AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Like maybe you have some stuff going on.”
We exit the elevator and turn right, heading down a hallway with charcoal-colored carpet. “Do you have somewhere to be? All the way out here in Briton?”
“No, but I can catch a train.”
“You will not.”
“You know, you’re not the boss of—”
He spins around and walks me into the wall. “I am, though. I am your boss.”
I swallow and take a few breaths before speaking. “I’ve never had to answer to you since I’ve been working in the casino. My bosses are Mr. Whitlock at The Blue Chip and Mr. Nicholas at the cocktail bar.”
“It doesn’t matter. Khalid and I own Ace’s High. We’re at the top of the food chain.I could fire your boss tonight if I wanted to. I’m theonlyboss you need to worry about.”
“Well, just because you own the building where I work doesn’t mean you get to tell me when I can leave a place. You’re not my father.”
His lips curl up on one side as his finger presses on my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. “I’m old enough to be,” he says, placing his foot between mine and allowing me to feel his erection on my hip.
“Doesn’t matter. You don’t hold authority over me outside of work,” I manage to say, though my voice is airier than I’d hope.
“Hmm,” he murmurs with amusement. “What would Daddy think about you being here with me in a place like this? Would he advise you to leave? More importantly, would you listen?”
I stare into his dark eyes, feeling myself falling under his spell once again, even though I was just annoyed with him.
“I don’t know what he’d think,” I answer honestly.
“Does he get to tell you what to do?” he asks, a finger skating over my throat.
“No,” I reply in a whisper.
“Do I?”
I hesitate, because of course I want to say no. Every feminist bone in my body is screaming,hell no, you bastard. You don’t get to tell me to do shit!But the submissive, slutty side of me—the side I’ve yet to fully explore and have only been able to fantasize about is pleading for me to say,yes, Daddy. Tell me what to do and I’ll be a good girl for you.
His hand continues to travel down my chest, knuckles brushing over my collarbone and between my breasts before his thumb trails over my belly button, stopping right at my pubic bone.
“Go in my office,” he commands, pulling away from me and gesturing toward the door to my left.
I move quickly, walking in and standing between the two black barrel chairs that sit in front of his large L-shaped desk.
The room is simple and plain yet elegant and powerful. It’s all black and silver, possibly chrome. A small bar sits in the corner surrounded by a black couch and a coffee table. There’s a lamp in the other corner, already on a dim setting. Black and white cityscape photographs are on the walls, but it lacks any personal touches.
Vicente strolls to his leather high-back chair behind his desk and opens a drawer, removing a cigar and lighter. He watches me the whole time.
“Sit.”
I move to sit in one of the chairs in front of him but he shakes his head.
“Where?” I ask.
He pats the desk in front of him.
I slowly make my way around.
“You know what I think?” he questions.
I squeeze between his legs and the wood of the table as I shimmy onto the top, crossing my legs at the ankles.
