex's mouth. I wrinkle my nose.

  “It was about, say, one in the morning,” I test, looking up at Carol to see what kind of reaction I'm going to get. She lays her arm across the back of my brother's chair and waits patiently. “And I'd spilled wine down the front of my shirt.” I gesture at my chest and cough to clear my throat. “So, I answered the door shirtless and things just sort of escalated from there.” I glance back down at my plate and push around a soggy piece of pancake, watching as it trails syrupy drips in its wake. “The last thing I remember is going into the living room to grab a condom.”

  “You keep condoms in your living room?” Craig asks as I look up and purse my lips. If I kill my brother with a syrup drenched fork, that doesn't count as murder, right? Just self defense? “I didn't think you had enough visitors to warrant secret condom stashes.”

  I drop my fork and stand up, snatching my purse from the back of my chair.

  “Yeah, well since when does being a respectable and professional woman automatically discount me from getting laid? I get laid,” I say, raising my voice, perfectly aware that everyone can hear me, but not caring anymore. “I get fucked. I can get as much dick as I want. I'm a modern woman, and Craig, you, you're an asshole.”

  I move away from the table, enjoying the sounds of the moms chastising Craig for pissing me off. I only wish I had more conviction in my own words. I am a successful, powerful woman, and I don't need a man in my life to feel whole. But it would be nice to have one in my bed, just for a night.

  Sorry, Mr. Vibrator, but this bitch is going out tonight.

  Following Olivia around would qualify me as a stalker. Sorry, ladies, but it's true. It's not an attractive trait for any man, least of all me. Even though I'm fascinated by that woman. I lift my phone up and check one more time, craving an angry message from my enthralling little employee. Only there isn't one. Her lack of attention infuriates me … at the same that it excites me.

  I knew it.

  Olivia Olsen Ashcraft is the one.

  I rise to my feet and fasten the center button on my suit jacket. A smile curves my lips as my father and grandfather both glance over at me with small frowns tugging down the corners of their mouths.

  “You have somewhere to be, Alexander?” my father asks, sitting back and staring at me from a pair of familiar gray-blue eyes. We're both practically carbon copies of my grandfather – with a single exception. I doubt either of them has paid a woman to beat their ass in the bedroom. My smirk deepens as I stroll across the vast expanse of my father's dining room, pausing at the curved entry that leads into the living room.

  “Actually,” I begin as I glance back at the two of them – my father's hair just starting to turn gray while my grandfather's has long since faded to white. If they had any idea what I was up to, they'd use their influence on the board of directors to have me stripped of my newly acquired position as CEO. That's why I intend to get this fetish out of my system before it destroys me from the inside out. I'm sure as soon as I get in that bedroom and find myself on my knees in front of Olivia, I'll change my mind about the whole thing. Won't I? I mean, who truly likes to be dominated? It seems absurd. “I'm working on a new business proposition. It's a time sensitive matter, so I'd like to have the papers drawn up as soon as possible.”

  Both my father's and my grandfather's frowns turn into proud smiles. Look at me, Lex Lyndon, keeping the family name intact, burning the midnight oil to keep the company running smoothly. The perfect protégé, the ideal son and grandson. As soon as I remove this one, tiny flaw, everything else should fall into place.

  “Working on a Saturday” my father says, his voice thick with approval. I pause on my way out to nod my chin at him. Oh, if you only knew the kind of work that was crossing my desk today. “It looks like you're on the right path, Alexander. I take it if you're finally putting the company first, you'll be considering some of our other proposals?” Eh. I keep the smile plastered on my face, using thoughts of Olivia Ashcraft to keep it as real as possible. My family is so used to keeping secrets that they're practically capable of sniffing them out.

  “Oh, most certainly,” I say as the thrill of what I'm about to do courses through me. I've been looking for so long now, years even. And here this woman was, sitting in an office down the hall from me. How could I have ever missed her? “I'll let you know as soon as I come to a decision.”

  I turn away and start towards the front door before either of them can stop me to ask what, exactly, today's proposition is all about. The last thing I'll be admitting to either of them is that I'd like to feel Olivia's high heeled foot stabbing into my back.

  That just wouldn't be dignified, now would it?

  After gathering the proper paperwork up, making certain I cross all my T's and dot my I's, I drive my BMW over to Olivia Ashcraft's. I'd have called to confirm, but I imagine that Olivia is the type of woman who'd tell me to fuck off and not give it a second thought. If I'm going to present her this proposal, it has to be in person, and there's absolutely no way I'll be able to do it at the office. Too risky. Nobody can find out about this little fetish of mine or I can kiss my career – and my dignity – goodbye.

  I park on the street – taking an illegal space next to a fire hydrant since there's absolutely nowhere else available – and start to climb out when I see Olivia's front door open. It takes me a few seconds to process what I'm seeing.

  An elegant swathe of black fabric drapes her small, curvy frame, turning the bright blush of hair on her head into flames that draw my cock to stiff attention and cause my fingers to curl in my slacks. Her lips are slathered with red lipstick, her green eyes rimmed in smoky darkness. I imagine those plain cotton panties aren't underneath this particular dress. Not that I minded them, not at all. Olivia is just as attractive in slacks and a plain blouse as she is drenched in elega
nt evening wear. I like both looks. Good thing I included freedom of dress in our contract.

  I smile and climb out of the car.

  As soon as she sees me, she holds up her purse like a shield.

  “Oh, hell no,” she says, backing away and shaking her head. “This is not happening today. You are going to get back in that car and leave before I call the police and report you for stalking.” I pause and frown, torn between wanting to follow her orders and desperately needing for her to hear me out.

  “Miss Ashcraft,” I say, trying to remain calm. If I explode and lash out at her like I did in the office, this meeting is not going to go the way I want it to. “I understand that what happened between us last – ”

  “You mean nothing,” she says, a little too loudly, perhaps more for her own benefit than for mine. I let my briefcase hang by my side, perfectly aware that there's a contract inside the likes of which most people have never seen. I've been perfecting the wording for years, covering my own ass at the same time I'm allowing myself to live out the fantasies I've carried around for so long. “Nothing happened between us last night.” Olivia pauses, dropping her purse to her side as she covers the area between us with quick, easy steps. “I mean, except for you sticking your business card where it didn't belong. Do you know how much trouble I could get you in for that?”

  “Except you know perfectly well that you were complicit in the whole affair,” I say through gritted teeth. I only have so much patience. Yes, I want to be dominated. I can admit that, but I won't stand on the street in full public view and allow my name to be tarnished. “I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want.”

  “Except leave a business card in my crack,” she snaps, voice rough with frustration. I can't stop myself from smiling, enjoying her reaction to me. I decide not to acknowledge her comment – and the fact that she's right about that part, at least – and lift my briefcase for her examination. Our eyes meet across the brown leather surface.