The Boss (The Boss 1)

Holli has this really awesome D&G black tulle dress with a tiny waist and boned bodice. Normally, I would never dream of borrowing her clothes. I wear a size four, and she wears a size zero. Adding in her Amazonian height, our wardrobes are just not compatible. However, the point was not to have everything firmly strapped down tonight, or even to have the dress on for very long. Even though we had to work super hard to get the zipper up— and breathing was probably not going to be an option— it was worth it.

Beneath the dress, I wore the lacy black Agent Provocateur corset I had saved for months to buy, and black silk thigh-highs with a dark seam up the backs. No panties. That’s just how I was gonna roll.

When I stepped out of the bathroom all glammed up, with my hair long and loose around the perilously tight straps of the dress, Holli whistled.

“Thank you.” I did a stupid little curtsey in my heels. The door buzzed, and I hurried to the intercom to answer, “I’ll be right down.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t rip it off of you,” she warned. “It’s my favorite.”

I grabbed my coat off the rack by the door and shrugged it on, then picked up the overnight bag I’d packed. Bending down felt like I was in a full-body cast, but my tits looked amazing. “No ripping, I will tell him.”

“And don’t get cum on it,” she called after me as I stepped out the door.

I giggled and shushed her. I really hoped none of our kindly old neighbors heard that remark echoing in the stairwell.

The Maybach was waiting downstairs, the driver standing beside it awkwardly. “Mr. Elwood specifically requested that I not get your door for you... unless you wanted me to.”

I smiled and shook my head. “Would it make you feel better to get the door?”

“A lot better, thanks,” the guy said, grinning as he took my bag. I scooted inside the car carefully, mindful of the super short dress. My boobs wobbled precariously, barely contained, and I was super glad I had a coat on.

The partition between the front and back was down, so once we were underway, I asked the driver, “Hey, uh... where does Neil live, exactly?”

“Nine-sixty Fifth Avenue.” The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “You’ve never been to his place before?”

“No, first time.” It took a minute for the address to really hit me. “Wait, did you say Fifth?”

“Fifth, park adjacent.” The guy had a cheerful, working class New York accent. “There’s a doorman, he’ll get you pointed in the right direction.”

Okay. So, I was kind of sleeping with a guy who, yeah, I knew he had some money. It hadn’t seemed this intimidating before now. Which was totally stupid, because after all, I’d been willing to sleep with him when I’d just thought he was a writer heading to Tokyo.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel some trepidation when we pulled up in front of the dignified pre-war building.

“This is Mr. Elwood’s guest, make sure she gets upstairs all right,” the driver instructed the doorman. I clutched my overnight bag as we headed through the posh decorated lobby, straight to the elevator.

“Mr. Elwood is the sixth floor. I’ll let him know you’re on the way up.”

Maybe in the future it would be more comfortable at my place, where there wasn’t a “get Neil Elwood laid” committee working behind the scenes. Seriously, I was expecting an elevator operator to greet me with, “Which floor? Oh, Mr. Elwood? Have a nice fuck!” But thankfully, I was on my own for the ride.

The doors opened onto a foyer that looked exactly how I imagined the hall of doors Alice tumbled into after falling down the rabbit hole. The golden wood paneling on the walls seemed to glow, thanks to the light from the bronze and ivory glass pendant fixture overhead. The floor was white and black check, all in marble. The door subtly matched the paneling, and when it opened, I expected a butler like Lurch or something to be standing there. But it was just Neil, looking surprisingly casual in a sweater and jeans.

“Look at you.” He beamed at me in open appreciation. “Come in, come in.”

If he thought my hair and makeup were good, he was going to die when he saw the dress. I dropped my bag at my feet as he reached to help me with my coat. I slipped my arms from the sleeves and turned to face him, so he got the full view of my epic cleavage balanced on the whim of gravity in the top of the dress.

“Jesus Christ.” The blasphemy crossed his lips in a reverent gasp, and he pulled me into his arms so fast I stumbled in my too-tall heels.