Her Old-Fashioned Boss by Laylah RobertsA Dom with a hand like a paddle, his partner who has an oral fixation and a heroine with body issues. Roarke and Sam, bi-sexual owners of several BDSM clubs, feel there is something missing in their lives. Sam decides they need a woman, one they can coddle and protect.
We first met Roarke in 'Her Old-Fashioned Husband.' He is the brother of Tom's best friend, who died. Roarke has always felt guilty over his brother's death, and has lost his relationship with friends and family because of it.
Roarke and Sam have been together for years. They love each other, yet they feel there is something missing. And, in spite of the fact they are gay, Sam thinks they need a woman. Someone they can coddle and protect.
But Roarke isn't so sure. For years he's blamed himself for his brother's death. The only person he's ever allowed to get close since is Sam.
Then Ava Scott applies for the job as Roarke's personal assistant and both men find themselves instantly attracted and intrigued by the tiny woman.
For years Ava Scott has fought the effects of an eating disorder. One she's too ashamed to talk about. Now down to her last few dollars, Ava's desperate for a job. She can't believe it when she's hired as the personal assistant to the owner of several BDSM clubs. She's always been a bit curious about BDSM, and finds herself quickly attracted to dominant Roarke and his submissive partner, Sam.
It's an interest she knows will never be reciprocated. They're gay, they're together and Roarke is her boss—a kind of old-fashioned, overprotective boss who likes to spank.
Warning: Involves a Dom with a hand like a paddle, his partner who has an oral fixation and a heroine with body issues. MMF, includes MM, spanking, anal plugs.
Your reviews will instantly be made available for editing within your Blushing Books account. After making the review, please reload the browser page to see your own. Troll reviews or reviews without a Username or Email attached will be deleted from the system. If you make a review but your name does not appear above it, please let customer service know so we can link that review to your email and your Blushing Books account as soon as possible, including the Book Title and the time you left your review.
Please see our "Review Rewards" page to read the rules and fill out your rewards form if you've left more than 5 or more reviews (that qualify for a reward--please read the rules!) on our products here at Blushing or for our books sold on other sites.Add Your Review
Her Old-Fashioned Boss (Sample Chapter)
A Dom with a hand like a paddle, his partner who has an oral fixation and a heroine with body issues. MMF, includes MM, spanking, anal plugs.
© Laylah Roberts and Blushing Books, 2013
"Are you getting sick of me?"
Roarke, who'd been in the middle of rolling out of bed, stilled at the quiet question and turned around to gape at Sam.
His lover. His submissive.
Sam stared back at him, his startlingly blue eyes serious.
"What the hell would make you say that?" Roarke asked, working hard to suppress his building panic. He had to remain in control. He was the Dom. Whatever was going on here he could fix.
Except if Sam decided to leave him. Roarke could refuse to let him go, could follow him wherever went, but it would probably do little good. Once Sam made a decision he stuck with it.
Sam shrugged, a surprisingly elegant movement. The sheet covering his chest slipped, displaying his mouth-watering abs, his perfectly tanned skin.
Sam was perfection. Gorgeous, generous, sexy beyond belief.
Roarke would not lose him.
"Sam. Tell. Me. What. You. Meant." Roarke put plenty of Dom into his voice, shocked when Sam just stared at him with a sad smile.
Roarke floundered, unable to find his voice. Sam had always obeyed him, looked to him to lead. They'd been together five years and, although there had been an adjustment period in the beginning, they worked together perfectly.
"Are you asking for punishment, pet?" he asked in a low voice. A small shiver crossed Sam's body. Finally, some reaction. Roarke's relief was tremendous. For a moment he'd worried that he'd lost Sam already.
"Maybe. At least then you'd be touching me," Sam said sadly.
"What are you talking about? I touch you."
Sam shrugged again. "Not really. You give me the occasional kiss or pat."
"We had sex three nights ago," Roarke pointed out.
Sam sat up, leaning against the wooden headboard. "Yes, and it was nice."
Nice? Nice! Talk about damned by faint praise.
"But we haven't played in months. I thought…I had hoped..." Sam faltered for the first time.
"Yes?" Roarke asked, pushing him, even though he didn't know whether he could stand any more dints to his pride.
"I thought after you settled everything with Tom that things would be better. But you don't seem any happier, so I can only think that the problem is me."
Roarke reeled back as though he'd been slapped. God, what had he been doing to Sam?
"If you don't want me anymore, I'd rather you just told me," Sam continued. "I feel like you don't want me. That you don't need me...and that's the one thing I can't take."
No, and Roarke knew that. Sam was a nurturer; he loved taking care of those around him. He'd been looking after Roarke for years. Roarke might be the dominant one in their relationship, but Sam was the heart.
"Sam," he said hoarsely. "I love you. I do need you. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I was hurting you."
Sam blinked, his eyes glazed with tears.
"I am certainly not sick of you. You are everything to me. I'm sorry I've been so distant. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I do know that my life would not be worth living without you. You are going nowhere, except over my spanking bench if you ever start spouting such nonsense again. Now, come here."
Roarke held open his arms, holding his breath. Sam hesitated for a few seconds, and that told Roarke more than anything else how much he'd harmed their relationship. Sam had always been openly affectionate.
But he moved forward and Roarke gave a prayer of relief as he clasped him close. The knot in his stomach unraveled slightly.
He kissed the top of Sam's head. Sam's silken white-blond hair glistened in the light.
"How long have you been feeling this way?" he asked, running his hand over Sam's hair.
When Sam didn't answer, Roarke wrapped his hand in the long strands and tugged sharply. Sam's head snapped back and his eyes glazed with pleasure at the slight pain.
"Answer me, pet."
Sam shivered and licked his lips. "Since before we left to go to Waco, Sir."
Roarke kept his shock from showing on his face. Barely. "That was over two months ago. Why didn't you speak up before now?"
The cornerstones of their relationship were honesty, communication and respect. Roarke knew he'd failed in the communication part, but it seemed his sub had some atoning to do as well.
"I thought I'd give you time. I thought you were upset about Austin..." Sam's voice trailed off.
Roarke could understand his hesitation. In the past, Roarke would shut down any time someone mentioned his baby brother's name. He'd carried Austin's death on his shoulders for years. He knew his inability to let go of his guilt had scarred him emotionally. Except for Sam, he'd been unable to let anyone close since, and even then he'd shut certain parts of himself off from his lover.
He'd always been too scared to let anyone but Sam close, too scared to lose anyone he loved again.
Scared to kill anyone he loved again.
It had been ten years since he'd fought with Austin over a girl. Roarke thought she'd been using Austin to get to him and he'd tried to warn Austin away from her. Austin had stormed out of his apartment, jumped on his bike and been hit by a drunk driver. It had been left to Roarke to make the decision to pull the plug on his brother. His parents couldn't do it. He was the oldest so it had fallen to him.
But it haunted him. He blamed himself. Tom, Austin's best friend, had blamed him. It was only recently, when Roarke had opened a new club in Waco, that he'd had a chance to make things right with Tom. That he'd finally started to forgive himself. Even though he had a ways to go, he was starting to let go of the guilt.
But he had business keeping Sam at a distance. Sam, who had stayed with him through thick and thin, who'd held him through nightmares, supported him during the holidays when he couldn't bring himself to go home, even though he missed his family.
Sam. The only person he'd ever been in love with.
"I can understand why you would think that, Sam. But that's no excuse for keeping this from me. You know you are not supposed to bottle things that are hurting you inside. I expect you to come to me with things like this."
"Like you've been talking to me?" Sam asked bitterly.
Roarke gaped down at him. Then he gathered himself. Sam was testing him. Something he hadn't done since they'd first got together.
"Sam," he said warningly.
The other man sighed and relaxed slightly. Sam glanced up at him. "If it's not Austin, and it's not me then what is it?"
Roarke sighed. "I don't know, my love. And that's the honest truth. I feel tired. Maybe I need a break. I think maybe it's time to sell the clubs."
Sam sat up. "What? No!"
Roarke simply stared at him. Sam swallowed heavily. "I mean, you love those clubs."
"Do I? Lately they seem more a chore than fun." He'd started off years ago with one small BDSM club in Austin. Then he'd expanded out until he now had ten clubs spread across Texas and Arizona.
Sam stared at him, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Maybe what you need is a challenge. If things come too easily to you then you tend to get bored."
"What does that mean?" Roarke growled.
"Well, maybe it's time to finally look a bit harder for that third we've talked about. I think it's time to shake our lives up a little."
Roarke reached his arm out and cupped the back of his neck. "I only need you."
Sam shook his head. "I don't think that's true. Not anymore. I think you need more. I think we both do. We need someone we can pamper and cherish and love."
Roarke sighed. In the past they had talked about adding a woman to their relationship, but had never found someone suitable. Besides, Roarke had never felt he could open up to someone else. Women were delicate, vulnerable. Any woman of his would be coddled, pampered and probably smothered to death. He sighed. On the one hand he'd want to protect her from the outside world to the point of total overkill, and on the other, he'd want to place clamps on her nipples so they pinched, flog her until she glowed and Lord forbid she disobey him and put herself in the slightest bit of danger.
She wouldn't sit for days.
"And just where would we find this elusive woman who's going to want to be a part of a threesome with an overbearing Dom and his protective sub?"
Sam's lips twitched. "We'll find her."
"We haven't so far."
"Because we've been looking in the wrong places. We only interact with subs at the clubs. What we need is a real woman, one like Frankie."
Roarke snorted. "Are you trying to kill me? I don't know how Tom keeps up with Frankie, that woman is a menace. He should tie her to his bed and spank her daily."
Frankie was Tom's wife and a bit of a brat. She was forever getting into trouble and kept her husband on his toes.
"And that is exactly what you need. A perfect sub wouldn't interest either of us. You don't want someone who'll jump at your every word."
"Don't I?" Roarke drawled. "I wasn't joking before. If Frankie was mine, she'd be confined to her bedroom for at least a week for coming to the club by herself the way she did." He shuddered at the memory of Frankie entering his BDSM club alone. There was no way any sub of his would be in any of his clubs without his protection. "And her bottom would be bright red the entire time."
"Neither of us finds the subs in the clubs attractive, even the brats are usually doing it for show. We need a woman with fire and passion, someone to love. Someone real. Because neither of us play at this. It's our lives."
Roarke sighed and dragged Sam close once again. He was right. Most of what went on at the club was all for play. For show. Yet that wasn't what Sam or Roarke wanted. It wasn't the way they lived their lives. They weren't in a twenty-four seven relationship, but they didn't just switch things off when they left the bedroom. There was no denying that Roarke was a man who took charge. In every aspect of his life.
"I don't believe she exists."
"She exists. Just you wait."
Ava Scott bit back tears of disbelief as she stared around her small apartment in despair.
Redundant. Redundant. Redundant.
The word echoed around her head, filling her with shock and fear.
How would she pay her rent? Buy food? Pay her bills?
Swallowing back the nausea bubbling in her stomach, she took a deep breath. She'd just get another job that was all.
In this climate? What would she do? She was young. Her job as personal assistant to the Head of Marketing at Bradford and James had been her first job. She didn't have a lot of experience. And there were a lot of other people out there looking for jobs with more qualifications than she had.
Panic welled and her hands shook as she opened the box of donuts she'd bought on her way home. She couldn't even remember stopping at the bakery on the corner, but she must have, the evidence was in her lap.
Twelve donuts, a varied assortment.
Ava closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa.
"No, no, no," she muttered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I won't do this. I can't. I'll get severance pay. I'll get a new job. Everything will be fine."
Opening her eyes, she sobbed. "I can't do this. I can't."
She needed to take the donuts over to her next door neighbor, come back and cook herself some dinner. The trembling rocking her body was more than just shock and nerves, her blood sugar was low and she needed to eat.
But she couldn't do it. She couldn't fight the old feelings.
She lifted a cream-filled donut to her mouth and took a bite. She chewed and chewed, carefully not swallowing. Jumping up, she ran to the bathroom and spat out the mouthful, running the water so the chewed up mess drifted down the drains.
Ava raised her head to stare at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were too large in her pale face, the skin beneath dark and bruised.
Her face had fleshed out some. Was she putting on weight?. She had to watch herself, she didn't want to become that fat girl she'd once been. The one who'd never been able to wear jeans comfortably, who'd been ignored and teased.
Sinking to the floor, she drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her body and sobbed.