Stolen By The Boss

I’m not the type of girl who sleeps around. Yet, there’s something about Dean I crave and I don’t know if he feels the same. All week long he’s been a perfect gentleman.

Cooking for me. Making sure I have everything I need. Taking care of me.

This fucking ruse is burning my brain. After Bishop is dead, I will never see Dean again, and that breaks my heart just a little.

I have a mission to accomplish, we both do, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to turn the page and forget I met him.

Life, you little bitch.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to enjoy the moment as much as I can enjoy something that will end. We’ve laughed while watching movies every night, and during the day I read from his extensive library filled with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Allan Poe, Sherlock Holmes, Emily Dickinson, and Jane Austen, while he worked in his office down the hall.

To say I’m finally excited for the club tonight is an understatement.

“Ready?” Dean asks, holding out his hand. He’s particularly handsome tonight in a black on black suit. His hair is perfection, and he looks better than I’ve ever seen him look before. There’s something about him tonight. Confidence. Whatever it is, it makes him sexy beyond comparison.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting to know him.

Maybe it’s because of where we’re going tonight.

I want his hands all over me, but I can’t look needy. I can’t let him know I want him as much as I do.

And believe me, I want him with every fiber of my being.

Dean opens the door to the car, and I slide into the back seat with him. Leo drives us to the club downtown, and it’s the same thing as last time. No crowd lining the streets when we pull up. No fancy cue line with a bouncer like most clubs. Just a single blue door in a plain building.

Dean knocks on the door, and the same man answers. But this time he doesn’t ask for our invites. No, this time he smiles and lets us in with a wave of his hand.

We walk down the same dark hallway and my pulse races once we’ve reached the great room at the end. Dean holds his hand at the small of my back and I take a deep breath as we mingle with other guests.

Humphrey is entertaining a group of men and women on the other end of the room, and I nod at Dean, meaning we should make our way over to them.

“Let’s say hello to the host.”

Humphrey smiles when he sees us. “Sophia, Dean, how are you?” He’s already visibly drunk and wears a goofy smile. “We’re going upstairs to the hot tub. You two should join us.”

Dean smiles. “Maybe a little later. We need a drink first.”

We head in the bar's direction, and Dean orders me a drink and then himself.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, knowing my need to take things slowly.

“Can we do the same as last time?”

Dean moves in closer. “As tempting as that offer is, we should probably mix it up a bit.” He nearly growls as he nips the bottom of my earlobe.

It turns me on, and I peep out an ‘ok.’

We leave the bar, heading down a hallway where we meet a greeter.

“Swingers down the hall. People who like to watch, this way,” the greeter, with a military-style crew cut, says. He’s packed with muscles and is all business.

“That’s us,” Dean says as he places his hand at the small of my back.

He leads me down the corridor, passing the man who gave the directions.

“What do you think will happen?” I’m nervous and there’s a slight shake to my voice.

Dean stops, turning to face me. “Listen, we will not do anything that makes you uncomfortable or that you don’t want to do.”

I blow out a breath of relief. “Oh, ok.”

He continues leading me into a larger room than the room at the entrance. There’re beds hidden by long, flowing drapes that hang from the walls. The room is dim, just a small red glow lighting up the vast space.

A man greets us at the entrance. “What’s your pleasure?”

Dean smiles. “First, we’d like to just watch. Maybe I’ll touch my wife.”

“And maybe he can watch others touch me.” I want to appear brave. I meant it when I said I would do anything to catch Bishop.

Dean’s eyes widen, but he tampers down his knee-jerk reaction and acts like my request is normal.

“Watching couches are over there.” The man points to a few red sofas that surround the beds.

We sit, and Dean places an arm on the back of the couch, and I snuggle in closer to him.

The curtains to one bed opens, and an attractive couple lies on the sheets. They’re slightly older than Dean and I. Dean is most likely thirty, I should probably ask, and this couple is probably late thirties, early forties.