Naughty Boss Page 3

  Oh. Well, he doesn’t have to tell me three times. “I promise.”

  His fingers slide back, pressing against my wet entrance.

  I’m not laughing anymore. I’m suddenly feeling very, very sober.

  His fingers press inside of me, one, two, maybe more, while his thumb circles my throbbing clit. I try to thrust my hips forward, but he holds me in place.

  “More,” I beg. I want him to claim me, to make me his. I want to be full of him, surrounded by him. I don’t care where we are or who’s watching.

  Then, just as my muscles begin to clench around his hand, he captures my mouth with his, swallowing my cries with a fierce, brutal kiss. Our tongues do battle, chasing each other until his teeth close around my lip hard enough that I taste the salty tang of blood.

  He withdraws his hand, leaving me panting against the wall. “Take them off.”

  I blink up at him. “What?”

  He holds his hand out, and I remember when he did that in the airport.

  “Are you serious?”

  His face betrays nothing, so being the good girl that I have apparently become, I shimmy my panties down my legs and step out of them, handing them to him.

  Taking them, he balls them in a fist and stuffs them in his jacket pocket. “From now on, every time you’re wearing panties, I will take them off of you.”

  “Says you,” I snap, trying to gain back some of the control.

  He just smiles, takes a finger—one that was inside of me moments ago—and pops it into his mouth, sucking off my juices.

  Then, he flips up his other wrist and looks at his watch. “It’s one o’clock in the morning. You need to go home and get some rest. Be in the office by eight o’clock, or face the consequences.”

  Jesus, the consequences? What kind of job did Tobias get me? And do I say thanks, or do I run away, never to be heard from again?

  I don’t say anything, and that’s good enough for Ben, because he turns away and stalks back to the bar, leaving me just feet from the exit, making his message very clear.

  Chapter Six

  Ben

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I stuff the second pair of her panties in my underwear drawer and pray that Monse doesn’t ever find them. Not that I think she’ll care, but let it get out that the CEO of Talbot Investments has a hidden stash of dirty panties, and that would be the end of my reign as I know it.

  Hiding away Josie’s underwear, though, doesn’t get her out of my head. She haunts my dreams, and when I wake up hard and throbbing, I don’t let myself touch it. It’s all about control, and I need to remember that, especially when it comes to Josephine Kline.

  On my way into the office the next morning, my father calls.

  “I tried you at the office first, but you weren’t there,” he says by way of greeting.

  “I’m walking in now,” I tell him as the elevator deposits me on the top floor of the Talbot Investments building.

  “Back in my day,” he starts, droning on about how much harder he had to work. I know why he’s really calling, but it will take him a few minutes to get there.

  Dev is already waiting for me, but I point to my phone at my ear, and she follows me in silence, clutching her ever-present tablet.

  “I heard you lost the Monolith Hospitality deal.”

  There it is. “We were outbid,” I say. It happens. I would have liked to secure the hotel chain for Talbot Investments, but it would have been a huge undertaking, and quite frankly, I’m too distracted right now.

  “By the Hawthorne Group.”

  I stop walking. Dev practically runs into me, whispering apologies as she catches herself against my back. I hardly hear her. My heart pounds, pushing all the blood into my ears. Stars dance in front of my eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  I can practically hear my father smiling. “The Hawthorne Group bought Monolith.”

  Fucking Max. I don’t care that he’s dating my ex—Tana was nice eye candy for events, but not much else—but if he’s stealing businesses from me, I’m going to kill him.

  No.

  I take a deep breath, fighting for control. Dev is studying me, and I can’t let her see me sweat.

  “That’s fine,” I tell him when I can trust my voice again. “Monolith is a money pit anyway.” Lies, lies, lies.

  We’re walking again, and when I pass Josie’s desk, it’s empty. I check my watch. 7:56. She’s testing me, and today is not the day.

  Turning to Dev, I mouth, “Where is she?”

  She shrugs. “It’s not eight yet.”

  Oh, but it almost is. I stalk into my office and turn back to Dev, who’s standing just on the other side of the door. She must be able to detect my moods by now. I hold the phone away from my mouth. “When she gets here, send her to my office.”

  Dev nods.

  “I’ll be by later to talk about the day.”

  She nods again, and I shut the door.

  “I left the company in your hands, son, thinking you were capable of…”

  God, does he ever shut up? I’ve heard this speech dozens of times since he retired a few years ago, every time he hears about a loss or a deal gone bad.

  “Talbot Investments is a public company; you can’t forget that I still have stake in the company and its value is largely determined by how you appear to the investors.”

  Why does he think I keep it so mild? I’m never on the cover of any tabloids, never on the news for any scandal. I’m the tamest of all the Oakwood Boys, walking the straight and narrow.

  I sit behind my desk and rub my eyes, then check my watch again. 8:01. No Josie.

  It’s 8:05 and my dad is almost done with his verbal lashing, when there’s a knock on my door and it cracks open. Josie’s wide, dark eyes appear, followed by the rest of her in a belted, knee-length dress. Her hair is pulled back in a braid, and the idea of wrapping it around my hand has my dick jumping to attention in my pants.

  “I have to go,” I interrupt my father.

  “But—”

  “Talk to you later.” I disconnect the call. I’ll get shit for it later, but I don’t care.

  Right now, I have something more important to do. And that, in itself, is worrisome, because nothing has ever been more important than business. At least, not until Josephine Kline became my business.

  Chapter Seven

  Josie

  There’s a tension in Ben’s office that I don’t think has anything to do with me, but when he looks at me like that, with fire in his eyes, it makes me feel like he’s the big, bad wolf and I’m about to be eaten. Which I maybe wouldn’t be entirely opposed to, especially after last night.

  “My, what big teeth you have,” I mutter.

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing.”

  He shakes his head. “Lock the door.”

  “I don’t—”

  He stands and my eyes drop to his pants and the bulge there, straining to get out. Without another word of objection, I turn and flip the lock on the door, my breath picking up in anticipation, chills racing down my spine.

  “You’re late,” he says when I turn back around.

  I clasp my hands behind my back to keep from fidgeting. “Just five minutes.”

  “You’re in the real world now,” he says. “Time is money, and you’re wasting mine.”

  I almost laugh. All I’ve done the last few years is waste time and money. “Sorry,” I say half-heartedly.

  It’s not enough. “I told you there would be consequences.”

  He did, and it was all I thought about as the train pulled into the station at 7:59 and I ran through the streets on my stiletto pumps.

  “You can just dock my pay,” I say, turning and reaching for the door handle behind me.

  Before I can even touch it, though, his hand wraps around my other wrist and pulls me against his hard body. His other hand wraps around me and bunches up my dress so he can slide it under and grasp a butt cheek. He gives
it a hard squeeze and I gasp against his shoulder.

  “No panties,” he grunts, and I like that he suddenly can’t seem to form complete sentences.

  “You told me not to.”

  He looks down at me. Our faces are so close, all it would take is one push and my lips would be on his. “Since when do you do what you’re told?”

  “When there’s potential for an orgasm,” I whisper.

  His mouth twitches but he holds it together. Then, he draws back his hand that was holding my ass and lands a hard smack on my butt cheek.

  “What the hell?” I choke out, trying to pull away.

  But he holds on tightly, not letting me move. My ass stings, but my nipples harden against his chest. My fucking traitorous body. This is not OK. Is it?

  “I’m going to spank you once for every minute you were late.”

  “Like hell you are,” I say, aiming for indignation even as my core clenches at his words. “Not even my parents spanked me.”

  “That must be your problem.”

  “Corporal punishment—”

  But he cuts me off, lifting me off my feet and carrying me to the leather couch in his sitting area. But instead of sitting me down on it, he sits and drops me onto his lap, belly down, ass up.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, still trying to object but knowing it’s no good. I want this just as much as he wants to give it. Dammit.

  He doesn’t respond, not in words. Instead, he slides a finger through the dampness between my legs and hisses. “You’re fucking dripping.”

  “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “You’re a liar. I should add to your punishment.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He gathers my dress up around my waist. I imagine how I must look to him, my plump ass on display, one cheek red with his handprint. He rubs one side, then the other, and embarrassingly, I find myself pressing back against his hand.

  When the next slap comes, I’m still not expecting it. The sting is nothing, though, compared to the throb between my legs.

  “That’s two,” he says.

  I’m panting, but I still manage to breathe out, “I hate you.”

  The third hit lands close to the juncture between my thighs.

  “How many is that?” he asks.

  “Three,” I say breathlessly, closing my eyes.

  The fourth is hard enough that the sound is loud in his office, and I wonder if Dev can hear what’s happening. It’s humiliating, but—and I hate to admit this—it adds to the thrill. My body is on fire. I want to reach back and touch myself, but he’s holding me pressed against the couch, immobile.

  “Four,” I say, my voice a moan.

  He lands the fifth on the opposite cheek, and then rubs out the sting. I can feel myself get wetter, the juices practically running down my thighs.

  “Five.”

  His fingers slide between my legs and one finger pushes inside of me. I cry out, not caring anymore who hears. When his thumb presses against my clit, I grind against him, the fire turning into an inferno.

  And then suddenly, he pulls away, tugs my dress down, and lifts me up by my arms until I’m on my feet looking down at him, still not sure what just happened.

  He spreads both arms over the back of the couch. “I think we’re done here.”

  I gape at him. “But—”

  “But what, Ms. Kline? Do you think you deserve an orgasm?”

  I was wrong. The spanking wasn’t my punishment. This is. Bastard. “I’ll just take care of it myself.”

  He reaches out and grabs my wrist again. Before we’re through, I’m going to have a bracelet of bruises there if he keeps this up. “Your orgasms belong to me,” he growls. “This”—he cups my center over my dress—“belongs to me. Don’t let me find out that you touched yourself, or I will never touch you again.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you to,” I say, but even I can hear the lie in my voice.

  He stands, smooths down his pants, and crosses to his desk. “Please pick up my dry cleaning at noon. There’s a slip on your desk. And I’d like you to go with me to my meeting at three. I’ll meet you at the elevators.” He sits at his computer and doesn’t look at me again.

  And once again, I’m dismissed. I open the door and stalk outside, making sure to slam it loud enough that he knows I don’t appreciate his attitude.

  Chapter Eight

  Ben

  If I wanted to prove to myself that I could maintain control, then not sticking my dick into Josie’s soaking wet pussy should have made me feel good about myself.

  Instead, I just gave myself the worst case of blue balls since I was a horny middle school kid watching my sister’s friends have a pillow fight. And I pissed her off. Neither one of those things makes me feel particularly happy.

  She doesn’t talk to me the rest of the day. When I get back from lunch, my dry cleaning is hanging in my office and she’s on the phone. When I emerge again for our appointment at three, she’s already gone. I catch up to her at the elevator. She has her purse slung over one shoulder, and she’s carrying a notepad, a pen tucked behind her ear, looking all business. But I know what’s beneath that dress—her bare pussy and my handprint on her ass.

  We wait for the elevator in a silence that isn’t quite amicable. No, it’s charged with tension, and I can’t tell if she’s more angry or horny.

  Me? I’m definitely horny. Which is unusual. That’s not to say I don’t get turned on, but I’m usually able to keep a tight grip on my emotions. With Josie though, I want to get a tight grip on her so bad that it makes me a loose cannon.

  Not good. All it takes is one wrong step and my father will be crowing in my ear about how much of a screw up I am. About how badly he messed up giving the company to me.

  We step onto the elevator together, one of us on either side of an older man.

  “Good afternoon,” he says, looking between us. “Going down?”

  I nod, and Josie gives him a curt, “Yes, please.”

  He punches the button and the elevator descends. It’s hard being this close to Josie and not touching her. I want nothing more than to press her up against the side of the elevator and lose myself inside of her. The man must be able to feel the tension. He looks back and smiles at me. I’ve never invited a smile in my life. I really must be losing my touch.

  “How about those Flyers?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t really follow baseball.”

  We’re all relieved when the elevator deposits us in the lobby. I guide Josie to the door and into the waiting Town Car.

  “I’ve got this, Saul,” I say to my driver, shooing him away as I open the door for Josie.

  “Yes, sir,” Saul says, smiling knowingly at me. I don’t like that look.

  I slide in beside Josie, but before I can even shut the door, she scoots all the way across the bench seat and presses herself against the opposite door.

  “Are you upset about something?” I ask as Saul pulls away from the curb and into traffic.

  Her dark eyes shoot daggers at me. “Like you don’t know.”

  “You didn’t find it pleasurable?” I ask.

  She looks away but not before I see the flush of color on her cheeks. “That’s not the point.”

  We arrive at our destination before I can respond. As Saul parks the car on the street, Josie studies the storefronts.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  I’m surprised she hasn’t asked before, but I guess she was distracted. “To look into an investment opportunity.”

  “Why did you bring me?”

  I shrug. “To take notes.” Really, I want to show her another side of the investment business, one that not a lot of people get to see.

  We emerge onto the sidewalk in front of a small bakery with a clean, white facade, black and white awnings, and a bright pink door. The sign reads “Just Desserts,” and has two donuts on it, like two interlocked wedding bands, one with a bite taken out
of it.

  When we open the door, a bell rings to signal our arrival, and I wave to Cleo, the owner. She waves back and wipes her hands on her apron as she rounds her counter. Josie is busy eying the desserts lined up in the two refrigerated display counters.

  “Bonjour,” Cleo says, air-kissing both of my cheeks. “Are you here to seal the deal?”

  “Are you ready to sign away your soul?” I counter.

  Cleo laughs, a delightful sound. She’s a beautiful woman, but it’s always just been business between us. She came to me after she won a nationwide baking challenge and business at the shop blew up.

  “It’s time to franchise,” she’d said, “and show that asshole what he lost.” That asshole being her ex-husband who left her for a younger woman.

  Talbot Investments usually goes bigger, and we’ve never been involved in the food industry. But I like Cleo, and I like her vision and her spunk. It was a hard sell to the board, but I won them over, even without my dad’s vote, because of course that fucker voted against it.

  Now, as soon as Cleo signs the contract today, Just Desserts will be a division of Talbot Investments.

  Josie whirls on us as I pull out a chair for Cleo at one of the colorful, wrought-iron tables in her small dining room. “You’re buying a bakery?”

  I smile at her and gesture toward the third chair. “Investing. Cleo will still be the owner.”

  Cleo takes Josie’s hand as she sits down and pulls her in for an air-kiss. “Salut, ma belle.”

  “Salut,” Josie says, not looking at all uncomfortable with the European greeting.

  Cleo beams at her. “Parlez-vous Français?”

  Josie blushes. “Un peu,” she says, holding her fingers a hair apart. “I traveled in France a lot these last few years, but we didn’t get to explore the culture as much as I wanted to.”

  “Why not?” Cleo asks.

  I try to look busy as I get the paperwork from my briefcase, but I’m curious to know, too.

  Josie’s brow furrows as she thinks about how to answer. “My friends had very specific ideas of fun, and I was just kind of along for the ride. They wanted glamour and yachts and—” She pauses and looks at me.