Bossy Christmas Party: CEO Older Man Taboo Office Romance Read online

  “You're late, Miss Jury,” he gruffs like a bear and I falter for a second unsure whether the harsh tone is for real.

  “It took me almost an hour to get this fucking contraption on,” I quip.

  “Dirty mouth for such a pure girl,” he says. His interest cannot be disguised and it's thrilling. “Let me see.”

  I step toward the desk.

  “Stop there,” he barks.

  I drop the file on the floor and the papers fly out. I undo the belt and very slowly unbutton the perfect, smooth, very pricey buttons on the raincoat. I let it slip to the floor. Mr Wellman never shifts half-drooped eyes from me, mesmerized by the sight of my bare breasts trussed up and shoved forward. My naked pussy, newly shaved this morning, compressed so the lips fold out.

  His breath quickens and I see him shift in his chair as though rearranging himself. My fingers are itching to stroke across my pinched exposed labia, swollen with fifty kinds of lust right now. My tits go up and down like I'm sprinting. A gush of juice slithers across my thigh and I haul for air, my pussy twitching, my nipples reaching for the heaven seated across the desk.

  “You want to touch your pussy as badly as I do,” Mr Wellman croaks, his voice cracked with lust.

  I swallow down the heat in my throat but say nothing.

  “Come here.”

  I immediately walk to him and grip his broad shoulder when he strokes his fingers across my sodden clit, pushing and thrusting out from my compressed lips. My head tips back as I absorb the luxurious glow rising up my torso.

  “Bend over my lap.”

  He's kidding.

  He's not kidding.

  He assists me in mounting his thighs, my bare tits shelved by his powerful quad. The bulge of his aroused cock presses into my side and his hand rests on my bare ass cheek. I drag at the air, squeezing my cheeks against the slap that’s forthcoming. The bondage straps cup around my cheeks, plumping my flesh for his slap while opening my chasm and asshole to his gaze. His palm gearing up for the spanking, rubs lightly against my skin, so close to my pussy mouth, pulled apart by the strapping.

  So damn close.

  I'm already coming undone, sprawled across his legs, the instant he brings his hand down on my parted ass I'm going to explode.

  “Found him.” A voice lurches into our panting reverie, coming from an intercom on his desk. “Your five o'clock meeting was lost on the seventeenth floor,” Andrea chimes again.

  Mr Wellman leans in, his solid abs crunching my helpless body, and flicks a switch.

  “Just give me a minute, Andrea.”

  What the fuck.

  Mr Wellman lifts me from his lap and meets my horror with a demonic grin. He rises, grasps me by the arm and leads me to the closet.

  No way.

  I yank my arm away from him but he doesn't let me go, holds fast and slides open the door.

  “You bastard.”

  “Shh,” he says, laying a finger across my sullen lip. “You're going to enjoy this, I know it.”

  He reaches for a tie and binds my wrists in the same place as before. My tits are already uplifted for him and now they raise higher as my arms come up over my head. Mr Wellman leans down to kiss and nip each one, increasing the longing in the tips to be pinch twisted.

  “You look more beautiful than ever, my sweet peach,” he says gazing at me with half-lidded eyes. “When this meeting with my accountant is done I'm going to spank your gorgeous ass for keeping me waiting then I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't see straight until next year.”

  A shuddering ripple goes through me, making my tits shake in their bondage which continues to fascinate him.

  “I cannot believe you're doing this to me. It's -”

  “Incredible. Admit it. And you're still the most gorgeous woman I have ever set eyes on. I'll get old Joe Biggins out of here in double time so I can get back to your tight pretty pussy. My tight pretty pussy. Do you promise to be quiet or shall I gag you?”

  I shake my head violently. Yes, I promise and no, don’t gag me.

  He plants a kiss on my pouting mouth then squats to bestow another on my bulging pussy lips. Finally he rises through powerful thigh force and plants a third on my mouth before departing with an admonishment.

  “Taste your sweet nectar while I take my meeting.”

  He slides the door closed on me, leaving a tiny gap which I think is for air until I realize he can see me from his position behind the desk. He shakes hands with the six five guy that Andrea shows in, the furthest thing from 'Old Joe', he looks like a linebacker.

  The two men get into discussing year end statements and next year projections. I'm left in a delirium of ecstasy, my mind blanking in and out with the overwhelming cacophony of hunger popping up at various points across my body. My tits ravish the air, yearning to be pinched. I wish my boss had placed the clamp thing on my aching nipples to repress the insistent pulsations. My pussy is dripping, a stream of liquid flows down my thighs until I'm sure he's going to return to find me standing in a puddle.

  Every time his eyes stray across to me, he finds me arching and straining to compress the hunger consuming me and a satisfied grin spreads across his stunning features. I'm totally lost in a chasm of delicious anticipation of the painful joy to come, when Old Joe's words haul me right back to the present.

  “So we'll terminate forty employees and another fifteen in January right before the shareholders meeting.”

  “Sounds good,” Mr Wellman says, callously. “Let's get it done today.”

  He hasn't a care in his bones for the forty people he's going to dismiss like flotsam the day before New Year's Eve. I'm disgusted by this side he's showing me. But why I'm shocked and let down eludes me, because that's business. That's Mr Wellman, the oligarch. The creator of billions built on the back of his laborers.

  He is everything I loathe in this world. Everything I studied politics for, intending to change. Suddenly I feel a frisson of shame for playing his game. Standing naked in his closet wearing nothing but a bondage suit and a towering pair of fuck-me-hard-Sir pumps with bondage straps at the ankles. His fuck toy. At least until he decides to terminate me also.

  “Did Andrea put your coat in my closet?”

  I jolt right into my reality when Mr Wellman strikes fear through my gut with those words. He knows damn well the accountant's coat isn't in here. My boss is beside me, his aroma filling my head, his hand on the door threatening to slide it open and expose me to Old Joe. Surely he wouldn't dare. The thrill of excitement that floods my pussy makes me even more enraged.

  I breathe again when he gets rid of Joe with hand shakes and seasonal wishes and after depositing him into Andrea's capable hands, strides across the huge office to me.

  “How fucking dare you?” I blurt out as soon as he slides back the door.

  He gives me a quizzical gaze. Assuring me I was never in danger, he was toying with me as usual. Totally missing the point.

  “Untie me,” I snarl and he immediately does so.

  At least he's not asshole enough to exert control against my will. As he releases the bond, his hand slides down the length of my underarm raising goosebumps. His palm rests in my armpit, the heel against the side of my bulging breast. My body begs for him still but my body is shit out of luck. I'm an idiot to have allowed myself to be used for his pleasure.

  “Is something upsetting you, Georgia?” His serious gaze holds me as immovable as his hand. “Talk to me. You've never had a problem telling me what you really think.”

  “I think you're a corporate douchebag.” I say harshly.

  My temper gaining control of my tongue as I strut to pick up my coat that he dropped over his sofa arm. I tug it over my strapped naked body.

  “I heard all those shitty plans you were making. Kicking people to the curb today. I hate everything you stand for. I have nothing else to say.” Then I wrench the belt to my beautiful shortie trench painfully tight around my waist and head for the door.

  �
��Have a very happy and prosperous new year, Sir,” I add, sarcasm dripping, as I strut past Andrea's surprise.

  She had no clue I was in the office and must wonder what Christmas stripper cake I leapt out of. I clump down the stairs, retrieve my belongings and leave the office. Fifteen minutes early and I don’t give a shit if I'm fired.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My parents have gone to see Gran-gran, dad's mum, in the nursing facility upstate. They only allow two visitors in a day, to keep the inmates calm. I'm left home with my misery and my sister, curled up on the sofa in an oversize sweatshirt that reaches almost to my knees and a pair of boyfriend sweats. Huge fluffy pink reading socks on my feet. But I'm not reading. My eyes are too sore from crying like a little wimpy girl to make out the print.

  I'm eating no-bake brownies Dakota finished off when Mom had to leave. She brought me hot chocolate with marshmallows on top and a surprise shot of rum. She's trying to be a good sister and I can see she's hurting for me.

  We've all been there. That feeling of your cells being ripped from your body, spread across the outside of your skin so that every inhalation sparks the searing pain of an open blister. Needing to talk, I told her all about Mr Wellman. All except for the part about being tied up naked in his closet.

  I'm afraid to face her ridicule. Daddy was a union spokesman at the company he worked at for twenty five years. His strong beliefs about equality were transferred into both his little girls. I can't let Dakota judge me and decide my latest sexual adventures are degradation.

  In true sisterly fashion, she's all about the presents. Awed by the designer goodies he sent me every day this week. Obviously I didn't mention the bondage lingerie.

  “My big sister screwing the billionaire boss,” she coos. “It sounds like a porno movie.”

  So good call about the bondage.

  I don't think at this point I could explain to her exactly the sensation of power coursing along my limbs when I'm with Mr Wellman. How beloved he makes me feel as he holds me motionless, working his magic, the symphony of sensations following one after another through my core. Each one picking up harmoniously from the last like sections of an orchestra.

  Am I ruined for any other man after Mr Wellman?

  Dakota is mostly curious about how old my boss is. Once I've assured her his dick is massive and he can keep it up without pharmaceutical assistance, the fact of him hurtling toward forty doesn't phase her at all.

  “Young dudes our age are so boring,” she states, hooking marshmallow out of her chocolate with a long fingernail. “They've got nothing to say and worse they couldn't locate a clit with military grade radar and night vision goggles.”

  “The sex is out of this world,” I can't resist admitting.

  But if she tells Mom I'll never speak to her again as long as I live.

  “It's like nothing I ever dreamed of.”

  I leave out the part about him being magazine cover material. Don't want to make her too envious now that she's completely dissatisfied with her old flame.

  “Don't answer it.”

  I jump out of my skin when a light tap at the door interrupts our binge of Friends. God I hope I look like Jenifer Aniston when I'm in my mid forties.

  “Age is just a number,” Dakota says, heading to the door, her mouth stuffed full of chocolate cake. She still licks the frosting from the top first. “It truly is.”

  “Dakota, don’t open the -”

  She never listens.

  It's way too quiet at the front door. I picture her gobsmacked by the descent of a God from above.

  “He left you a suitcase,” she eventually calls. “It's an amazing suitcase, but dude? Really? A suitcase?”

  Then a high pitched Halloween horror squeal catches in Dakota's throat.

  “May I speak to Georgia please?”

  The voice that never fails to make me tremble with lust does its job. I can tell my sister is definitely stunned silent by the perfect man standing on our plain doorstep.

  With a grin, my hands fly to my hair which at least I washed this morning but has frizzed out with the heat from the fireplace and lack of grooming. Now I trail my fingers furiously through the tangle and hear my sister gather her poise and deny Mr Wellman access to me.

  “She doesn't want to see you,” she informs him imperiously, reminding me of Andrea, his secretary. “You're everything we hate about this city.”

  She's laying it on a bit thick to him. But at least she's buying me time to slough off some of my slobby appearance. Because one thing I've realized is I definitely do want to see him.

  “You made her cry.”

  Okay, my thought to dash upstairs and throw on something a lot tighter goes up in flames. She's going to spill everything, the little mouthpiece. I move to the door and hip-check her to one side.

  “Hallo, Mr Wellman,” I say, all business. “What can I do for you?”

  Dakota remains rooted to the spot beside me, her mouth chewing chocolate dough in slo-mo. No doubt wondering what witchy spell I cast to draw this God to my door with his eyes burrowing into me like he wants to devour me. I get it. No man has ever looked at me with this much desire and adoration. It flies out of every pore to slam into me. The electric current sparking across the threshold must be what's finally rendered her speechless.

  “I need to speak with you,” Mr Wellman says with his inbuilt presumption of achievement and success.

  “We don't have anything to talk about.”

  “I'll be the judge of that,” he says, eliciting a gasp of shock from my sister.

  “I mean it,” I insist, lifting my chest like a shield but only drawing his dazzling glance. “I have a few more days of work for you and then I'll be gone. I've discovered recently that financial institutions are not my style.”

  “So you do loathe me, the man.”

  I wish Dakota would stop distracting me with her tennis court swivel going back and forth between me and the boss.

  “No. But that doesn’t mean we're compatible,” I say.

  Fuck is that what he's even asking. For us to be compatible. I don’t know. I really ought to hear him out. It's the only thing in the world that I want but I know I can't live with his values. I can't repress everything I am.

  “I believe we are,” he says very quietly but immense force.

  “Would you like to come in?” Dakota pipes up, suddenly finding her voice and receiving a heel in her shin from me.

  “I'd like Georgia to come with me,” he tells her, addressing her directly so her face flushes hot red as her Santa Claus sweat. “Now.”

  It's not a request.

  “I can't go anywhere dressed like this,” I pipe up.

  Over his shoulder I see the limo parked in the middle of the street, finding no space for a car that long to park at the curb. I'm not going out of my comfort zone where I know he'll seduce me willingly into his game again. I have to stand firm for what I believe in otherwise I'm nothing but a man's plaything.

  As I gaze at Mr Wellman that doesn’t seem such a bad place to be. His stubble has grown in giving him a rougher than usual look that perfectly matches his thick black cable sweater and loose jeans. I swear it's cashmere that I need to get my hands all over. Both items of clothing more expensive than the entire salary I've received from his corporation.

  I stand stubbornly in my baggy sweats.

  Mr Wellman's eyes travel down to the suitcase sitting on the doorstep. I'm confused.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Where?”

  “St Bart's. My jet is on the runway waiting for you, Georgia Jury. Come welcome our New Year with me.”

  “I can't just pick up and leave my family,”

  “You can and you will. I need you to come with me now. Everything you need is packed.”

  I shake my head, wavering, my heart stomping across my ribcage.

  “Let me make it easy for you to decide. Either you put those yeti boots beside you on your feet and come with me or I'll hav
e to pick you up and carry you.”

  “You can't just come here and tell me - Euu-uck.”

  I'm lifted off my feet like I weigh nothing. My legs go around Mr Wellman's waist and clamp there, my pussy rubbing against his solid vee of muscle as he strides back down the path to the gate.

  “You can count on being in that position until next year at least,” he growls.

  The chauffeur opens the gate and Mr Wellman sets me inside the limo. The liveried man goes up the path to my house, doffs his cap to my stunned sister and retrieves the Louis Vuitton suitcase. He puts it into the trunk and enters the upfront cab to put the car in drive.

  I'm too dazed to speak. When I do turn to Mr Wellman, to start in on a diatribe of how he cannot just show up at my house and kidnap me right in front of my sister. Fuck, if my dad had been home, Mr Wellman would have been toast, laid out on the ground for coming in and taking what he wants. My father is very protective over his two little girls.

  “You're lucky my dad was -”

  I'm silenced by Mr Wellman's mouth covering mine. His tongue forces my lips apart, the exact same way he plunders between the folds to locate my pussy mouth. He massages every part of my mouth with a ferocious hunger, tugging me into him, claiming me as his own.

  He doesn’t stop kissing me until the car rolls to a stop. We're out on the tarmac of a private airport. Right beside the stair leading into a light silver airplane, a stunning model type wearing a red uniform standing at the top. I feel like a stray he's picked up off the street, walking into the small cabin in sweats, the aroma of luxurious leather filling my nostrils.

  “Why are you doing this?” I mumble.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The boss doesn't answer before he's pulled the seat-belt strap across my breasts, the back of his hand grazing the peak and making my knees quiver as my resolve crumbles. He snaps the clasp into place and makes sure the cross belt is tight, the backs of his powerful fingers again stroke my breast.