Naughty Boss

  Naughty Boss

  Bad Bosses, Book One

  C.L. Cruz

  Naughty Boss Copyright © 2020 by C.L Cruz. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Liz Fox

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  C.L. Cruz

  Visit my website at www.clcruz.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: March 2020

  Join Us

  Join our reader group: Short, Sweet, & Steamy Romances.

  Sign up to C.L. Cruz’s Newsletter.

  CONTENTS

  Join Us

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Also by C.L. Cruz

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Josie

  “Spread your legs.”

  Words every girl longs to hear. Just not in the airport.

  I look down, positioning my feet on the little yellow markers on the floor.

  “Farther apart,” the TSA agent, a short, round woman, barks at me.

  “Is it my thick thighs?” I joke, spreading my legs even more. It’s true, though. I could probably smuggle a small handgun between my round butt cheeks, and no one would ever know. A blessing and a curse, depending on how you look at it.

  She is not amused, and instead stares at me blankly. I wonder how long it’s been since she smiled.

  “Raise your arms.”

  I do, and the machine whirs to life. My eyes find the man standing on the other side of the glass staring at the screen in front of him. God, he’s probably seen me in more detail than most of the guys I’ve slept with. Not that there’s that many.

  “Step through,” the woman says, waving me through and turning to harass the person behind me.

  I gather my carry-on bag, purse, and shoes from the conveyor belt, and drag them to the black benches across the hall where a bunch of other haggard-looking people sit half-naked, trying to put themselves back together. I plop down beside a blond-haired Adonis who has one leg propped over the other as he ties on his black leather dress shoes. I could swear they look like the Louis Vuitton’s that go for about ten thousand a pair, but he looks way too young to have that kind of money.

  Then again, he doesn’t look any older than my brother, who would have no issue dropping that kind of cash for a good pair of shoes.

  He stands and I pause in my fumbling attempts to tie my lace-up sandals back on my feet. My eyes travel up his tall, lean body, appreciating how the button-down shirt pulls tight across his broad chest, and the noticeable bulge in the crotch of his fitted dress pants. He pulls his belt through its loops, and I can’t help but imagine taking it off again.

  With my teeth.

  “Strip search?” I ask, unable to stop myself. I tend to say what’s on my mind, for better or worse.

  When his eyes meet mine, they’re an icy blue, and his mouth is set in a stern, unamused line. Between him and the TSA lady, it’s been a tough crowd today.

  “I hate flying commercial,” he grumbles. His voice is deep, rolling over me like a wave.

  I hum as if in sympathy. “Private jet in the shop?”

  His hands go still on his belt buckle and he studies me, and I swear there’s amusement in his eyes. “Something like that.” He picks up his black shoulder bag. “Have a nice flight.”

  I watch him walk away, appreciating the view. Leave it to me to spend the last five years gallivanting around Europe only to find the hottest piece of meat on my last day here. As I stand and pick up all my own bags, I wonder where the rest of hottie’s luggage is. He probably paid the extra baggage fee. Tobias wouldn’t even spring for that, let alone send the company jet.

  “It’s time to be an adult,” he’d said over the fuzzy international line. “And that means learning the value of money.”

  He paid for the ticket, though, so joke’s on him. We all have our part to play. Tobias is the responsible older brother with his MBA who took over Dad’s company. And I’m the hot-mess younger sister with no ambition. Tobias is expected to take care of me…and I’m barely even expected to take care of myself.

  Even this late, the terminal is packed, and I still have a couple of hours until my flight will start boarding. So many people packed so closely together makes me feel claustrophobic, especially after living the last few months on my friend’s new yacht on the French Riviera, surrounded by water and the wide-open sky.

  Then, I spot a sign that says, “Admirals Lounge,” and I move toward it, digging in my purse. The hostess smiles at me from behind her white podium, and I flash her my brother’s credit card. It may not work for charges anymore, since he canceled it when he cut me off, but it will get me in here, where I can at least have some peace and quiet before spending the next day on a cramped airplane. Tobias wouldn’t even buy me a first-class ticket, so it’s coach class for me.

  The hostess opens the door for me. “Welcome, Ms. Kline.”

  Inside, the lights are dim, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the runway are dark. There are a couple of businessmen in wrinkled suits sitting at the bar, so I make my way to the back, where there’s only one other customer sitting in one of the lounge chairs, reading a book, a scotch glass on the table in front of him.

  It’s my Adonis.

  Well, this is certainly one way to pass the time.

  I sit across from him, settling my bag against my chair. “We meet again.”

  He lowers his book and studies me, obviously trying to decide if he knows me. “Strip search,” he says when it dawns on him.

  “If you insist,” I quip.

  One corner of his mouth lifts in what I think is surprised amusement, and I spot the hint of a dimple in his cheek. I would pay money to see a real smile, but I have a feeling those are hard won from this man.

  I pick the drink menu up from the table between us and nod toward the book in his lap. “I didn’t know people still read books.”

  “What else would I read?” he asks in that deep, panty-dropping rumble.

  “Most people read eBooks these days.”

  The waitress comes by and I order a martini, while my new friend orders another scotch. Behind me, the sound of a plane’s roaring engine cuts through the night.

  Even though I don’t care for the crowds, I’ve always loved airports. The infinite possibilities. The intersection of hundreds of lives. I pull out my leather-bound journal and scribble that down.

  “A writer who doesn’t believe in books?”

  “I’m not a writer,” I say, looking up from my journal and knowing it’s kind of a lie. The pages are full of notes about my travels, and this is only one of dozens. The rest have been shipped back home to the apartment Tobias rented for me.

  His icy blue eyes fall to the notebook in my hands, and I resist the urge to snap it shut. It feels like he can see right through the pages, into my deepest,
most private thoughts. Kind of like the TSA guy who saw right through my clothes to my lady parts.

  “What are you, then?” he asks.

  I tap my pen against the table. What am I? That’s the same question my brother asked, and I still don’t have an answer to it, mainly because no one ever demanded that I be anything more than what I am—the spoiled youngest child, an annoying little sister, wild and carefree.

  “You have to come home. Get a job. Be a productive member of society,” Tobias said.

  The words eat away at my soul. I don’t want to go back to Oakwood City and get a desk job and a husband and a white picket fence.

  I finally meet the handsome stranger’s eyes. “I don’t know. I guess I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  He raises one eyebrow disapprovingly. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be such a stiff?” I bite back.

  Ugh, there’s that small, half-smile again.

  He closes his book and lays it on the table in front of him, and then taps his fingers together in front of his face, studying me. I feel naked. Actually, I wouldn’t mind being naked with him; this feeling is worse. Like I’m being measured.

  “Let me guess,” he says. “Trust fund baby. Traveling the world on daddy’s money. Going home only at the threat of being cut off.”

  My pen taps wildly on the arm of my chair as I bounce it between my fingers. “Close,” I concede. “I’ve already been cut off.”

  His eyebrows raise, his blue eyes glinting with humor. “Ah. Going home to get a job, then. To become a productive member of society.”

  I roll my eyes. “How come pushing papers at a boring desk job is considered productive? And what do they do, teach that line in business school?”

  He cocks his head to one side as if I’m the most perplexing creature in the world.

  Our drinks arrive, and I gladly gulp down my martini. It warms my belly, and I pluck the olive from its pick with my teeth, savoring its briny flavor while wondering if I can afford another one.

  Before I decide, though, my Adonis flags down our waitress and gestures toward me. “A bottle of water, please.”

  “Hey, wait a minute.” If I’m going to drop twenty dollars in an airport bar, it might as well be on alcohol. “I’ll have another martini, actually.”

  The waitress looks from me to him, and he shakes his head. “She’ll have a water.”

  I gape at him as the waitress hurries away. “Who do you think you are?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” he says, a wicked glint in his eye. “What matters is that you aren’t hungover on your first day pushing papers at your boring desk job.”

  God, who is this guy? The last thing I need is another older brother, especially one I want to lick from head to toe. His half-empty scotch is sitting on the table between us, and I reach out for it. Faster than I can react, his big hand clamps down on my wrist and pulls me close. I bump the table as I lean over it, and the ice in his glass rattles. Our faces are only inches apart.

  “It’s time to learn to follow directions, and you can start with mine. Don’t make me punish you.”

  Holy shit, why did that just make my panties wet? When I realize my lips are parted and I’m breathing hard, I snap my jaw shut and grind out, “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You heard me.” His eyes drop to my lips, then my breasts, and then back up to my face. I think he’s going to kiss me, and bet your ass I would let him, but then he says, “I will take you over my knee right here in front of all these people, and no one will say a word to me.”

  Rich, entitled bastard. I’ve known plenty of men like him, but none of them have ever threatened to spank me. If they had, maybe I would have had a much more exciting time these last few years.

  He releases me and I fall back into my chair. His tongue darts out and licks his lips as he watches me. I can think of better uses for that tongue, and I’m about to tell him so, when he says in a low voice, “In my experience, women like being told what to do. I bet you’re soaking wet right now.”

  What. The. Hell? And why is he right, dammit? “You’re wrong,” I bite out even as my nipples harden against the thin lace of my bra.

  “Prove it.”

  “What?”

  “Prove it,” he repeats, holding out a hand.

  I look at it, and back up at him. “How?”

  “Take off your panties.”

  Take off my— “You can’t be serious.”

  “I don’t joke.”

  I gape at him. The logical part of my brain knows I can get up and walk away.

  But I really don’t want to. The men my friends and I met in Europe pandered to our every desire. We were in charge, and they did our bidding willingly. But this guy…

  God, he’s right. I like being told what to do. And there’s no way I’m going to tell him no. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again, so what will it hurt?

  I’m wearing a denim mini skirt. Without taking my eyes from his, I lift my hips, hook my fingers in my lacy black thong, and pull it down. I expect him to watch, but he doesn’t drop his gaze from mine. Heat creeps up my neck, and I know I’m blushing. I step out of the underwear, and without even checking to see if anyone is watching, I hand them to him.

  Only when he takes them from me does he look down, running his fingers along the fabric. “Liar,” he says, and I swear his voice is even deeper, rough with desire.

  There’s going to be a wet spot in my chair. I have to get out of here.

  The waitress brings my water, and I gulp it down as fast as possible. Then I stand, gathering my bags. “I have to go.”

  He stuffs my underwear in his pocket and picks up his book. “The drinks are on me. Have a nice flight.”

  I take in the sight of him one more time so I can add an accurate image to my finger vault, and then turn and flee, losing myself in the crowd in the terminal, and trying not to think about the part of me I left behind with my Adonis.

  Chapter Two

  Ben

  I push through the front door of my apartment around two in the morning and drop my bags beside the front door for Monse, my housekeeper, to deal with when she gets up. I want nothing more than to shower in my own bathroom and to steal at least a couple hours of sleep before heading to the office.

  I don’t flip on any lights as I walk through the open floor plan to my bedroom. Even though it’s still dark outside, the lights of the city shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminate my way just enough that I don’t run into anything, not that there’s much to run into. Furnishings are sparse, and clutter is nonexistent. I don’t spend enough time here to really care.

  In my bedroom, I loosen my tie and unbutton my shirt, slipping out of it. Sticking my hands in my pants pockets to empty them, they close around a piece of cloth. The girl’s thong. My dick hardens at the memory of her thick, round ass and generous rack, of her dark, defiant eyes and smart-ass mouth. The temptation to take her over my knee and spank her ass and her wet pussy until she came right there, in the middle of the Admirals Club, had been strong. Money buys silence, and I have enough that I could have bought off everyone in there not to say a word.

  But I don’t act out of impulsiveness. I don’t give into those baser needs and take those kinds of risks. Every move I make is calculated, structured. It has to be, as the CEO of Talbot Investments, one of the largest and most profitable investment firms in the world, every move I make can affect the value of my company’s stock. Not to mention that my father, the indelible Clarence Talbot, is on the sidelines just waiting for me to fail so he can swoop in and save the day.

  I’m not going to give him that satisfaction.

  Here in my apartment, though, nobody’s watching. I raise the underwear to my nose and inhale her sweet, musky scent. They’re marked with evidence of her arousal that makes my dick hard to the point it’s almost painful.

  A few seconds later, I’m in the shower, warm water flowing
over my shoulders. I brace myself against the wall and fist my cock, jerking it hard and fast as I picture it sliding between her plump, red lips, my hand wrapped in her hair. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her on her knees in front of me, choking on my dick.

  Too soon, my balls tighten. I never come this fast, but I can’t slow down. Instead, I give into the sensation, moaning loudly, head tipped back as I find my release, imagining my Airport Girl swallowing every drop of cum that spills out of me.

  When I get out of the shower, instead of throwing away her panties like I tell myself I will, I stuff them into my drawer like a fucking stalker. Then, I fall onto my bed, naked and spent, letting sleep claim me.

  Chapter Three

  Ben

  I wake up a few hours later, not feeling at all rested. In fact, I have morning wood, something that hasn’t happened to me in years. I blame it on the fact that my dreams were plagued with visions of a thick-bottomed brunette, temptation incarnate. I don’t know why she’s infiltrated my thoughts so deeply, but I know how to get her out.

  By diving single-mindedly into my work.

  It’s always worked before, so there’s no reason it shouldn’t work now.

  My driver, Saul, picks me up at seven o’clock on the dot as always, a cup of black coffee in one hand. He’s been driving me around since before I could drive, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else with the job. I accept the drink and slide into the blacked-out Town Car, scrolling through my notifications and emails as he expertly maneuvers his way through the streets of Oakwood City.

  Fifteen minutes later, we pull up in front of the Talbot Investments building, and he opens the car door for me. I step out and am met by Dev, my executive assistant, who hands me another cup of black coffee.

  She follows me inside, reading my schedule to me. “You have a meeting with our attorneys at nine. Lunch with your dad at noon. A board meeting at one to vote on the new London investment.”