Page 64 of The Boss

Like I said before, I had one drink too many, but I am sobered up now. How else could I feel when there is a leash dangling from my throat?

Yeah. That’s right. I put it on. Why? Moment of weakness, I suppose. A stupid moment of weakness, because how am I supposed to look at this woman and not fall prey to her whim?

I’m wearing that sheer white negligee she bought for me a while back. Yeah. That one. I’m wearing that, no underwear, and my tangled, sweaty hair from the club piled on top of my head with nothing more than a few pins and a crystal clasp holding it together.

The collar is comfortable enough, I suppose. Not that I’ve worn any others before, of course. But this one has a soft leather lining that caresses my skin even when I quickly turn my head around. Otherwise, it’s a basic but nice piece of BDSM jewelry bought straight from the manufacturer. The leash is likewise sterling silver and adjustable for play. The end of it wraps tightly around Julianna’s hand as she looms from the edge of the bed, staring into my eyes.

“Think this would clear a few things up if I took you to the club like this?”

I’m on my knees, skin rubbing against the carpet whenever she slightly yanks that chain. Gotta admit… there’s a thrill to it. But I’m terrified. Not of her hurting me, but what this means.

What if this is a point of no return I’m never coming back from?We’renever coming back from?

“I think I would be mortified, honestly,” I mutter.

“Now, now.” She pats my cheek. At first, it’s soothing. But not two seconds later I’m fuming beneath this collar. How dare she, honestly? It’s one thing to spank me. It’s quite another to patronize me with a cheek pat. “This isn’t the kind of thing we would do in public. This is the kind of thing we do at home so we can further build our bond.”

She’s kidding, right? Build our bond? While I’m on my knees with a leash around my neck? She’s got to be kidding!

“Lessa,” she says to get my attention again. “I’m not doing this to humiliate you. I’m not doing it to make you hate me or, God forbid, yourself. This is both a trust exercise and meant to make us enjoy our relationship on another level. Namely…” She tugson the leash. Like her pet, I move back, compelled to put my hand against her leg for leverage. We look like the most fucked up romance book cover since ‘50s pulp fiction. “Whenever we are apart, you will always be thinking of me. When another approaches you, I will be the first you think of. Understand?”

Oh, I understand. “I think of you already, madam.”

“You say that, but tonight’s actions imply otherwise. What do you say for yourself?”

What the hell else is there for me to say? “I’m sorry that I shook your trust tonight.”

“I never said anything about shaken trust. If anything, my main concern is that man thought it appropriate to approach you like that. It doesn’t matter what’s in your head if I’m not assured you’re protected without me.”

What is this? Does she want a five-mile radius free of people around me? Because not only is that impossible, it’s offensive! She does realize that I talk to people every day, right? It doesn’t matter if they secretly or not-so-secretly want me. As long as they keep their hands to themselves, they can ask me whatever they want, even if it’s a guise to get closer to me. Smell my perfume, shampoo, whatever creepy shit they do. Last I checked, I had a bodyguard following me around to keep weirdos from touching or harassing me, and nothing more.

“When we’re not together, Alessa,” she further explains, “the world needs to feel and see our connection. This,” she caresses the leash connecting my throat to her hand, “is everything. It’s there even when you can’t see it. You. Me. Together, we are one. It’s as simple as that.”

I scoff. “Somehow. I have a feeling this isn’t only about the club. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, Ms. Marcon.”

“You bet your gorgeous ass, lovely.”

For a moment, I see the real her behind the bossy façade. There’s a “real” person behind the stoic businesswomanJulianna Marcon always presents herself as, even to me. I get rare glimpses of it, but as the days go on in our relationship, the more I become acquainted with the excited girl lurking behind brilliant blue eyes and a stoic poker face.

She looks like a woman I could comfortably kiss. A woman I could cuddle up with on the couch and want to spoon me in bed. She doesn’t look anything like the woman who seduced me in her office not too long ago.

She almost sucks me in.

This has two effects on me. The first lulls me into a fun sense of security, a reminder that, at the end of the day, this is nothing more than a sex game, a fantasy she wants to enact.

But it also scares me. Because what if the woman I’m falling in love with isn’t this one, but the façade?

Yes.Falling in love.

Like I know she’s falling in love with me.

“This?” I wrap my hand around the leash, so close to her hand that I could touch her. I’ll let her initiate that, though. “The link between you and me, madam?”

A glimmer of the façade returns. “Yes. Even when it’s not physically here, it remains between our hearts. Is that a hard concept to understand?”

“Not at all, madam.”

I close my eyes when she kisses me. I’m ready. To throw myself into this fantasy, that is.

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