Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance (7 page)

I
’m not
all about the bass, but this song is pretty catchy.

Alexandria—Alex—sets my white zin in front of me before sliding onto her bar stool and clinking her glass against mine.

I sip the crisp, cool wine. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I listen to the chorus playing overhead. “What song is this?”

“Oh, Rachel.” Her blonde curls bounce with her vigorous headshake. “You need to toss the Tchaikovsky and take in the Trainor.”

I smile. Last girl’s night two weeks ago, she told me to “set down the Stravinsky and snatch up the Sia.” Alex is all about alliteration.

“I’m not against pop. Just, when I’m not playing the classics at school, I’m practicing them at home.” There’s not room for any more sound.

“You unwind with silence, not the radio. I know.”

I grin. “I’m beginning to think we’ve had this conversation before.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Once or twice, usually when I’m trying to recommend a band.”

Now I feel bad about brushing off her recommendations because I was too busy or uninterested. “How about you make me a playlist? and I promise to listen to every song all the way through at least once.”

Instead of smiling, sadness clouds her pert features. “I’m going to miss your highbrow music tastes. Promise to call and talk snobby to me at least once a week. Or better yet, skype.”

“I will.” I drown the lump in my throat with more wine and look around.

Alex suggested the bar, a small, subterranean place with rave reviews but not much exposure. White-painted brick walls, tasteful beige and black décor, and recessed lighting provide ample ambiance, but the crowd’s thankfully thin for a Thursday. Tonight’s our last day before I hop a plane Monday morning to start my new life, the final girl’s night with Alex for who knows how long and I want to make it count.

“I won’t be too far away,” I remind us both. “It’s Massachusetts not Mongolia.”

“True. And if nothing else, I managed to wrench that huge instrument from between your legs one last time.”

“Alex!” I hiss, looking around at the nearby tables. Fortunately, our few neighbors are more focused on their intoxication than our conversation. A guy sitting at a faraway booth by himself catches my eye. His head hangs low so all I see is shaggy dark hair and a tight t-shirt showing off the tattoos all over his massive biceps.

He’s not my type, but I still look at him. Can’t stop staring at him. He’s much stronger than the men I spend time with—delicate-handed artists who don’t lift anything heavier than their bow. This guy could easily lift me. Could hoist me over his shoulder, if he wanted.

I’m not sure why I find that so exciting.

“You deserve a little embarrassment for abandoning me for Bean Town.”

I force my gaze back to Alex and her cherry red pout.

I toy with the stem of my glass. “For work, not a vacation.” I glance back at Tattooed Guy, hoping to see his face, but the waiter delivering drinks to a nearby table blocks my view.

Alex sighs. “That makes it worse because you won’t be coming back in a week. The windy city is going to blow without you.”

“Something tells me you’ll survive just fine,” I joke, but the words have a morose edge. Most of the things I’ve done off campus—and outside my apartment—are directly because of her nagging me to get out more. I thought there’d be more time after graduation to bond and explore the city, but here I am getting ready to leave it. I don’t regret my dedication to my craft. Landing a spot with the Boston Symphony is a dream come true, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something missing in my life. Something I should have done that I didn’t. If there’d been more time…

The waiter finishes his delivery, but now a tall guy with a backwards cap leans over the side of Tattooed Guy’s booth to give him a high five.

“This is all your dad’s fault.” Alex sounds bitter.

“Hmm?” I look away from the bad boy and drain half my glass as Alex repeats her statement. “He just wants what’s best for me.”

It’s true, but only half the story. The whole story is that he’s mortified about my career choice and he’ll stay mortified unless I can prove to him I’m a good enough cello player to make a name for myself.

I draw swirls in the condensation of my glass with a fingertip, my stomach knotting as I’m reminded of my father’s constant criticism. “I should have taken out student loans instead of letting him pay my tuition. Maybe that would have earned his respect.”

“Probably not.”

I take an extra big gulp of zin. “Now you see why it’s a good thing I got this job in the Boston Symphony.” I bet Tattooed Guy doesn’t have to answer to an overbearing parent. I bet he doesn’t answer to anyone. I bet he’s the one in control of the people around him.

If he was the one bossing me around, I wouldn’t be so opposed. What it would be like to be a woman who let him do that?

I prop my head on my fist and sigh.

“You okay?”

My cheeks heat as though she can read my mind. “Yeah. Just, you know. All of this. It’s a big change. But at least I’ll be playing.”

Alex squeezes more lime into her beer. “Yeah, but at what price?” The directness of her stare unnerves me.

“I prefer to think of it as mapping out my future. Not leaving things to fate.” Things like my career, or love. It’s a smarter course of action than, say, hooking up with a stranger in a bar. Especially a strong, inked, in-control-of-his-own-life hottie like the one at the back of the bar.

I sneak another peek and bingo! I finally see his face.

God, his face…

Now that I see it, I’m not sure I can ever look away. It’s striking. Stunning. Strangely beautiful.

His eyes are inset, his jaw and nose strong. And his mouth—perfect, his lips full but not girly. They’re sin and sex, yet, as he smirks at something on his phone, also quite boyish. It’s the kind of mouth I could stare at for hours, watching the way it shapes words and slides into smiles. The kind of mouth that feels good to kiss and better to suck and my, oh, my, I bet he sucks down there so right I wouldn’t need to grab a vibrator after.

Where the hell did that come from? I’m not a prude, but having dirty thoughts about men in bars is really not my style.

It’s a sign of stress, that’s all. In my mind, Beautiful Tattooed Boy is the personification of chance encounters and not having a plan. It’s the other road—the road I didn’t take. Correction—wouldn’t
take. He’s nice to look at, but other than that, we’d probably clash. Big time. I’m only attracted to him because, although I’m happy with my choices and my plans, I can’t help being curious about what else might have been.

Yeah. That’s totally it.

But what if I’m more than curious?

I take another large sip of wine and ask the question no one can answer. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Alex hesitates. “I think you know what you want. You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”

“But…?”

She looks around as though the words are floating somewhere to the left of my face. “But it feels so final. I hope it really is what you want and not just what your father wants.”

“It is.” And if it isn’t, I’m not sure what is.

“Then you’re definitely not making a mistake.” It’s impossible for her to know that as confidently as she’s said it, but I cling to her reassurance. “But you need to at least have a good fuck before you leave.”

I’m glad I’m not drinking or I’d have spit my wine. “You are so inappropriate. Why do I take you out in public?”

“Hey, you’re the one who practices
fingering
. For hours at a time, I might add.”

“For music.” I laugh, warmer from the wine than embarrassment. “And I don’t need anything. Besides, even if I did want a hookup, there’s no one I’m attracted to.”

Except for
him
.

My gaze flits back to the tattooed stranger sitting in the dark booth. His large hand engulfs the bottle in his grip as he brings it slowly to his mouth and swallows deeply. Would his palm be strong, his wrist firm as he ran his touch over my—

“Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“To whom?” Damn those observant blue eyes of hers.

“Tall, dark, and delicious over there. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You’ve been checking him out since we got here. And I approve! He’s alone… you’re alone…”

The thought of talking to him causes a strange flutter low in my belly that I don’t like. Or I do like. I’m not quite sure yet. “Funny, I thought I was sitting with my friend Alexandria, getting some quality girl time in before I move.” I uncross and re-cross my legs, feeling restless and needy.

“You need to
get it in
before you move. One last hurrah before being a real, responsible adult for the rest of your days.”

I couldn’t.

Could I?

I
’m not a submissive anymore
.

I was only once and only for one man, but that was a long time ago and not something I plan to reprise. I’m afraid to look at Brent because it seems he’s already peeked deep into my soul. It’s like he knows how easily I remember the satisfaction, the connection, and the pleasure that comes from submitting to a skillful master.

Maybe that’s not even what he’s proposing here. Maybe he’s just exploring kink without any real commitment to the lifestyle.

I hope that’s it. Even as my body responds with fluttered excitement at the toys displayed before me, I know I’m not about give Brent my submission.

He’s my boss. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I remind myself of that. The real sticking point is that he’s someone from my past I don’t completely trust. How could I ever trust a man who works with Georgios?

And how could I ever submit to someone I couldn’t trust? No. I can’t give him what he wants.

Brent closes the lid, but the image stays with me. I drop my eyes as he stares at me because I know he’s waiting for my reaction, but I haven’t decided which one to give him yet.

“Say something, Erica.”

It’s a test, his first command. I process that, even though it’s just a question. I know I have to answer him, so I let my gut rule.

“No.” The word pops out of my mouth and it feels right. It took some stubborn resolve, but I’ve learned to go with my gut instinct over the years, versus listening to my heart. Working for Georgios required that I always say yes, even when my whole being was begging to stop.

And the last man I put myself in this position for—well, he liked it when I begged him to stop. And he never, ever did.

Yet, I’m so ridiculously turned on right now that my heart is having a fit. It wants me to drop to my knees and hang my head and wait to see what he’ll do next. But that isn’t an option here.

“No, I don’t agree to these terms.” I force the words out before I lose my nerve. A flicker of nervousness bounces in my gut. He’s got the upper hand here. I know he won’t hurt me without my permission—he wouldn’t have asked my consent for sex earlier if that was the case. But he can hold my job over my head, and if he’s still reading my mind, he knows I’m already hooked on the fucking.

Oh, the fucking.

This is easy for him because he’s going to use sex as the negotiation tool that it is. Which puts me at a huge disadvantage because I want both, my job and the sex, but at what cost?

Becoming completely subservient for a man with a past as dark as an oil slick? Losing myself in someone else’s life,
again
?

Brent’s eyes narrow as he cocks his head to one side. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

What? I’m standing two feet away from him. Suddenly very aware of my nakedness, and his, I cross my arms over my breasts and clear my throat.

“I said that I don’t agree with your terms.”

His smile goes cold as he moves past me and walks around my perimeter. I don’t turn around, don’t look, don’t give in to temptation. My skin goes electric, sensing him behind me, though he’s not really close enough to swap body heat. My pulse picks up as he pulls the silence as tight around me as a blanket, but I don’t dare say anything.

Finally, I hear him stop moving, and I square my shoulders as if he might come at me from behind. I don’t really think he would. But I don’t really know him, either. The fine hairs on the back of my neck are raised in a silent warning.

“Louder!” He barks the order and I jump.

My breath gets caught in my throat even as a new flood of desire aches between my legs.

“I
said
—“

“Louder, Ms. Lundgren!”

Oh, fuck him. He doesn’t get to command me. I won’t let him. I spin, my face hot and my body on fire. I want to run him down, push him back, and kiss him savagely.

“I said, Mr. Masters, I don’t agree to your terms and you fucking heard me the first time.”

His jaw twitches and he moves faster than I can react. His hands are on me before I know what’s happening. I yelp, then moan as his fingers dig into my arms and he yanks me to him. My breasts push into his chest, my nipples immediately peaking as they rub against his hard chest. His left hand moves to my face and grips my jaw, turning my head to the side as he brings his lips to mine.

His breath sends heat and desire over my mouth, and I’m primed for his kiss. This fast, this immediate, I’m ready to receive him and lose myself in his body. This isn’t submission, this is just hot. My breath squeezes out of me in anticipation.

But he stops a fraction of an inch from my lips. He’s teasing me, and I find myself arching toward him, seeking…

His thumb slides up and over my lower lip, then delves into my mouth with a hard thrust. It gags me, but I don’t fight it. He might as well have just stroked my clit for the flaming sensation that bursts there. I suck on him, closing my lips around it, showing his finger what I could do to his cock.

The grip on my arm tightens and I realize without question that he knows how much I crave this. I could never have kept this part of myself hidden from a man like Brent. I’m shaking now, ripe with the hope that he’ll throw me on the bed and pin me.

Pleasepleaseplease,
my brain is screaming. But I can’t. I can’t do this with him.

Suddenly, he pushes off of me, his thumb leaving my mouth unexpectedly empty and longing.

His chest rises and falls hard once and then he recovers, turning into the ice prince I’ve come to recognize.

“That’s unfortunate, Ms. Lundgren.” He turns to the door and yanks it open. He levels me with a hard stare. “Allow me to call you a cab.”

My heart sinks.
Are you kidding me?
I don’t want to be his submissive, I think I made that as clear as mud. But I don’t want to go. That rough, playful, and consuming sex we had earlier? I want that. Much, much more of that. I’m about to tell him, but don’t. He’s already made it clear that the world revolves around his terms, and his terms only.

He always wins.

Brent lifts his chin, clearly waiting for me to leave. I should tell him what I want, but I’m not up for watching him laugh in my face. What man would want more vanilla sex when he’s got an
entire chest
filled with toys? He’ll humiliate me, I know it.

And I hate myself for still wanting to be here with him.

“I’d—I’d like to stay.” I’m a mess. I know it, and I’m ashamed of how pathetic I am. But I want him. I want my boss, all of him, and I don’t want this night to end without having more.

“I see,” he says slowly. Another smile curls his lips and I actually shudder because it’s so impersonal, so cold. My eyes travel his naked body as a way to cover the disappointment his smile gives me. The deep “V” above his hips makes my mouth water and arousal chases away the hurt. This is so wrong, but I can’t bring myself to fully care.

“You’re welcome to stay.”

My heart flutters. Taking a step toward him, eager to be in his bed, I pause when he raises a hand palm-out like I’m a bad dog.

“There’s the bed.” Without another word, he walks out, flashing me his perfect ass before the door slams behind him.

Stunned, I can only stare at the door. That bastard. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m shocked. This is exactly what a woman should expect from Brent Masters—from all men with power complexes, really.
Shit, hadn’t I learned that over the years?

I had, but the sting of tears in my eyes still takes me off-guard. I know better than to put myself out there for a man like this, yet I can’t help but secretly adore the rush I get when he acts like this. There’s a sexy edge to him displaying his power. I’ve only ever gravitated towards that with one other man—the one who owned my body.

Brushing hair from my face, I realize that my boss has stirred up my submissive past like a tornado. As much as I like it, I’m not giving in to him. Going to the door, I quickly check the handle, half expecting that he’d locked me in. But the knob turns easily in my hand.

Relieved, I go to the bed and slip underneath the soft cotton sheets. I’m still shivering inside and out. Tears slip down my cheeks as I turn off the lamp and settle my head against the pillow. My chest feels hollow.

I’m such an idiot. I knew better than to come here. I knew better than to think a man like him could settle for a girl like me. I knew better, and the only smart decision I made tonight was to tell him no.

I’m suddenly tired and the bed is so comfortable that sinking into sleep is easy.

I drift off, slightly aware of the weirdness of being in a strange place. Oddly, there are no sounds, as if the room is completely closed off from any outside noise. The silence and my own breathing ring in my ears until the last of my awareness slips away.

I wake with a start, though it’s really a half-attempt at consciousness. Something moves on the bed, the mattress sinking next to me as warmth presses against my side. I have a tickle of alarm, but it fades as warm kisses dot along my neck. Letting out a breath, I turn my head and welcome this dream.

The kisses increase, followed by sharp nips along my flesh. I reach out, shocked to find the silken feel of thick hair under my fingers. Sleep starts to fade as I realize I’m not dreaming. Warm flesh glides under my fingers, and the rise of muscle and dip of bone are familiar.

“Brent,” I breathe and suddenly he’s kissing me, his tongue darting into my mouth, the flavor of his lust full on mine. I return his fervor, grabbing his hair and holding him to me. I’m panting when he pulls back.

“What is it about you?” His low tone is curious, yet stressed. “I don’t do this. I never do this.”

I don’t ask—I just feel as his lips move to my chest. He sucks my nipple roughly then soothes it with his tongue only to start over, again and again until I can’t take anymore. But I do—I take it, and I love it. He pushes up and his lips are on mine again. I can barely breathe but I don’t care. I part my legs as he moves over me, and I’ve barely gotten them around his hips when he thrusts into me.

I cry out at the unexpectedness of it, but my hips press up, seeking more. Brent grabs a handful of my hair, not tugging, but hanging on.

“It’s the past. It has to be the past. It never died, did it?” He growls in my ear. I don’t know exactly what he’s referring to, but I can guess.

The kiss. That one, hot kiss we shared six years ago.

His hips tilt just right so his thrusts bounce against my clit. A pleasure storm whips up inside me, each of his thrusts milking the ecstasy.

“You don’t run from me.” He thrusts hard, his hip bones cutting into me. “You should, though. You should run far away from me, little girl.”

I don’t run because I understand him. If it’s the darkness in him, well, there’s darkness inside me too.

I smooth my hands over his hard ass and dig my nails into the supple, warm flesh. His heady grunt flames my lust and I give up trying to meet each pierce of his cock. I give in and let him ride me. He cups my ass and pulls me down a little more, holding me in place, taking everything.

“Come for me.”

I want to. Pleasure saturates me and I’m drowning in it. Suddenly, the edge of my orgasm is there, right there. The darkness looms in front of me, but I don’t run away. Not when he holds me down, not when his thrusts border on painful, not when he orders me, again, to come for him.

The darkness looms, and I run straight into it.

The thought propels my release and it slams through me. My eyes roll back, my entire body tensing with the stunning force of it. Brent cries out, his own orgasm pulsing inside me. Our chests fight for room to breathe until he finally rolls off of me.

I’m vaguely aware that he’s wearing a condom, thankfully, as my sated body curls right back up into sleepy warmth. Moving back a bit, I smile to feel the hot length of his body against mine, and it’s exactly what I need to drift off again.

When I wake, sunlight filters into my room and straight across the bed. I cover my eyes with my hands to block it out, and fling my other arm out next to me. The space where Brent had been lying is empty.

Disappointed, I sit and immediately recall everything from last night. It’s all there, all the emotions save for the shame I’d felt over my need of him. We had given each other exactly what we’d needed. My heart swells at the thought, but I don’t dwell on it. Blinking, I realize my clothes are folded neatly on the edge of the bed.

Curious, I get up and grab them. They look as if they’ve been laundered and pressed. A bit uneasy now, I quickly freshen up and get dressed, then peek out into the hallway outside my room. The robust scent of coffee greets me and I sigh in relief.

Brent is making coffee. Good. That’s good because we really need to talk. About last night, and the whole submission thing. Maybe I can make him see why I left that behind, along with so many other things. Maybe by talking about it, I can make sense of my own conflicted feelings about the connection we’d shared.

Following the aroma, I enter the kitchen and find a short woman in a blue uniform dress and white apron. She turns to me, a big, welcoming smile on her mouth.

“Oh, morning! Morning.” She pulls a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven and then whisks off fat oven mitts.

“Please, sit.” She rounds the breakfast counter and indicates a chair but I wave her off. Before I can speak, she goes on. “You stay as long as you like today. There’s a car ready whenever you want go.”

I scratch behind my ear as a new wave of discomfort makes me antsy. Where the hell is Brent?

“Thank you. Could I—could I speak with Mr. Masters first?”

It’s her turn to wave me off before she bustles back toward the oven and takes a coffee mug from the rack.

“Sorry, no. He left this morning for Greece. He’ll be gone all week.”

I stare at her, my mouth hanging open. She just smiles again and hands me the mug.

“Coffee?”