Page 65 of The Boss

My inner voice needed to give it a fucking rest.

“I’ve emailed you a list of instructions for tonight,” I said. “Get to work.”

“Yes, Mr. Steele.” Her voice was still bone cold.

I returned to my desk and tried to concentrate on my computer but watched Riley instead. She was reading the computer screen, the familiar squint setting my already frayed nerves on a thinner edge. Her refusal to buy glasses when she so clearly needed them was annoying. She didn’t strike me as someone who was particularly vain, so why the fuck wasn’t she buying them?

Maybe she doesn’t have the money, asshole.

I stared blankly at my computer screen. My original annoyance over her inability to manage money had faded as my guilt grew. What did it matter if she struggled with keeping a budget or had a lot of consumer debt she needed to pay? It didn’t make her any less, and I’d been a real shithead to insinuate it did.

I watched her squint at the screen before she rubbed lightly at her temples and forehead. I recognized the telltale signs of a headache. She spent most of her day staring at, undoubtedly, a blurry screen, and now I was making her do it for another two hours.

You could stop her. You could make her feel better. You could take her over to that very comfortable couch, strip her naked, and eat her pussy until she begged you to fuck her. She wants you to fuck her. You know that, right?

I ignored my inner voice. I had a busy day tomorrow, but I had a free hour in the afternoon. I would take Riley to buy some glasses to apologize for my behaviour yesterday.

Or you could, I don’t know, apologize?

I stared resolutely at my computer screen, listening to the weirdly comforting sound of Riley - Charlotte - typing on her keyboard, and pretended I didn’t want to make her ride my dick until neither of us could think straight.

CHAPTER 22

Riley

I emailed Deacon the work I’d finished and, trying to keep my resentment in check, walked to his desk and knelt on the cushion beside his chair. He didn’t acknowledge me, and I bowed my head and stared at my lap.

I was nearly vibrating with anger and anxiety and had been for the last day and a half. My stomach was one big knot, and I hadn’t eaten a proper meal since my fight with Deacon yesterday. I hadn’t even thought once of cancelling tonight, though. And not just because of the money.

I was a rich stew of hostility and hurt, but, frustratingly, I also wanted him with an intensity I could barely contain. I wasn’t used to my emotions being so out of control, and between my anxiety for my mother and now my exasperation with Deacon, I wanted a release. The kind only he could give me.

You could find someone else. He’s not the only guy out there who can fulfill your kink and make you come.

As always, just the thought of kneeling for someone else, of allowing them to touch me, made me feel sick to my stomach. That in itself was worrisome - I barely knew Deacon, and feeling like I belonged to him was some weird little fetish that I needed to get over.

Only I had no idea how to get over it, and, instead, it grew stronger with every moment I spent with him. If I didn’t get my shit together, by the time he finished working for Aiden, I’d have myself convinced we were in a relationship or some bullshit like that.

I glanced discreetly at the clock above the fireplace. Deacon had given me so much work tonight that I’d been worried I wouldn’t finish within the two hours, especially with the headache that thudded at my skull. But I’d focused, and while there was only half an hour left of our session, that would be enough time for me to give him a blowjob and for him to make me come.

Enough time to be fucked, too.

I flushed bright red. The sex dream I’d had last night, the one where Deacon was in my bed and between my legs, was why I couldn’t stop thinking about fucking him. I knew his rules and breaking them wasn’t an option. At least not for him. Me, on the other hand? I was obsessed with how it might feel to have his thick cock sliding into me, stretching me in all the right ways, and making me feel whole.

I realized with a jolt that Deacon wasn’t touching me. His big hand wasn’t cupping the back of my skull and urging me to rest my cheek against his leg. I looked up at him, the heat rising in my cheeks, when I realized he was staring at me, too.

After a moment, when he didn’t say anything, I said, “What?”

My tone was snotty, and I didn’t miss the flare of irritation in his eyes for speaking without permission. I was being a brat. I was acting out because I was looking for his attention - good or bad. Christ, what was wrong with me?

“You’ve finished everything I gave you?” He indicated to my unopened email I could see on his screen.

“I wouldn’t be kneeling here if I hadn’t.”

His irritation deepened, and what did it say about me that his reaction lit something inside me? Something that felt dangerous and decadent and delicious.

He took a deep breath before turning back to his computer. Instead of opening my email and reviewing my work, he sent me a new email with a document attached. “Return to your desk and work on what I’ve just sent you.”

I stayed where I was, hurt and fresh indignation rocketing through me. “You didn’t look at what I sent you.”

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