Snowed in With The Boss (Master Me Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  All Rights Reserved

  About the Book

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgements

  Tell Lili your favorite part!

  About the Author

  Also By Lili Valente

  SNOWED IN WITH THE BOSS

  A Master Me Novella

  By Lili Valente

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright Snowed In With the Boss © 2016 Lili Valente

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This erotic romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy hot, sexy, emotional romantic comedies featuring alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs. Editorial services provided by Help Me Edit.

  About the Book

  “Bend over and lift your skirt. I’m going to show you what it’s like to spend Christmas on the naughty list…”

  Let’s get one thing straight—I’m not your usual bad boy billionaire. I’m actually a nice guy. A very nice guy who also enjoys turning a woman over my knee and spanking her ass until she begs for mercy—aka a good, hard, hold-her-down-and-teach-her-who’s-boss f*ck.

  I’m a gentleman in the boardroom and a Dominant in the bedroom. I’ve also been secretly in love with my sweet, sexy, too-innocent-for-her-own-good executive assistant Jane for the better part of two years.

  But like I said, I’m a gentleman. Any woman on my staff is strictly off-limits.

  Until the night I’m snowed in at the office with Jane…

  The same night I discover she’s a submissive looking for a teacher…

  The night I decide to make her mine…

  “Are you ready to be possessed? If so, get on your knees, beautiful. The game is about to begin. Tonight, you’re mine.”

  WARNING: This red hot holiday read contains spanking, dirty talk, and a Dominant alpha male who will melt your panties off—he doesn’t care how cold it is outside. Hotness level—five hot toddies, four roaring fires, three turtleneck sweaters, two chestnuts roasting, and a spanking with a switch from that old pear tree.

  Dedicated to Janice.

  Thanks always for

  your help and enthusiasm!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dear Jane,

  If you’re reading this, it means you’ve decided to accept my offer to provide you with a proper education in all things Dominant and submissive.

  I have to confess, I’m surprised, Singleton. I didn’t think you had it in you.

  But I didn’t think you would engage in an online flirtation with an alleged BDSM expert via our company email server, either, let alone make a date to meet up in real life with a man you haven’t bothered to do a background check on.

  You’re full of surprises this week, aren’t you?

  I’m beginning to think you need a keeper, Jane, someone to keep that pretty ass of yours out of trouble.

  Yes, beautiful, I mentioned your ass. And if you’re still in my office by the time I get back, I’m going to do a lot more than mention it.

  I meant what I said: as of seven o’clock tonight you are no longer my employee. You’re fired, and will remain so until eight o’clock on the morning of January fifth, when the rest of the staff returns to work. At that time, no matter what does or doesn’t happen tonight, your job will be reinstated—provided you promise to keep your personal and professional lives separate moving forward.

  This is your last chance, Jane…

  If you’ve decided you’re not ready for this kind of education, or for me to be the one to teach you, go into the break room and close the door. I’ll leave blankets outside in the hall for you to collect at your convenience. With the storm raging and the subways shut down, neither of us is going anywhere until morning, but that doesn’t mean we have to spend the night together. You can have the break room, I can sleep on the couch in my office, and we’ll wake up tomorrow and pretend this offer was never on the table.

  I can even help you find another sane, safe, experienced Dominant…if that’s what you want.

  But as a friend, and someone who cares about your safety, I strongly encourage you to cut ties with Brock Damon. He’s not only a convicted sex offender—which you would have known if you’d done due diligence—but a generally shit person, to boot. He’s rough with his submissives in a way that has nothing to do with love, power exchange, or pleasure. And that’s just what I’ve seen in the clubs we both frequent. I can only imagine what a monster he must be in private.

  And I don’t want anything monstrous to happen to you, Jane. You’re too good, and too sweet, to have your first experience in the lifestyle be with a man like that.

  You’re probably too sweet to play well in this world at all—you’re certainly too stubborn—but since you seem determined to give it a go, I can at least make sure you receive a proper introduction to what it means to kneel at a master’s feet.

  But I warn you, if you decide to stay and let me be your teacher, you should be aware of three very important things.

  I will expect your obedience. You will do what I say, when I say it, or you’ll be punished. You want an education in the art of submission, and I intend to give it to you. I will be fair and generous, but I won’t always be kind.

  “No” and “Stop” hold no meaning for me in situations like these. Once your education begins, these words will be rendered useless. If you’re in pain—physical, mental, or emotional—or unable to obey the commands you’ve been given, you will communicate that to me by using your safe word: blueberry muffin. All other calls for me to stop or otherwise modify my actions will be ignored.

  If you stay here, with me, I intend to have all of you. You will be bared to me, naked in every sense of the word. First I will strip you of your clothes, then I will strip you of your defenses. I won’t fuck you unless you beg me for it—and I mean beg, Jane, ugly, shameless, desperate, brazen begging—but I will put my hands all over you. Every part of your beautiful body will be my playground, not a single, delectable inch off-limits.

  Are you ready for that, sweetness? Ready to be possessed?

  If so, get on your knees, beautiful. The game is about to begin.

  Tonight you’re mine,

  Ten

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ja
ne

  The letter falls from my shaking fingers, fluttering to the floor as my pulse speeds so fast the room begins to spin.

  This can’t be real.

  It has to be some sort of joke. A prank. April’s Fool Day on Christmas Eve.

  Mr. Tennyson—Ten to his employees and friends—has a bone dry sense of humor, but I usually get his jokes right away.

  But my gut is screaming that this isn’t a joke.

  Ten has never said anything to me that wasn’t strictly aboveboard. He’s a gentleman in every sense of the word and has impeccable manners. He’s the kind of man who holds the elevator doors until the last person is out of the car and treats his entire staff to happy-hour drinks once a week. He listens when people talk, respects the professionals who work for him, dispenses criticism with fairness and compassion, and treats male and female employees with an equality that’s rare in the tech sector.

  In my entire four years as his executive assistant, he has never once let his gaze drift below my neckline, let alone called me beautiful or talked about my ass or…

  Or about…

  “About fucking you, Jane,” I whisper in the too-still air of Ten’s office.

  The only answer is a flicker from the candles I lit when the power went out nearly an hour ago. The candles that may soon be illuminating my bare skin as Ten strips me of my clothes and my defenses, assuming I’m brave enough to stay put.

  My hands fly to my flushed cheeks, my fingers cold against the burning skin. My knees go weak, and my entire body begins to tremble as the reality that Ten is serious sets in. Ten—my boss, my friend, and the most magnetic man I’ve ever met—wants me on my knees, ready to learn the art of submission.

  From him.

  From a man I know, a man who’s laughed at my jokes, moaned in appreciation for the homemade baked goods I bring into the office on Mondays, and sat next to me at the funeral when one of our interns was killed in a traffic accident.

  He held my hand that day while I cried. He’d cried, too.

  I’ve seen this man cry. I’ve seen him think and feel and get that laughably glazed look in his eyes when Donald’s sales projection presentation takes up forty minutes of the hour-long morning meeting. I’ve seen him rage at the latest cyber attack on our system, ponder spreadsheets with the squinty expression he gets when he’s thinking, and smirk at me over the rim of his margarita when I leave happy hour early to go on my latest disastrous date.

  And it’s clear that Ten is always certain I’m headed for disaster, no matter how hard I’ve tried to find the diamond buried in the dung pile of losers clogging the Internet dating sites.

  Losers like Brock Damon, who is apparently a sex offender, if Ten’s letter is to be believed.

  And of course it is.

  Ten always does his research. He would never meet a stranger for drinks, let alone Dominance and submission training, without doing a thorough background check. Unlike me, naïve, small-town-girl Jane Singleton, who even after four years of living in New York City is still surprised when men lie to me about what they do for a living, or post twenty-year-old photos online and show up to our meeting paunchy, balding, and angry that I’m not pleasantly surprised to have been tricked into going on a date with someone old enough to be my father.

  But this is a new level of cluelessness, even for me.

  I can’t believe I didn’t do so much as a Google search on the Dom I’ve been flirting with for the past few weeks. And I really can’t believe that I thought using my private email address would be enough to keep my personal-email-sent-during-work-hours indiscretion under the radar. Intrepid Industries is one of the world’s leading cyber security firms, with filters in place guaranteed to kick messages like the ones I was sending straight to the top of the “suspicious activity” pile Ten reviews each day.

  But maybe that’s what you wanted, Jane…

  Maybe subconsciously you wanted him to figure out what you were up to and make you an offer like the one he’s making tonight.

  I shake my head at the thought as I pace the carpet in front of Ten’s desk, my palms sweating and my heart slamming against my ribs.

  I didn’t know Ten was into things like this.

  Did I?

  But maybe I did. Maybe deep down I’ve known why I shiver every time Ten uses his “let’s get serious” voice to call a meeting to order, and why I can’t break eye contact with him until I’m certain he’s finished with me. Why there are times when even an innocent, friendly touch from my boss is enough to make my pulse race because no one has ever touched me like that, with a confidence that borders on possession.

  Ten’s confidence in his ability to command a woman’s pleasure is present in his every word, his every gesture, and I would be lying if I said that—or anything else about the man—has escaped my attention.

  I pay very close attention to Mr. Tennyson, and I’ve never been more jealous of anyone than I was of his date to the office holiday party two years ago. Watching him escort Veronica around the room with his big hand at the small of her back made my entire being ache with longing. Before that night, I’d never seen Ten with a woman, though I’d known he was in a serious relationship at the time. But seeing it in-person had been an entirely different experience, one that left me no choice but to admit that I have a little thing for my boss.

  Okay, fine, a big thing. A thing so intense that I’d burned to be the woman on his arm that night, and now it is flat out impossible to force my feet to move toward the door.

  The logical part of me insists that it’s insane to put my job and my future at risk. I have a few months of expenses saved up, but not enough to last if I have trouble finding another position. And I love working at Intrepid. I love working with Ten, the only boss I’ve ever had who makes me feel valuable, important, and safe to speak my mind when the moment calls for it.

  I don’t want to ruin a good thing, but I also don’t want to live the rest of my life without knowing what it’s like to feel Ten’s hands on me, his lips on my mine…and maybe more, assuming I’m brave enough to beg for it.

  To beg him to take me, to make me his. At least for tonight.

  The thought summons a wave of heat that sweeps across my skin, melting the last of my resistance. Forcing the fearful voices to the back of my mind, I sink to the floor, kneeling and sitting back on my sensible heels. I interlace my shaking fingers in my lap and bow my head, fighting to stop trembling before the footsteps on the thick carpet in the hall outside reach the office door.

  He’s almost here.

  God, he’s almost here, and my heart is pounding and my throat is tight and I’m wishing I’d worn something sexier to work today and praying I’m not wearing granny panties—I can’t remember what I snagged as I pawed through my lingerie drawer this morning.

  Then the door opens and my mind clears in a rush.

  Ten is here, and suddenly l can’t think of anything but him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ten

  Every once in a great while, life throws something unexpectedly beautiful in your path. An unforeseen gift, a treasure so heartbreakingly lovely and finely made that you can’t help but fall in love with it—with her—even though she never was and never will be meant for you.

  I can’t point to the exact day I fell in love with Jane Singleton. Sweet Jane with the sunshine smile, silky brown hair, wholesome face, and voice like chimes echoing through a gothic cathedral. Jane with the mischievous grin and the “thinking wicked thoughts” glint in her pretty brown eyes, and the body made for sin hidden beneath her sensible skirts and blousy shirts.

  It wasn’t her first month on the job, or even her fifth or sixth, but by the time our annual Christmas party rolled around, all I’d wanted to do was get Jane underneath the mistletoe. Or better yet, get her underneath me and fuck her until she’d come so many times that she would forever consider Christmas the most wonderful time of the year.

  But Jane had come to the party with her boyfriend
Bobby, a douchebag financial advisor who’d cheated on her. Twice.

  Bobby of the wandering dick was followed by Brett of the wandering attention span, Barrett who lived in his mother’s basement, and Benjamin the cheapskate, who preferred for Jane to cover their dinner tab, proving that Jane has a thing for names that start with “B” and losers incapable of appreciating her.

  I lost track of the times I wanted to tell her that she deserved better, deserved more, that she was a diamond in a world full of cheap colored glass and that any man with half a brain cell would hold on tight to her and never let go.

  Instead, I held my tongue and kept my hands to myself.

  Jane was my employee, my friend, and not my kind of girl. No matter how much I cared about her, or how often I daydreamed about making her come on my fingers, my mouth, my cock as I slid home between her thighs, I knew it wouldn’t work between us. I had needs that a woman like Jane could never fulfill.

  And so I kept my distance—until those emails popped up along with the other suspicious communications and I realized that Jane was about to fall into Brock’s hands.

  Brock, who backhands women who don’t obey him fast enough. Brock, who was convicted of statutory rape after taking a fifteen-year-old girl to a sex club. The girl was half his age, a child who should have been in school, not learning a twisted form of rough love at the hands of a sadist.

  Brock doesn’t care if his lover enjoys the pain he inflicts, or if she’s even consented to that sort of play. He’s the kind of man who hurts women without worrying about permission or pleasure, who pulls the wings off beautiful things just for the thrill of robbing them of their ability to fly.

  And he almost got his hands on Jane. Sweet, innocent Jane. My Jane.

  Mine.

  God, I want her to be mine.

  I want everything I’ve denied us both for the past four years. I want her pleasure and her pain and her submission and her orgasms. All of her orgasms. Every single one.