Bending My Straight Boss

Teasing Mr. Russo.

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 wouldn't tease him if I had one. 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 a 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, 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 of hiding 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.