2. Deanna
DEANNA
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
I get off the pool table and hurriedly pull my clothes on in full panic mode.
My head’s racing. How much did they see?
What if they didn’t realize what I was doing?
But no, don’t be stupid, there was nothing ambiguous about seeing me spread eagle with my fingers buried in my own freaking pussy.
Oh my god, this is the most mortifying moment of my entire life, and if I could bury down into the earth and let myself melt into a pool of lava, that wouldn’t be enough to make this shame go away.
He wasn’t supposed to be back for another two days. The bastard specifically said in that gruff, deep voice of his, I’ll show up sometime Monday. Make sure you feed my fish in the meantime.
Instead, it’s Saturday night, and he’s home.
What the hell is happening? Did his trip get cut short? I don’t know where he went—Prime disappears for days or weeks at a time and never bothers telling me what he’s been up to—and it’s not like I could’ve known he’d decide to come back early.
Still, masturbating on my boss’s pool table?!
I can’t believe how stupid I am. I was so mad at him ten minutes ago for making me do this and I decided to get my petty, meaningless revenge, while also relieving some of my inner tension.
The idea popped into my head, and unlike ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, I actually acted on this impulse.
Now I’m reminded why I never, ever, ever take risks.
Life has a way of punishing me for any moment of pleasure or joy.
Prime’s going to fire me. There’s no way I’m going to walk out of this house with my job intact.
And the shitty part is, it’s not because he saw me touching myself.
Prime’s been slamming his dick into anything that breathes for as long as I’ve known him, and I’ve caught him in compromising positions before.
That morning at the hotel was only the most intimate and detailed, but there have been other times, and it’s never been a big deal.
He acts like it never happened or he teases me mercilessly when he realizes talking about sex makes me turn bright pink.
But he’s never looked at me like he wanted to tear me to pieces before.
It’s the pool table. The stupid, expensive pool table. He’s going to fire me, not for getting myself off in his house, but for doing it on his godforsaken pool table.
And I’ll have ruined my life for nothing.
What am I going to do? My parents are both retired, and as it turns out, they don’t have much in the way of savings.
That was a real kick to the face and a phone call I really hate thinking about.
My mother’s voice on the other end of the line, sounding sad and small.
Your father took care of all this… but he doesn’t remember anymore and I’m just so confused about it…
I’m responsible for them. It’s messed up, but it’s true.
Even with all the assistance they’re eligible for, my father’s care isn’t cheap.
I’ve been making it work but mostly because Prime gives me absurdly high raises every year.
I didn’t go to college and there’s no way I’ll find a job making what I do now.
I’m screwed. My parents are screwed.
All because I diddled myself on a pool table.
I slink out of the game room. I listen carefully near the steps, but I don’t hear any voices, not the tell-tale moans of pleasure I expect.
Even angry, I figure Prime will still get what he wants from that girl.
She’s clearly up for it. I do the long walk of shame toward the kitchen where my bag’s waiting in the corner, fortunately still mostly packed.
I’ll grab it and get the hell out of here?—
Instead of an empty room, I find my boss looming beside the island, a glass of bourbon in his hand.
That look again. It’s like he’s struggling now to stalk across the room. He probably wants to slap me across the face for ruining his precious felt. He hates me now, and I don’t blame him. I knew he loved that stupid table and I spread my legs and touched myself anyway, like the total idiot I am.
“Where’s the girl?” I blurt out despite myself, mostly to fill the deeply uncomfortable silence. Hopefully it prompts him to get this firing over with so I can get the heck out of here before I spontaneously combust.
“Gone.” He takes a long sip.
“You sent her home?” That surprises me. I’ve never seen Prime pass up the opportunity to get his dick wet before.
I study him, trying to figure out what’s going on.
He’s in dark slacks with an expensive and stylish white shirt tucked into them.
The front two buttons are undone and the sleeves are rolled up showing off dark ink.
A gold Rolex glitters on his wrist. Those honey-brown eyes rake me up and down like he’s trying to make sure I’m actually dressed this time.
His grip on his glass tightens, knuckles whitening.
He really hates me, doesn’t he?
“She wasn’t happy about it.” His jaw works. “You interrupted my plans.”
“I didn’t know you’d be back this early. Honestly, Mr. Spadaro, I’m so sorry.”
He flinches like I hit him. “Since when did you call me Mr. Spadaro?” His voice is dangerously soft.
I drop my gaze to my feet, lacing my fingers together. “I’m really, really embarrassed right now. Can we please get this over with so I can go home and scream into my pillow?”
“What do you have to be embarrassed about, Deanna?”
I swallow against the lump in my throat and breathe to keep tears from filling my eyes. Prime doesn’t react well to weakness. “Please, I just want to go home.”
“Come here.”
“If I can just get my bag?—“
“Deanna,” he says, using his harsh Big Boss voice. “Come here right now.”
I stiffen, trying not to cry out. I shuffle toward him, not sure what he wants. Is he going to punish me too? Demand that I return the phone he bought me last year? I wouldn’t even blame him.
Maybe he just wants to look me in the face as he tells me off. Prime can be cruel sometimes. He’s never done it to me, but I’ve seen him turn his ruthlessness on others and it’s never pretty. Strong men have broken before him.
I have no chance at all.
“You were on my pool table,” he says, but his voice isn’t the rebuke I expected. Still, a shiver runs down my spine as I nod miserably.
“It was stupid. I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
Screw it. What the hell? I might as well tell him the truth. At this point I have absolutely nothing to lose but the last speck of my pathetic, tattered dignity.
“I was angry,” I admit, wringing my hands miserably, but I force myself to stand still and straight. “I told you I needed this weekend off and you called me in anyway. So I thought I’d… you know… use myself… on the pool table…” I trail off, feeling childish and foolish.
“But why touch yourself? And why on the pool table?”
It rushes out of me in a torrent before I can cut myself off. Normally I’m reserved. I keep my distance from Prime the best I can. But now he’s seen me fingering myself and I might as well give him the full, ugly, pathetic truth.
“Because you love that thing, so I wanted to punish you in some stupid petty way, and I was thinking about the morning I caught you with those two girls six weeks back in your hotel room, and I just couldn’t help myself.
It was gross and weird and stupid, and I’m so mortified I want to scream and die, so can you please let me get my bag so I can leave?
I’ll return the phone, hand over your calendar, make sure I write a handoff document so your next assistant can get up to speed, but please?—“
“Deanna.” This time, he sounds more exasperated than angry, which is the only thing that makes me stop talking. “Let me see your hands.”
I finally lift my head in surprise. “My hands?”
He puts his glass down and gestures. “Please.” There’s no anger in his voice anymore, only a strange resignation.
His body is tense and leaning toward me, and I don’t know why I do it.
I could turn and walk away. Instead, I let him cradle my right palm between his massive hands, and he lifts my fingers toward his mouth.
It happens slowly. I have time to make him stop, but I don’t. It’s the hand I was using on myself, the fingers I had buried in my pussy. He breathes my smell in deep and slides two between his lips.
It’s shocking and warm, his teeth scraping against my skin gently, his tongue swirling.
He groans in pleasure and I know that sound, it’s the same noise he made when he was licking that blond girl’s pussy in the hotel room.
He sucks my fingers holding my wrist tightly before pulling them out with a gasp, his breath coming fast.
“Prime?” I ask, blinking rapidly, confusion warring with the most erotic pulse I’ve ever felt between my legs. “What are?—“
He grabs me, pulls me tight against him, and slams his mouth to mine.
I barely register the kiss. At first, it’s like I’m floating on the ceiling.
Oh look, Prime’s kissing Deanna. But wait, I’m Deanna, that’s my face he’s devouring, my body he’s touching, that’s my gorgeous asshole playboy bastard boss kissing me, and suddenly I’m back in my body, Prime’s tongue in my mouth, the taste of warm bourbon and mint flooding my veins.
Another choice. Another chance. I could stop this, but I kiss him back instead.
I don’t understand it. That redhead was stunning and she was wearing a dress that screamed to be ripped from her supple body.
While I’m nothing special and in a sweatshirt and athletic bottoms, my hair in a messy bun, no makeup, no reason to want me over her, but that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.