Sophie (The Boss Book 8)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Now you’re speaking my language.” I kissed his cheek. “If I don’t see you before you’re asleep, goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, my loves.” He shut the bedroom door behind him when he left.

  He also sucked the oxygen out of the room and took it with him. Neil and I stood in the sitting room, staring at each other in silence. It was as though something had changed between us, as though this new and momentous direction of our lives together had dropped a bombshell of tension on us.

  “I’m not quite ready for bed,” Neil announced suddenly. “Fancy that dip in the hot tub you were looking forward to earlier?”

  “Um…” The private hot tub in our cabin always seemed inviting. I’d fallen in love with the concept of its curved glass wall and decided that it should face forward so the view of the sea beyond on the deck would be unobstructed.

  “We could put the telly on,” Neil cajoled. “Watch something while we make absolute prunes of ourselves.”

  “So that we don’t have to talk?” His motives could be so transparent. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off so—”

  “That was exactly why,” he admitted before I could finish my apology.

  Many times, I’d put off confronting a subject because I simply wanted to avoid it until it went away. I wasn’t going to let Neil do that now. That was my thing.

  The hitch was, I didn’t know how to broach a subject we didn’t want to talk about that wasn’t due to the whole thing being a horrible mess. How did one discuss something that made them happy? That healed the heart somehow?

  “I need to talk. More than just expressing how tonight didn’t go badly. Something feels…off.” I hadn’t noticed the tinge of uncertainty to my joy until I’d started speaking. Now, that uncertainty had become full-fledged dread out of nowhere.

  Neil nodded and looked thoughtfully at his feet as he paced a circle around the grouping of three leather armchairs in the center of the room. I waited as he finished the loop and sat down when he did.

  “Sophie,” he began but stalled. As if in defeat, he said, “It does feel off between us. Between you and me.”

  “But not when El-Mudad is around.” Oh god. What if Neil and I were having problems, but he didn’t have them with El-Mudad? What would happen to me? Would they divorce me? Was that even what it would be called?

  Before I could imagine an entire future of loneliness culminating in my eventual death from choking alone in a studio apartment with no one to save me, Neil said, “I never thought I would be a father again. I knew I wouldn’t. I made my vows to you at our wedding with the full knowledge that you didn’t want children. But now…Sophie, they feel like my daughters. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

  “Since Emma and Michael died.” To appease both of us, I added, “You can say it. We probably should say it.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, though to which or both, I couldn’t tell. “I promised you this part of my life was over. Now–”

  “You feel like your happiness is breaking that promise.” My heart sank. I’d been assuming that he’d stopped loving me for some reason, that he’d decided I didn’t fit into his life anymore. Instead, he’d been grappling with guilt over his joy because he worried that feeling it would hurt me?

  Selfish Sophie, always making it about you.

  In my defense, it was about me. At least, a little. “Neil, I’ve told you before, I don’t feel like you’ve somehow tricked me into motherhood. I’ve fallen in love with two men who both had children. They weren’t hidden. It wasn’t a dastardly surprise.”

  “Dastardly.” Neil’s lips twitched with amusement.

  “My archaic word choice aside,” I began again, “I’m actually on the logical, sensible side of this. You and Emma were a package deal. Same with El-Mudad and the girls. If I couldn’t stand the thought of being in their lives, I wouldn’t have gotten into these relationships. You were incredibly generous in the prenup.”

  He smiled sadly. “So, you’ll stay with us despite the parental duties?”

  “Not a parent,” I answered automatically. “But also, no. It’s not despite you two having kids. It’s partially because of that. I know you don’t like hearing it, but I love you more because you’re a caring father. You know my history. I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t at least respect the role, even if he never had kids.”

  He “hmm" -ed thoughtfully, but I wasn’t sure he believed me.

  Sometimes, my best epiphanies about Neil and his behavior came when he wouldn’t give me a window. It was time for an emotional Kool-Aid Man moment. I burst through his wall with, “You’re not feeling guilty because of me. We’ve discussed this so many times. You’re using me as an excuse because you feel like you’re betraying Emma.”

  He didn’t meet my eyes, a sure sign he knew I was right and didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  I perched on the arm of his chair, so I could put my hand on his back while I talked. “If I said, ’Neil, you feel like you’re callously discarding Emma by loving El-Mudad’s kids,’ would that statement strike you as somewhat familiar?”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “And were the situation reversed, would you feel that El-Mudad forgot one of his girls by loving Emma?” I hated to speak that kind of evil into the world after what we’d already lost, but it was necessary.

  “Of course not.”

  “And when someone has a second child, are they throwing the first one away? Do they care about them less? What about a third child? You have three siblings. Do you think your mother loved any of you less due to the presence of the others?”

  “I understand, Sophie.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “And you’re right. There are times when I’m with Rashida, and I think to myself, ‘things feel right again.’ After Emma died, I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

  “You were a father for over half your life,” I said softly.

  “Exactly. And then I was a father with no child. I couldn’t talk about her anymore to people who hadn’t known her because inevitably I would have to explain that she’s…” He swallowed and cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m even hesitant to mention Olivia because the only reason she lives with us is due to her parents’ death. And once you tell someone, the conversation changes.”

  I sat silent, too stunned to come up with anything comforting to say. His grief hadn’t been just for Emma, but for a part of himself, also.

  “As you said, I was a father for over half of my life,” he continued. “I feel like myself again. And yes, a part of that feels like moving on from Emma. I’ll get over that. Through therapy,” he added pointedly.

  “Good idea.” I took a moment to organize my thoughts. “I thought you were pushing me away.”

  “Oh, my darling, never.” He took my hand and kissed it, then held it close to his chest. “What did I do to make you feel that way?”

  “It wasn’t just you.” Now it was my turn for uncomfortable eye contact avoidance. “You and El-Mudad both had kids, you both wanted kids… Even though you both tell me otherwise, my brain likes to sabotage me with doubts. I keep thinking, do they resent me for not being on board the mom train? Am I taking something from them? And where do I fit in when you both have this huge chunk of your life in common?”

  Neil stroked his thumb over the back of my fingers. “Never doubt my love for you.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned down and rested my forehead against his. “There’s no way I can obey that command, though.”

  He studied my face for a moment, then reached up to cup the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair and tightening to tug just a little on my scalp. “What if your Sir commanded it?”

  “I would have to do it, then,” I whispered, my gaze falling to his mouth.

  He jerked me down and kissed me hard, stroking his tongue against mine. When both of us had been without oxygen for far too long, he pulled me back roughly by the hair. “Sophie,
if you ever doubt that you are loved by the men sharing your life, you will be punished.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Now, take off your clothes.”

  I snorted. “Oh, we’re doing this now?”

  “We are. And I won’t tolerate disobedience tonight.” He leaned back in the chair to watch me.

  Despite the lack of sleep, a full day of travel, and emotionally draining family business, my body snapped to attention at his words. I stood on shaking legs, my sex already throbbing as I positioned myself in front of him. “Slowly, Sir?”

  “Not too slowly, but don’t rush.” He reached for his zipper and pulled it down.

  I pulled my shirt over my head, my nipples beading from the tension as much as the generous air conditioning. Neil untucked the tails of his shirt from his pants and let his half-hard cock slap against his stomach. I licked my bottom lip as he glided his hand up and down his shaft.

  Not rushing was difficult when I felt so longing and empty. Watching him roll his foreskin back and forth over the tip of his length brought to mind every time he’d stretched my pussy wide, rammed deep, filled me up.

  I whimpered. If he’d permitted me to look at his face, I knew I would have seen gratification there at the sound.

  I eased my skirt down my hips, then hooked my thumb into my lacy white boy shorts to take them off, too. Baring my pussy transformed the air around me into a veil of cold silk. Being exposed was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  “Are you wet, Sophie?” he asked as I removed my bra.

  “Yes, Sir,” I whispered, shifting my feet to feel the slide of my labia against each other. It didn’t offer any release or ease my longing.

  “Show me.”

  “How, Sir?” I didn’t want to make any assumptions.

  “Use your fingers.” He paused. “Look into my eyes while you do it.”

  I lifted my gaze to meet his. There were times when Neil’s green-gold eyes were so warm and loving that he broke my heart just by looking at me. But my Sir, oh, he only ever looked like he wanted to wring as much pleasure, pain, and humiliation from me as he could. Now was no different. Though he glanced down as my hand moved to my vulva, he didn’t linger there. Just a brief check to make sure I still obeyed him as I slicked my fingers back and forth in my cleft.

  “No, Sophie,” he scolded. “Inside.”

  I pushed my middle finger into my cunt, my heart fluttering and flipping against my ribs.

  “Add another.”

  My ring finger joined the first.

  “Fuck yourself with them. You have my permission.”

  I curled and uncurled my fingers inside, pumping and coaxing more fluid onto my hand.

  He groaned softly, still stroking his cock. “I may never understand the depths of the control you hold over me.”

  “Sir?” Once I slipped into my submissive role, it was easy to forget that Neil got as much out of our games as I did. That I wasn’t the only person hungry for our encounters. As much as he could feign disinterest or disregard during our play, he wanted me as desperately as I wanted him.

  “I don’t know why I can have you whenever I’d like–-and I can, Sophie, never forget that–-yet I never get my fill.” His voice hitched. “I crave your obedience as much as you crave my dominance.” His voice took on a deeper, darker tone. “Take your fingers out. Come to me.”

  I took slow steps, my cunt aching with need.

  When I got close enough, he grabbed my arm and jerked me nearly off my feet. He didn’t just taste the juices glistening on my hand. He devoured them, weaving his tongue around my fingers, sucking desperately, as if he couldn’t get enough.

  He got to his feet and gave me a push. “Kneel on the chair and bend over the back.”

  I must not have done it fast enough for Sir’s taste because he gripped me by the back of the neck, startling a gasp of pain from my throat. He swept my feet from under me with a sharp nudge of his feet, not a kick but enough to thrill me with the violence of his desire. I tumbled forward, my knees stuttering across the leather cushion. I landed hard, smashing my face against the padded back of the chair.

  In an instant, Neil was on me, physically hauling my body up until I lay over the chairback, supported on my elbows.

  “Can you breathe?” he asked gruffly.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Then consider yourself lucky.” He didn’t mean it; Sir just liked to make his routine safety checks threatening to keep us in our roles. “Arch your back. I want you exposed to me. I want to see the pussy and ass that I own.”

  I did as he commanded, tilting my hips back, and the cushion beneath me dipped slightly. I assumed from the fact that I couldn’t feel his cock grinding against me that he hadn’t wholly joined me but leaned on the cushion while kneeling on the floor.

  My theory was confirmed when I felt his breath on the curve of my ass cheek. His thumb slipped into my cleft and brushed over my hole, but he didn’t push inside. “I’m going to eat you, Sophie. I’m going to lick every drop from your pussy. Worship your ass. You’ll take every moment of it, no matter how you scream for mercy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I trembled, goosebumps of anticipation growing tighter over every inch of my skin while his thumb still circled in place.

  “Am I a merciful man, Sophie?” He chuckled. “Answer honestly.”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Remember that when you’re screaming.” His hand moved, gliding over my skin to my waist. The other joined it, both palms working up my body, forcing their way between my breasts and the chair. He caught both my nipples between his fingers and pinched so hard I couldn’t help but cry out. “Remember,” he went on, cruelly twisting and rolling my hyper-sensitive flesh, “when I’m hurting you, when I’m ramming so deep in your cunt that all you feel is agony. Remember that I am not merciful.”

  I sobbed. It was fun to be scared when I knew it was all a game, so I let myself go, whispering under my breath, “Please, Sir. Don’t hurt me.”

  “Do you mean that?” Another check-in. Another adjustment.

  I shook my head. “No, Sir. But may I beg you to stop? I remember my signal. But I want to beg you.”

  “Oh, you most certainly will.” He slapped my ass hard and jerked my hips back, spreading my cheeks wide. His tongue took up the work his finger had been doing, shocking me with the warm, wet softness. Rimming was not high on my list of things I enjoyed. It was difficult to relax and get into it after years of being told how dirty that area was. And that just made it more humiliating and hotter.

  And I knew that Neil loved it; it hadn’t been until El-Mudad had become a part of our lovemaking that I’d realized just how much.

  Sir swirled his tongue over my hole, kneading and rolling my cheeks to bury his face deeper. What began as tender torture swiftly devolved into something frantic and wild. His lips dragged over my labia and rested on my clit to suck it inside. Frenzied, he rubbed his face up and down the length of my slit, coating himself. He still gripped my ass, but his hold became painful, his finely manicured nails cutting into my flesh as he growled and plunged his tongue into my cunt.

  When he’d said he would drink every drop, Sir hadn’t been lying. But for every long curl of his tongue inside me, another flood came in its wake until my thighs were wet and sticky, pressed against the leather.

  Sir came up for air, breathing hard. “You like this, don’t you, my little slut?”

  “I do, Sir.”

  “Do you want me to keep going?”

  “Please. Please, yes.” Would he give me what I asked for? Or would he hold out to punish me?

  “Do you want me to make you come?” He pushed two fingers into my pussy, as deep as they would go. “You would be a naughty girl if you did.”

  I whimpered in distress.

  “You like it,” he went on. “You like dripping all over the chair. You like my tongue on your ass. In your pussy. Because you’re a filthy whore.”

  I shook my head,
thrilling at the direction our play had taken. “No. I’m not. I’m a good girl, Sir. I don’t like this.”

  “You do.” His fingers left my pussy, and he wiped his hand over my wet vulva. He gave it a hard slap and caught my shriek of pain in the hand glistening with my wetness. He smeared my silky juices across my mouth and forced three fingers inside until I gagged. “You love the taste of your cunt on my hand.”

  I tried to deny it around the digits that choked me.

  “I’m going to make you come, Sophie,” he warned.

  I coughed up a torrent of saliva when he took his fingers out of my mouth. He didn’t let me wipe the drool from my chin. I gasped out, “No. I won’t,” with pathetic defiance.

  “You will,” he insisted, pushing a finger into my sopping pussy to put agonizing pressure on my g-spot. “And you’re going to make a big mess. I’m going to make you squirt all over this chair. Then you’re going to clean it up while I fuck you.”

  “No!” I pretended to struggle.

  “And then I’m going to leave you here. Exposed, exhausted, unable to defend yourself from anyone who would have this tight pussy or–” His tongue teased my asshole again as if to punctuate his next point. “This incredible ass.”

  I shivered, lost in the fantasy. What would it be like to lay on the floor all night, fucked over and over by strangers, no matter how much I pleaded for them to stop? Though our swinging days were in the past—we’d promised El-Mudad a closed relationship once we’d gotten serious—there was nothing forbidden in pretend.

  “I could offer you to the crew,” Sir mused. He relished the fantasy as he described it. “They could line up and take turns. I would let them come in you, as many times as they wanted.”

  I imagined those strange faces looking down at me, eager to use me, lying spread and too weak to fight them off.

  “How many could you take, my little whore?” He added another finger and began a cruel, pummeling rhythm against my g-spot, pulling ascending cries from my throat. My orgasm was inevitable from his words alone. He sped me along with his tongue sweeping back and forth between my clit and my ass, around the obstacle of his fingers. There was no grace in it, just hunger.