The Girlfriend (The Boss) (47 page)

“Fuck!” I couldn’t help my loud groan. My groin ached, not just from the slap, but from the orgasm that was cruelly ruined at the last possible second.

“That’s one.”

At least sound didn’t travel as well in this house as in the New York apartment, because everyone would have heard my despondent wail.

“Please, please, please,” I begged around the gag. I couldn’t see him, but I could imagine how he looked down at me now, somehow cruel and loving at the same time. He treasured me, he loved me, he tortured me; I needed it. By the time we reached five horribly ruined orgasms, I was sobbing, pleading, the black silk over my eyes soaked with my tears.

He unclasped the cuffs and pulled my aching legs down, then jerked me to my feet and marched me across the floor, wobbly in my heels. The sound of the air changed; we were in the dressing room. He whipped the blindfold from my eyes, and I blinked in the beam of recessed lighting.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look like me. She was shivering, flushed across her chest, swollen and red between her legs. Her mascara ran in long tracks down her pale, sweaty face; her lipstick smeared around the gag.

Realizing that the woman really was me was a shock to my system that renewed my desire. Like getting a second wind during a run, I was ready to keep going.

Neil’s grip on the back of my neck was firm to the point of pain. “Look at what you let yourself do for me.”

My knees trembled.

“Get back out there. On the bed, on your hands and knees.” He gave me a rough push, and I did as he told me, pressing my thighs hard together with every step. I wanted him to fuck me. I prayed that was what he was going to do.

I positioned myself as he’d ordered and waited, almost weeping with the anticipation that curled through me. When he came back, I didn’t look at him. He hadn’t given me permission. I felt the brush of his bare thighs against the backs of mine, and I held my breath. Would he be rough with me, or gentle? Would he let me come?

A cold stream of lube slid between my ass cheeks, and I startled.
Oh.

The tip of something rubber slicked over my opening, and with nothing to ready me, no careful attention this time, he pushed the toy into my ass.
 

The dildo he used was definitely not as big as some of the implements he owned. It hurt enough as it was, but the thrill I felt far outweighed my discomfort. I whimpered around the gag as he moved the toy in and out. Then the head of his cock pushed against my swollen labia, and with a slippery glide of his fingers to part me, he was inside.

He hissed at the tightness, and I shuddered as his cock pulled out, then plunged in again. He worked the toy in my ass in an alternate rhythm, pausing only to reach up and release the gag. “Do you like this, Sophie?”

“Yes, Sir,” I moaned, shivers of hot and cold, pleasure and pain, skating along every nerve ending in my body. I was too full, not full enough. I wanted him deeper, wanted him to fuck me like he was going to tear me apart.

“Why do you like it?”

“Because I’m your whore, Sir!” I exclaimed, the word jarring to my own ears.

“Don’t you ever fucking forget it,” he growled, bending low over me to lick the sweat from my spine.

He pushed the vibrator into my hands. “Make yourself come.”

I held the cool metal against my swollen, painful clit, and sucked in a breath. I shouldn’t have been able to feel a damn thing, after what I’d already been through, but a combination of the filthy talk and Neil’s utter Dominance turned me on beyond the limits of the physical. I’d never felt so used and dirty in my entire life, and I loved it so much I couldn’t help but be turned on.

“Tell me you love my cock, Sophie.”

“I love your cock, Sir!”

“Tell me you love getting fucked in your ass.”

“I love getting fucked in my ass, Sir!”

I would have told him anything, done anything. And that... That’s what scared me. Not his control over me, but the fact that I’d willingly ceded it to him. That I would do anything for his cock in me, his hands on me.

I’d told him to make me afraid. Well done, Neil.

When I finally reached a true, unspoiled released, I screamed, and there was no power on earth that could have stopped me. Luckily, Neil was quick to react, and clamped his hand firmly over my mouth, pinning the dildo between us, grinding his cock so deeply in me I saw bright red starbursts of pain behind my eyelids.

“Oh, fuck.” He withdrew, and through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, I heard the snap of the condom coming off. Still hunched over me, he came, spraying heavy droplets onto my back before collapsing into a slick, sweaty mess on top of me.

“Well,” I panted beneath him, wriggling, the dildo still inside me. “I think that will definitely sustain me for a good, long while.”

He laughed and rolled off, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me, a sticky hand in my hair, the other pulling me hard against him. And in that moment, I felt so loved, so cherished, I was absolutely certain that nothing in the world could bring me down.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I’d thought the induction chemotherapy had been bad. I had no idea just how much worse the high dose would be.

As with the induction chemo, Neil received the first treatment in the hospital. We arrived at seven AM, and I staggered under the burden of not having any coffee. Neil wasn’t supposed to have caffeine or anything else dehydrating before we checked in, and I didn’t want to torment him with a steaming hot cup of you-can’t-have-any.

I’m not entirely sure he wouldn’t have just smacked it to the ground, anyway. He was in a
fine
mood as we’d left the house, completely at odds with the loving, sensitive man whose arms I’d fallen asleep in the night before. He grumbled about everything from the itchiness of his hair: “Why is it even bothering to grow when it’s just all going to fall out again in a few days?” to the indignity of having to be admitted at all: “I had the other drugs at home and nothing went wrong. Besides, if it did, I could practically crawl to the bloody hospital.”

“You have cancer. Some hospital visits are going to be required,” I tried to remind him gently, but I did grit my teeth a little.

“Yes, I know I have cancer, thank you Sophie!” he’d snapped, and that was the last we’d talked on the drive.

At the hospital, I made the mistake of picking up his bag to carry it in. He snatched it out of my hand and muttered, “I can do that myself.”

The lack of control was killing him.

Despite his agitation and antagonism toward me, Neil was sweet as pie to the nurses and receptionists. I bit my tongue the whole time, but I was wondering if I could slip somebody twenty quid to anesthetize him.

In his room, he changed into a gown as instructed.

I folded his clothes and put them neatly in his bag. “Do you want me to help you tie that?”

“Yes, thank you.” He had the good grace to look at least a little sheepish. I stepped up behind him and began tying the little bows one at a time. He turned his head slightly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been absolutely horrible to you this morning.”

My mood thawed a little. “Yeah, you have. But you’re worried.”

“I’m not,” he insisted lightly. “Really, this isn’t the part that worries me.”

“Then what is it?” I plucked at the shoulders of the gown to straighten them.

“I don’t like the idea of you seeing me sick again,” he admitted. “I know it’s only for a short amount of time, but I’ve felt so much better since that last round of chemo. Almost normal. Last night I felt like I had my old life back. Now, I have to give it all up again.”

“You’re not giving it up. You’re just putting it on pause,” I said gently. I wound my arms around him and leaned my head against his back. “I know you want to be done with all of this. But you’re working toward something here. You want to be able to dance with your daughter at her wedding, right?”

“I’d rather dance with her at somebody else’s wedding,” he muttered.

“I’ll still be here when you un-pause.” I didn’t know if that was his concern, but I needed to reassure him, for my own sake. “Besides, after last night, I kind of need a few months off.”

He blushed, but his smile was one of pure, unabashed male ego.

“How about when you come home, we have a night where we just relax and watch TV and smoke dope?” Busting his stress was priority number one. He’d gotten through the induction phase without too much trouble, but I knew high dose was going to be a completely different ballpark.

“Just the two of us?” he asked hopefully. “Without Emma and horrible Michael?”

“If that’s what you want, I will tell them to scram and she can blame it all on me,” I promised.

“Mr. Elwood?” a voice asked through the curtain.

“Yes, come in, I’m all trussed up,” Neil grumbled, pulling back the blankets on the bed. As he climbed under the covers and got comfortable, the curtain rings jingled and in stepped the most adorable little redheaded nurse. She looked like a sexier, grown-up version of Strawberry Shortcake, with her glossy hair pulled back in a bun. A smattering of freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks, and she smiled a perfect, white-toothed smile at us as she entered.

I smirked at Neil and raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to continue with his complaints. He was insanely attracted to redheads, to the point of fetishization. This woman was like the embodiment of his horniest fantasies. His mood
had
to improve now.

“I’m Anna. I’ll be your nurse today. Probably all day, at least until seven,” she said, reaching out to shake Neil’s hand, then mine. She looked between the two of us. “Do you have any questions or concerns Dr. Grant didn’t address?”

“No, he was quite thorough.” Neil looked to me. “Sophie?”

“Um.” God, I hated asking these questions right in front of him, when he was the person who had to go through it, but I knew whatever I was imagining would be ten times worse than the reality. “I just want to know that he’s not going to be too miserable.”

“It’s going to be unpleasant,” Anna said gently. “But we’ll try our best to keep him comfortable. The most noticeable side effect today will be the nausea and possibly some abdominal discomfort. Did you have a mouth care routine for induction chemotherapy?”

“I did, but it wasn’t very effective. I still had horrible sores,” he noted bitterly. “I suppose I can expect more of the same?”

“It’s very likely, but those won’t develop for a few days. We’ll be pushing a lot of fluids, in the hopes of keeping you hydrated.” She went to the cupboard and took out the dreaded “hat,” a small bucket that slipped between the toilet bowl and seat to catch and measure urine.

When Neil had been ordered to use one at home during the last cycle of chemo, he’d reacted as though it were a gross invasion of privacy on the scale of having a reality television crew follow him day and night. He made a face now, but he didn’t argue.

I stayed with Neil while they hooked him onto the drugs, and I lay beside him in his bed, dozing with him, our fingers laced together.

“We’ve done this before,” he said sleepily. “Remember? The first time?”

“I do.” I squeezed his hand and opened one eye. The bag on the IV pole was about half empty. “And we got through that okay.”

Just a few minutes later, he stiffened beside me and managed to say, “I need,” before he had to close his mouth, retching.

I sat up and grabbed the basin from the table beside the bed, and held it for him while he vomited what appeared to be the contents of everyone in London’s breakfasts.

“Oh, you can’t be serious,” he groaned, grasping the bedrail to steady himself as he heaved again.

The only thing worse than puking is watching someone else puke and knowing you’re going to do the same. I was a naturally queasy person, anyway, and I hadn’t gotten any better since he’d started treatment. I closed my eyes and looked away, and hoped I didn’t accidentally move the basin. With my other hand, I groped for the call button.

“We have a barf situation,” I told the nurse who answered over the intercom. Then I reached over and rubbed Neil’s back while he hung his head, drooling and exhausted.

“Just breathe, baby,” I murmured. His clammy forehead shone with perspiration and I pressed the back of my hand against it. “Do you want a cool washcloth?”

He nodded, breathing through his nose, mouth clamped tight.

I got into the cupboard and found an unused basin, and when the nurse came in, she took the foul one to dispose of it. I got Neil the washcloth and used it to pat down his face. When he leaned back in the bed, I folded the cloth and laid it across his brow.

“Did Doctor Grant have you on Palonosetron before you came in?” Anna asked, frowning down at Neil’s chart.

“He did,” I answered for him, because he looked like if he opened his mouth, things were going to go badly.

“I’m going to call him and see if there’s something else we can give.” She looked up, and then pulled down some mouth swabs, a toothbrush, and toothpaste from the cupboard. “For when you can.”

It seemed to take forever for them to get Dr. Grant to give an order for more anti-nausea drugs. When they finally gave them and Neil managed to stop dry heaving, he was exhausted, pale, and sweaty.

“I just need to rest,” he told me, squeezing my hand weakly. “Do you mind turning out the lights?”

“I’ll do you one better and shut the blinds.” I kissed his forehead, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the vomit-and-chemo smell of him. Whatever they’d pumped into him, he was secreting it from his pores already.

Well. We were back to our most recent version of normal.

When Neil was asleep, I went out to the waiting room for some coffee. And there, playing
Angry Birds
on her phone, was Holli.

I could have cried. When I hadn’t gotten a call at ten, I figured she was— deservedly so— sleeping off her jet lag. I ran over to her, and she popped up for a hug.

“You’re here!” I held onto her so tight, I was worried I might snap her bones.

“Uh, I said I’d be here. You know how much I love hospitals, there was no way I was going to miss this.” She wasn’t being funny. She actually really did love hospitals. “How’s he doing?”