Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance

by Rae Lynn Blaise

Nathalie was glowing, dressed in some flimsy dress I had never seen before.

  “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love!” Nat twirled around, exposing everything under the short skirt of the dress. Laughing, I pull it down to cover her panties.

  “How can you tell, Nat? You met him last week!”

  “I can just tell. No one has ever looked at me like he does. And the sex—my GOD, you wouldn’t believe the sex! Do you like my outfit? He picked it out for me. Isn’t it awesome?”

  She grabbed me, forcing me to twirl with her. I rolled my eyes and resisted at first, but it was a weak attempt. I wanted her to be happy, and I wanted to feel it, too.

  Nat tossed her hair around like she was in a mosh pit, but the pure joy radiating off of her was infectious. We laughed, clasping hands and twirling, dancing like we were kids. God, Nat was so crazy! But so, so happy. If it took crazy to make her feel like this, then so be it.

  “Oh, Nat!” I sob, pushing myself into a sitting position. She’d been so confident in what she was feeling that day. Love! She’d been so sure of it.

  A chill goes through me as I trace the carving of her name in the marble. Hours ago, I would have been twirling, too, convinced that I was falling for Brent. This hold he has over me led me to feel things, and to believe they were something more than just lust. I’m a fool, just like Nathalie had been.

  She was all I had. My only family. My only true friend. It dawned on me then, why I had let Brent in the way I had. I needed him to fill the void that had never closed after my sister’s death. His enigmatic, raw maleness offered me the thrill and the connection I craved to fill me up.

  Like my sister, I’m drawn to powerful, cocky men. Seems I’m headed down the same yellow brick road she was. It’s all glitter and rainbows until the bricks start bleeding, and by then, it’s too late. Because these powerful, cocky men all offer the same thing: destruction. It isn’t Oz at the end, it’s Hell.

  The sky opens up again, the torrent coming down harder this time. Reluctantly, I get to my feet, and kiss the top of Nat’s headstone. Hugging myself, I hurry back the way I came in. I climb up the fence, grab my ruined skirt from the top and maneuver down the other side in record time. Thunder crashes through the sky as I slip into my car and crank the heat.

  Somehow, I make it home. I don’t remember the drive, or really even how I ended up in my bed, soaking wet, my eyes burning from tears I refuse to shed.

  By morning, my eyes and face feel like a desert. I’m up hours too early for work, but I can’t go back to sleep. So I force myself to shower with damp green tea bags plastered to my eyes for the bruised hollows beneath them.

  I think about Brent as I get dressed. He’s going to be pissed that I ran out on him last night. But he was the one who assured me there was a firm line between business and pleasure, so going into work today isn’t even an issue. Booting Brent from my personal life is. I’m going to carry on with my job despite him.

  Right now, my work is about the only thing in which I can still take pride.

  I catch sight of myself in my full-length mirror. Form-fitting business skirt, simple blouse with the top buttons undone. No panties, and my hair in a tight bun at the nape of my neck.

  I’d dressed for him without even realizing it.

  Fuck. Booting him from my life might not be so easy when I try to please him without even thinking about it. Maybe my vindictive brain is trying to show Brent what he’s lost. I lift my chin and grin. I may not be Liz, but I’m a hot package he’ll never get his hands on again. And he’s going to know it.

  It’s petty, but I’m satisfied with that rationale as I drive to work, and ride the elevator up. I step into the breakroom to grab coffee when I hear Olive frantically call my name. I look over my shoulder to find her briskly trotting in on three-inch heels.

  “Is your phone on?”

  Oops. “Ah, no. What’s the matter?”

  “Mr. Masters is the matter.” She lowers her voice and looks around as if someone might hear us. “He’s been on a rampage looking for you.”

  I ignore the painful flip of my heart. I don’t care if he’s been looking for me. I’m early today, so fuck him. Officially, I’m not even on the clock yet. I stir creamer into my coffee, and Olive gives a desperate huff behind me.

  I feel bad for putting this on her, but I’m not in the mood to deal with billionaire temper tantrums.

  “He expects you in his office immediately. It’s like blood in the water. I’m sure he smelled you come in. You’d better go. Now.”

  Slowly, I turn and eye her, surprised by the analogy. There’s no holding back the creep of discomfort that goes through me. I know Brent angry. But I don’t really know Brent angry.

  “Thank you, Olive.” My voice is tight and she stands a little straighter. Feeling even guiltier for being a bitch to my assistant, I brush past her and go to my office. My hands are shaking as I set my things down. Fuck. I need to come up with some excuse for not going to his office. A meeting? Do I have one?

  I look through my paper desk calendar, but nothing is written down for today. Before I can think of anything else, my door bursts open and slams against the wall. I spin so fast, my coffee goes flying, and scorching hot droplets pierce my skirt and burn my thigh.

  “Well, well.” Brent comes in and slams the door shut equally hard. I can’t believe he’s making a scene , practically showing everyone within earshot that he and I have more than business between us.

  He’s in a midnight suit with a dark silver button down beneath, and an all-black matte tie. His outfit suits the absolute storm on his face and the flash of lightning in his eyes. My chest rises and falls hard as apprehension courses through my veins.

  Unsure what to do, I put my hands behind me on the desk and lean my butt against the edge. There’s a stapler at my fingertips, and a set of book ends. If I need to, I can throw one at his bloody head.

  Brent gives me a hot appraisal, his jaw working back and forth as he slowly advances toward me.

  “Imagine my surprise when I got out of the shower last night to find you gone, and another woman’s collar lying on my bed.”

  I swallow hard.

  “You weren’t at home and you didn’t answer any of my calls. Unacceptable.” He stops before me, washing me in his scent and warmth. My legs go weak as I’m quickly overwhelmed by a strong and insistent need for him. His suit outlines the perfection of his body and it takes all my will not to let my eyes wander.

  He could set me up on my desk, yank my legs apart and drive into me in a matter of seconds. Pressing my thighs together, I draw on my anger to keep me focused.

  I tip my head. “Imagine my surprise to see another woman’s name engraved into that collar.”

  Brent’s nostrils flare, his hand coming out to grasp my neck. I gasp but hold my ground. I grow immediately wet, my arousal damp on my inner thighs. He squeezes gently but with intent. Fear prickles inside me, quickly turning into the ember of desire. Breathing hard, he runs a finger along the base of my throat as if imagining the collar on me.

  God, I want to hate him, but I want to fuck him more.

  “So what?” he growls as he draws his hand away.

  “So what?” I counter, finding some bravery. I absently touch my neck where his hand had just been. “Do you have an explanation?”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation.” His voice is a low hiss. His neck bulges with tension, his shoulders broad and tight. I brace myself against a new rise of soul-deep hurt.

  “You said you’d never kept an employee as a submissive before.”

  Brent takes a calculated step away from me, as if he’s close to letting all his frustration out of its cage to pounce on me.

  But he shoves his hands into his pants pockets. “And you need to decide what’s wrong with you. You trust me to command you? To jump you from a dark corner and make you scream? You trust me to own your body, but you don’t trust what I tell you? You don’t know the first thing about my life, a
nd you sit in judgement.”

  I hold back the words I’m about to toss at him. Fuck.

  He’s right.

  I don’t know the first thing about his life beyond what I read in business articles. Except what he himself told me—which is that Liz worked for the casino. Even if I press the issue, though, I doubt he’ll reveal anything useful. I want to know more; I want him to let me in. But there’s no good way to express that without fanning his temper. No matter what I do right now, it’s going to lead to a dead-end.

  I lower my gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s just what?”

  Our eyes lock. There is so much anger in his that I can’t finish my sentence. As much as I want answers, I don’t want to make this worse.

  Brent strides to my door and turns the handle in his hand. My chest feels bruised from the force of my breathing, and my neck burns from the touch of his hand. I don’t want him to go, and I’m still so angry that I’m tempted to throw the bookend at him anyway.

  God, what is this man doing to me?

  “Listen carefully, Erica.” It’s an order and I obey.

  “I’m not playing games with you. This is strike one. If you choose to stay with me, you’ll never question me again. If you choose to end this now, it ends immediately upon your request. I’ll let you think it over.”

  I grip the edge of the desk, my palms slick. He opens the door a crack, then shuts it again, quietly. Softly. His eyes sweep over me.

  “Before you decide, keep one thing in mind.” He crosses the space between us, his eyes narrowing with wicked delight when I flinch. I can’t go anywhere. I’m trapped between him and the desk. I wasn’t truly scared before, but his sudden calmness screams warning.

  His fingers dig into my hair, forcing my head forward as his lips grind down onto mine. His mouth takes me with a sweet desperation that shocks and inflames me. His tongue slides deep into my mouth, his teeth grazing mine. It’s all-consuming, as if I’m the breath he needs.

  I’m completely spinning by the time he breaks free. My fingers ache from their hard grip and I can barely see straight.

  His hand trails slowly away from my hair and I realize he’s about to leave again. Quickly, I grab his sleeve.

  “What should I keep in mind?”

  He licks his lips and smiles before turning back to my door. He opens it and tosses a look back at me.

  “When I own your body, Ms. Lundgren, the pleasure you feel will never be replicated by anyone else again.”

  2

  I don’t want to let Brent go.

  It’s a bittersweet realization as I step out of the shower and lather on scented body oil. I’m still curious about Liz and her relationship with my boss, and I’m more eager than ever to learn more about Brent as a person. Beyond those things, though, I can’t let go of how he makes me feel.

  The blend of fear and lust and attraction is a powerful drug. I can’t quit it, even when I’m determined to do so. My anger over his lies is nothing compared to the constant, deep craving I have for his touch.

  The pleasure he gives soothes the restlessness I’ve carried within me for so long. His finger drawing down my skin, the simple contact of his mouth on the side of my neck—these things have ridiculous and undeniable power. The way his muscles quiver when he holds himself back in order to feed me the dominance I need.

  And I do need it. I need to be controlled in the bedroom. I need to bow my head and wait on my knees until I’m captured, dominated, and sated. I used to think it was a sick manifestation of stress, but it’s nothing sinister at all. It’s just . . . me.

  It’s what I need to feel like a sexual woman. My past Dominant gave me a taste, but Brent?

  He’s a fucking buffet.

  He still wants me, and I’ve had time to think about what he said in my office. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that he’ll deliver on his promise of unmatched pleasure. He already has.

  It’s Wednesday, Brent’s night to have drinks with investors at the Casino after hours. I drive to his house and park near the garage, grateful to see the porch light on this time. A soft glow washes over the space as I go up the steps, take a deep breath and slip out of my full-length sweater jacket.

  I shiver as I find a spot close to, but not blocking, the front door and drop to my knees. My black lace bra and thong do nothing to ward off the tickle of breeze that washes over me. It’s invigorating and I get an extra kick of adrenaline over what I’m about to do.

  This is my gesture.

  This is my offering.

  Sitting back on my heels, I place my palms on my knees and bow my head. My spine stretches as I bow low enough that my hair tumbles around my shoulders and free-falls.

  He liked this so much in his office, me on my knees with my head down, waiting for his command. I’m excited to see how he reacts to find me in this position, at his home. Waiting.

  His.

  My heart is racing. I try to tame it with deep, slow breaths. Relying on past experience, I close my eyes and refocus my mind on the darkness behind my eyelids. After a few moments, my mind quiets and I find that calm, peaceful center within myself. It’s welcoming, like meeting up with an old, cherished friend.

  I’m grounded, completely relaxed and willing to do whatever Brent asks of me.

  His car crunches the gravel, snapping me to instant awareness. His footsteps cross the path, come up the steps. I can’t see beyond the shade of my hair, but I imagine those expensive leather shoes as he stops next to me.

  My skin lights with goosebumps at his close proximity. Careful not to move and breathing quietly, I wait.

  A low, gravelly groan of appreciation comes from his throat and it takes all my will not to look at him. The door lock clicks right before his shoes tap inside . . . and the door shuts again.

  Click. The lock engages.

  Suddenly the porch is awash in darkness. My brow falls, as I strain for any sound from him. He shut off the porch light and locked the door!

  What the . . .?

  Minutes tick by to the tune of my raging pulse, but he doesn’t come back. I can’t believe he’s left me like this. Unsure of what to do, I wait a little longer, even as logic screams that he’s not coming back. Humiliated and cold, I gingerly get to my feet and stretch my aching legs. Slipping into my sweater, I hold back my anger until I’m inside my car and racing out of his drive.

  He rejected me.

  After his promise of pleasure and proposition of dominance, he completely ignored me.

  Exhausted and thrown right back into a tornado of emotions, I slam back a glass of wine and go to bed.

  The next day at work, I didn’t see a single glimpse of Brent. He skipped out on a finance meeting, and my phone remained frustratingly silent. I don’t fight the urge to go back and try again. If he can be persistent in pursuing me, I can be persistent in making sure he knows I’m serious in accepting.

  I realize that I don’t believe in my heart that he’s really rejecting me. It’s more like him to test me.

  Fine. I’ve never been a quitter.

  I freshen up in my office bathroom and slip into red lace underthings this time. I leave the office before Brent’s usual time and drive to his house. I have no idea what he might have after work or how long he’ll be, but it’s worth it to wait it out. What better way to show him that I’m serious than to do this again?

  It’s not as cool out tonight, yet as daylight fades into twilight, I’m shivering. My thighs are screaming at being forced into this position again. The last bit of light fades from the sky, and I’m encased in complete darkness. Crickets begin to chirp in the hedges along Brent’s immaculate home and I focus on the sound to calm myself in the dark.

  Just when I think my legs can’t possibly take any more, a car pulls into the drive. Shoes cross to me, just as they did last night. Then, pause.

  I hold my breath, waiting for his touch, a word. Something.

  I left my hair
up this time, and I see his leg so close to the side of my face that I tingle from the proximity. I don’t dare look up, and drop my eyes to the floor before I do.

  Surely he will—

  The door opens and Brent steps in.

  No!

  The door gently shuts, the lock clicking into place. No light pops on.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  Near tears this time, I don’t wait to see if he’ll come back out. I go home and down two glasses of wine before scrubbing my face and going to bed.

  Doubt creeps into my mind. Maybe he changed his mind and he really doesn’t want me. Tucking the covers under my chin, I find that hard to rationalize. A man like Brent doesn’t play coy or mince words. If he no longer wanted my submission, he would have straight-up told me.

  Which must mean he is testing me, to see how far I’ll go for him. How much will I endure?

  I decide to give it one last shot, and if he ignores me this time, I’m calling it off. As much as I want his hands on my body, I still have pride and a soul that can only take so much.

  That evening, I wait again, this time in pink lace. My hair is in a tight chignon at the base of my neck. My face is makeup free, save for mascara. My toenails match the color of my underwear and my freshly shaved skin is lightly vanilla scented.

  Brent comes home only moments after I get into position on his porch, which surprises me, considering its Friday night. It’s like Groundhog Day as he walks up the steps, pauses, and then goes inside and turns the lock and shuts off the porch light. A sting of frustrated tears hit my eyes, but I squeeze them back.

  I can do this.

  Clearing my mind, I find that peaceful center and relax my body. The night ticks on, my skin cooling to the point of numbness. I have to focus hard to put away my fear of the absolute dark. It’s hard to do as my muscles start to protest, and my knees grind into the hard floor. Several times, my spine sinks as I lose my posture, but I correct myself and wait.

  Tired, I hang my head lower and sink into a sleepy state. Each time I lose my posture, I jerk awake, correct myself, shift a little and try to find my center. I doze again, rinse and repeat until I can no longer feel my legs and the crickets have stopped chirping.