The Boss's Runaway
“It’s okay, honey,” I rasp, overcome with love and relief so thick I can barely speak. “It’s over now. I’ve got you. Are you hurt? Did he fucking hurt you?”
“My head is sore, but I’m fine. I’m fine,” she says in a rush, her eyes wet. “I didn’t write that note—”
“I know. I know you didn’t. There was a moment of doubt, but I realized I know you better than that. I know us better.”
“I never doubted you for a second.” She rains kisses all over my face and I’ve never known deeper contentment in my life. “I knew you would come.”
“No one takes Sissy from Locke. No one takes the love of my life away from me,” I growl, plowing my fingers into her hair and looking over the bump on her forehead, adrenaline and protectiveness hardening my muscles, my abdomen. Coursing lower. “I should end his life for laying a hand on my angel.”
“I’d rather you stay with me, heal me. You’re the only one who can,” she breathes against my mouth, her fingers curling into the lapels of my shirt. The danger is finally catching up with me, making me anxious to be as close to her as possible, to absorb the fact that she’s alive and safe. And my body can only want one thing, her skin on mine, my inches inside of her as deeply as possible where I can feel her beating around me. At the stiffening of my cock, her eyelids grow heavy and she lets out a shaky breath, rocking on my lap with a moan, her pretty thighs already starting to tremble. “Can we skip work tonight?”
I reach into my jacket pocket and take out her engagement ring, sliding it back onto her finger where it belongs. “Whatever my future wife wants, she gets.”
“I want you,” she whispers. “Forever.”
“My Sissy.” My heart hammers uncontrollably. “Nothing could keep me away.”
Epilogue
Sissy
Five Years Later
My husband is not a happy camper.
I can see him just over the shoulder of the photographers, pacing and brooding like a big, angry bull, refusing to take his eyes off me, his hands balled into fists.
The casino asked me to pose for some pictures for a national advertising campaign. They want me to be, “the face of The Palace.” When they proposed the idea to me a few weeks ago, there was an argument between me and Locke. It ended with his mouth buried between my legs and a fist crammed against my lips to keep from screaming and waking the baby, but still, it was a rare argument between me and the man I love beyond all reason.
Obviously, he doesn’t want to see my face on a billboard or in a magazine—or rather, he doesn’t want anyone else to see it—but he has always been the main provider and I refuse to miss this chance to contribute. Besides, I’m fully clothed in my dealer uniform of a crisp, white shirt and black pants, albeit very tight ones. I’m dealing cards and smiling at the camera as it snaps away. Every few minutes, a makeup artist approaches and tousles my hair, adding gloss to my lips and she does so now.
But this time, she whispers in my ear, “The director is afraid to ask in front of your husband, but do you mind undoing one more button on your shirt?”
I glance down at my shirt and weigh the pros and cons. Honestly, even with one more button unfastened, my clothing is still modest. Locke might not even notice if I pop out a measly button—
“Don’t even think about it, Sissy,” he shouts over the noise.
Ah, husband. Haven’t you learned?
My favorite pastime will forever be taunting Locke. Rebelling in ways that bring out the authoritarian in him. That’s how he ended up pleasuring me during our recent fight. I pouted, stomped around our new house and shed clothes little by little until he was so stiff in his briefs that he could do nothing but kneel and drag my panties down to my ankles.
I’m twenty-four now, but I’m still his little girl. And I always will be.
Just like he’ll always be my Daddy—and that Daddy is ready to flip an entire row of blackjack tables at the moment.
“Is it possible to take a short break?” I ask the director, who smiles at me knowingly. It’s obvious that the break will be spent calming down my husband. Good thing I’m an expert at it.
Coming out from behind the table, I approach Locke, not stopping until I’m pressed up against his gorgeous body, my arms circled around his neck. “Take me upstairs, Daddy?” I purr in his ear. “I need attention.”
He’s trying not to soften, although I can see very clearly how pleased he is to have me plastered all over him in public, thus making it clear who I belong to. He’s not quite ready to let go of all his bluster yet, however. “I’d say you’re getting a lot of fucking attention today,” he growls at everyone within earshot. “Too much.”