Bossy Pants

Bossy PantsTana Rose Copyright © 2023 Tana RoseAll rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.Cover design by: Tana RoseLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2018675309Printed in the United States of America Contents Title PageCopyrightChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32EpilogueAlso by Tana Rose To anyone who's ever wanted to get it on with their bossHating someone feels disturbingly similar to being in love with them.-Sally Thorne, The Hating GameChapter 1LincolnSometimes, I hate my life.I know what you’re thinking. Believe me, I do. Poor little rich boy. Raised with a silver spoon in my mouth, attended ivy league college, met my business partner—the billionaire Cabot Harkness—there. After we graduated, we immediately started our company, and it was an instant success. I told you I know. I understand that in the eyes of many, I live a blessed life. That the life I lead is one to aspire to.But Jesus, sometimes I just want to feel something.That’s the problem. For all the benefits I have in my life, I don’t feel a goddamn thing.I barely feel the pussy that’s wrapped around my cock at this very minute. The girl bent over my desk has a fall of blond hair and a nice plump ass that jiggles with every one of my thrusts. One of my hands is pressed between her fabric covered shoulder blades, pinning her down, while the other grips her hip, just under where I’ve rucked up her skirt.This is how sex is for me these days, always clothed, always fast and dirty. The girls don’t mind. They know what they’re getting into with me. I am Breaker’s Point’s most eligible bachelor since Cabot met his girl and became blissfully unavailable. The gossip rags delight in splashing me all over their pages, showing me with a different girl every time.Because one thing I am not is monogamous.So the girls know, and they don’t mind, so long as they can say they got to fuck Lincoln George.Soft cries bloom into loud moans, and my eyes flick up to my shut but not locked door. I know my personal assistant is out there, likely trying to ignore the sounds coming from in here, but she should be used to it by now. I only have sex here or if I’m feeling like I need a longer session, there’s a sex club I frequent that provides everything I could think to use.The girl—Valerie, I think—reaches back, trying to grip my hips to get me closer, to take me deeper, harder. I don’t fucking think so. She gasps and whimpers when I slam her hand down on the desk and keep it there. “What did I tell you?” I growl.She whimpers again. “Not to touch you.”“That’s right,” I snarl, squeezing her wrist. “You didn’t follow the rules, and now you don’t get to come.”Her gray eyes widen in surprise. “Wait. What?”“Punishment,” I groan as my balls tighten at the word. I fucking love it. Love the control and the submission that these girls give me, even if they don’t realize it’s happening.“Linc, you can’t be-”She cuts off as my hips stall, my head throws back as pleasure races toward me. I come, filling the condom, while Valerie tries to buck her hips to reach that point with me, but she’s not going to get it. She broke a rule. She doesn’t get to come. Simple as that.I grunt as I pull out of her, carefully holding the condom in place to make sure it doesn’t slip. The last fucking thing I need is a pregnancy scare. Every woman I have sex with tells me they're on birth control, but I sure as fuck am not taking any chances. I always wear a condom that I provide, without fail.She lays there, breathing heavy, pussy out and glistening like she thinks if she just waits I’ll change my mind. It’s never going to happen. Ever. My rules are the rules. I never bend them. I never break them.She’s still there by the time I’ve discarded the condom and straightened out my clothes. A glance at the clock tells me I have a meeting with Cabot in ten minutes, so I retreat to my private bathroom, and finish putting the finishing touches on my appearance.I know what women think when they look at me. Sex on a stick. Lust personified. A tall drink of I’d-like-to-fuck-that. This isn’t even me blowing smoke up my own ass. Those are actual comments made to me by women. I love it. I work hard on my body, on maintaining that persona.It’s imperative to remain as put together as I can.I take a moment to smooth my dark hair and scrub a hand over my perpetual five o’clock shadow. I haven’t been sleeping well, and it shows in the shadows under my bright blue eyes. Eyes I share with all three of my siblings.I straighten my tie—green because it’s Wednesday—and make sure my shirt is fully tucked into my charcoal gray suit pants before I leave again.She’s still in my office, sitting in my chair with her arms crossed over her generous breasts as she gives me an unimpressed look. “Are you serious?”I stride to the door and hook my suit jacket off the coat rack there, slipping my arms through and smoothing out the lapels before I look back over at her. “You can find your own way out, I’m sure.” When her full lips part, like she’s going to argue with me, I hold up a hand to stall her