Woman of the House: A Dark MMF Romance

by Abby Angel

  I don’t do long-term, and I don’t do sleepovers.

  She shoves her hair out of her eyes with a sleepy smile. “G’morning,” she says around a yawn. “What time is it?”

  “6 am.”

  She nods sleepily and then pads into the bathroom for a minute. When she comes back, she’s considerably more awake, and more nervous. I’m flipping through my phone disinterestedly, checking to see how the stock market faired overnight, but I can’t keep my head in the game. I just don’t know what to do with a woman in the morning.

  Finally, I make a decision. I have to get rid of her. It’s what I should’ve done last night but didn’t. My bad, and time for me to fix it now.

  I pull up my messages app and begin to type out a message to my driver when I feel Ashley crawling across the bed toward me. I look up, grumpy from being off my game, from being interrupted while texting, to find Ashley staring at me, a small smile playing on her lips.

  “If you’re anything like me, you’re not sure why the hell I’m still here in bed with you. I should’ve left last night.” She pauses and waits for me to respond. Finally, reluctantly, I nod my head. “Now, you’re probably telling your driver to get his ass out of bed and drive me home and get me out of your hair, right?”

  I jerk my head in acknowledgement. Fuck, I’m not too happy with how this conversation is going. “Well, how about if I make you a deal, Mr. Boss Man?” She runs her hands up my legs, straight toward my cock, and then wraps her hands around its massive width. She licks her lips appreciatively and then looks back up at me. “I’ll suck you off and give you a happy start to your day, if you’ll put your phone away.”

  She’s stroking her small hands up and down my hardening dick and of course, there’s no fucking way I’m turning down a blowjob so I set my phone off to the side and then lie back on the bed. “Let’s see if you make it worth my while,” I breathe, and settle back, my hands stacked behind my head.

  Turns out, Ashley can suck cock like a porn star. Her cheeks are bulging every time she tries to take me into her mouth and even though she can hardly get me into her mouth, she tries gallantly anyway. I begin bucking my hips into her mouth and I can feel my cock sliding down her throat and she’s moaning around me, the vibrations sending shockwaves through me.

  “Oh yeah, that’s it,” I growl and I grab the back of her head and push her further down on me, wanting all of my cock to feel the heat of her mouth. “Suck it. Suck it hard. You like it, don’t you? You like me treating you like a slut.” She nods her head, her mouth stretched wide around my cock, her moans getting louder by the moment.

  I can feel it begin to gather, the tingling throughout my body. I’m gonna blow, and I’m gonna blow hard. Will she be able to suck it all down? Probably not, but I’ll test her anyway.

  Then I can’t hold back anymore and I push my hips up into her mouth and I’m shooting ropes of cum out of my cock and it feels so fucking good—even better than last night.

  She’s swallowing and licking and swallowing and licking, cum dripping off her chin and onto my stomach but she’s still valiantly trying to catch it all.

  Finally, I collapse onto the bed, finished, and she grins at me, a Cheshire grin and says, “So, Mr. Boss Man, how did I do?”

  “I suppose I’ll forgive you for still being here this morning,” I say expansively and then wink.

  Yes, wink. Who is this guy and where did he come from? I don’t wink at the girls I fuck, and I don’t sleep with the girls I fuck.

  Except for girls named Ashley Miller, I guess.

  “So how does a girl like me get food in a joint like this?” she asks, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her shaved pussy exposed and visible for me to leer over. She seems to have no inhibitions, which makes me think about what I can try the next time I get her prone in my bed. Or in the shower. Or the hot tub. Or the kitchen…

  I feel my cock harden and I pull the sheets over to cover up the evidence. With this buyout still in transition, I have a lot of work to do today, and I can’t fuck Ashley again, no matter how much my cock wants it.

  Ash, watching my movements, knows exactly what I’m doing. She grins at me. “Hey, horn dog, you haven’t told me yet how to get some food to eat.”

  “Pick up the phone and dial 9. My assistant will answer. You can order whatever you want and it’ll be delivered to the front door.”

  “Niiicccceeee…” Ashley breathes out, and then crawls over to the phone, her ass high in the air. She gives it an extra twitch and then looks at me over her shoulder, tossing me a naughty grin.

  But I cut off my responding smile. I can’t. Not this morning. I have shit to do.

  I head to the shower. It’s time to get my game face on.

  77

  Ashley

  The ride to work is weirdly quiet. I mean, this morning has been a little weird, but the blowjob did the trick. We are back to just being fuck buddies.

  Or whatever the hell it is that we are. We haven’t exactly had a discussion about the status of our relationship, for fuck’s sake. I’m happy with where we are, and even if it weirded me out to find myself in Apollo’s bed this morning—I’m sorry, I cannot call him Mr. Kane, not after what we did last night—I got over it. A nice round of sucking cock will do that to me.

  But now…he’s in his power suit and I’m in a totally new set of clothes myself, down to the sexiest pair of red lace panties and bra I’ve ever laid eyes on, and there’s this…gap between us. In his house, we can fuck and laugh and we’re equal.

  At work, though, we’re not. He’s my boss and I’m his employee and he’s busy trying to fire me.

  Or not. I didn’t ask him last night or this morning. I just didn’t want to. We were so happy, in our little bubble, you know?

  But that bubble is burst, and I’m covered in the soapy residue.

  The limo pulls up to the curb and I scramble out, not waiting for the driver or Apollo to help me out. I am my own woman. I can get out of the vehicle without help…

  No matter how nice that help is.

  I push that thought away and hurry in the front doors. Maybe if I put enough distance between Apollo and myself, no one will notice how I got to work.

  Natalie rushes over, ten minutes early to work. Of fucking course. The worst joke someone could play on Natalie would be to delete her complex set of alarms and calendar notifications that rule her world.

  “You…him…you spent the night?” she hisses.

  I ignore her question. “What’s going on?” I ask, looking around the open room. It doesn’t look like anyone is working this morning anymore than they were working yesterday morning. Two days of non-productivity is…not a good thing.

  At this rate, we’re not going to have a magazine to put out this month, no matter what Apollo and the board decides to do.

  “C’mon, everyone else is over here,” she says, and tugs on my hand. I follow her to the group of staff writers, all milling around together, gossiping.

  I look up to find Apollo’s eyes pinned on me. He’s standing over with the managers and…

  There’s hurt in his eyes, just for a moment, just long enough that I think that maybe I really see it and then it’s gone and I think maybe I was just imagining it.

  But no matter what I was or was not imagining, this gulf between us?

  I’m not imagining that.

  A manager—I think he’s a part of the photography department? I’m not sure—steps forward and claps his hands together to get everyone’s attention. Everyone is so tense, it’s like setting off fireworks; he has everyone’s total attention instantly. “Let’s get to work,” he says in a no-nonsense tone of voice. “We’ve all got shit to do.”

  With a grumble, the crowds disperse and everyone heads to their desks. I want info as much as anyone else, so I’ll admit it, my voice is added to the chorus. Fuck ‘em. They need to be upfront with us.

  Even Apollo.

  I push the thought away. I do have shit to do, and i
t’s about time I do it.

  It’s afternoon and I’m drearily working my way through my third article on lipstick colors in the past two months—sometimes, even I get sick of talking about how to pick out lipstick—when Natalie pops her head over my cubicle divider. “Ready for a break?” she asks.

  I spring up so quickly, my heel catches and I crash to the ground, my chair spinning away and crashing into Fredrick. Just what he needs—encouragement. I awkwardly pull myself to my feet, Natalie absolutely no help to me whatsoever as she laughs so hard, she’s doubled over, and retrieve my chair, giving Fredrick a brief grimace as an apology as I go.

  “Coffee?” Natalie says perkily. I glare. She grins.

  I grin.

  I can’t help myself.

  “Alright,” I grumble, trying to hide my grin but it doesn’t do me any good. Natalie sees it.

  We head down to the staff break room, when I see Apollo head toward me. Well, not toward me, per se, just down the hallway that I’m in, heading the opposite direction as me. He’s probably not heading right at me, right?

  I try to quell my internal blathering and instead shoot Natalie an oversized smile. “So how’s your article on skirt lengths going?” I ask with way too much enthusiasm. She doesn’t even attempt to hide the roll of her eyes but she answers my banal question anyway as Apollo passes me so closely, I can smell his cologne and despite myself, I inhale deeply, even as I’m staring straight at Natalie. My skin is crackling with sexual energy and I can’t breathe but I don’t care. I'm not looking at Apollo.

  Not.

  Looking.

  He’s finally passed me and I can breathe normally again. Natalie, god bless her soul, continues her blathering until we make it to the staff break room, and then shuts the door behind us.

  “Tell me all. Now,” she demands. “If I have to wait one more minute to hear what happened, I just might explode.”

  As she starts the coffee pot with our special blend of shade-grown, organic coffee that we hide in the back of the freezer, away from the editorial department’s prying eyes, I wander around the break room, picking up old copies of Blush and putting them back down again without seeing any of it.

  “Sex,” I finally blurt out. “Lots and lots and lots and oh god amazing sex. Never, in the history of sex, has anyone had better sex than the sex I had last night.”

  Natalie shoves my favorite mug into my hand, filled with dark, rich coffee, and demands, “More. Tell me more. Tell me all. Speak, oh sex goddess of Manhattan. I need something to imagine while fucking myself with my dildo tonight.” At my look, she shrugs. “What? You know I do it. You know you do it. It’s human nature, girlfriend.”

  True dat.

  So I tell her all the gory deets. I mean, all of them. No, I don’t hold back even on that part. What are best friends for, if not to brag about the absolute best night of sex known to humanity? As I’m telling her, I begin squirming with excitement, my panties growing wetter by the moment. God, I really want to replay that scene in the hallway with Apollo, except this time, I tackle him to the ground and fuck him right there.

  Okay, maybe drag him into a broom closet and fuck him there. I don’t want all the girls to know how big his dick is or I’ll have to start using the brooms to beat them all off.

  His dick is mine. And his tongue. And his pecs. And his glorious thighs.

  But most especially his dick.

  Finally, I can’t think of another amazeballs detail to add, and my coffee has grown cold and I don’t even care because I’m high on sex and fucking and Apollo’s magic 12-inch cock and so I dump it down the drain and we head back to our cubicles. Natalie’s telling me in great detail about everything that she was going to have to do with a cucumber that night when we realize that the open work area is quiet.

  Way, way, way quiet.

  I look up and everyone is staring, although thank god not at me.

  John and Vicky are walking out of the conference—yes, the conference room—and there’s tears streaming down their faces as they go.

  It hits me like a ton of bricks and all happiness is gone. My bubble has popped, again, and the soapy residue covering me is starting to get fucking old.

  As they head to their desks to pack up their knickknacks and shit, Apollo walks out of the conference room, along with some other suits, and they head down the hall and he never looks over at me. He never looks at me and he’s walking away and my heart is breaking into a million little pieces.

  78

  Apollo

  It’s Friday night and we’re at Nobu57, in the back at a private table. I’d hoped that after a week of stress and anger between us, I could wine and dine Ashley into fucking me again. My 12-inch cock hasn’t craved pussy like this in a long time, and hell, who am I to tell my cock no?

  But Ashley is quiet and that just isn’t like her. I mean, this is a woman who’d talk to the toilet paper dispenser if there was no one else to talk to. She talks and laughs and fucks with abandon, and I’d say that it's one of her best qualities, but have you seen her ass?

  It’s a close second though.

  Tonight, I can’t get her to say shit, which is a good sign like my lawyer calling me at three in the morning is a good sign. She’s pushing her sushi around her plate, eating little and talking less, and I know it’s not the amazing food of Nobu57 that is causing the problem.

  No, it’s me.

  Well, me and the layoffs I’ve been implementing all week.

  Doesn’t she know I have to? These were employees who’d been getting shit reviews for years, but no one at Blush seems to have a backbone and so despite the fact that they never showed up to work on time and their work was subpar, no one would fire them.

  I’d looked up Ashley’s employee record on Monday morning. If I was going to have to fire her, I wanted to know right away.

  And yeah, she’s not perfect. She seems to think that the start time for work is more of a suggestion, not a rule, and some of her articles are downright inane. But there’s flashes of real talent in some of them, and…well hell, her boss, Mr. Henningford, practically begs the women in his department to break the rules so he has a justification to pull them into his office and give them a tongue-lashing, all while drooling over their tits. From what I’ve been able to get out of the employees, he’s just the kind of guy who deserves to get fired. He’s gonna get his ass booted on Monday.

  But Ashley doesn’t know. I mean, I can’t tell her everything; she’s not HR. I could get my ass sued if I tell her the reason behind every decision I make.

  I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t deal well with being in the fucking doghouse.

  “Ashley, listen—”

  “Why?” she fires back defiantly and she has put down her fork to stare at me, eyes flashing. I know that this is cliché as fuck, but I can’t help thinking it anyway; she’s sexy as fuck when she’s pissed.

  My cock tightens more.

  “Because I might know something that you don’t.” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I know that they were a mistake. Her lips round into a perfect “O” and then she just launches.

  “You bastard,” she breathes. “Here I am, stupid me, and you’re just going to share your knowledge with me, you magnanimous…bastard, you!”

  “You repeated yourself,” I say sarcastically and I know I shouldn’t be feeding the fire but really, her pissy attitude is more than I can take. If she won’t even listen to me, fuck her.

  She shoves back from the table, hands trembling as she goes.

  “Fuck you,” she says, enunciating both words between gritted teeth. Her eyes are drilling into me and her tits are heaving and I have the strongest desire to reach out and pull her across the table and kiss the fuck out of her and teach her who is boss, but before I can move, she’s storming off, every movement jerky with anger.

  I stand up and pull my wallet out. I’ll give the waiter my black card, pay for this godforsaken meal, and get the hell out of here. Maybe I’ll cal
l Tiffani after all. I hadn’t called her last week when I’d first met Ashley because I’d been stupidly enamored with her but that ended now. I am going to fuck Tiffani and a busload of her closest stripper friends.

  Ashley slides back into her seat and I stop awkwardly, my credit card halfway out of my wallet.

  “They won’t do doggie bags here,” she said with a shrug, “and I’m hungry.” She reaches over and grabs a bite of my porterhouse steak off my plate. “Do you mind?” she asks and pops it into her mouth before I can answer.

  She exaggerates every movement as she chews her way through the bite, smirking at me as I stare at her.

  “Goodbye, Ashley,” I tell her. “Look me up if you ever choose not to be a bitch.”

  And I walk away, just like I should’ve done from the beginning.

  And I don’t look back, because that would show her that she won, and she hasn’t. She fucking hasn’t.

  No one beats the Wolf of New York.

  79

  Ashley

  This weekend has sucked ass. I spent two hours at the gym, running and trying to pretend that I could lift more than fifteen pounds at a time with the dumbbells (which I can’t, but I’m not going to admit that), and then I went to an art class down at All Hands on Deck studio and pretended that I could paint with watercolors (which I can’t do that either and thus am now the proud owner of a blobby looking mess that I hung up on my fridge. I paid $20 to paint that fucker. I’m not throwing it away now.).

  And now, to top it all off, I’m on a date with Fredrick.

  I know, I know, I made fun of him for being a groveling, panty-waisted wimp, but c’mon, it’s Saturday night. Any guy worth actually going on a date with is already taken. I can’t just sit at home and watch Sleepless in Seattle for the seven-hundredth time and cry. Again. I gotta put myself out there in order to find Mr. Right, right?