Page 50 of The Boss' Pet

I take just a moment to lubricate her with a dash of olive oil from the kitchen cabinet first. She keeps wriggling and squirming as I hold her cheeks apart and ensure there’s enough lube. I do not intend to be gentle with her. I intend to make this hurt. Once I am satisfied, I pull out of her soaked pussy and plunge into her ass.

She is tight and she is hot and she will soon be sorry. This is where I am going to come. This is the hole I am going to use, her tight little tail is going to pleasure me.

Her whines, wails, and cries only make me harder as I fuck her with a ruthless, pounding tempo. I am taking my pleasure, and I am letting her feel pain because that is what she deserves. She had a chance to redeem herself. To confess, or simply to change course. But she didn’t.

I fuck her ass hard, grinding her into the floor, fucking her prone like the traitorous little animal she is. I can smell her arousal, and I know that in spite of how rough I am being, there is some part of her that absolutely loves being handled this way.

I growl as my orgasm gets closer. There’s no holding it back, and I don’t even try. I fill her ass with my come, and I leave her lying on the kitchen floor for a moment, a pathetic little rag having soaked up my seed and my rage.

It takes her a little while to recover enough to sit up. When she does, her makeup is streaked with tears. She gives me a look that would be pitiful if she deserved mercy. I feel my cock twitch as l look down at her. She almost looks broken, but I know she’s not. There are still too many secrets between us for that.

“Why are you doing this?”

Oh what a helpless little question that is. I could almost believe she didn’t understand.

“I think you know why. Why don’t you tell me why I would be punishing you, pet?”

“Is it something to do with Trent?”

“It is absolutely nothing to do with Trent, and everything to do with you, Charlie.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. You. Do.”

Charlie

Marcus gets up and stalks away from me.

My ass is aching, my pussy is doing that terrible pulsing thing it does when it has been left on the verge of orgasm. I am so keyed up and so…

Slap!

That is the sound of rumpled paper hitting marble floor as Marcus throws the notebook down in front of me.

The one I hid in Sasha’s apartment. I have a brief mental image of her place torn apart in what they’ll probably make look like a robbery, and I feel angry as hell. Finding that is going to traumatize Sasha, I know it. She won’t understand what’s happened. She’ll think she’s been targeted. She won’t feel safe in the place she lives. It’s going to be something she thinks back on for years, probably, and changes the way she relates to the world.

“I know what you’ve been up to,” he says.

“You do?” I try to stay calm. That notebook has some stuff in it, but it doesn’t have anything truly incriminating. It has the notes of an indie journalist who would quite like to write a hit piece. It doesn’t have the notes of someone who is going to bring him to his fucking knees.

I can’t panic. The seventy-two hour window isn’t over yet. So he doesn’t know I have anything more than these relatively limited notes.

“You hid this in an apartment of a friend,” he says.

“So?”

“So?” He quirks a dangerous brow at me. “Is that all you have to say?”

“You killed Trent. Who cares what little notes I made?”

The muscle in his jaw twitches, and he looks at me with an expression that is somewhere between frustration and being genuinely impressed with my tenacity.

“You think I killed Trent, so you also think the best idea is to give me an attitude when I ask you about your little hidden book of observations?”

“I think you’re going to do to me what you’re going to do to me, and what I say doesn’t really matter.”

Marcus looks at me with a dark gaze completely devoid of mercy. “I think you’re right.”

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