The Girlfriend (The Boss 2)

Watching him with a man held a different sort of appeal, no less exciting; a man could give him something I could not. But I would still be there to see it, to be a part of the intimate experience.

However, the reverse was a bit harder to imagine. “I don’t know if I could submit to another man.”

“I don’t know that I would want you to,” he admitted. “I would want to control the interaction.”

Now that... ooh, a shiver went down my spine. “Okay, I can get on board with that.”

“Really?” he lifted an eyebrow. “And rough sex?”

“How rough? I mean, I don’t want you to punch me in the face or electrocute me.” In my online BDSM exploration, I’d heard about things like violet wands and tens units. I didn’t think they sounded like my cup of tea at all.

“I’m too afraid of electricity myself to use it on anyone else,” he assured me. “Some flogging maybe. Hair pulling, non-violent choking, face slapping, that sort of thing.”

I considered. If I didn’t like any of it, I could just tell him. It wouldn’t be an issue and we wouldn’t do it again. That was just how our relationship was, so I didn’t have any real fear about trying new things. “Okay. Anything once.”

I got into bed and rolled onto my side to face him, the way he was facing me. He raised his arm and dropped one hand on my hip, squeezing my flesh through my panties.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” I asked him, as he massaged in wide circles. His thumb skimmed over the dip between my hip and my tummy, and my breath caught.

“I was happier than I have been in a very long time,” he told me, lowering his mouth over my nipple.

“I thought you said you were tired,” I reminded him, my voice a shaky murmur.

“I remember saying no such thing,” He scolded. “How dare you. I might have to take you over my knee.”

And, I am very happy to report, he did.

CHAPTER NINE

Neil’s house in London was in an area called Belgravia. The neighborhood was filled with a lot of very serious looking black sedans and tall, pristine white stucco mansions. And it was just a hop, skip, and a jump from Buckingham Palace.

Which wasn’t weird at all.

We left his house in Somerset the day after Christmas and travelled by car to London. It was a three-hour drive made totally bearable by the comfort of the Maybach and Neil’s company. Despite his daughter’s engagement, he was in great spirits when we arrived.

At least this place looked more like a townhouse— albeit a very, very posh townhouse— than Hogwarts. It was a white stucco mansion in a row of white stucco mansions. There weren’t many cars parked along the street, but the ones that were parked there definitely matched the neighborhood’s price range. One long black sedan parked had flags I didn’t recognize on the front.

“Is that an ambassador’s house or something?” I asked, poking Neil in the side as we went up the walkway.

“Hmm?” He looked up, frowning. “I have no idea. It’s likely. I hardly know anyone in the neighborhood anymore. A lot of the neighbors don’t live here full time.”

Neil opened the door onto an entrance hall with pristine white walls and a mosaic tile floor in greens and blues. A staircase with a single, l-shaped bend rose gracefully toward the ceiling. Aroyal blue runner edged with a gold border covered the width of each step, to the mahogany railing. Under the stairs was a plain, square fireplace, and two Queen Anne wing chairs in gray-blue.

“Very masculine,” I said in appreciation as I stepped cautiously through the space.

“Elizabeth thought so. We could change it, if you like.” Neil sounded embarrassed. He shrugged off his coat and opened a wide door— all of them had ornamental lintels with scrollwork arched above them— and pulled out a gleaming wood hanger. “I won’t be much help in the decorating department, I’m afraid, other than to plead with you to keep some blue—”

“Nope, nope, no. I am not going to redecorate your house.” I slipped out of my coat and handed it to him. “No butler here?”

He smiled to himself as he hung up my coat. “Don’t need one. This house is much smaller. I have the chef, of course, he’ll be here after the third, and a housekeeping staff of five. It doesn’t take much to run this place.”

“A little more than your apartment in New York,” I observed. “More than I ever needed for my apartment...”

“You’ll never get used to the idea of other people cooking your meals and cleaning up after you, will you?”

“That’s not true. I go to restaurants. I have my clothes dry cleaned.” I tried not to sound too sarcastic. “As much fun as it would be to argue with you over cultural class differences and our disparate incomes, I wanted to see the rest of yet another Neil Elwood owned property. Show me around.”