Yes Sir (A Dirty Boss Romance) Read online

  She shakes her head hard.

  “You shouldn’t drive,” she says again, tilting up her chin. Her eyes implore me to listen to her.

  There’s an idea in my head that’s whispering at me, and I’m sorely tempted to follow it. Maybe she is right. Maybe I am a little drunk. Otherwise why would I consider such a thing? If there’s ever anyone to make an exception for, it’s Willow, I muse. Though I’ve dated my own fair share of pretty women, there’s something more that’s driving me towards her. She wasn’t like the usual type of woman I date. They were more like Cassandra, too flashy, too insistent, and too eager. And maybe that was where I was going wrong. Maybe what I should be going for was a Willow, quiet yet feisty, a challenge to dominate, but perfect once she learns.

  “And what do you suggest I do?”

  “Call a cab?”

  “And leave my new Mercedes on the street overnight?”

  I gesture towards my car. We both know that a convertible like that wouldn’t stand a chance here. I’d be lucky to find only a broken window in the morning. Willow hesitates, but something’s bothering her, I can tell. I want to know what, but it doesn’t seem right to ask. Not here anyways. Fuck it, I think as I give in.

  “Why don’t you drive me home?”

  Her pretty little mouth drops open. I lean in a little closer, holding her eyes with mine.

  “Me? I can’t,” she protests.

  “Sure you can,” I say easily. “All you’ve had is water tonight. You’re most definitely a better driver than I am, right now at least. You can get me home safe, and then we’ll call you a cab.” She hesitates and I remember seeing her meet up with a friend for a ride home. She probably carpools because it’s a long drive, which would make a cab fare far too expensive. “I’ll pay for it. A thanks for getting me and my car home safely. Come on, you wouldn’t want me to hurt myself would you?”

  That seems to do the trick and she holds out her hand.

  “Okay,” she agrees softly.

  I toss her the keys and walk towards the car. I hear her trot to keep up with me. I pull open the door of my convertible. It was gift to myself when I got hired at Bronson & Burke, a sign that I was climbing towards success. I sink into the buttery soft leather seat on the passenger side as Willow tentatively opens up the driver side door. She’s still unsure and I flash her a smile that never lets me down. She gets in.

  “What if I crash your car?”

  “You won’t,” I say confidently. “You’re careful. I can see that with your work. You double check things and you don’t do things on autopilot.”

  She looks up at me in surprise.

  “What? A boss can’t appreciate a good employee?”

  “No, I-”

  “Here,” I say, leaning over and guiding her hand to the controls on the side of her chair. I can feel her stiffen up entirely as I cross over her body, but she lets me show her what to do. I let go and watch how I’ve affected her. She’s flustered. Wait until she finds out what else I want to do with her.

  Once she’s figured out the mirrors and seatbelt, she starts up the car and I direct her where to go. At first her knuckles are almost white as they grip the wheel, but after a minute she relaxes, settling in. I have jazz playing from the speakers, low and soothing. I settle back into my seat, my legs stretched forward as I relax. I feel an undercurrent of alcohol in my system, hardly noticeable, but definitely responsible for this crazy idea. I didn’t even check to see if anyone saw the two of us leaving. While there are no hard and fast rules for those of us at B&B, I know that Burke himself frowns on office relationships. Word is that was why Bronson retired early and left the firm to Burke, but who knows.

  I’ve never let myself be driven before, and it’s a slightly disconcerting feeling. I enjoy being in control much more, but I could make an exception for Willow. Once.

  “So how are you enjoying working at Bronson & Burke?” I ask once I give Willow the rest of the instructions for the way home.

  “It’s pretty amazing,” she says. “I’m learning a lot.”

  “Joan’s a good teacher,” I reply. “She’s been doing this a long time, and she’s patient too.”

  “Oh yes. I think I messed up more that first week than I did for most of school. It was definitely a learning experience.”

  “Was marketing and branding your first choice?”

  “Well, yes and no. I’ve always dabbled in art. My mom, she was an art teacher. Very old school. I don’t think she’d really approve of me doing everything from start to finish on the computer. She used to say that you should be able to feel the art, the way the paint and color goes on a page.”

  Willow falls silent. I catch the subtle use of the past tense, but it doesn’t feel right to push.

  “So you think we should do our mock ups by hand?” I ask, gently bringing her back to the conversation.

  “No, that was something we always disagreed on. I’m definitely a technology girl all the way. Not that I think art is bad. But I’m not sure I’d call what I’m doing art.”

  “I think what you’ve come up with so far here is pretty creative,” I say. “Definitely more than some of the others on the team.”

  She smiles quickly at me then turns her head back onto the road.

  “I definitely enjoy the branding part. Making logos, lettering, that sort of thing. I know there’s people who have their own businesses doing stuff like that on Etsy. I wouldn’t mind that at all. Not that, you know, I wouldn’t want to work here,” she adds hastily. “I’m really enjoying the work.”

  I laugh.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not about to fire you just because you want to be your own boss. I do too. I’m just paying my dues until I can.”

  Willow makes the last turn onto my street. The neighborhood is tucked away from the city, just a few streets over from an up and coming section of town, yet quiet and tranquil. My realtor promises me that buying here is going to pay off huge in a few years, but I picked the location over something just as expensive in a downtown area for the space. The houses here are old, but the lots are big, and each one is unique and lovingly restored. My Craftsman home sits on a corner lot, a giant maple tree shading the front yard. I bought it as soon as I laid eyes on it, even if it is way bigger than what I currently need.

  “Would you like to come in and have a drink?” I ask. “Or maybe you don’t drink?”

  “I do,” she says a little quickly.

  “Good,” I say, grabbing the keys and getting out of the car.

  I hear her draw a slow breath to steady herself and grin. I go up the cobblestone walkway to the door and open it. Willow follows, and I step aside to welcome her in, closing the door behind her.

  “Living room’s over there,” I say. “Wine okay?”

  “Sure,” she says.

  I go through to the kitchen and pull down two wineglasses. I pour a generous amount into each, and then bring it into the living room where she’s sitting on the couch. Even though she’s got her shirt buttoned up, the fabric is tight across the swell of her breasts. Her eyes look at me, wide open and full of lust. My cock stiffens against my zipper and I just know that I’m not going to want to hold out for long. Then pent up tension inside of me rises the more I look at her. I offer her a glass and sit down. She gives it a quick sip, and then another, and then another.

  “Willow, is everything okay?” I ask.

  She nods mutely, then shakes her head.

  “I haven’t done this in a while.”

  The fact that she’s nervous makes me excited, and my cock twitches in my jeans. I put my wineglass down, then take hers and set it down on the coffee table too.

  I close the space between us and kiss her, my fingers running through her hair as I press her close. Her breath catches as my tongue runs over her lips and she opens them so I can explore her. I try to be gentle, but really I’ve been thinking about this too long, and I’m a little rougher than I should be. Not that it matters. I can feel h
er desire too, the way her tongue shyly responds, her hands tightening onto my arms as we deepen our kiss. She tastes sweet as a peach, and it drives me crazy. All I can think of is her hands, feather light and shy as she explores my body.

  I reach out and gently tilt her trembling face towards mine.

  “Just follow my lead and you won’t have to worry about a thing,” I say.

  Chapter 5

  Willow

  He kisses me again, his tongue sliding along my lips, making me open up for him. He captures my tongue with his, exploring my mouth and deepening the kiss. He’s pushing me back, all the way against the couch until our bodies are pressed together. I can feel the heat of his body and his erection, and it sends another rush of my juices between my legs. There’s a yearning to be filled, an ache that I haven’t felt in ages, and I part my legs for his body. The fact that he’s my boss, that really, we shouldn’t be sleeping together, crosses my mind, but it’s quickly banished. All I want is to feel him, to satisfy this fantasy I’ve been dreaming about every night for so long.

  Deacon’s lips drop kisses along my jaw, his tongue tasting the soft skin of my neck as he unbuttons my shirt and pushes it off of me. His fingers trail across my bra, circling and pinching my nipples into the sweetest kind of pain and pleasure. I’m gasping from the sensations, writhing under him as he finally unhooks my bra and takes my small breast completely into his mouth. His tongue, hot and wet, caresses my nipple, sending hot, dirty jolts of desire to my pussy. I moan softly, back arching as he moves onto the other breast. His fingers push my skirt above my hips, stroking the outline of my lips through the soaked fabric. The waiting is unbearable, and my body betrays me, lifting up to press against his finger. He’s in total control, and it’s an incredible turn on.

  “Please,” I beg him.

  “You like that?” he says in a low voice.

  I nod as his fingers press up against my hard little clit before sliding back down along my pussy. I feel completely alive right now, every nerve in my body supercharged with sensation as he touches me.

  “Say it Willow.”

  His voice is forceful, and when I look into his eyes, they’re dark chips of ice.

  “I like it.”

  “‘I like it sir’”, he says, a thread of steel weaving its way into that dark, smoky voice of his.

  “I like it sir,” I say obediently. Anything to get his fingers to-

  “Ohhhh,” I sigh as he pushes my panties aside and slides his fingers inside of me at last. Pleasure fills me as he dips inside quick and fast, adding a third to the mix so that I’m stretching out for him. His thumb caresses my clit as he works my pussy, my desire reaching to the tips of my fingers and toes with every touch. My breath becomes shallow and quick as he works, pleasure coiling inside of me.

  “Deacon, I-”

  “Sir,” his voice cuts through.

  “Sir, I- Please-”

  The words are lost and jumbled. I can’t seem to keep a thought in my head. I need more oxygen, but I can’t breathe fast enough as his fingers fuck me. I’m trembling all over, my toes are curling and uncurling as pleasure mounts and sweeps me away. I wanted to last longer, but I can’t, not after it’s been so long since I’ve felt this feeling of release. Deacon presses down on my clit hard one last time and I come, my orgasm bursting from inside of me. I can’t see, can’t hear, there’s nothing but the feeling of coming onto Deacon’s hand. My whole body is sensitive, twitching, as his fingers gently slide out of me.

  I feel him tug my panties off, and then the sound of a zipper and a crinkle, and then he’s there at my entrance. Deacon lifts one leg up and over his shoulder, opening me wide to him before nestling his huge cock against my pussy, still covered in my juices. It’s so slick that he slides in easily. My channel stretches to accommodate his size, and he has to go slow as he fills me up. My body is still so sensitive from my orgasm that I can’t help but moan as he gives a slow thrust. Deacon starts to rock into me, his strokes pinning me down into the soft couch. My body crackles with electricity with every thrust, desire racing across me. He fucks me swift and rough, all the pent up tension from holding out catching up to him at last. My orgasm builds much faster this time, racing towards me as he ruts me. He doesn’t slow down for a second, his body slamming hard enough to bruise into me. His hands dig into my hips, angling me upwards towards him so that the tip of his blunt cock hits the perfect spot over and over and-

  “Deacon,” I scream as I explode again.

  Everything inside of me tightens up and then releases like a supernova, taking me away. The pleasure consumes everything inside of me, obliterating any thought I had. His thrusts are short and fierce now as I come around him, drawing him into me more, and then he’s coming too, driving himself one last time into me. He releases my legs and I lock them tight around his waist so that he has nowhere to go. His arms fall down hard on either side of me, supporting his weight as he finishes. We stay together, breathing hard, for minutes before he wraps my legs around him again and lifts me up. He’s already at half-mast again, which is incredible.

  “Ready to go again?” he asks with a devilish smile.

  **********

  At some point in the morning, something wakes me up. For a second I’m not sure what it is, and then I realize it’s the sound of breathing. My eyes snap open, and I realize that I’m in a different bed. It’s soft and huge and silky and luxurious, and I feel like a princess in it. I clearly wasn’t paying attention to the room last night, but this morning, I slowly take everything in. The decor, the furniture, everything feels very masculine. All wood and leather and dark colors. I carefully slide myself toward the edge of the bed, trying not to rustle the covers before sitting up and looking over. So I didn’t dream it. I did end up having sex with my boss.

  I had sex with my boss?!!

  Oh man. This was good and bad all at once. Sidney for one is going to be jealous. But how the hell would I look him in the eye Monday morning? I should probably get out of here. Quickly. It’s been so long since I’ve had a one night stand. Why did I have to pick a guy I’d have to see every day for the foreseeable future? I tiptoe quickly out of the room. My clothes are all in the living room, and I feel a chill as I wander through Deacon’s house stark naked. I know that I shouldn’t linger, so I bundle up my clothes and find the bathroom. The one thing I can be thankful for is I won’t be making the walk of shame this morning in some too-short dress and three inch heels.

  The bathroom is gorgeous like the rest of the house. It’s a guest bathroom too, because I can see that there isn’t any shampoo or conditioner, but I don’t want to take a shower anyways and risk waking up Deacon and making it awkward. I slick my hair back with the comb in my bag, spritz a tiny spray of perfume, and throw on my clothes. I’m feeling pleasantly sore all over, especially between my legs, a sort of reminder of the crazy wonderful night we had together. Once I’ve straightened myself out, I Google where the subway stop is, and hurry out.

  I almost made it when I hear him speak.

  “Where are you going Willow?”

  Chapter 6

  Deacon

  I pick Petit Boulangerie to eat, mostly because they serve a killer French toast. It’s heaped with powdered sugar and ripe fruit and chocolate drizzle, which makes it the second best French toast in the world after my mom’s. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, and I’m a bit rusty on the hottest place to go in town, so I settle on something I know will be a hit. Willow’s got her hair down and wild, and I unbuttoned the first two buttons on her shirt before letting her out the door. The wisp of cleavage instantly reminds me of our night together, which has me hard beneath our little cafe table. Good thing they’ve got a tablecloth down.

  She skims over the choices on the menu as the waitress comes up and pours us two coffees.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  I put in my order, while Willow picks the chicken salad sandwich. She catches my glance.

  “Well,
it is a brunch,” she says. “Chicken salad sandwich falls into the second half.”

  I shake my head.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who didn’t pick the breakfast option first at a brunch.”

  “My dad used to make pancakes for dinner when I was a little kid,” she offers. “It was only on special occasions, like if we weren’t feeling well, or we failed a test or something. To cheer us up.”

  “That’s better,” I say approvingly. “I like the way your dad thinks.”

  Her smile slips a little, but she recovers so fast I almost think I imagine it.

  “What about you?” she says instead. “Anything special your parents did for you when you were a kid?”

  “My father left when I was eight,” I say matter-of-factly. “He decided that the family life was tying him down and disappeared one Wednesday. My mom never saw it coming. She made his favorite, chicken and rice, but he just never came back. Five went to six, sex to seven, seven to eight. She packed everything away at nine and put me to bed. The next day we just went on as if nothing had happened. I don’t think she took out that dinner from the fridge for a month. She was a stay at home mom, but she went to find work the next day. Worked two jobs after that and I hardly saw her, but she kept things together until all three of us graduated. But to answer your question- My mom did make us French toast. That’s why I come here. They’re almost as good as my mom’s. Enough to tide me over until the holidays when I go back.”

  I did not mean to steer the conversation so quickly into deep waters, but Willow is so easy to talk to that it came out before I could stop. My attempt to try and lighten things up didn’t work too well though.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, putting down her coffee. “That was silly of me to just assume-”

  “It’s fine,” I say quickly. “It happened a long time ago. Besides, my mom was twice the parent he ever was. She’s the one that showed me what hard work can do. That’s why I expect so much out of everyone I guess. If my mom can work the hell out of two jobs and raise three boys, then there’s no reason for me to be slacking off at mine.”