Bewitching the Boss by Jessa Kane
Four
Byron
It’s raining. The sky is an eerie shade of gray, the air rife with electricity.
The hair on my arm stands on end. A sick feeling weighs down my stomach.
I haven’t been able to think straight since walking out of Jane’s office yesterday morning. I alternate between feeling like a stranger in my own skin…and feeling at home there. The name I called her is unconscionable. I’ve never said those words out loud in my entire life, never even thought them about someone. And yet, when her perfect mouth was panting against mine, my thumb stroking the slick flesh of her pussy, those words felt like the most natural thing in the world. When she said, “Tell me what I am,” it was as though someone whispered the answer in my ear, telling me what she would like, what would finish her.
That whisper was right.
As soon as I called her a little slut, she started shaking, moisture rushing around the spot where I touched her. During those moments where she panted through her orgasm, it was very difficult to be conflicted about what I said. I could only be triumphant. Satisfied. Relieved that in my limited experience, I made this gorgeous, dynamic woman feel pleasure. But did the end justify the means? Who the hell speaks like that to a woman?
Not me.
I don’t.
Yet I did. And I’m not sure I wouldn’t do it again to see her tremble and whimper like that once more. She liked it. Liked the way I spoke to her. Does that make what I called her all right? What does it mean about me that when I think back to that moment, when I called her that vile name, my cock turns stiff as a brick?
Before I turn down the main avenue on my way to buy a cup of coffee, I adjust my erection in my briefs, wincing over the chafed skin. I’ve been more or less hard since yesterday, my hand itching to jack off. But I can’t. I can’t let myself experience the exhilaration of release. That constitutes pleasure. That would be enjoyment. I’ve sworn off anything that isn’t professional and necessary to my livelihood. What’s worse? If I took my dick in my hand and started pumping, I would be replaying the scene from yesterday in Jane’s office in my head. I would replay that moment when I called Jane that disgusting word and it would push me over the edge. Physically. Maybe mentally. Into a place I shouldn’t go. I can’t go there.
Staying away from her is proving difficult, however.
Extremely hard.
I spent the night scrolling through her Instagram account, which did not help matters at all. I came away more aroused than ever. Her pictures are tasteful. Artistic. Shots of the parties she has planned. Up close angles of paper roses, cast in the light of a lantern. The decimated carcass of a pinata. A vintage photo booth with a group of women laughing inside. There are only a few pictures of Jane, herself. And they are sexy in way that tightens my balls, drags them up into my stomach. She is dressed professionally in all of them, but there is always a hint of something. A swath of exposed midriff. A high slit in her skirt. Hard nipples.
If I had her phone in my hand right now, I would delete every single one of those pictures. More than half of her followers are men, of course. Probably men who have attended parties she’s planned, lusted after her and hoped to message her later, take her out. Take her to bed. My neck is hot under my collar thinking about it, my back teeth grinding painfully.
No one is supposed to touch her but me.
Logically, I know that isn’t true, but for the first time in my life, my brain isn’t in control of a situation. It’s my gut. My chest. My cock. I’m so mired in need for this girl that I’m unwell and I don’t know what the hell to do about it without breaking my oath.
When I reach the entrance of the coffee shop, I almost wrench the door off its hinges. I’ve never felt like this before in my life. Spiky, scalding jealousy turns end over end in my middle, my tongue thick in my mouth. This coffee shop is familiar to me, it’s only a few blocks from my office, but nothing is recognizable when I walk inside. The air conditioning chills the raindrops on my skin, the tables and chairs looking two-dimensional, voices surrounding me like static—and then I see her.
Jane.
Everything begins to move in slow motion.
She’s smiling warmly, accepting a cup of coffee from the barista. I hear her giggle over the steady thrum of indie rock and my throat closes up, heart pounding wildly. What is she doing here? Her office is over a mile from this shop.
The answer to that question ceases to matter when I see what she’s wearing.
I don’t even know if it can be described as a dress.
With those thin straps and high hemline, it’s more like lingerie. A slip. It’s made of the thinnest lavender silk and it hugs her everywhere, accentuating her perky tits, the garment cutting off abruptly just beneath the swell of her ass. If she bent down or reached for something on a high shelf, her backside would be exposed. And the ice pick heels she’s wearing…Jesus. She’s already a walking jerk-off fantasy, but the shoes make it impossible to think of anything but her bent over my desk. Or a couch. Or getting it doggy style on a bed, the dress flipped up to her waist, those high heels as far apart as possible.
I realize I can hear myself breathing. Hard.
My skin is clammy, pulse racing.
She hasn’t seen me yet. What am I going to say to her when she does?
I think I’ve developed a terrible obsession with you.
I want to fuck you in ways that, in my head, feel degrading. To you. But I sense you need them. Require them. And I’m aching to give you what you need, no matter what it entails.
My feet are moving in her direction, even though I’m still not clear on what I’m going to say. Maybe something along the lines of stop looking so goddamn beautiful in public. Only look like this for me. But I never get the chance to find out what jealous words are going to come out of my mouth, because a man approaches her.
A young man. My age.
An obvious tech bro in his chinos, loafers and polo shirt.
He stops in front of Jane and says something to her. It’s a line. He’s trying to pick her up or get her number. There is no doubt about it. His friends are watching the whole scene play out with rapt glee, waiting with bated breath to see if their pal is successful. And the whole coffee shop starts to pulse ominously around me. Blood roars in my ears. The jealousy I felt before is dwarfed in comparison to this. I am instantly murderous.
I’m weaving through customers with my stomach in a thousand knots, prepared to remove this motherfucker from her vicinity. Now. I don’t like anyone near her.
I don’t like anyone looking at her.
A destructive urge to kick over a table catches me off-guard. The only thing that stops me from doing it is Jane’s reaction to the man. Immediately, she steps back from him, shaking her head. There is no flirtatious smile, no sparkle in her eyes. Not like she gives me. Is it only for me? Please. Please let it only be for me. I’m not sure what I’ll do if it isn’t. One thing is for certain, though. She’s not interested in the tech bro. She almost seems hostile toward him, a flash of something wild dancing across her face. Dangerous.
I don’t have time to explore that expression or if it’s a window into the soul of Jane, the real Jane, because I reach the pair and step between them.
My hands move on their own, landing on his chest and shoving him back several feet. “It’s not happening, asshole,” I growl through my teeth. “Don’t ever talk to her again.”
Oh Christ, it feels painfully good.
Claiming Jane.
Taking ownership.
It’s a shameful thing to enjoy. Women are independent beings, right?
And yet, this one is mine, mine, mine. I can’t control that belief. I can’t stop myself from acting on it. Mine.
In that moment, something dark and unwelcome occurs to me.
If I don’t fuck her, if I don’t claim her completely, someone else will apply for the job.
Denial bubbles up in my sternum, the walls of my throat constricting. No. No, I’m not going to let that happen. I have to break my oath. Have to be what she needs.
Now. Right now.
The tech bro begins to charge back in my direction, but he stops abruptly when he realizes who I am. “Oh shit.” He clears his throat awkwardly, trading a wide-eyed look with his buddies. “I didn’t…I’m sorry, DeWitt. I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”
“Well now you know. Fuck off.”
There’s a soft intake of breath behind me and I turn to find Jane with glassy eyes, her cheeks flushed. My God, she’s so soft looking. So sweet and horny. I’m not sure how I’ve made it through our first three encounters without planting my cock inside of her, but I’m not going to make it another five minutes. Not when this beast is howling inside of me, ordering me to stake a claim. Make her mine without question. Now. Now.
“Go wait for me on the back patio,” I tell her hoarsely.
When she does what I tell her with no hesitation, the part of me that called her a little slut expands and intensifies, before I can stop it. Yeah. I’m going to bang her tempting body in the back of this coffee shop like we’re having a cheap tryst—and once again, I have this sense, this bone-deep intuition, that it’s exactly what she craves from me. The opposite of romance.
She wants it raw.
Nasty.
I’ve never been with a woman before, so I have no idea where this instinct is coming from, but I know damn well it’s only for Jane. I’m powerless to do anything but act on the impulses she is inspiring in me. They’re so strong, I can’t resist. Can’t do anything but stride over to the counter, take out my wallet and slide a few hundred dollars toward the young man behind the register. “Make sure no one comes out on the patio until we leave.”
“You’ve got it,” he laughs, already counting the money.
And then I’m on my way to her. Down the L-shaped hallway and out into the rear outdoor space, a brick patio with trees overhead, strung with lights. Tables and chairs. A small stage for nighttime musical acts. But It’s raining outside, so there is no one here. Just us.
Jane stands with her back to me, raindrops falling from above and soaking the purple silk of her slip dress. Making her knees knock together. Or maybe…I’m doing that? Her legs seem to tremble with more force the closer I get. There is no doubt my body is in control, my logical brain taking a back seat, because my hands are already moving. Settling on her hips from behind like I’ve touched her a thousand times before—and yanking her back against me. Hard.
Raking my open mouth up the nape of her neck.
“Jane,” I rasp.
She makes a sobbing sound, fitting her ass into my lap. Her body quivers head to toe. “Why are you shaking?” I kiss my way up the side of her smooth neck, inhaling the addictive scent of her, rocking my cock into the snug valley of her bottom. “I’m not experienced, we both know that, but…are you supposed to tremble like this when I’ve barely touched you?”
“No,” she whispers, her head falling back onto my shoulders. From above, I can see down the low neckline of her dress to her braless tits, the horny jut of her nipples. And I cup them in my hands like they’re mine, like I own them, squeezing them once.
Slapping them.
“I’m sorry,” I say on a gusting exhale. “I don’t know what happens to me around you.”
I start to take my hands away, but she snags my wrists, drawing them back. Placing them back on her mounds. “Trust yourself, Byron.”
I’m shaking my head and licking her neck at the same time, my dick throbbing against the zipper of my pants. “I can’t. You should be treated like a princess.”
Slowly, she turns in my arms, and the naked hunger I see in her eyes makes my heart pound triple time. “I don’t want to be treated like a princess,” she whispers, walking me backward. Back, back, until I fall into an armless chair, lust stabbing into my belly, my loins. And that desire only explodes when she strips off her dress, leaving it to get soaked on the table behind me.
My God. My God. Her nude body in the purplish storm light is nothing short of breathtaking. It robs rational thought out of my head, steals oxygen from my lungs, my blood heating to liquid silver. My head fucking spins at the sight of my beautiful Jane in an itty-bitty thong, nothing else to cover her save those high heels.
“Jesus Christ,” I say raggedly, gritting my teeth to keep from fountaining come into my pants. “Tell me how to satisfy you. Show me. Please.”
Knowing how to make this woman orgasm is suddenly the most important knowledge I’ll ever possess. Forget coding. Forget my endless hunt for new formulas. My only mission is her pleasure now and it’s urgent. I need to know how to fuck her right. Immediately.
“Don’t you know?” she whispers, straddling me. Sitting on my thighs while she unbuttons my pants and slowly, slowly tugs down my zipper. With her mouth against mine, she breathes in. And out. “You satisfy me constantly.”
I’m confused by that statement but it swells my cock, nonetheless. Makes my head spin. “How? I don’t understand.”
She takes out my erection with a whimpering sound, stroking it like a priceless work of art, rubbing it against the smooth crotch of her thong. Shuddering. Gasping. “Sometimes all I have to do is think of you…” She licks the seam of my mouth. “And rub my clit a little through my panties…and it’s all over. I just have to think of you, Byron.”
Her lips move to my neck, sucking and biting, her hips settling down, down so tight to my lap that I moan at the friction of her warm pussy. And then she tweaks her lower body, up and back, riding my dick with nothing but a thin piece of material separating us and splotches of light bloom in front of my eyes. “Ohhhh fuck. Oh fuck.” With a ragged curse, my hands find the bare cheeks of her ass, involuntarily urging her on. “Please let me in.”
Her eyes fly to mine, searching. “You…changed your m-mind. About pleasure?”
“I need to make you mine, Jane.” I bite her jaw, snapping at her mouth next. Hungry. So hungry. Starved. “I won’t breathe right until you are.”
The expression on her face engraves itself on my memory. The wonder and relief and necessity. She needs something hard to ride and it’s going to be me. The longer it takes me to get inside of her pussy, the more feral I become. And she watches me, loving it. Loving the change in me. The beastliness and aggression. “My Byron,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss me, her tongue moving with mine hypnotically, her right hand guiding my cock between her legs. Using my rigidity to push aside her thong, poising me at her damp entrance.
This is it. This is when she becomes mine.
Thank God.
But I’m not prepared for the incredible sensation of Jane’s cunt sinking down onto my shaft. I’m not ready for the criminally tight fit or the hot, pulsating walls to milk me, milk, milk, milk and ripple, bringing a close-mouthed bellow up from my chest. And that’s before she starts to scoot her hips up and back in my lap, dragging my dick in and out of her dripping wet heat, searing me alive.
“Oh Christ,” I pant, digging my fingers into her buns. “Stop. Stop or I’ll come.”
“I want you to come, baby,” she whispers, licking into my mouth, her body mounting mine more securely, so there isn’t a breath of daylight between us, her hips pumping like naughty little pistons, turning my balls rock hard. Ready to blow. “You didn’t need to make me yours. I’ve been yours for a long time.”
Something about what she’s saying doesn’t make sense, but my body and soul love hearing those words. Deeply. So fucking deeply. Mine. This girl is mine and she’s riding me like her life depends on it, her head falling back to send that dark hair coasting down her back. She whines and sobs and bucks me in and out of her slick little pussy. And all I can do is bite my lip until I taste blood, trying not to ejaculate too soon. Please, please, don’t come yet. It’s too good, the hot squelch of my shaft filling her sex, the way her tits drag up and down my chest. I’ll never be able to live without this, without her, after this. Never.
“You’re so beautiful. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. What did you do to me?”
“Nothing,” she says with mock innocence. “I just want to worship you day and night,” she pouts the words against my lips. “I want to be your bad little girl. I want you to use me and be rough with me and bruise me. That’s not so much to ask, is it?”
That clinging smoke of lust fills my insides, the dark kind, the kind I can’t seem to keep at bay when she asks me for it. Silently or out loud, as she did just now. But her plea burns inside of me, rouses a part of me that never existed until Jane—and before I know my own intentions, I’m standing, striding across the patio and slamming her against the wall.
Fucking my cock deep inside of her and growling against her mouth. I’m being taken over by an inner beast. And her eyes grow wide and excited at the appearance he’s making.
“Say it,” she says brokenly, her sex gripping me, her thighs shaking around my waist. “Say every bad thing in your head, baby. I need it. I need it.”
She needs it. I provide.
End of story.
I snarl against her soft mouth, ramming my cock up between her thighs. “Maybe that piece of shit wouldn’t have hit on you if you didn’t leave the house today dressed like an expensive whore.”
Her cunt clamps down around me so hard, I struggle through a breath. And then I don’t care about breathing at all, because I’m making her come. She’s coming between me and the wall, shudder after shudder coursing through her, those big eyes seeing nothing. Clouded with wonder and gratification and the reflection of my hard, domineering features. Even as I wonder who the hell I’ve become, I’m fucking her like a savage. Pummeling her slippery little cunt, my teeth buried in her shoulder, my left hand locked around her throat.
“M-more,” she begs.
I rake my teeth up to her ear, the devil riding my back, his claws sunk into my organs. Possessiveness and jealousy oozes out of the wounds he leaves behind, bleeding into every corner of my being. “Did you wear that dress to make me insane?”
“Yes,” she hiccups. “I know you come here. I knew you’d see me.”
That admission shouldn’t fill me with such pride, such relief, such triumph. But it does. Instead of being alarmed that she knows my usual coffee shop and came here to seduce me, make me jealous, I like it. No, I love it. I love that she thinks about me enough to do something so unusual. I love that she knows my habits. It gives me permission to find out all of hers.
I’m going to know every single one, so help me God.
“Yeah, you came here in the middle of the day hoping for a nice, hard bang, didn’t you?” I lick up the side of her face, growling into her hair. Bouncing her a few times on my lap, then grinding her into the wall and reveling in her broken moan. “Couldn’t even wait to get your dick tease panties off, could you? Such a horny little brat.”
“Byron,” she gasps. And then, my God, she’s climaxing again, moisture spreading where our bodies join, our wet sounds drowning out the falling rain. There is still a bolt turning in my throat, insisting some of the words coming out of my mouth are wrong, unfit for her perfect ears, but when they bring her pleasure, I can’t stop. I can’t do anything but deliver what she needs until…I start to crave her response to the disrespectful words I groan into her ear.
“You’re going to go back to your office with sticky thighs and messy hair. Everyone is going to know you spent your lunchbreak with your legs open.” It doesn’t occur to me until this moment that I’m not wearing a condom. No protection, whatsoever. Christ, I should pull out. Now. I’m on the verge of the most explosive orgasm of my life. But instead of doing the responsible thing, I’ve got her ass cheeks gripped tight in my hands and I’m pounding harder, my teeth on edge, sweat pouring down the sides of my face. “My dirty girl likes it raw,” I heave into her ear, my balls spasming, sending hot liquid up the trunk of my cock. And I follow my primal urge to plant it deep. Every drop. I shove her knees open until they’re flush with the wall and pump upward, holding, grinding my hips, kissing her incredible mouth while spurt after spurt of come empties into her body. “You love getting it bareback in that pretty fuck hole, don’t you?” I grit out against her lips, watching her eyes go dreamlike, almost as if she’s hypnotized. That naked enjoyment, her reaction to me coming inside of her, only heightens the euphoria. “Fuck, Jane. Fuck!”
The ripples invading my abdomen seem like they’re never going to end. Wave after wave of unimaginable pressure passes through my loins, then relief hits, then more pressure. Where is it all coming from? It’s as though I’ve stored this hedonism up for her, just her. Just Jane. And I never want to give it to anyone else again. My body agrees with the decision being made in my chest, hips flexing, pressing, eager to be milked by her tight channel. Dying to leave every ounce of me inside of her perfection.
“Mine,” I say on a shudder, pressing our foreheads together. Falling forward into her body and wrapping my arms around her, hauling her up against me. “Mine.”
“Yes.” She nods, her head bumping my chin. “Now you know.”
We remain like that for a few minutes, getting our bearings. Remembering how to breathe. I flatten my palms on the wall above her head and watch from above as she arranges my clothes, zipping me back into my pants. Re-tucking my shirt.
I’ve just broken my oath and yeah, there is guilt involved. Conflict batting its wings inside of me. But not near enough to stay away from Jane. I assume we’re going to make plans to see each other again. Immediately.
Tonight.
Sooner, if possible. Maybe we can call in sick for the rest of the day.
I want all of her free time. Every second of it.
I want to take her home, see her in every room of my house. In my bathtub, on my staircase, at my breakfast bar. In my bedroom. God, yes, I need her there.
So all I can do is stand there in shock as she kisses my mouth one last time, slips back into her damp dress and disappears from the coffee shop patio without another word. By the time I realize she isn’t coming back, she’s long gone. Nowhere to be found on the sidewalk, on the street.
Gone.
What in the hell just happened?
