Chapter Nineteen
LOLA
Oh, my lord, things have flipped since he told me to walk home.
And playing secretary to his asshole boss is one of the hottest things ever.
Yesterday, he fucked me in the guest powder room downstairs like it was a cubicle at work.
We don't have cubicles, but this is fantasy, and it's as good as when we played at actual work. Before I knew the truth. Before I knew the game.
And I think I find it hotter knowing he and Alex are the same man.
I'm trying to bring Alex into it. I tell Enzo, fantasy boss, I have a boyfriend. He doesn't care.
He taunts me with Alex.
One thing I adore is how his denial isn't just about covering my eyes.
Sometimes, like two days ago, he got me hot and bothered and almost coming from kissing him.
He stripped me and rocked me against his covered cock and did nothing but talk filthy, nasty things, things he wanted to do to me.
And he whispered there was going to be a day where he tortures me with clit play, but I can't come.
Every second of our kink exploration is divine. It seems mild and loose, the thing that turns us on. But I like it, and I think I could play secretary forever with him.
Even the word is so old and outmoded. Receptionist, personal assistant, there are other terms, but that one, secretary, is perfection for our game.
Our. Us.
My stomach tingles and slips when I think of that.
Us.
Maybe when I get to see the doctor, I can let myself think about an us outside of sex games.
But the sex games keep me safe. From what, I don't know. But maybe they keep me safe from my own heart that always seems to throb harder, louder, every time Enzo walks into a room.
Like now.
"Hello, Lola. Long time. Been busy, you know. How about you?" His gaze moves over me like he's touching me, feeling me up, and my pussy aches.
I come around from where I'm standing behind the desk, and my breath is caught in my lungs.
The ache in my pussy twists into an acute keening as I note his smile isn't quite regular Enzo and isn't Boss Enzo.
"Alex?"
He winks.
My heart swoops and flutters.
He's wearing a deep wine-colored suit, and it's effortless in its modern-cut style. And it suits him down to the ground.
It makes me feel frumpy in my secretary outfit.
"What are you planning to do with your boss tonight?"
I love it when he dives into a game. "Nothing. He's out for the evening, I think."
"No, he isn't. I've got a dare for you, if you're up for it. There's a restaurant opening in Manhattan, SoHo. It's swank and exclusive and darkly lit."
"You want to take me to dinner?"
"No, but I'll be watching."
"W-watching what?"
"You with him."
"But he hasn't asked me anywhere. He never does. It's work."
"You had drinks with him."
There's an erotic accusation in that, and I'm pulled to it, into this. Whatever this is.
"You..."
I lick my lips, my skin hot, my mind at fever pitch.
Is this a game in a game?
And then I catch on.
Oh, Lord.
He's playing hard.
"You were there?"
"But I didn't get to see. Every time you're with him, I get a blow-by-blow. But this time?" He comes over.
I sway against him.
His mouth trails along my throat. "I want to see. Live action."
"It's a little daring to come to my work—"
"I had a meeting a few doors down. And one with him. Yeah, I know him. He's a client. I want to see him fuck you in public, and I want to fuck you after, his cum dripping down your thigh."
"How am I going to do that? We don't move in the same circles. I can't show up." With every word, the game grows hotter, more complex. More real.
"You won't need to. He's a busy guy, he needs an escort, someone uncomplicated to his life. I suggested his pretty assistant. You. In fact, he came by your desk earlier and left the invite."
With that, he closes the gap and kisses me.
My head is in overdrive, but the thoughts stop as the taste of him explodes on my tongue.
The way his tongue teases mine is something that should be banned to everyone but me.
He tastes and feels like Enzo, and it's more than enough.
Slowly, as he sucks and bites my lip, his hands moving over me, he drops kisses on my face until his mouth is back on mine, and he slides a finger down between my breasts.
Then he steps back.
"Alex..."
"We like to play, you and me. I like to hear about you fucking him. And this time, I'm going to watch. We'll see if you can do it in a room full of people. Seduce him, fuck him, and then come home, strip, sit naked on your bed. Follow the instructions. I'll leave."
He walks out of my suite, and I go to my desk, leaning against it to try and get myself together.
How is him coming in hotter than a text?
With a text, it's easier to buy the game that Alex is a different person. But in person...
Shock hits me.
The moment I knew he wasn't playing my kinky boss or normal Enzo, not that Enzo is normal—extraordinary, yes, normal, no—I bought into the game.
I straighten and, hand shaking, I go to look at the desk.
But there's nothing on it.
A buzzing starts up from the bedroom, and there, with a dark red rose, is a phone and a note on the bed.
Alex
You like your new phone?
I shouldn't. I should be annoyed he went and not only got me a phone but programmed it.
Alex
Took the liberty of putting my number in, but you can configure it yourself.
Me
Thanks.
Alex
Tonight, when you get in, send me one text, strip, and put the blindfold on, hands behind your back, and wait.
My fingers shake.
Okay.
Alex
I'll see you tonight. You won't see me. But your mission is to make your boss fuck you in public.
Me
If he doesn't?
Alex
You'll be sitting there all fucking night.
In other words, if I chicken out, no sex.
I remember my safe word, and I know Enzo, the asshole boss, will listen if I use it.
Yes. I know he would. I know it in my bones.
This has nothing to do with me thinking each iteration would do something different. They're the same person, and Enzo's just playing a game.
No, this has to do with Enzo.
Now he's got me here, under lock and key, protecting me, and I know what he did—helping me, guiding, watching. I know the basic rules are the same.
Even in real life.
If I utter the words "Blue Banana," he'll stop.
Cold.
Because he's not a creepy stalker waiting to carve me up. He's someone I've known all my life, someone who has watched over me.
I put the phone down, suddenly nerveless, and I smell the rose.
It's deeply perfumed, and the scent weaves around my senses, but the note is pure kinky boss.
Need a date. Dump the boyfriend for the night, or you're fired. Pick you up in ten.
Ten? As in minutes? Oh, fuck. I need to get ready and find an outfit.
I keep smoothing the baby doll.
The outfit is new, and I found it on the bed, along with the shoes, stockings, and a pretty black clutch.
It should make me mad that he took this step.
But I like it. Dressing me is exactly what the asshole boss I'm fantasy-fucking would do.
I think I look good in it. I hope I look good, more like.
Because he looks really delicious and hot, like he stepped off the pages of the latest fashion magazine for men.
That suit still gives me shivers when I think of him in it.
Lyndall's blasting music from her room, and I pace the foyer, everything on alert as the door opens.
It's not him. There's a moment when my heart slams against my ribs and white-hot terror rips through me.
The fear vanishes because what man hell-bent on taking me would have the numbers to the alarm and the door lock?
And I know him. I've seen him. He's one of the men who watches us.
Rich, I think.
"I'm your chauffeur tonight."
"Thank you."
I follow him out, and I'm hyper-aware of the men posted on the street and in cars.
It's clear when you know what to look for. They are faces I see downstairs at times, or escorting Lyndall to and from her classes.
The only real thing in my bag is the phone he gave me.
I check it, but there's nothing there. No texts. No missed calls.
There is no time to dwell because we arrive in no time, it seems.
Rich opens the door, and I step out.
I'm aware of his gaze on me as I go to the door of a darkened restaurant, the windows washed in paint so you can't really see in or, I presume, out.
I wouldn't know what it was, except other extremely well-dressed people arrive and enter, passing a woman with an earpiece and an iPad.
"Hi, I'm Lola Carino, guest of Mr. Enzo Marino."
She swipes on the pad and steps aside.
It's all warm wood and brass inside, with plants in corners and an open kitchen in the back. And it's dark. Pools of candlelight, warm tablecloths on the handful of tables, and well-placed lamps give some spaces shadow and light.
The bar is curved and full of people.
No one is sitting at the tables, which seem too few even for this small space.
Waiters weave through, carrying trays of morsels.
Everything makes my stomach turn.
I'm hungry.
But not for food.
I walk through the crowd, pretending I fit in.
At one point, I think I see him talking to a redhead, but by the time I get over there, he's nowhere to be seen.
Eventually, I make my way to a dark corner, just tucked out of the way. What I need is a breather.
I lean against the wall near a big, wide-leafed plant and close my eyes.
"Lola."
Everything spirals into high alert.
"Sir," I say, breathing it out.
I don't know how long Enzo has been there, but he's further in the shadows.
He moves toward me, pulling me to him, and he bites my throat, turning me so I face out, where people move, laugh, and eat beyond the plant.
"You're late." The asshole tone in his voice, the one in fantasy mode, sends shivers through me and makes me wet.
My juices coat my thighs because he didn't put out panties for me or a bra.
The dress isn't that short, and it's not see-through, so I did it. Went commando.
He pulls me in against him.
The heels bring my ass up to his groin, and I realize something as he wraps an arm around my waist...
He's going to fuck me.
Here.
Now.