Page 12 of Playing with the Boss
SIX
Mason
The idea hit me on the way here from the hotel; simple, and a little bit of fun for both of us. I originally planned to give her all night to complete the task, the intention to use it to keep her here with me as long as I could. But one look at her shapely figure held tight within that fitted skirt and my cock had other plans.
She has an hour. Any longer than that and I’ll make damn sure we finish what we started last weekend—privacy of bathroom stall, or not.
I lean back and watch as she inconspicuously approaches the bar. At first, the people around her pay no mind, and yet with a few simple changes in her posture she has every man around her taking notice… including me.
Her ass is a perfect peach in the rich red material, the color choice only accentuating her tan skin. She leans her elbows on the counter, popping her hips back to stick her butt out, the ridiculously high heels she has on only pushing the firm globes higher.
Fuck, I want to bite that ass.
My fingertips dig into my thigh as the man to her right leans in to make conversation She smiles sweetly at him, all demure charm as she keeps her gestures small, her chin down. She plays the part of a submissive beautifully, and it takes everything in me not to march over there and steal her away.
What was I thinking, giving her this challenge? Sure, I want her here for purely physical reasons, but I’m not that much of an asshole that I can’t genuinely assess her dedication to her job—especially when she damn near begs me to with those damn doe eyes of hers. I thought it would be a great way to test her mettle, to see if she could rise to the challenge. But so far there’s only one thing that rises, and its encased in my slacks.
The man laughs at her comment as he flags down the bartender. I watch with keen interest while she proceeds to order a drink through the guy, seemingly making out she lost her money. Twelve excruciating minutes later, and she flashes me another twenty-dollar bill as the man walks away, the scowl on his face telling me she shot him down.
Good girl.
Her charade continues as she moves to the far end of the bar and tries again. But either these men watched what I just did, or she’s struck ice because not one of them bite.
Her brow furrows as she adjusts her skirt—not down, but up. Fuck me sweet. The hem rests mid-thigh, the line of the fabric only making those round cheeks seem fuller.
Her critical eye works the room as she sucks first her bottom lip between her teeth to pinch it, and then her top, repeating the action over and over. I mistake the gesture for nerves at first, but when she takes a step forward to hunt down her next mark, I realize why she did it: her lips are swollen and pouty from all that stress.
Clever.
The next fool goes down hard when he catches sight of the bombshell headed his way. Lisa leans on his arm, gesturing to each side of the bar as though lost. He gives her a warm smile before pointing out the general direction of the ladies room. Relief washes through me in a surprising surge as she steps away and the man returns his interest to the group of friends he’s with.
Thank fuck for that, because one more flex of her fingers around his bicep and I would have been out of this seat like a goddamn rocket. I was an idiot for thinking this would be torture for her. The only person enduring hell is me.
I flag down the waitress and order a drink as Lisa emerges from the ladies and fucking well beelines for the man again. What is she doing? A brief conversation ensues, part of which the waitress blocks as she delivers my drink.
“Could I help you with anything else?” The heavy-lidded look the waitress gives me tells me what she hopes for.
“No. Thank you.” The only hole I plan to drill tonight currently rests a hand on her cleavage in fake shock on the other side of the room.
The young waitress leaves, and I lift the drink to my lips while Lisa seemingly has the man on a wild goose chase. He searches high and low, no doubt for an imaginary purse.
The last of my scotch trickles down the back of my throat as her hustle wraps up fifteen minutes later with the man appearing to pass her a twenty to stop the crocodile tears.
Dumb fuck never once questions why a pretty woman like her is out alone.
The man and his friends move on, more than likely convinced she’s some nutcase after that performance. Her face changes in a heartbeat, returning to the soft, demure woman she portrayed first as she heads for the bar again, flashing me her three twenties at her hip.
She struggles to get another sucker until the end of the hour, her last mark wrapping up with seconds to spare as I make a point of checking my watch often. The woman she targets exchanges forty dollars for Lisa’s earrings in what has to be the strangest transaction I’ve seen in a bar.
Must have been some earrings.
“One hundred.” Lisa slaps the bills on the table as she drops into the chair, seemingly exhausted. “Those damn things were worth five times what she paid, you know?”
“I admire your dedication.” I also admire the way her breasts strain at the restriction of her blouse.
“What’s my reward, then?” She cocks an eyebrow, gaze moving between the money and me. “Does this mean my job is guaranteed safe?”
I can’t help but chuckle. God, I’m an asshole. “Oh, no, baby. I’ve got no say when it comes to that. The best I can do it write you a good report, so you’re seen as less expendable than others.” The rage is near palpable as she straightens in her seat. “Question is, how far will you go to get that report?”
“Blackmail.” She juts her chin defiantly. “You think you can get what you want out of me with blackmail?” A bitter laugh falls from her lips. “I told you,” she hisses, leaning forward. “I’m not going to trade sexual favors for my job.”
“Then trade them for some physical relief.” I lean forward also, caging her against the table with my leg, so she has no way to leave easily. “I plan to get what I want from you the way I get everything else I want.”
“And how would that be?”
“By making you realize it’s what you want too.”