Chapter 53 – Pleasing the Boss

I tighten the hand at the back of her head so she knows I intend this to be a monologue. Instead, I study her eyes for the answer. There’s guilt there that I can’t quite interpret. “He’s softer, isn’t he? Let’s you use your hands, makes you do all the work?”

I can imagine him stretched out and passive, her head bet**en his th**hs, and feel intensely murderous.

The next buzz I send to her is the strongest yet. Meant to punish, not reward, and sure enough, her bob stutters as her muscles tighten.

I use her “drop in concentration” as an excuse to push her head forward, until her nose touches my pelvis and she gurgles as my c**k slides down her throat.

“Bet he doesn’t try to get you off at the same time.” Jesus, I know I’m a jealous monster, deciding her husband is trash in bed simply because I want him to be. “Will you tell him about this? Since you tell him everything. Will you tell him how I made you come while you took my c**k like a professional?”

I release her, giving her a moment to breathe, but this time I want an answer. “Shake your head, yes or no—will he know about this?”

She stares at me with those wide eyes for several seconds before shaking her head.

It should be a victory. That this moment is ours and not his, should be a relief.

It’s not.

I want him to know. I want him to suffer from the same jealous monster I suffer from. After setting the remote on a pattern that will likely get her where she needs to go, I pull my phone from my pocket and take a picture. Her mascara is smeared and her chin is dripping with saliva, and she’s so dirty and gorgeous, I know I’ll jerk off to this image for weeks.

“Should I send it to him?”

She tries to pull out of my grip, voicing a clear “no” despite her mouth being full.

Whether it’s to spare his feelings or her dignity, I’m not sure, but either way, I take it as concern for him, and it jars me from any sense of courtesy, any sense of kindness.

Holding her in place with a handful of hair, I take over completely, th**sting in and out of her mouth at the tempo I like. She struggles not to choke, but she’s twisting and writhing at the same time, and I know it must be confusing to her body and brain to be so turned on and so victimized at once.

It’s confusing to me too—wanting to hurt her, wanting to please her. Wanting her to only want me.

Phone still in hand, I find Elvis’s name in my contacts and hit CALL, pushing the speaker b**ton as soon as it starts to ring. Her eyes shine with terror when she realizes. Strangely she doesn’t try to pull away, doesn’t try to fight.

“Hadrian?”

I still haven’t decided what I’ll say. I want to tell him in vivid detail what I’m doing to his wife, how I’m debasing her, how I’m pleasing her. How I’m doing it on a stage, how I wouldn’t care if there were a million people watching.

“I’m with your wife.” I watch Brystin gaze pleadingly as I continue to abuse her, as she continues to squirm from the ruthless pulse of the vibrator. Can he identify the gagging sounds of a blow job through the line? Does he recognize the whimper in the back of her throat? Does he care?

A soft laughter sounds in the background, and I realize that he’s with a woman.

Realize it at the same time as Brystin does. Her eyes close for a brief second, and when they open again, the pleas are gone. Like she’s closed a door inside her, shutting off the part of her heart that belongs to him.

I know from experience it doesn’t work like that. Emotions seep through the cracks. She’ll still feel what she doesn’t want to feel.

I’m not sure it will spare her any pain, but I make a decision. “We announced the show. Ads start tonight. Thought you should have a heads-up. Enjoy your night.”

Without waiting for a response, I hit END and drop the phone to the stage so I can put my hands on either side of her face and th**st in and out of her mouth at high speed. It takes maybe thirty seconds before Brystin comes, her body jerking as I use the f**k out of her throat.

I pull out and jerk my hand up and down my length, letting her finish her orgasm without having to worry about mine. She’s just coming down when I hit my peak. Cum spurts out in white ropes along her collarbone, painting a design even more erotic than my fantasies had conjured.

I’m still admiring my art, my c**k still semi-hard in my hand, when Brystin rises to her feet and p**sses her mouth to mine.

It’s not as filthy of a k**s as the one we’d had last time. Not as desperate. Not as long. It’s brief but sloppy and full of intensity. Full of something that feels kind.

“I didn’t deserve that,” I say when she steps away.

“I guess you’ll have to owe me.”

I’ve been handed more than I deserve my entire life, and yet these gifts from her, these k**ses, are what I find unfathomable. And it strikes me—with my cum still dripping down her ch*st and Elvis’s name still staring up from the screen of my phone—if she’s so good to men who treat her cruelly, how much more good would she be to a man who treated her nice?

Brystin POV

I wake up thinking about Hadrian. Before I even open my eyes, I let my mind replay the events of last night. I’d been wary about attending the event after his brutal display of power. Firing Jessa Jones had been bad enough. Declaring that he owned me was something else entirely.

The biggest problem with the declaration is how it didn’t make me feel entirely upset. I’ve never been claimed like that before. Elvis’s married to me, and he doesn’t even wear a ring to claim me. I thought I didn’t mind. He’s always said, We know what we are to each other, but now here’s Hadrian, saying things that unite us in ways I’ve never felt with the man I thought I belonged with.

And I did sign the contract with Hadrian.

So in the end, it was easy to convince myself that I had no choice but to be wherever he told me to be. I really had thought he’d made me go just so he could exercise more of his dominance, but as soon as he’d announced the show on the carpet, I understood the ploy. He connected me with a bigger cause and gave me the opportunity to speak on its behalf. The nation was introduced to Brystin Shaw as someone who had an important opinion. It was an imp**ssive tactic, one that benefitted me more than it could have possibly benefitted him.

After that, I was at his mercy. He could have told me to spread my legs on that stage, and I would have let him take me in any way he wanted.

I suppose the fact that he’s obeyed my boundaries where sex is concerned is a sign that the man has at least some integrity.

Possibly the best part of the night was everything after the orgasms were exchanged, and considering I’d had one of the best O’s of my life in front of that imaginary audience, that’s really saying something. The evening could have easily ended there.

But instead of putting me in a car, he cleaned me up once again with the inside of his jacket, then wore the cum-stained clothing while he took me up to the top of Seymour Center. It’s one of the top tourist attractions in NYC, but I somehow managed to never go. I imagine it’s a totally different experience being there at night and without a crowd. Romantic, almost. Hadrian brought a bottle of expensive wine, which we passed back and forth as we looked out over the city below us. Tipsy as all get out, I listened to him wax on about the notes and tones of the particular variety of grape, and then we spent at least an hour reminiscing about our favorite headlines from the past decade.

It was absolute news nerdom, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Hadrian’s ability to spout cultural trivia reminded me of the early days with Elvis. When I used to fawn over him after a show with all the other interns. Except with Elvis, I listened more than contributed. Mostly because he had years on me, and his best stories happened before I’d known anything about journalism.

But also because, although Elvis is considered behind the scenes, he really does enjoy being in the spotlight.

Sometimes I feel like that’s what I am for him—someone who will bring him the light.

Hadrian, on the other hand…he brings the light to me. Even at his mercurial worst, self-serving as he is, he seems to care about my best interests. And asshole that he is, he didn’t mention the woman Elvis was obviously with or the fact that an empty apartment was waiting for me in New Jersey. Instead, he offered me a place to sleep in the city so that—

Wait a minute…

Where the f**k did I sleep?

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