Greedy Boss Read online

  “You still like shrimp, right?” I ask, looking up at her.

  Her amber eyes are bright as she responds. “My favorite.”

  I knew that, and now she knows that I did. I’m not just greedy when it comes to money but also knowledge, information. I want her to be mine, but I also want to know everything about her. Her likes, her dislikes. Her passions. What makes her smile. What makes her sad. What makes her moan with pleasure.

  Over dinner, I ask her questions. Her favorite color? Purple. Her favorite food? Any seafood. Her favorite drink? Moscato.

  When I ask her about her parents, she goes still, studying me over her risotto. “Didn’t you know I was adopted?”

  I shake my head. “No. Seriously?”

  “Seriously. At a late age, too. If it weren’t for the scholarship fund at the Foster A Wish program, I never would have gone to Samwell Prep.” She chews a bite of food thoughtfully before adding, “Neither one of us would probably be where we are today.”

  I nod, feeling a twinge of shame. The other kids and I had known that Helena was a scholarship student, even if we hadn’t known where it had come from. It was one of the biggest sticking points for me and my stupid, teenage self—the fact that a girl with no money was better than me at anything. Going toe-to-toe with her was the first time I realized that while money helped, it wasn’t everything.

  “It was my senior project. Working with the Foster A Wish program to help them continue funding. It was important to me, and…” She pushes away her plate. “They haven’t been able to fund a scholarship in several years.”

  A moment later, I do the same. “Helena, I know you think I did something to your project that night, or that I had a hand in what happened. But…I didn’t.” I round the table and kneel before her, gripping her hands in mine. “I meant everything I said to you then, and even though we’ve changed, my feelings haven’t. You’re still this amazing, strong, beautiful woman who challenges me in a way I didn’t know I needed. All these years, and I’ve never found that again.”

  She looks down at me and grips my face in her hands while her eyes search for answers. Her brow furrows as she says, “I believe you,” almost like she can’t hardly understand why.

  I give a small chuckle and am about to say something to try to ease the tension, when she leans down and presses her lips to mine. My body reacts immediately to her touch, the response visceral—my heart races, my dick strains against my pants. As my tongue dives into her mouth, I grip her thighs through her jeans, wishing I could tear them off of her.

  She seems to want me naked just as bad. Her fingers slip under my shirt and we break contact long enough for her to pull it over my head and toss it aside. She leans back and studies me.

  “How do you even look like this?” she asks.

  From my spot on my knees, I hold my arms out to the side and look down at myself. “Like what?”

  “I’ve never seen a single tabloid picture of you at the gym.”

  Laughing, I stand and pull her to her feet with me. “That’s not what the people want to see.”

  She shrugs and rubs her hands over my chest, my skin pebbling at her touch. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  I lean down and bury my face in her neck, my hands wandering down to squeeze her round ass. “You don’t need pictures. You can see it anytime.”

  Moaning, she leans her head back, exposing her neck. I nip and suck at her sensitive skin as I pull her against me, but there are too many layers between us.

  “Take this off,” I say, plucking at the collar of her shirt.

  She complies, and I pull down the cups of her bra. My thumbs brush over her pink nipples, bringing them to hard peaks. I take one in my mouth, biting and tugging. She cries out but presses me against her, her hand tugging my hair so hard it almost hurts.

  This is how it’s always been with us.

  A little rough but a whole lot of fucking fun.

  Chapter Nine

  Helena

  The plates on the table rattle as he presses me against it. It’s one of those flimsy, modern tables that probably cost a fortune. I don’t trust it.

  “You’re going to spill the food,” I say distractedly, my eyes squeezed closed and my hands twined in his hair as he sucks on one nipple and pinches the other. The pain and pleasure mixed together are almost too much. I want to shove him away and pull him close at the same time.

  But then he releases my breasts and looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Like this?” He reaches around me and with one swipe of his hand, knocks half of the plates to the floor.

  I gasp as plates clatter against the hardwood, risotto and shrimp and greens exploding across the room. But he doesn’t give me time to comment on the mess because next thing I know, he’s grabbed my ass and lifted me onto the table. I catch myself on my arms as he swiftly unbuttons my jeans and peels them off of me. God, I love how he isn’t scared off by me. If anything, my fighting back only seems to fuel his fire.

  With that in mind, I sit forward on his dining room table and brush my fingers along the bulge in his pants. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, closing his eyes momentarily as I unfasten his pants and slide my fingers beneath the waistband, stroking the smooth shaft tucked against his leg. I run a thumb over the tip, which is wet with precum. His eyes open when I withdraw my hand. I pop my thumb in my mouth, sucking the salty liquid off, never taking my gaze off his.

  “Fuck,” he growls, dropping to his knees between my legs. He doesn’t even give me a chance to anticipate what’s about to happen before his tongue slides up my wet slit.

  “Oh my God.” I fall back, my elbow landing in his salad plate, sending it scattering to the floor and leaving a smear of Italian dressing on my arm. I ignore it, completely absorbed in the sensation between my legs. It’s like every ounce of blood in my body has raced to my core. He presses my thighs wide and feasts on me. Not willing to fight it, I sling my legs over his shoulders and writhe against his expert mouth.

  Forcing my eyes open, I look down, enjoying the sight of him on his knees, his face buried in my pussy. Then, his fingers join his mouth, and I can’t stop myself from moaning.

  “Jasper,” I gasp. “I’m going to come.”

  This only encourages him. My body is racing toward orgasm and he’s the driver, wild and reckless. Seconds later, I reach my climax and tip over the edge, my body convulsing, my hips bucking up against his mouth. He holds me to him, not releasing me until I lie spent on the table.

  He crawls up my body then, his tongue tracing a line from my clit to my belly button, between my breasts, along my neck, finding my mouth. He bites and tugs on my bottom lip. I lock my ankles around his waist and dig my fingers into the dips of his lower back.

  “I’m going to fuck you on the table,” he growls into my mouth.

  “And then?” I ask as his lips trace a burning line along my jaw to my ear.

  “And then you’re going to sleep naked in my bed—I want to be the little spoon—and sometime in the early morning hours, I’m going to wake up with your mouth on my dick.”

  “And then?” My body is rousing again with his dirty words and the anticipation of what’s to come. The slickness between my legs grows as I lift my hips, pressing my still throbbing clit against the button of his jeans.

  His voice is a low rumble that I can feel in my core when he answers. “And then I’ll take you from behind in the shower while you play with your needy pussy until we both come.”

  “You really are a greedy bastard,” I tease before clamping my mouth down on his neck to hide my smile.

  He shivers and moans before straightening. I watch him get his wallet from his back pocket and extract a condom before sliding his pants over his hips. His cock is as enticing as the rest of him—long and thick and hard. He unrolls the condom over his hard length and then settles back between my legs, pulling my hips to the edge of the table and holding my legs by the backs of my thighs, opening me to him.

  Feeling
bold, I reach down and touch my clit, drawing small circles over it while he watches. His chest rises and falls, and he finally fists his cock, rubbing it the length of my slit before easing himself into my tight entrance. I sigh with pleasure at how full I feel once he’s seated all the way inside of me. My legs tremble in his hands as he begins to move, slowly at first but gathering speed until all I can hear is the sound of flesh against flesh and our heavy breaths.

  When he releases my legs, I wrap them around him. He falls forward over me, resting his elbows on the table. My nails scrape down his hot, sweaty back and he growls into my ear, a primal, possessive sound. Then, suddenly, a wave of pleasure washes over me and through me. I throw my head back and scream his name with my release, my arms pulling him closer as I pulse around him.

  “Jasper!”

  He pushes himself to his hands and pumps into me harder, the table groaning beneath us until he goes still, burying himself inside of me, his teeth against my shoulder as he reaches his own climax with a shout of pleasure. He collapses on top of me, his head on my chest, both of us breathing hard, sweat making our skin slick.

  “Holy shit,” I pant, playing with his hair.

  “I know,” he says, a smile in his voice.

  There’s a strange, creaking noise. He props his chin on my chest and looks at me, brow furrowed. Then, there’s a loud crack and the table gives way beneath us. He tries to catch me but we both go down with it, Jasper landing on top of me and knocking the breath from my lungs. My ass slides down the broken table to the floor as the rest of the plates crash around my shoulders.

  I laugh hysterically as he plucks a shrimp from my shoulder and eats it. “I think I’m going to need that shower sooner rather than later.”

  “Agreed,” he says with a casual smile, as if we didn’t just fuck his table into oblivion.

  He hops up and holds a hand out to me, pulling me to my feet. We stand naked and look down at the mess we’ve made of his dining room. I’m about to suggest cleaning it up when he shrugs, takes my hand, and leads me to the bathroom, where he proceeds to make good on his earlier promises, if not in the exact right order.

  Chapter Ten

  Helena

  I wake up the next morning in the biggest, most comfortable bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping in. The sun shining through the wall of windows falls across my cheeks, warming my face. The soft, silky sheets feel heavenly against my naked skin. My whole body feels alive, sensitive and tingling after last night. Jasper has always tested my boundaries, pushed me outside of my comfort zone, and it’s no different in the bedroom. Or the shower. Or on the dining room table.

  But I think it’s part of what draws me to him.

  Rolling, I reach a hand out for him, expecting to find his big, warm body beside mine. But when my hand brushes against nothing but more cool sheets, my eyes open, squinting in the bright room, only to find I’m alone. I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest, and look around. The room is much more impressive in the daylight—huge and empty except for the bed and the bedside tables. There’s a glass-walled closet beside the bathroom door, but not much else.

  Maybe he left me a note. There’s nothing on the tables except for my phone, but when I activate the screen, I see a text message.

  Jasper: I had to leave on a personal errand. Stay as long as you like. Not sure when I’ll be back.

  No mention about last night. Nothing about seeing each other again. The tone of it makes my heart fall a little bit. It feels impersonal. Distant.

  I should get back to my place and get to work, but first, I need coffee. Remembering a fancy cappuccino maker in his kitchen, I stand, don my panties and t-shirt from the night before, and head down the hallway. I’m a few feet down the corridor when I hear a man’s low voice from the dining room.

  My heart stutters. He’s probably already back and cleaning up the mess we made last night.

  I trot the last few feet down the hall and burst into the dining room, only to come face to face with a huge bald man holding a drill. Screaming, I hunch down and wrap my arms around my thighs, trying to cover my lower half with my t-shirt. He shouts in surprise and starts cursing in another language, but thankfully steps away and averts his eyes.

  That’s when I notice the women behind him. They seem to be in a uniform of some sort—khaki pants and navy shirts—and all of them are holding cleaning materials. An older woman with gray hair appears in the kitchen doorway.

  “What is happening?” Then, her eyes fall on me and disapproval flits across her face at my state of undress. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Helena,” I say, trying to muster up some indignation. “Who are you?”

  “I am Gita, Mr. Wright’s housekeeper.” She has a sharp accent, maybe Russian, that makes me feel like I’m in trouble. “We are cleaning up the mess.” The way she’s looking at me, I know that she knows that I had something to do with it.

  “Do you know where Mr. Wright is?” I ask.

  She narrows her eyes on me. “Out,” is her simple answer. How many girls have woken up to find Gita here instead of Jasper? Suddenly, instead of feeling sexy, I feel gross.

  I nod and walk backward to the bedroom. Of course, Jasper has a cleaning crew. He wouldn’t clean up that mess on his own—he doesn’t have to. He always made it a point to remind me in high school about the differences between us. The haves and the have-nots. No matter how far I’ve come from the foster kid with a scholarship, I’m still not quite at the same level as he is.

  Shutting the door behind me, I scrounge up the rest of my clothes and get dressed. I spritz myself with Jasper’s expensive cologne before leaving, avoiding all eye contact as I make the walk of shame down the hall to the front door.

  I’m nearly to my car in the below-ground garage when my phone buzzes. Thinking it might be Jasper, I pull it out of my pocket only to see the number of my security guy flashing across the screen.

  “Hello?” I ask, juggling the phone and my purse as I open my car door.

  “Ms. Prescott? I have some information on Mr. Asher Wright,” comes the gruff, serious voice.

  I pause, staring at the concrete wall in front of my car. “Go ahead.”

  “He’s been uptown at Club Rogue all night.”

  Club Rogue is a notoriously seedy strip joint known to host illegal gambling, prostitution rings, and drug deals on the regular. I don’t like that Asher is there, especially not at eight o’clock in the morning, but it isn’t exactly surprising. “OK.”

  “His brother just arrived.”

  “His—” I stop. Jasper. This is his personal errand? Keeping his brother company at a strip club, knowing what’s at risk. Not just his reputation, but mine, too. I get that the media can twist things—I saw that first-hand this week. But it’s another thing completely to hand this to them willingly.

  The agent continues. “My contact inside the club says they’re occupying the VIP room and just ordered another round of drinks.”

  I take a deep breath through my nose. “Thank you for letting me know. I’m on my way to handle this personally.”

  “Do you need assistance?”

  My car purrs to life. “No,” I say. “I’ve got this.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jasper

  My car squeals into the parking lot of Club Rogue, the low-riding Lexus bumping over the rough pavement. When my brother called before dawn to beg for my help, I could have killed him, especially since it meant tearing myself away from Helena. But I couldn’t turn him down. I never have been able to, and he knows it. I don’t have a lot of soft spots, but he’s one.

  There aren’t many other cars in the parking lot, but that’s probably to be expected at a strip club in the morning. I heave open the blacked-out front door and walk inside, sliding my sunglasses onto my head. There’s one girl dancing on stage, her small tits paling in comparison to the globes I worshiped on Helena’s chest last night. I miss her; I wish I were in bed with her.

  The bar
tender nods at me and points to a red curtain at the back of the club. I cross the floor and throw it open, exposing a dark room with two dancers grinding tiredly on my brother’s lap. There are about five other men in the room, but they’re all passed out in various states of undress. There’s a poker table, cards and chips scattered across it.

  “Bro!” Asher cries, peeking around a dancer’s ass. “You came!”

  “What the fuck, Ash?” I ask. “I thought you were getting clean.”

  He laughs. “Not today.”

  The two of us had the same upbringing—wealthy parents, a private school education, trust funds. But he was always a little more unstable, more emotional. Where I took any fear or resentment and turned it into motivation to do better, he let it drag him down. Where I turned my trust fund into a multi-billion-dollar company, he invested his in strippers and cocaine. People think I’m greedy, but really, I’m afraid that if I don’t constantly strive for more, I could fall into the same trap as Asher.

  That’s part of why I fell for Helena. She’s smart and sassy and beautiful, yes, but she also challenges me more than anyone. Having her at my heels in high school kept me on track even when my brother was trying to drag me down with him. And having her here now is waking me up to what’s really important.

  Now, staring at Asher as he motorboats some stripper, I can’t believe I left Helena to come and bail him out again.

  “Why did you call me?” I ask.

  “You need to loosen up, bro. I thought you might want to have a good time.”

  “I have work to do,” I say. “Get your shit and let’s go.”

  He ignores me.

  I don’t have time for this. I already took the fall for him at the poker game so he wouldn’t get in trouble with his probation officer. I’m not doing it again. I’m about to let the curtain fall closed when I feel someone else beside me. My eyes drop, expecting the bartender or another stripper, only to land on the last person I expected to see here.