Taming Her Boss

by C. M. Stunich

  “Get off of me,” I command, keeping my voice firm enough that I hope he'll take it as an 'order'. Provided, of course, that he still wants to submit to me. I kind of just gave him what he wanted. And besides, his level of submission leaves something to be desired. I purse my lips as he grunts and slides out of me, stumbling out of the backseat and putting his hand on the door for support. Neither of us looks at one another.

  I sit up, careful not to bump my head again, and tug my skirt back into place. My panties are a little worse for wear, but I adjust them, so that they're more or less back where they belong. A quick glance at my face in the rearview mirror shows a woman I'm not all that used to seeing. Her lips are red and swollen, her eyes dark rimmed with more than just eyeliner. Pupils dilated, skin beaded with sweat, face flushed with a warm glow. Yikes. It's not like I've never had sex before. Honestly, I've had my fair share, but this is a rare find, a once in a long while friction of passion that burns just the right way.

  Lex fumbles around with his slacks and then turns to face me, buttoning his shirt as he does so. The look on his face is … not as weird as I thought it'd be. In fact, he looks kind of … happy. I tilt my head to the side as I study his expression. His beautiful square jaw is relaxed, the strong muscles in his shoulders loose, his mouth absolutely not scowling for once in his life.

  “Now what?” I blurt, because apparently I'm the only one of us that's acting like a weirdo. I have a twitchy feeling in my fingers that says I've gotten what I needed from Lex and now it is time to go. Only I don't. I just sit there on the edge of the backseat and stare up at him as I try to hook my bra together without taking it off and starting from scratch. Ladies with big ones upstairs know exactly what I'm talking about: it is a hell of a lot easier to turn the bra upside down and inside out, clasp it in the front and then spin it around, than is to do it with your hands at a weird angle behind your back.

  Lex finishes buttoning his shirt and gestures for me to stand up. I glare at him, but he only raises an eyebrow.

  “Would you like some help, Oli?” he asks me as I narrow my eyes and stay put. His voice is so … deep. And contented. Almost sleepy with relaxation. I'm not even sure what to do at this point. Finally, I sigh and stand up, turning away from him, so he can hook my bra for me. Might as well let him. It's not like he hasn't been intimately acquainted with my body today anyway. Instead of a courtesy adjustment to the strap, Lex scoots in close, pressing his body to mine, putting his lips to my ear and breathing on me. Goose bumps spring up across my skin as I wait tensely for him to fix my bra and then move away, turning slowly to face him.

  The sound of sliding doors and footsteps echoes around us.

  “Looks like we finished just in time,” I say, limping over to my lost slipper and putting my foot back inside the cozy folds of fabric. My legs are shaking and I feel like I need a drink. Preferably something stronger than a glass of wine. “I could use a whiskey double,” I blurt and Lex laughs. Laughs. Like, actually opens his mouth and allows a sound of joy to escape into the air around us. My eyes widen and I stare at him like I'm not quite believing what I'm seeing.

  “How about, I give us both a paid day off and we go find our way to one?”

  I look down at my rumpled clothes and my slippers. Another thing they always get wrong in the movies – sex is messy, even with a condom. My underwear are soaked with my own satisfaction and I'm pretty sure I got … something in Lex's hair. We both need a shower and a change of clothes, but I don't much feel like driving. I lick my bottom lip. If Lex isn't going to run away, then I might as well not either. That would feel too much like letting him win. I won't let him see that he's gotten to me or that our having actually completed the sex act we've been attempting for a week changes a damn thing between us. If he wants to play some sort of game, then fine. We already fucked once, might as well take advantage of the situation for all it's worth.

  “I told you I quit,” I grumble, but our fight seems so far away, and I really just don't give a shit anymore. I sigh and glance over my shoulder. At the edge of the parking garage, I see Maxi's blonde head scouring the cars for me. Shit. This whole thing started because somebody blabbed to Lara about Lex's stupid contract. She's the only person I told. Much as I want to believe in her innocence, I have to ask her about it. And if I find out she betrayed me? Oh God. I can't deal with that right now. I need to get out of here. I look back over at Lex who's staring at me with a very strange, very masculine facial expression. I hope the one I give back to him is just as weird, and twice as feminine. “Take me home, Lex,” I tell him, nodding my chin at the driver's side door. It isn't until the words come out that I realize how they sound. There's oopsie number 985 for the day. Goddamn it, Olivia.

  Lex smirks like the big fat asshole he is, but at least he doesn't argue with this command, echoing his words from that first fateful friday.

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “My place or yours?” I ask Olivia, trying my best to keep my expression stoic. Each time I slip and let my lips curl up in a feral grin, I find her glaring at me with narrowed eyes. I know she can read in my expression what I won't dare say out loud. Mine. I almost laugh at the thought. If I even dared utter that word aloud, she wouldn't just grab my balls in a vise grip – she'd tear them from my body completely. I find myself fantasizing about that rage. Not, of course, of actually losing a body part I treasure so dearly, but of the wild anger and the violent sex that would soon follow after. I'm willing to let her try for the opposite. Hers. It's what I want, anyway. Today was just the first step, finally giving into that animalistic frenzy for one another, and I must say: Olivia Ashcraft did not disappoint. But I also couldn't resist going for the throat like a Lyndon's born and bred to do. But she held her own and that, that is a fucking miracle. Now, I'm hoping we can continue this conversation into more dangerous territory. After that confrontation with Lara, I feel more motivated than ever to let go of my responsibilities and let that sense of abandonment and freedom wash over me, let Olivia tell me what to do, where to go, how to feel.

  After that … well. I don't know. I don't know anything except that right now, I want her to be mine. I want to be hers. I'm sure once I get this fetish out in the open, taste what it has to offer, I'll move on. I don't like being threatened and used, but Lara Caliper's offer does make sense in a lot of ways. I highly doubt she'd be capable of giving what Olivia has to offer, but maybe, after I've experienced enough of it, I won't need that anymore? I'm a Lyndon, after all.

  “My place or yours?” she repeats, looking askance at me as we leave the financial district behind and head the few miles northwest towards her place on Nob Hill. Derisively, this area is sometimes referred to as 'Snob Hill' which I find amusing. Olivia is many things, but snob would not – nor ever could – be a word applied to this woman. Knowing that her townhouse is located there does bring a certain amount of guilt though. If she really does decide to walk away from her job because of me – or I fire her again – she'll likely be unable to afford it for much longer. Olivia's a genuine sort of person, the type that the world needs more of. She deserves her place on one of San Francisco's original 'Seven Hills'.

  But I won't ever admit any of this aloud.

  “I mean … I meant my place, so I could shower and … ” Olivia looks over at me again. When I pause at a red light, I turn and look right back. Her hair is mussy, her braid barely held together, strands of vibrant red pointing this way and that. My favorite part of her appearance though, is the swollen set of her lips, like they're slathered in lipstick. Only they're not and that's so, so, so much better. Bright and vibrant from my kisses, the color is the perfect accent to Olivia's pale skin. “You'd take me to your place?” She immediately retracts her question with a glower. “I'm just curious is all,” she corrects, sighing and slumping back against the leather seat.

  “You can shower at my place,” I suggest, wanting for whatever reason to show her mine. “You can even do it alone if, for whatever bizarre reaso
n, you'd prefer to.”

  “You sicken me,” she says, but I can't stop the smirk from blooming on my lips like a rose.

  “I'll even let you wear one of my shirts and walk around with no panties.”

  “How kind of you,” Olivia growls, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as we drive past her place on Jackson Street and continue on towards mine. What kind of strange coincidence is it that we live on the same street? I wonder how she'll take this bit of news. “Where do you live anyway?” She holds up a finger before I can speak. “Wait, wait, let me guess – you've got a view of the bay. A nice, roomy, multi-million dollar gem in Sea Cliff perhaps?”

  “Presidio Heights, actually,” I say with a twisted smile she won't even be able to begin to decipher. I chose a place there for one reason and one reason only: I liked the building. I didn't think about the reputation of the neighborhood – which is still quite prestigious by the way – but only about the yellow and white brick, the original moldings, the leaded glass. I paid 1.7 million dollars for the place – a squalid sum compared to my father's and grandfather's homes. They actually look down on my choice of residence – Presidio Heights is only the third wealthiest neighborhood in San Francisco and only the 461st wealthiest in the United States. I grit my teeth and try not to get frustrated with them. They're not here; Olivia is. I look over at her again, but she isn't looking back at me. Instead, her brows are wrinkled as we pull up in my single allotted parking space. Ah, the joys of city living.

  I turn the car off as Olivia glances over her shoulder to gaze out the back window.

  “Lex, uh, our houses are like one and a half miles apart.”

  “One point six, actually,” I say as I open the door and climb out, closing it behind me and waiting for Olivia to grab her purse from the backseat, keys, cell, and wallet included this time I hope. It would appear that she's found the time to replace the batteries in her key fob.

  “This is a coincidence?” I raise my eyebrow at her and try not to get too excited when she trips over the curb of the sidewalk.

  “You mean like you locking your keys in your own car? You think sometime in the past week and a half, I found the time to purchase a multi-million dollar condo simply because of proximity to your place?”

  “Who knows? I've heard of guys purchasing entire companies, just to get access to a girl that works there. The creepiness of your type cannot be underestimated.” Olivia turns to look up at the yellow and white beauty I call home. Not that I get to spend much time here. There's a unit below mine, a studio apartment that I rent out for free in exchange for the woman's discreetness and ability to clean the place up without my ever seeing her. Above my portion of the property, there's another unit that's empty. I bought the entire building but haven't bothered to fill that spot. I'd just rather not deal with neighbors. Technically, I live in a condo, but in a sense, this place is all mine.

  “I see. And this is something that happened in real life?” Olivia purses her lips and watches as I walk around her and up the steps, keys dangling from my fingers. Fortunately, I had them in my pocket when I ran down to see Olivia. It must be fate. I try not to smirk again.

  “In a book, but technically, it could happen.” She follows after me, more interested in scoping out my house than in accusing me of stalking. I almost wish I could say I had Olivia picked out in advance, but that's just not true. Our entire meeting was a strange twist of fate, a combination of my bad mood and the hot breath of investors on my neck. I marched in that lunch room to scream, to lay blame, and instead I found something much more interesting.

  “Holy crap, Lex,” she says as soon as I unlock one half of the two leaded glass doors that make up my front entry. Olivia steps inside, slippers shuffling across the dark wood floors. “This is … absolutely beautiful.” The awe and respect in her voice shift something in my chest, something I have no name for. I close the door behind us and lock it with no intention of being disturbed today.

  “Living room and family room are to your right. Dining room and kitchen are straight ahead. I'd be happy to give you the grand tour now or after you shower?”

  I wait in the entryway, watching as she takes in every detail, every painting, all the moldings, the fireplace, the windows. I've had women comment on the house before, but not like this. To be honest, most of them are disappointed I don't live in a mansion by the bay. Olivia doesn't care. She sees the architecture and the history of the house, just like I do. My appreciation for her lifts another notch.

  I follow behind Olivia in a swerving pathway through my living room and family room and then into the dining room where she pauses, her eyes locked on the kitchen.

  “Goddamn,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “I hope you know how to cook.” I smile because, of course, I don't. Neither does she, apparently. She told me as much herself during our poker game. Olivia touches her hand to the marble countertop and then jerks it back with a slight cringe. When she spins to face me, her lips are pursed tight and her cheeks have a bit more color than before. “I probably shouldn't touch any eating surfaces, considering where this hand's been.” She lifts her fingers up and my brain immediately begins to recall our wild romp in the backseat of her Lexus. Her fingers around my balls, my shaft, my fingers inside of her. I have to close my eyes when I start thinking about my hips slamming into her round ass, the tight clench of her muscles, the groans that burned from her throat like embers.

  I open my eyes to find her staring at me with a wrinkled nose.

  “I can't believe I had sex with you,” she groans, and I laugh. The sound seems strange echoing around my kitchen. I'll be the first to admit that it's not something I hear often when I'm here, either alone or with one of those soppy wet kitty cats that I no longer want anything to do with. Olivia has tainted me in that respect. I wonder if all my future relationships will have to go through this same violent struggle?

  “Ready for that whiskey double?” I ask, moving over to the gray cabinets on the left side of the room. I search through the glass bottles, trying to decide what Olivia might like best based on her affinity for sweeter wine. I decide on a bottle of Bushmills twenty-one year old single malt whiskey. It has a smell reminiscent of toffee and dark chocolate and a taste like butterscotch and dried fruit. I pull it out and set it on the counter with the gentle clink of glass.

  “Make it a triple,” she says as I glance over my shoulder and find her straddling one of the stools at my kitchen island. I can't stop myself from remembering how good it felt when she was straddling me. “That oughta hold me over until I finish showering.” Olivia smiles at me, but the expression doesn't quite reach her eyes.

  “I'll have to take your keys away,” I tease, wondering how she's going to react to a joke from me. “You might have to spend the night.” I grab two glasses and pour a generous amount of liquid into each.

  “If worse comes to worst, I can always walk home,” she says as I turn and place her drink on the island countertop, sliding it towards her and taking a sip. The alcohol burns my throat and sits warm and heavy in my stomach. I feel my eyes close in sheer bliss. Scalding sex, a day away from the office, and the warm bite of whiskey. For a moment there, I feel almost … satisfied. The feeling's not exactly something I'm used to.

  After a moment, Olivia clears her throat and I open my eyes to look across the counter, meeting that penetrating stare with one of my own.

  “Lex,” she begins and I find myself unconsciously running my tongue across my lower lip. Her gaze dips to take in the motion and then snaps back up to my eyes. “I have no idea who told Lara Caliper about the contract. I only told one person about it, and she would guard my secrets to the death.” Olivia sucks in a deep breath and braces herself for my fury. I feel it, flaming in my belly, threatening to spill over my lips in words I don't mean, like fire from a dragon's mouth. But then the sex and the whiskey settle in and tamp down on my emotions.

  “Who?” I ask, shifting the tumbler around in my fingers and watching t
he amber liquid slosh against the sides. Whoever it is, I'm going to bury them. Somebody has to pay for revealing my secret. I look and find Olivia with pursed lips, arms crossed over her chest. Her breasts squish against her arm, the soft flesh enticing my cock back to firm attention. This is one soldier who's not ready for the war between Olivia and me to be over quite yet.

  “Like I'd tell you that. It was a personal confidante that I absolutely refuse to put under your scrutiny.”

  “That blonde friend of yours,” I guess, “the one from accounting.” Olivia just laughs at me and shakes her head. Her braid finally gives up the fight and comes undone, leaving wavy strands of crimson trailing down to her shoulders.

  “You only wish. It's not somebody you know.” She pauses and taps her nails against the counter, cringing again and examining them like she expects to find something dirty embedded there. I can still feel Olivia all over me, the hot wetness spreading down her thighs as we fucked, the warmth against my fingers and knuckles. I try not to shiver and pour myself another glass, pushing the bottle towards Olivia. She takes it and helps herself to another round. “By the way, that blonde's name is Maxi and she's the head of your accounting department.” Olivia smiles a shark grin at me and lifts the tumbler for some sort of toast, tossing it back without waiting for me to join her. I watch her pale throat as she swallows, satisfied when I spot the purple and blue marks that remain as proof of my kisses. Hickeys. I smirk.

  “I'll be sure to remember that,” I say as Olivia coughs and shakes her head, wrinkling her nose and then smiling at her empty glass. When she sets it down again and looks over at me, her smile turns into a smirk to match my own.

  “Whatever you're thinking, whatever it is that's putting that smug smile on your face, try to remember that while you're doing it, there's jizz in your hair.” She slides off the stool triumphantly and looks around. “And the bathroom is where again?”