Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance Read Free Page A

between them to stroke her sex through the lace of her panties. She brushed lightly at first, a gentle caress. A little jolt of pleasure traveled up her stomach. With her free hand, she massaged her breast.
    She kept the magical prince in her head, imagining his mouth kissing her hard nipple. If she stopped to think about how this fantasy was all she had, she’d start to cry, so she pushed it from her mind and ignored the ache of loneliness in her heart. Instead, she concentrated on her fingers, dipping them beneath the lace of her panties. The slick folds of her sex parted easily and she rubbed along her clit, massaging the sensitive bud as arousal continued to build.
    Though Zoe knew how to touch herself, there was still a terrible emptiness deep inside. For some reason, she’d always been too shy to buy a vibrator, and perhaps too cheap, though there were times she wished she owned one. The image of the prince had slipped from her mind as real life tried to invade. She pulled him back, focusing on his long brown hair, his illusory kiss.
    Zoe gasped as she stroked herself harder, moving her hips against her hand. He had firm lips, a war-hardened physique and a thick cock ready for action. Knowing no one would hear her, she let a soft cry escape her lips. The first hint of an orgasm caused her to stiffen in anticipation. Almost desperately, she cupped a second hand over the panties to cover the first. She pressed down, jerking slightly as she reached climax. After, she let her legs drop to the side, and weakly drew her fingers from her sex. Her heart beat fast, but her breathing only rasped a little.
    Turning her head to glance at the clock, she exhaled noisily, ‘I’m going to be so late.’

Chapter Two
    ‘IF ONE MORE guy asks me to dance on the bar, tries to put a cheap-ass one-dollar tip down my shirt, recites me a poem or even so much as looks at me with interest, I swear I’m going to rip off his manhood.’ Zoe forced a smile so none of the bar patrons would see her anger – not that a bad attitude mattered in this place. In fact, rudeness was almost encouraged by the owner. It gave the bar atmosphere. Turning her attention back to her sisters, Kat and Sasha, and her brother-in-law, Ryan, she frowned. They had come to visit and all three sat at the bar as Zoe provided them with generous mugs of draft beer.
    ‘Only you would threaten someone’s manhood.’ Kat giggled. ‘You and those damned novels. Why don’t you try a threat that isn’t so “nice”-sounding?’
    ‘Drink your beer,’ Zoe ordered, making a face at Kat as she swiped Sasha’s mug to refill it without being asked.
    Loud music pumped from the speakers, forcing everyone to speak even louder to be heard. The songs in the jukebox were a mix of classic and modern rock. The Phoenix Arms dated back to the late 1800s and looked as if the decor hadn’t been updated too much since then. Old photographs had been added to the plaster-covered walls. The red bricks underneath showed through in some places. Wooden booths with worn tabletops lined one wall, with smaller tables and chairs along the other, reaching all the way to the far back wall. There was no room for bar games or pool tables, except for an old dartboard that hung on the wall and was only played on weekdays when the bar wasn’t crowded.
    Surviving more on its landmark status than anything, the bar filled to capacity almost every weekend when partiers came out to play – mostly yuppies blowing off steam. Muscled hard bodies in tight shirts and even tighter pants hit on young things in short skirts and the latest trend. Women air-kissed their girlfriends, making sure to hit each cheek, and men shook hands and postured like they were all rock stars.
    The atmosphere seemed to both reflect and reject the bohemianism of the surrounding Greenwich Village. Business stayed steady throughout the week with the usual gathering of troubled writers and poets who claimed to be more creative when