Owned by My Husband's Boss

Chapter 8

"You're back early," Jake muttered. He backed away from the woman, his body slackening as the heat of the moment died. Anna’s fingernails dug into her palms, drawing blood. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, fighting the urge to scream.

"You couldn't even take it to a motel?" Her voice was a thin, jagged whisper. She swallowed hard against the lump rising in her throat. "You had to bring it into our bed?"

"Anna, it’s not what it looks like." Jake scrambled for his pants. Beside him, the blonde rolled her eyes, reaching for a lace bra discarded on the rug.

"Why the shock?" the woman asked, sliding a strap over her shoulder. "You're in an open marriage. This is just Tuesday, right?"

"You're both disgusting." Anna’s voice didn't rise, but it turned ice-cold.

"Anna—" Jake started, but she cut him off.

"Yes, it's open," she said, her eyes pinning him to the spot. Jake’s face soured at the reminder. "But I have the decency to keep my business behind closed doors. I don’t bring cheap thrills into our home."

Jake froze, a boot halfway on. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re actually seeing people?"

Anna let out a sharp, jagged laugh that bordered on a sob. "You didn't know? I’ve had plenty of s*x outside this house, Jake. Isn't that the deal we made?"

Jake’s face turned a bruised shade of purple. He lunged forward, his fingers clamping around her wrist like a vice. "Who?" he spat. "Who the hell was it?"

"Why are you so worked up?" the blonde chimed in, tossing her hair. "It’s an open marriage. She’s just playing by your rules."

Anna’s lips curled into a mirage of a smile. "See? Even your mistress understands the fine print."

"Shut up and get out!" Jake roared at the blonde.

"Fine. Screw you," she snapped, scooping up her heels. "You weren't that impressive anyway." The bedroom door slammed behind her.

Jake stepped into Anna's space, his breath hot on her face. "Tell me you're joking. Tell me you haven't let someone touch you." He shook her slightly. "And where were you? You were supposed to be at the hospital with your mother."

Anna stared through him, her silence a wall. "I don't owe you an answer."

In a flash, his hand moved from her wrist to her throat. He squeezed, pinning her back. Anna’s hands flew to his forearm, clawing at his skin as the air cut off.

"Where were you?" Jake’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. "Tell me, or I swear I'll end this for both of us right now."

Anna looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. Her lungs burned. She had a new job, a way out—but only if she stayed alive to reach it. She needed a lie, and she needed it fast.

"It was a joke," Anna choked out.

The pressure vanished. Jake stepped back, his hands raised as if in a mock gesture of peace. Anna slumped against the wall, coughing violently. Her fingers traced the tender, pulsing skin of her throat.

"I went to the hospital," she wheezed, her voice raspy. "I went to see my mother."

Jake leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms. His eyes raked over her outfit. "Why so formal, then? You look like you're heading to a board meeting, not a bedside."

"To make her happy," Anna lied, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I told her I was coming straight from the office."

Jake threw his head back and laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that grated on her nerves. "You? Coming from an office? Doing what exactly?"

Anna’s jaw set. She balled her hands into fists, her nails biting into the bruises starting to form on her palms.

"Alright, alright, I’m sorry," Jake said, though his eyes held no regret. He stepped toward her, closing the gap. "I didn't mean for you to walk in on that. She’s nothing, Anna. None of them are. It’s you I care about. Only you."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Anna’s stomach churned. The scent of the other woman was still on his skin; the thought of where those lips had been seconds ago made her want to gag. She remained still, a statue, until he pulled away.

"I’m going to freshen up," she said, her voice flat.

"Good idea," Jake remarked, turning back to the bed. "I don't like that new perfume you’re wearing. It’s too much."

Anna gave him a tight, ghostly smile and retreated into the guest bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut, she lunged for the sink. She scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand until the skin was raw. Looking in the mirror, she saw a stranger with wild eyes and a red handprint on her neck. She bit her lip, fighting the sob rising in her chest, but a single tear escaped, then another.

"You're strong," she whispered, her voice cracking and betraying the lie. "You don't deserve this."

She wiped her face aggressively. A soft ping echoed off the tile. She reached for her phone on the counter: a message from Anthony. A hotel room number.

Her pulse spiked. Going now was a massive risk, but the walls of the house felt like they were closing in. She needed to feel like she belonged to herself again.

I’ll be there, she typed back.

She moved with a quiet, frantic energy. She stripped, her movements clinical as she shaved in the shower, the razor gliding over her skin. She remembered how Anthony had looked at her last time—how he had worshipped her body—and she craved that validation to drown out Jake’s mockery.

She dressed in something modest—a high-collared shirt to hide the marks on her throat and loose slacks—concealing the lace she wore underneath.

Jake was hunched over his laptop when she walked back into the living room. "Naomi needs me," she said.

He didn’t look up. "It’s six p.m., Anna. What could she possibly need?"

"Her mother is sick. She’s being admitted tonight," Anna said, her voice steady now, practiced. "I figured I’d go help her and spend some more time with my own mom since they'll be in the same wing."

"Alright then," Jake said, his eyes glued to his screen. A sharp, mock-generous grin pulled at his lips. "That works out. The guys are coming over for poker tonight, and I’d hate for you to be moping around here alone. Go ahead."

Anna didn't trust herself to speak. She simply turned and walked out, the air in the hallway feeling like a gift after the suffocating weight of the bedroom. She hailed a cab, her hands shaking as she gave the driver the address.

The hotel was a blur of marble and hushed voices. After a quick check-in at the desk, the elevator hummed as it climbed. Anna watched the floor numbers glow and fade, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She wasn't just nervous; she felt electric.

The hallway carpet muffled her footsteps as she searched. "Twelve-twenty-one," she whispered. Her breath hitched. She swiped the key card, the lock clicking open with a heavy, inviting sound.

The room was bathed in amber light, the air thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and a low, bass-heavy jazz track playing in the background. Anthony sat in a leather armchair, a crystal glass in his hand. When his eyes met hers, his mouth slanted into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Welcome, Anna."

"Nice place," she managed to say. Her voice sounded small to her own ears. She stood by the door, her hands fumbling with the hem of her jacket. She felt like a girl on her first date, unsure if she should stay or run.

Anthony’s gaze never left her. "Come sit."

She moved toward him, her legs feeling heavy, and sank onto the edge of the sofa beside his chair. He leaned in, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.

"I love how obedient you are," he murmured. The vibration of his voice sent a violent shiver down her spine. Anna swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. Anthony noticed, his smirk deepening. He stood abruptly. "Follow me."

She followed him into the bedroom, her pulse thrumming in her throat. He took a seat in a velvet chair, watching her like a judge. "Strip for me."

Anna didn't hesitate. Her fingers moved over her buttons, her eyes locked on his. Piece by piece, the modest clothing she used to hide her bruises fell to the floor, until she stood shivering and bare under the dim lights.

"On the bed," he commanded.

She crawled onto the silk sheets, feeling dangerously exposed. The cool fabric against her skin made her ache.

"Touch yourself," Anthony said, his voice dropping an octave.

Anna’s eyes widened. "I... I should touch myself?"

"Yes. Right now."

"Can I have a drink first?" she whispered, her face flushing. "I've never... you know. Not with someone watching."

"You don't need the alcohol," Anthony said, his gaze dark and hungry. "Just do it for me."

Anna’s heart did a slow roll in her chest. She put two fingers into her mouth, wetting them, her eyes never leaving his. Slowly, she parted her legs. She bit her lower lip, her breath coming in shallow hitches, and began to circle her c**t. A soft, broken whimper escaped her throat as the first wave of heat hit her.

Anthony’s hand tightened on the arm of his chair. "f**k," he groaned, biting his own lip as he watched her move.