Just a Bit Bossy by Alessandra Hazard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

 

Raffaele Ferrara sat at the head of the conference table, his face impassive and cold, betraying nothing of the frustration brimming under his skin.

Few could probably guess that he wasn’t paying any attention to the meeting, but it was small comfort.

“…as you see, Mr. Ferrara, everything is in order. The deal will be beneficial to both of our companies…”

The manager of Typhoon Enterprises was still saying something, but Raffaele could barely hear what the man was saying, the low hum of arousal and frustration buzzing beneath his skin making it difficult to focus.

Fuck, this was… unacceptable. How had he allowed the situation to come to this?

It should have never come to this.

He’d always been so careful.

For a reason.

One of Raffaele’s earliest memories was that of his grandmother. Nonna Francesca had been a bold, strong woman with sharp black eyes on her handsome, aging face. He remembered her smiling wryly as she joked about how men in the Ferrara family were blessed with “high drive.” Then she and Aunt Barbara would exchange a knowing look and laugh about it, as if sharing an inside joke. Raffaele’s mother had never cracked a smile if she was present.

It would be years before he was old enough to understand why.

Men in the Ferrara family really were blessed with a high sex drive. Or more like, cursed with it.

Raffaele’s father, Marco, unashamedly loved sex, and his wife didn’t satisfy his sexual appetites. Last time Raffaele saw his father, Marco had had two women in his bed—women who weren’t his wife. It was no surprise, of course. It was one of the reasons he had moved to America—he couldn’t stay in Italy anymore without punching his father and snapping at his mother to grow a spine and finally leave the man who didn’t respect her in the least. Obviously there were other reasons. More important reasons. But Marco’s shameless infidelity and the depressing atmosphere at home had definitely contributed to his decision.

The aggravating part was, Raffaele felt like a hypocrite for judging his father. He had never gone without frequent, regular sex since his early teenage years. But when he’d left Italy, he had been just eighteen. He’d thought his high libido was a natural thing for a young man in his late teens, that he couldn’t possibly have his father’s… affliction.

As a grown man of thirty-two, Raffaele could only shake his head at his eighteen-year-old self’s naïveté.

His libido hadn’t diminished with age. If anything, it had grown. He couldn’t properly focus on work if he hadn’t gotten laid in a few days. It lessened his efficiency. Distracted him. In that way, he was very much his father’s son.

Raffaele honestly wasn’t sure if the men in his family had some kind of hypersexuality disorder or if they just had a very high sex drive. The three doctors that he’d consulted had completely different opinions. One of them saw no issue with his sex drive and confirmed that there were some studies that proved that a high sex drive really was inherited. The second doctor had seen “some cause for concern” and suggested drugs to reduce his libido. The third had tried to psychoanalyze him—it went without saying that Raffaele had walked out.

In any case, regardless of whether it was normal or not, the end result was the same. That was why Raffaele didn’t do relationships: he didn’t want to reduce any woman to the depressed mess his mother had become. After his last attempt at a relationship a decade ago, he had no delusions. He didn’t trust himself to be a better partner than Marco was.

But unlike his father, Raffaele didn’t like one-night stands or prostitutes. He didn’t like having sex with women he didn’t know. Although he always used condoms, he still liked the certainty that he wasn’t in danger of catching STDs. Which presented something of a problem, given his avoidance of relationships and refusal to pay for sex.

The “booty calls,” as his insolent PA called them, were a necessity: they were women he’d known for a while who wanted the same thing he did—frequent sex with a skilled partner and nothing more. It was honest and mutually beneficial. It was a good way to deal with his libido without it ever becoming a serious problem. It was a good solution. Or rather, it had been.

He didn’t want to call one of those women now.

He wanted his assistant—his very male assistant—to get on his knees and suck his cock.

The cock in question twitched in his pants, and Raffaele gritted his teeth, beyond aggravated.

It was his own damn fault. He should have never bullied Nate into returning to work for him. He should have left him alone. But he was a creature of habit. He’d grown… used to Nate and his insolent remarks and the way the boy could almost read his thoughts and wishes before Raffaele even said them aloud. He had wanted him back, because the sight of Connor and Abel at Nate’s desk had only irritated him. So he had wanted Nate back and he had gotten him back, because he always got what he wanted. In that way he was also his father’s son.

The thought made Raffaele’s lips curl into a self-deprecating smile. Unfortunately, being aware of his faults did nothing to eliminate them.

He had gotten Nate back. He was back—but things still weren’t back to normal. His body seemed to think that “normal” should include having his assistant’s mouth around his cock every day.

Christ, it was ridiculous. He was straight. He’d never been attracted to men, no matter how sexually frustrated he was.

The whole thing with Nate had started because he was bored and it had been entertaining to watch the boy glare at him and swallow his cutting remarks in order not to get fired and win his ridiculous bet. It had amused him. Raffaele had just wanted to anger Nate enough to make him snap and give up. He hadn’t actually thought that Nate would follow his orders and get him off—with his hand and then later with his mouth.

Raffaele had always tried to be honest with himself. He wasn’t a very good man. He would be the first to admit that his moral compass was somewhat skewed, and he tended to treat people like things if he wasn’t careful. It had been often remarked that he lacked qualities like compassion and human decency.

But he’d always drawn the line at having sex with his employees. It wasn’t something he ever did. Frankly, he simply found it unappealing. What was the challenge in fucking women who were too scared to say no? He could never be certain that they actually wanted him.

Nate was different. He wasn’t scared of him.

Or rather, of course he had been scared of him—at first. But by the time the whole arrangement between them had started, Nate had become too comfortable with him to truly be scared. He talked back. He used “sir” only when he felt like it. He grumbled and bitched if he found a task unpleasant until Raffaele caved and assigned it to someone else. Raffaele had been too soft with him even before Nate started sucking his cock.

His cock twitched again. Raffaele hissed in annoyance, shifting lower in his seat. He glanced around the conference room, but of course no one had seen it, because everyone avoided looking his way.

Everyone but Nate.

He was seated at the small desk to the side of the conference table. But he wasn’t taking notes. He was frowning, looking at Raffaele.

Raffaele glared at him, his irritation spiking when his gaze dropped to Nate’s soft, full lips, slightly parted. It would be so easy to walk over, unzip his pants, and slide his cock into that mouth, and damn everyone watching—

“If you find our conditions satisfactory, please sign here, Mr. Ferrara.”

Raffaele shifted his gaze to the contract in front of him and skimmed it with his eyes, without even seeing it. He couldn’t fucking focus, his cock throbbing in his pants.

Someone handed him a pen.

“Please sign here.”

Raffaele put the pen against the paper, ready to sign and get it over with, when Nate cleared his throat. Loudly. “Can I talk to you, sir?”

He turned his head to him. Everyone in the room did. It was a massive breach of protocol. Personal assistants weren’t supposed to interrupt important negotiations like these.

Nate gave him a look that was between pleading and stubborn.

“Now?” Raffaele said.

“Yes, sir. It won’t take more than a few minutes.”

Irritated but curious, Raffaele got to his feet and strode into the smaller room that adjoined the main conference room. It was a good thing his suit jacket was long enough to cover his crotch.

Nate closed the door behind them and hissed, “What the hell were you doing? You were about to sign a contract with so many loopholes even I could see it!”

Raffaele opened his mouth and then closed it, not knowing what to say. If Nate was right, he had no excuse for his inattention.

Nate huffed, glancing down at Raffaele’s crotch. He flushed, scowled, and looked back at Raffaele’s face. “Is it really that bad? I didn’t know your brain relocated to your dick when you were horny.”

“Watch your tone.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. “Or what? You’ll fire me?” He glanced at the door, chewing on his lip. “When was the last time you got laid?”

“None of your business,” Raffaele bit out, trying not to imagine shoving his insolent PA to his knees and then shoving his cock down his throat.

“That long, huh?” Nate said, before heaving a long-suffering sigh. He dropped to his knees. “I’m doing this for the company,” he said, unzipping Raffaele’s fly.

Raffaele couldn’t care less about his reasons, his fingers burying in Nate’s hair and pulling his face to his cock.

“Impatient,” his infuriating PA said and then finally fit his warm, wet mouth around his aching cock.

Raffaele bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making any sound. His hips were moving without his volition, his cock pistoning in and out of the boy’s mouth as his hand gripped his hair. He stared greedily at Nate’s flushed face, at his plump lips stretched wide around his cock, those glazed eyes wide and disbelieving, as if Nate couldn’t believe what he was doing.

Nate lifted his gaze and they looked at each other as Raffaele fucked his mouth. Somehow, it made the act ten times more obscene, making him painfully aware that he was fucking his male assistant’s mouth while his business partners were just a thin wall away. He could hear them talk, fuck. He wondered if they could hear the wet, slurpy sounds Nate’s mouth made, too. Even if they could, he didn’t care. He needed to fuck this mouth, this insolent, disrespectful, infuriating mouth that never shut up. He needed to fuck Nate’s throat raw, so that his voice became so wrecked he couldn’t talk back at him for days.

It took him a humiliatingly short time to come, but he was so worked up it wasn’t surprising. He groaned lowly, keeping Nate’s head still as he fucked his throat the last few times, grinding his cockhead against it as he spilled his jizz down his throat.

Nate moaned, his gaze unfocused. The little shit totally got off on this.

“Thanks,” Raffaele said dryly, tucking his cock back into his pants and fixing his clothes. “Your sacrifice for the company’s good has been noted.”

Nate glared at him. “Fuck you,” he croaked out, his lips still red and puffy and used—

Raffaele averted his eyes and strode toward the door, annoyed with himself.

 

***

 

Nate was still scowling as the door shut behind Ferrara.

Asshole.

Fuck, how he hated him.

Nate jerked his fly open and stroked his aching cock, hard and fast, pushing the fingers of his other hand into his mouth. He moaned around them and jacked his cock. He could still taste Ferrara’s come in his mouth, so it didn’t take long.

He spilled into his hand, hating Ferrara and hating himself.

God, he was fucking messed-up in the head.

He had promised. He had promised to himself that he wouldn’t fall into the same rabbit hole, that he’d stay away from his horrible boss’s cock, but the moment he was given the flimsiest excuse to suck it, he’d done just that.

Unbelievable. Pathetic.

Shaking his head, Nate cleaned his hand, fixed his clothes as best as he could, and returned to the conference room.

Satan was seated in his chair, his body language once again relaxed, his gaze hard and razor-sharp as he bored a hole in the Typhoon Enterprises’ executive, who was stammering excuses as he tried—and failed—to convince Ferrara the contract they were offering was good.

Ferrara didn’t even glance at him as Nate took his seat, which only annoyed Nate further, though rationally he was glad of it. The fact that his brain and his emotions were no longer in agreement was pretty damn disturbing.

Why the hell did he want Ferrara’s attention now?

It made no sense.

Scowling, Nate forced himself to look away from his boss and pulled his phone out.

He texted Maya.

So I may have sucked his cock again. What do I do now?

Maya sent him a facepalm emoji.

Yeah. That about summed it up.