The Boss's Runaway

“Sissy?” He studies my expression with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

I consider lying and saying everything is fine, but then the problem will still exist tomorrow. When I ran away from the farm, I promised myself I would carve out a path of my choosing—and I have. But there is a pothole in the dead center of it.

“Um…” I drop my legs from around Locke’s waist and step out into the hallway. He follows me with a worried expression, glancing over at me several times while he engages the bolts once more. “It’s just that…I feel like you’re ashamed of me.”

I’ve never seen devastation overtake over someone’s face so quickly. “You what?” He forgets the door, taking my shoulders in his hands, instead. “Ashamed of you, Sissy? How could you think such a thing? I don’t want to keep you locked up in this apartment—I’m just trying to make it safe for you to return to the casino—”

“I know that, Locke. I know. You’re not holding me prisoner. I’m here of my own free will.” I reach up and hold on to his wrists, my head tilted all the way back so I can look into his confused face. “But when we go back to the casino, will you proudly call yourself my boyfriend? Or will you only kiss me in the upstairs suite and refuse to hold my hand when people are watching?”

He hangs his head. “I’m so much older than you, honey,” he growls through his teeth. “So much bigger and uglier. On top of that, I’m going to be your direct boss, as soon as you start dealing. It doesn’t look right. It looks like you’re being pressured. Or kept.”

“Why do you care what other people think?”

“I care what they think about you.” He shakes me slightly. “I don’t want people to laugh at you because you’re with an old man whose belt is hooked on the last notch.”

“You’re beautiful and handsome and perfect,” I whisper, passionately.

“Agree to disagree,” he mutters, lowing his mouth to mine.

As much as I want to kiss him, I evade his mouth, because I’ve finally gotten enough courage to explain to him what’s bothering me and I’m not going to stop halfway through. “I hear you praying after you’ve made love to me. Asking for forgiveness.” Tears rush to my eyes. “It makes me feel like…like…I’m some evil temptation sent to ruin you.”

“You are,” he laughs without humor, raking a hand through his hair. “You are my fucking ruin, Sissy. No two ways about it.”

I suck in a painful breath and turn, stomping down the hallway toward the stairwell, ignoring Locke when he strides after me, calling my name hoarsely.

“Come back here, little girl,” he grinds out.

“No.”

I take the stairs down to the main floor two at a time, shoving open the lobby door and continuing out into the dry desert heat. The streetlamps blur due to the moisture in my eyes, my chest yawning open painfully. I don’t know where the ice cream shop is located, but I don’t want to be told I’m his downfall again, so I pick a direction and commit to it, speed walking, Locke’s steps growing louder behind me on the sidewalk.

“Sissy, I went from a pious life of praying the rosary and going to mass regularly to…” He wraps and arm around my waist, drawing me to a halt and lifting me off the ground, my back pressed to his heaving chest. “I went from being a devout man of God to playing games with you in the dark that will reserve my spot in hell. I’ve accepted that. When you hear me praying, I’m asking God to forgive you. To not judge you for what we do. I can’t allow you to suffer because of how we misbehave.”

My bottom lip trembles. “I don’t want forgiveness. We’re doing nothing wrong.”

“Oh no?” His breathing grows harsh in the curve of my neck. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with playing pony? Bouncing you on my knee like you’re a schoolgirl while you giggle and twirl your pigtails? It shouldn’t make my cock so hard I can barely breathe.”

“Yes it should.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s me. You wouldn’t feel that way with someone else. It’s just me. It’s us.”

His chest hollows and slows, as if my words have affected him. “Sissy…”

“I don’t want to be your so-called downfall.” I wiggle and twist until he has no choice but to set me down. “You can’t touch me anymore. Not as long as you think it’s wrong.”

That’s a pretty bold bluff.

I don’t have the willpower to say no to him, this man who gives me so much pleasure that sometimes I don’t stop trembling for an hour. After a week of constant sex, he knows every inch of my body and all of my sensitive spots. He knows the kind of dirty talk that turns my fingernails into claws and makes my hips work faster.