Bending My Straight Boss

Intimidating the P.A. -Plan backfires.

Dario’s point of view.

Everything he said was true. But I have my reasons for being like that. Even though I know every employee's name, I prefer not to use them because calling people by their names gives them the wrong impression. If you call someone’s name, then you have to talk to them, and then, there's the possibility that you get attached.

So, no names.

Alessandro was pretty insistent, but I still avoided calling his name as much as I could. Sometimes he doesn’t answer me until I say his name, so I’m forced to use it.

I’ve wanted to fire him plenty of times because God knows that he's unbearable sometimes and doesn't listen, but as he said, he's damn good at what he does, and yes, he's the first P.A. who didn't quit after two months.

I know that I'm difficult, and yes, cold, but then again, I have no reason to be warm and sweet. We're here to work, not make chit-chat. Besides, why should I feel guilty for those who quit after a month? I told them that the job requires time and it's far from easy, so it's not my fault, or my problem, that they are not capable enough.

Now, to the matter at hand. When I came to work this morning, I didn’t expect to have this kind of conversation with my P.A., but here we are.

And now I’ll torture him for saying those things.

I don’t know if he’s gay or not, but I would say he is. Calling me hot kind of blew him away.

After he takes a seat, I cross my arms over my chest but don’t say anything, just watch as he gets more nervous with every passing second.

He's all red and he's tapping his foot nervously, looking everywhere but at me.

“Are you firing me?” he breaks the silence that I intentionally caused.

“What for? For thinking that I’m hot?” I ask with my eyebrows raised and suppressing my smile, as usual. I'm pretty damn good at hiding my feelings under a mask. Showing them makes you weak, and people take advantage of that.

“I said that the girls--” he tries to lie again, but I raise my hand and stop him.

“I will fire you if you’re lying. You’re trying to insult my intelligence, and I don’t appreciate that,” I say, and he sighs heavily as if he's in pain.

“Okay. Yes. I think you’re hot.” He sounds utterly defeated and also in pain, and he looks like he's never been more embarrassed in his life, while I try my best not to laugh.

“I see. Are you gay?” I ask, and he narrows his eyes at me as if, ‘Did you ask me that?’

“If I find you hot, I think that it’s self-explanatory,” he says in a DUH tone of voice, and I can't help but chuckle. I restrained myself for too long.

“See? You’re unbearable,” he says with a huff and rolls his eyes, making me laugh out loud.

“Now, is it nice to talk to your hot boss like that?” I ask between sobs of laughter, and he gives me a deadly look, opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it, then bites his lip to control himself.

“Alessandro, I asked you a question.” He averts his gaze when I mention his name, and I smile because I know the reason. He doesn't like it, and no matter how many times he told me to call him Aless, I refused. Shortened names are nicknames, which are dangerous. They lead to attachments.

“As long as my boss is being an ass, yes, it’s nice,” he says as he kills me with his eyes, making me chuckle.

“Hot boss. Don’t forget that.” I smirk, and he takes a big breath, probably to calm himself down, and closes his eyes.

I can't help but laugh, and he opens his eyes, but this time, the look is not an embarrassed one. It's... mischievous?

“Sorry, gorgeous. I promise it won’t happen again,” he says with a smirk, and I chuckle.

“Gorgeous?” I ask, amused, and he shrugs his shoulders.

“You asked for it. And before you make other comments or ask any other uncomfortable questions, let me tell you that I can also be an ass, and I can also make you feel uncomfortable,” he says with a devilish smirk, making me curious.

“Really? How?”

“That’s my secret, and I advise you not to try and find out.” His voice and even his eyes tell me not to go further, but today I'm feeling adventurous.

“Did you stay so long because I’m hot?” I continue the string of questions, and he clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disapproval, looking at me as if I made the wrong choice.

With flushed cheeks and mischief in his eyes, he starts roaming my body, but he can't do s**t to me.

I'm straight as an arrow.

“The paycheck is good, but coming here in the morning and being welcomed by this…” He trails off as he gestures towards me, then licks his lips as he eye-f***s me shamelessly.

“This is what keeps me going. I honestly don’t listen to you most of the time. That’s why I don’t get angry. I’m more preoccupied with looking at your lips and imagining… things,” he says as he licks his bottom lip in one slow motion, takes a small breath, then continues.

“And then your body… hmmm, the best part is after 15:00 when you finally take your suit jacket off and roll your sleeves, revealing those sexy tattoos. If I had been straight, I would’ve definitely turned gay in my first week. And I won’t go lower… because if I do… I might need to take my break earlier.” By the end, the hunger in his eyes is burning holes through me, and I have a feeling that he's not even acknowledging me.

After a few minutes of silence, in which I had no f*****g clue what to say, he clears his throat and slightly shakes his head as if he is trying to get rid of the images that flood his mind, shifts in his chair, then swallows hard, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

Is he hard because of me?

Fuck, I might be a little intimidated.

“Do you still want us to play?” he asks after God knows how much time, and I try to swallow the lump that formed in my throat.

I'm not physically affected by what he said or how he looked at me. It's just... no man looked at me like that. If I think about it, not even a woman looked at me like that. But a man... it's... intimidating and weird.

But if I say no, he’ll win.

If I say yes, this will keep going.

But I can’t let him know that he intimidates me.

I'm his damn boss, and besides, I just need a second to recover from the shock that a man wants me.

“Well, if you think you succeeded in intimidating me, you’re wrong,” I say with confidence, even a little smugly, but his eyes are not looking at my eyes; they're fixed on my lips.

What do I do now? I shouldn't move my lips, and even if they are dry, or I think that they are dry, f**k knows if they are- I shouldn't lick them.

I concentrate on not moving my lips in any way, because... I have no f*****g clue why, but--

“Sorry, what did you say?” His voice stops my racing thoughts, but now ONE thought in particular makes its way in front of all of them.

What the f**k is he imagining?

Should I ask? Maybe if I do, he'll get nervous and stop.

“What did you imagine?” I ask, hoping that he'll get up and leave, but his eyes fall back down on my lips, and he starts.

“How it would feel to kiss you, feel your lips all over my body, taste your tongue, suck on it, bite it… and many other things. But those things I can’t say out loud. I don’t want you to sue me for s****l harassment.” And he didn't even f*****g hesitate!

Okay, I declare myself intimidated! f**k! Now what? f**k! That's what happens when I open my mouth!

“Well, I’m glad that I can be of some use. I wouldn’t want you to quit. So, I guess I should call my Mom and thank her for making me so hot.” I manage to keep my voice steady and, hopefully, my face doesn't give anything away, and he smiles, then shakes his head in amusement.

“You do that. I’ll go and start working.” FINA-f*****g-LY! THANK. YOU. GOD.!

“Okay.”

“Call if you need me.” Not likely.

“I will.” JUST GET OUT!

He gets up and stops for a second and eye-f***s me again.

“f**k, too bad that you’re not gay.” My eyes widen, and my mouth drops for a second, but I quickly recover.

“Yes. Too bad.” NOW GO!!!

He takes a big breath while he closes his eyes, and I don’t want to look, but he’s right in front of me. He is hard as f**k! And f**k me… that’s a big d**k.

“Are you sure you’re not gay?” I realize that he caught me looking, and I mentally punch myself. A wave of heat floods my body, and I feel my skin start burning. I'm probably blushing like a damn i***t!

Jesus f*****g Christ!

“One hundred percent. If you’re wondering why I looked, well, it’s hard not to. You’re standing right in front of me, and you’re not quite small.” I think I just made it worse!

God! f**k! Recover!

But how?

Maybe shutting up would be a good f*****g idea!

Okay, time to shut up.

The smirk on his face makes me want to strangle myself, but what makes me want to kill myself is the fact that, without saying anything and with a look of uncertainty, he goes out.

Why didn't he say anything? I hope he doesn't think I'm gay.

Fuck it! I don't care what he thinks. I'm not gay. I f**k women. Plenty. Too many, some would say.

And I'm pretty sure that he knows that! It's hard to miss when I’m with another woman every weekend in some magazine.

But still... I don't want him to think that I'm gay. He doesn't seem the type, but what if he starts a rumor? I can't have people think that I'm gay.

Fuck!

Next time, just shut your damn mouth, Dario!

Chapter Three.

Alessandro’s point of view.

That was quite the conversation. I know he’s not gay, but now he thinks that I think he’s gay. Or at least he’s f*****g with his own head.

Good.

I f**k with my own head because of his unbearable hot ass every day.

I go into my office, which is right next to his and separated by a big glass wall. If he's looking just a bit to his left, he can see me smirking like the devil that I am, but he's not, and I can’t help but laugh.

And how could I not? He’s looking into thin air, biting his cheek nervously, frowning, and shaking his head as if he's scolding himself.

He’s definitely thinking that I’m thinking that he’s gay.

I can’t wait to tell my crazy-as-Hell best friend, Bianca, about this. She's gonna have a field day for weeks with this. She doesn't know him personally, well, not many people do. Except for me, a few—not every—business partners, and, of course, the bimbos he f***s—because the man is extremely antisocial and rude—not many people have had the honor of seeing him face to face.

He's cold, rude as all Hell when you piss him off, and I truly believe that his ribcage is empty. There's no heart in there. At least not one that is capable of doing more than its job of keeping him alive.

But then again, he built this company from scratch with hard work and intelligence, not smiles and ass-kissing. And that's another reason why I take his s**t and don't quit. I honestly look up to him.

He doesn't talk a lot about his life, but I do know that his family was poor, and I mean really poor. They came to America with nothing, but Dario worked his ass off and now he's one of the richest people in the country.

But he is always guarded and doesn't trust anything that is not black and white and signed, and that makes me wonder if he's been hurt before, or if he was cheated and let down by too many people.

I avert my gaze and take a few deep breaths to shake these thoughts and mentally slap myself for thinking so deeply about s**t that's none of my business or my concern, then start working and making preparations for the trip to California.

That’s one thing I love about this job. I get to fly somewhere at least once a month. We don’t stay long, but I always make sure that I get to have some fun for one day.

As usual, I order my lunch and eat it while working, and when my body starts screaming in pain and my back begs to be stretched, I lift my arms over my head and arch my back until I hear those satisfying cracks as the pressure releases and the air seems easier to breathe.

My eyes jump to the huge silver clock that's on the left wall, and I see that it’s already 3:30 P.M.

I lean back in my chair, then take the liberty of looking at my dear boss, admiring the work of art that the gods made for us humble humans to look at, but only a few to touch.

I mean, a specimen like him should be at everyone's disposal. Okay, maybe not at everyone's disposal, but at mine. Yeah, that's a nice dream that's never gonna come true.

As usual, his sleeves are up, showing the tattooed forearms that drive me insane. The three buttons that are now undone make the view even more illegally erotic—because I’m more than f*****g positive that it’s illegal to look like this in at least some part of the world—and God, do I want to know what’s underneath the entire shirt… his tie is loose in an inhumanly sexy manner, and his black hair is in sexy disarray, taunting my imagination and making my fingers twitch with the desire of running through it, tugging on it as his sexy lips and pearly teeth brush my heated skin, covering it with his sweet saliva and shivers of pleasure, then leave painful marks in their trail, all over my aching body.

Fuck, the man is hot as fire. And I'm hard as f*****g cement!

I try to get my mind out of the gutter 'cause, at this rate, I'll come in my pants, and guide my mind onto a different path.

Fun and teasing!

I look at him hoping that he’ll look back and notice that I’m staring, and after a few minutes, he looks, and I smirk and bite my lip as if I'm eye-f*****g him, but in reality, I'm doing my damn best not to laugh, and okay... maybe a bit of eye-f*****g as well.

He rolls his eyes, takes the phone, and calls me.

“Why are you not working?” he asks in a disapproving tone, but either it's my imagination, or he's trying not to let his full lips curl into a smile. Anyway, he's not intimidating me.

“I ate lunch while working, so I think I deserve a five-minute break to relax,” I reply in a cocky voice, and he groans.

“Relax? You’re... staring at me.” He most probably wanted to say EYE f**k ME but changed his mind last second.

I suppress a laugh and bite my lip, continuing my play, keeping the teasing voice and eye-f*****g look.

“I told you. This is the best part of the day. That’s how I relax. These five minutes are the reason why I’ll come to work tomorrow. So, if you want to have a P.A., I suggest you leave me alone and continue being illegally sexy while you work,” I answer with a smirk, then lick my lips and hum in appreciation as I let my eyes roam his upper body. He loses the fight, lets a chuckle escape his mouth, and shakes his head in amused disapproval.

“You’re lucky that you’re good at what you do.” Now I'm the one rolling my eyes and adding a light scoff.

“No. You’re lucky that I’m gay and I have a dirty mind. Otherwise, you would’ve had at least seven P.A.s in the last 9 months,” I reply as an irrefutable fact and he laughs again, blessing me again with that smooth, velvety sound that sends shivers down my spine. I decide not to let him know what effect his laughter has on me, so instead of moaning as my body wants to, I chuckle.

“You really have a beautiful laugh. You should laugh more often,” I express my honest opinion, and he shrugs his broad shoulders.

“If I have reasons, I will,” he replies, making me smirk.

“So, to make you laugh, I have to talk dirty to you,” I reply with a grin and wiggle my eyebrows, and he laughs again.

Maybe there's something more than ice under that gorgeousness.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asks almost hopefully, as if I had, I wouldn't tease him. But, as I said, he started this and... well... I didn't at first, but now I must admit that I enjoy it.

“You and I both know that I don’t have time for a personal life. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair for the guy.” I answer as I lean back in my comfy chair, untying my hair and running my fingers through it, then letting it fall to one side. He narrows his eyes and looks at me with a mixed expression on his face, but because I’m not that close and haven’t seen most of these new emotions until now, I can identify only two.

Curiosity and confusion.

“Why?” I barely contain the satisfied smile that threatens to cover my face as he falls into my trap by asking me this.

“Well… doing things with him while thinking of you... it wouldn’t be nice of me now, would it?” I barely control myself from bursting out laughing like crazy at the look of shock that covers his face.

“You would… while?” he asks hesitantly, and I nod confidently, pushing the laughter that's oh so f*****g hard to control, and lick my lower lip, then bite it for a second before I answer.

“Who do you think helps me in the shower?” His eyes go even wider, and for a few seconds, he freezes.

“You’re lying!” he says after he gets back to normal, and I place my elbows on my desk and lean forward, then look at him with a serious expression on my face to make sure that he believes me. That he sees the truth in my eyes.

“Mr. Russo, I never lie.” I lick my lips as images of him in different circumstances, and none of them close to holy, come into my mind, and my d**k starts coming to life, twitching against the zipper of my suit pants.

The groan that's about to escape my lips is replaced by an almost silent chuckle at his reaction.

The way he lost eye contact and the failed attempt to hide the blush that painted his cheeks by hiding his face in his hand makes my heart grow, because only God knows how many times and how damn hard I prayed that a day would come when I’d get a damn human reaction other than anger and irritation.

“You really have a dirty mind,” he says without looking at me, focusing his gaze on his laptop, and I bite my lip hard in order not to laugh.

“And you have no idea...” I trail off in a teasing tone, and he shakes his head.

“Go back to work,” he commands, then hangs up, keeping his gaze on the laptop, and I finally burst out laughing.

The sexy god thought that he was the only one who could be intimidating?

I may not look like it, but I'm a kinky motherfucker with a dirty mind, and f*****g proud of it, too.

And when someone gets me started, I'm hard to turn off.