Bad Boy Boss (2 page)

He put one hand gently on my breast; the other just lay against my back. He looked down into my eyes, and gently kissed me.

“We go to bed now?”

His eyes never left mine and I guess I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He slowly shook his head no.

“Now we go to dinner,” he said.

“I have to go,” I said.

He kissed me gently and let me up.

I needed a feminine spray, dry panties and to get my top back together. I didn’t use a lot of makeup, but what I did use needed replacing. What I didn’t have in a suitcase was a change of confidence. I could always handle men, physically and otherwise. This one just totally dominated me. Mentally, physically and emotionally, he left me naked, vulnerable, and wanting to be touched, kissed again.

We ate at a small place that featured French food, right before the road hit the lake.

I stayed with a glass of the house red because the martini/Gibson had pretty well knocked me for a loop. My panties were getting wet again because he was looking at me.

After dessert, he took me back to the cabin and just brushed my lips with his own. Then, he left me there. I couldn’t believe it. My nipples were like rocks, my panties were wringing wet and he just said, “Be at the studio at eight tomorrow morning.”

I had spent all of dinner thinking about going to bed with him, and he just walked away.

He had left the last drink in the shaker; I never got to it before dinner. It had diluted a bit, but I put it over ice and it knocked me out.

I woke early, about six. There was some Alka-Seltzer in the medicine cabinet that helped. I guessed I’d eaten enough that my stomach was pretty much all right, but my head didn’t agree with that at all. I had a headache that had me seeing stars. The refrigerator was pretty well stocked, but all I really wanted was coffee and some orange juice. I took a long, hot shower and dressed warmly. The weather outside the window looked crystal clear and ice cold. It had been a while since I’d seen air that clear; Los Angeles and its suburbs always had a quantity of smog even on ‘clear’ days. I wasn’t wrong about the temperature. When I walked over to the studio at eight I almost froze to death. My casual stroll became a rush toward warmth and I didn’t even knock before I let myself in.

The studio was almost hot by contrast. He’d been there a while, apparently, as the heat was up and a fire was burning away in the fireplace.

An older woman arrived shortly after I did. He introduced her as Kate and me as Mary, then showed me the screen behind which I was supposed to undress and put on one of the three robes hanging on the inside of it. I chose the terrycloth one because it looked the warmest.

Kate took out a plastic measuring tape and noted about every angle and asset I had, for which I had to take off the robe. Not one to miss an opportunity, Peter sketched me as this was going on; actually, judging by his eye level, he only sketched my knees. Kate just said she’d have the first costume ready on Wednesday and left.

“So today we do some charcoal,” he said, leading me over to a dais built against a windowless corner by the fireplace that had six built in spotlights, which operated independent of each other. There was no shadow when all six were on and different shadows could be cast on the two white walls behind the dais with different combinations of the lights.

He took the robe off and posed me, which involved touching me in some places that really should only be touched if the touching was going to continue. He worked from five to ten minutes at a stretch, depending on the pose; some were difficult to maintain that long and even though I was in shape, I was happy to drop the poses when Peter nodded.

What was even more difficult was the fact that I was getting touched just about everywhere and I was getting hot. He didn’t really know it, but the night before, he’d shaken me to my foundation and every touch was meaningful. I mean, he could have patted me on the head and it would have had sexual connotations. It was disconcerting how much I wanted him.

We stopped for lunch and he pulled a corned beef out of the oven.

“You like Reubens or straight?” he asked, pulling a loaf of rye marbled with pumpernickel from the bread box.

“How do you have it?” I asked.

“Aioli mustard, cole slaw, thousand island,” he answered.

“Never tried it; be gentle with the virgin,” I said.

Truth be told, I didn’t know what a Reuben was and had only eaten corned beef that wasn’t in a hash under an egg twice, and both times it was with cabbage. His sandwich was excellent.

My nipple got hard about the third time he ‘adjusted’ my breast. And my bush was just embarrassing because it was glistening a bit in the spotlights, well he managed to brush it every time he adjusted my leg. I put my hand over his, moved it to my nipple and looked him in the eye. I didn’t say anything, just went for the kiss. You can only get touched in those places so many times before the pressure builds up. And I was so turned on, I couldn’t just stand there and take it anymore. I was stark naked, so there were plenty of buttons to push… and he seemed to know where each one was. The inside of my arms, along the sides of my breasts, down my back, it didn’t take him long to have me shivering. Then he started to go down on me. He kissed my breasts, down over my stomach, then he was on his knees, his tongue sending thrills along my lips and up onto my clit. He got his fingers between my lips and moved his thumb over my clit, rolling it with a gentle pressure and alternating with his tongue licking across it.

His fingers slipped inside me, curled up and then flicked across my G-spot. With his tongue on my clit and his fingers massaging my G-spot, the orgasm was inevitable. He must have missed the first one because he didn’t stop until the shudder that accompanied the second one shook me from head to toe.

“You are so going to bed with me tonight,” I said.

He didn’t say anything. He walked into the bathroom, and came out smelling like Lavoris. He posed me again and went back to his drawing routine. This happened around one o’clock, and when we finally quit a few hours later, I was hot again. He was good looking, gentle and had his hands all over me all day long; I wanted to feel him inside me so bad I was almost dripping on the dais when he said it was time to quit.

I dressed; he was still working on the drawings when I came out from behind the screen.

“If you look in the meat keeper, you’ll find two steaks,” he said. “There is a cast iron grill in the drawer below the oven that fits across two burners. Leave it with both burners on high for five minutes. Rare is three minutes a side, medium is five; I like rare. Slice tomatoes and red onions with Russian dressing. I’ll make the martinis and bring a bottle of red wine at six o’clock.”

Then he stepped up to me and put a hand in the middle of my back, and one on my breast, pulling me into him. As hot as I was already, my nipple went hard almost immediately. Then he kissed me, licked my lips and did it again. “You are so going to get fucked tonight,” he said and turned back to his drawings.

Crossing back over to my cabin in the afternoon wasn’t cold at all; in fact it was rather nice. A squirrel jumped between the two oak trees over the door and startled me. I was feeling good, and I wondered if he was falling for me. I wouldn’t admit it to him, or anyone else for that matter, but I was certainly falling for him. I had never been touched quite so gently, never had five orgasms with any man. The squirrel chattered at me.

“Okay,” I said. “I admit it, he’s getting to me.” The squirrel chattered back. “And you just keep your little mouth shut.”

I found the steak and the grill. I even found a mandolin slicer in the very nicely appointed kitchen, once I started investigating. It sort of made me a little ashamed that I rebelled against my mother’s attempts to teach me to cook. I sliced a tomato and a small red onion, alternating slices on two salad plates. A former boyfriend went to cooking school so I knew some tricks, but no real cooking. I found a flavor injector and a bottle of A-1 sauce. Taking the needle off of the injector, I knew I could draw a circle of A-1 sauce around a steak. It didn’t do anything really, except look cool, but then it was one of the few culinary techniques I actually knew.

He showed up at six, just as he said he would. I turned on the burners under the grill while he made the drinks. I didn’t change from the leggings and boots I wore to work. I did take off the sweater, which left me in a halter-top with no bra. I mean, he had been looking at me in the altogether all day; it was sort of hard to dress up to that.

He surrendered the kitchen side of the bar to me and sat on one of the barstools on the other side.

“Are you beginning to see what I meant about the relationship between an artist and his model?”

“Today wasn’t abnormal?”

“You have been my model for one day and I’m guessing no man has ever touched you as I have… or for that matter, as much,” he said. “I have to feel you as much as look at you to draw you. Physically, there is no man who knows you as well as I already do. And no man who has ever been as excited over you as you make me.”

“I could say the same. No man but you has ever given me multiple orgasms. I was so turned on most of the day that I was afraid it was showing. It was embarrassing me.”

“It was showing, but it’s no reason to be embarrassed,” he responded. “It’s charming, beautiful, flattering. Wasn’t I appropriately grateful?”

Well, that sort of made me turn scarlet. “I don’t know how appropriate it was, but it sort of gave the day a high point.”

“The day isn’t over yet,” he said and I just knew I blushed right over a blush.

“You did this with her and she married a doctor? Obviously a gynecologist.”

“A psychologist, if you must know. Actually, a professor at Cal Poly.”

“She was Jewish?”

“I’m not overly religious,” he said. “I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell.”

“So I was raised Irish Catholic. You?”

“Episcopalian, if pressed.”

“Okay, well the first Jewish American president gets elected. He calls his mother and tries to get her to go to Camp Alex for a weekend. She says she has a Canasta game, but he finally convinces her. She calls her friend Cele to cancel the Canasta game.

‘I can’t make it this weekend,’ she says. ‘My son insists I spend the weekend with him.’

‘The doctor?’ Cele asks.

‘No,’ the mother says, ‘ the other one.’”

He stayed on the subject. “She was blond and softer than you are, a little broader in the hips, smaller in her breasts and about two inches taller. She lacked your sensitivity in most of the nerve bundles, but if you stroked the inside of her arms and legs, she’d drip like you did on the dais. She’s gone. Maybe she will be replaced by a little redheaded Irish spitfire who has the audacity to tell her boss how to go about his job.”

“She hurt you pretty badly.That’s never happened to me. Maybe I’ve guarded myself well, or I didn’t run into the right guy. You sent me into Never Never Land today, Peter. You can hurt me; please don't. Let’s just try this and see how that works out.”

He nodded. “The red glass on the top of the refrigerator is exactly three minutes, the yellow one is five. Let’s do some steak.”

He reached over the bar and ran his middle finger down my nose, brushing my cheek with his two fingers.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and I blushed again over a blush that hadn’t completely faded.

A martini and half a bottle of wine should have left me a bit numb, but it didn’t. In fact, it seemed to put a sharper edge on everything. After dinner we moved to the couch. He kissed me and we were immediately into it. His hand went under my top and my nipple was being brushed into little thrills I could feel between my legs. He played with kissing me by teasing me, licking my lips and brushing my face with his fingertips. He switched from the nipple he was brushing with his fingers and started to massage my whole breast.

I reached down to take off my top, but he stopped me.

“One of the best things about a gift is unwrapping it,” he said, pulling me a little closer and really making an impression on my rock hard nipple.

I took his advice and started unbuttoning his shirt; he didn’t stop me. When I got his shirt off, he pulled my top over my head and drew my naked breasts into his chest, massaging and manipulating my back so that my nipples were almost electric against him.

We stayed topless on the couch and time just disappeared for a while. Like we were teenagers at a drive-in with no need for a speaker. Eventually, I turned over and straddled his leg. I was hot and wet and I needed the contact. It didn’t take that long to orgasm, it was all someplace beyond hot and I was losing it when he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom.

I undid his pants as he unzipped my boots and set them aside. He dragged the top of my leggings down over my hips; then his fingers were under my panties and in one smooth motion, I was naked with his head between my breasts kissing down to my navel. He stuck his tongue in my navel and started to climb back up me, kissing every inch or so, then paying some extra attention with his tongue to my breasts and nipples. Basically, he climbed up into me and lay on top and inside of me while I squealed and wiggled with the sensations.

When he came, I stuck my tongue deep in his mouth to avoid the loud declaration I wanted to make. Shivering, totally conquered and dominated, I just wanted to say I love you, but knew I shouldn’t.