The Girlfriend (The Boss #2) Read Online Abigail Barnette

Categories Genre: BDSM, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Boss Series by Abigail Barnette
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Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 144696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
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“It does. We can watch it from our balcony... if you don’t mind?” He had dark circles under his eyes.

“Just being with you is enough,” I told him, turning to bounce on my tip-toes to kiss his cheek. “I suppose I can always put a coat on over this.”

I let my dress drop to the floor and stepped out of it. I wanted to fall into his arms and let him ravish me... but the dress. It was too pretty and expensive to leave it on the floor. I’d let Neil gift me to his heart’s content, but I refused to overtly waste his money.

“Let me go hang this up,” I said, stooping to snag it.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the sitting room,” he called after me.

When I came back from the bedroom, Neil was seated in the wing chair before one of the long windows. I walked slowly toward him, pulling absently at one dark curl over my shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s one of my better purchases.” He was holding a wide, flat jewelry box.

“This is the final extravagant purchase of the trip, I promise,” he said defensively at my dropped jaw. “Come on.” He patted his lap.

I obeyed, sitting primly across his thighs. The corset made me sit up straight, and I wondered what kind of picture we made, him at ease, slouching back in the arm chair, me stiff and Victorian, my waist squeezed down wasp-style.

Neil held up the box and slowly raised the lid. I saw a wink of metal and a glimmer of diamond, and my throat squeezed shut.

“This is hardly a functional collar,” he explained. “But it isn’t meant for rough play. It’s meant to be a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?” I asked, reaching out to touch the cool surface of the solid platinum band, which was about as thick as my thumb. A single row of fucking huge diamonds were set into it, all the way around, anniversary-ring style.

“A reminder of who you are, when we’re together like this.” He lifted the collar and unfastened the clasp, which locked down seamlessly to create a perfect ring.

I held up my hair, my breath catching as he placed the collar around my throat. It was surprisingly heavy, and it warmed to my skin almost instantly. When he closed the clasp, I had a moment’s panic at the tight fit, but it didn’t obstruct my breathing or hurt. It was like wearing a choker. A very expensive, very sexually tilted, choker.

He sat up and kissed my jaw, just below my ear, and whispered, “Mine.”

I shivered. He had that so right. No matter what happened outside of our sex life, in the bedroom I was totally and completely his.

“Yours, Sir,” I breathed. The touch of the collar at my throat did something to me on a psychological level. I had submitted wholly to him long before this gift, but something about it made our relationship different. We were different. This was a commitment, but not a frightening one. I felt secure, our bond seemed more tangible, but it wasn’t stifling. I didn’t have to doubt the future or dwell on the past. I just had to enjoy the present.

“Where did you get something like this?” I asked, touching the collar.

“My friend from the club,” he said with the hint of a smile. “He left it in my coat at the coat check. He’s a master jeweler, does incredible work.”

I remembered Neil’s platinum vibrator, and I gasped. “He made your little backdoor friend, didn’t he?”

Neil didn’t answer me, but his half-smile told me all I needed to know. He patted my bottom to urge me to stand. “Get your coat. It’s almost midnight.”

He caught my hand and kissed it, and his hold lingered until I walked too far away.

I grabbed my white pea coat and wrapped it around myself, buttoning and belting it all the way. It felt so naughty, to be wearing underwear and nothing else beneath the wool, but to the casual observer it would seem I was merely wearing a short dress.

Neil had opened the doors to the balcony, and the noise of the city in celebration drifted through on the cold night air. He held out his arm to me and I went to him, standing in the comforting circle of his embrace to gaze out at our amazing view. Framed by the buildings on the avenue, the Eiffel Tower lit up the hazy winter night in garish alternating patterns of white, blue, and red that raced along the structure’s bizarre shape, visible even from across the river. Somewhere, a police siren was going off, and shrill car horns blared in the street. And into that perfect, beautiful, romantic moment, the most despairing thought attacked me.

This could be the last time I ever spent a New Year’s Eve with Neil.


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