by Roya Carmen
The hostess leads us to our seats, and Weston offers me the seating choice: chair or bench against the wall. I choose the bench which is lined with colorful flat cushions. It’s very cozy. I slip off my purse, shrug out of my jacket, and set them next to me on the bench.
“Fantastic place,” I offer. “Very trendy.”
“I might be in my forties, but I still try to be cool. My kids are always saying I’m old.”
I’m shocked by his revelation. He doesn’t look like a man in his forties. At thirty-one, I’m a lot younger than him. Who knew? And who cares?
As soon as our jackets are off, the server appears with water and menus. We thank her profusely, and peruse our menus without a word. I’m not sure why, but the atmosphere feels charged. This is a date, and we both know it. It’s not the office, and the dynamic is quite different. Suddenly, I’m quite nervous and eager to impress.
I know I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t help it.
The place is casual but the menu is quite upscale. We both study it for quite a while, and finally settle on the yogurt dill appetizer followed by chicken kebabs and Greek salad for me, and the duck gyro and salad for him.
“So tell me about yourself, Gretchen,” he says. “We really don’t know enough about each other.”
He’s right. We don’t. He really doesn’t know me at all. I feel like I know him better than he knows me, but truth be told, I don’t know that much either.
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“Where did you grow up? Do you have any siblings? How did you meet Donovan?”
“Wow, that’s a lot of questions.”
He smiles. “We have all night. Sure, I know you like to be spanked. I know you’re very creative, and a good mom. But what else do I know?”
“Well,” I start. “I grew up in Aurora, and I have a sister two years older than me. Her name is Laura. She lives in Paris, and is married to a French guy. My dad left when I was small, so it’s always been us two and my mom. I met Donovan at a grocery store when I reached for a package of pasta and the whole lot came tumbling on the floor, and he helped me clean up the mess. We were both college students, but were at different schools. He was visiting his mom, and was cooking dinner, I remember. He always said it was love at first sight.”
“And was it?”
I smile, remembering that moment years ago. “Yes, I think so. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
His smile fades. “Yes… it can be a dangerous thing.”
I nod in agreement. “What about you? Where are you from? Do you have any siblings. How did you meet your ex-wife?”
The server arrives with our appetizer, interrupting the flow of our conversation, but as soon as she leaves, Weston picks up the conversation where we left it. “Chicago… my mother was studying at Oxford, and one of her professors knocked her up,” he says matter-of-factly. “He wanted nothing to do with the baby.”
“The baby?” I ask. “You?”
He smiles. “Yes… me. He was a wealthy man, and supported us financially, but that was it. I was mostly raised by my nanny… Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth… like your daughter?”
“Yes… we named Lizzie after her.”
“Oh, cool.”
“I was an only child,” he goes on, and I find that easy to believe. He seems very independent, introspective, like he doesn’t need anyone else. I appreciate that, but part of me wants him to need me.
“And Bridget and I met at Harvard. She was studying law, and was a year older than me. She was my first love… I was just a kid.”
I nod, riveted. “That’s sweet. So she was your college sweetheart?” I ask, the question rhetorical. “Donovan and I were too… sort of. I guess we have that in common.”
“Was Donovan your first love?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I had a boyfriend in high school, but it was nothing serious. What about you?”
He smiles, and just as he’s about to answer my question, the server is back with our entrées. I could wring her neck, but she’s just so friendly, I forgive her instantly.
“Enjoy,” she says, and disappears.
Weston grins. “Uh… to answer your question… Bridget was my first and only wife. I was with three other women in the context of our couple exchanges, Mirella being the last one. And there’s been no one since Mirella.”
I’m sad for him. “She really broke your heart, didn’t she?”
He stares down at his uneaten food. “Yes, she did, but certainly not intentionally. She had an impossible choice to make, and she made the right one. I was pretty much out of the game. Didn’t want anything to do with women or love…” his words trail off.
My heart is frantic when I ask, “Then what happened?”
“You.” His smile is wide. “You happened.”
I blush. “You always say the right thing.”
“What? It’s the truth. You’ve woken a dead man, Gretchen. You’ve opened me up to the possibilities of love again.”
I’m speechless for a long second. “Is this what this is?”
His smile fades. “I honestly don’t know yet. I hope it is,” he says. “One thing I know for sure is that I’m kind of crazy about you. You’re all I can think about… day and night. And I’m hoping the feeling is mutual.”
I smile. “It is.”
A long silence fills the space between us. We both stare down at our plates. “We should probably eat, or our food will get cold,” Weston ventures, and we both grab our silverware.
The food is delicious, and the conversation flows easily. We chat about the restaurant, and other restaurants and places we’ve been. He’s been to many more spots than I have. He gets very animated when he talks about all the restaurants he’d like to take me to.
We both have strawberries and mint soaked in Sambuca for dessert. It’s new to me, and it’s delicious.
He pays the bill, and helps me into my jacket before we leave. We’ve taken a cab there, but we decide to walk back home since it’s a beautiful night and I’m wearing comfy two inch heeled boots.
“So, I have good news,” he says. “Rosetta is back on her feet, sorta speak.”
“Oh, is she? Is she coming back?”
He smiles. “Yes, she’s back this Monday. Apparently she’s wearing a moon boot, and has crutches, but she’ll be back.”
“Oh damn… poor her.”
A playful smiles traces his lips. “You know what this means right?”
“No,” I say, completely clueless. “I have no clue.”
“It means we’ll have to be more discreet,” he whispers. “I won’t be able to slap your ass whenever I please. I won’t be able to spank you at your desk.”
I laugh. “Oh, no.”
“We’ll find ways I’m sure. We’ll just have to spend more time in my office with the door locked.”
I ponder this for a second. “But won’t she get suspicious?”
He laughs. “Most likely. She’s a clever girl.”
“Well, this should be interesting.”
“Very.”
He gallantly opens the door for me when we get to Orchard Heights. He follows me into the elevator, a protective hand at the small of my back. It’s just the two of us, and he slips his hand up my skirt. I like it, but he doesn’t have much time to get naughty before the door pings open at the second floor. He follows me out, and walks me to my apartment.
“You can’t come in,” I tell him. “Claudia is there.”
He smiles. “I know. I’m just being polite and walking my date to her door.”
“So gallant.”
We both stop just outside my door, and I drink him in. He’s always so distinguished, so beautiful. His dark stylish jacket falls over his shoulders perfectly, and he seems so tall as he stands over me, too close.
He inches closer and closes the gap between us. He smells delicious, and I just want to eat him up, but this is not the time or place. He presses his warm li
ps against my cheek, and his labored breathing arouses me. He doesn’t say a word as his mouth explores the contours of my face, so softly, it pains me. His mouth brushes against mine softly, searching for a reaction, an opportunity. I want to kiss him so badly, it hurts.
“You know the rules…” I breathe.
“I know,” he whispers, “but I want to kiss you, Gretchen.” His tongue sweeps along my bottom lip. “I need to kiss you.”
My body screams. My whole core is on fire. But I still don’t feel right about it. And this isn’t the time. I’m afraid we won’t be able to stop if we start. I reluctantly push him away.
“You’ll let me bite your ass,” he says softly. “But you won’t let me kiss you on the lips.”
“It’s just… It just feels too intimate,” I try to explain. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“Because I’m your boss?”
18
“No… because of Donovan. I’m just not ready.”
He takes my hand in his, and his thumb rubs the diamond on my finger. “I’ve noticed,” he says quietly. “I know he was the love of your life, but I’m hoping you can let me in soon.”
He’s breaking my heart. I hope so too. “Goodnight, Weston. Thank you for the amazing night.”
“Do me a favor,” he whispers against my ear. “Wear a skirt on Monday, and no panties.”
I smile. “I don’t believe that particular kind of request is listed in the agreement, Sir.”
“Damn the agreement,” he scoffs. “You won’t kiss me… at least give me a consolation prize.”
“Sorry, no can do,” I whisper, aroused at the thought of being pantieless around him all day, at the possibility of sinful stolen touches. “But perhaps I could wear a thong for you.”
He smiles. “Yes, that will do. For now.” He takes a step back. No hug. No peck on the cheek. “Goodnight, Grasshopper,” he says, and turns on his heel.
I’m taken aback by his abrupt departure. He’s upset. I can tell. I get it. Someone like him, a control freak, doesn’t like not getting his way. He really craved that kiss. But so did I.
My heart is heavy as I open my door.
Claudia is sitting on the sectional, watching mindless reality TV. She bounces off the sofa when she sees me. “How was it?”
I smile. “It was great. The food was amazing.”
“Forget about the food… tell me about him.”
I laugh. “How was Ethan? Is he sleeping?”
“Yes, he’s sleeping,” she replies impatiently. “He was great. Now, give me the goods. Did you two…?”
I shake my head. “No, I told you… we’re not doing that.”
She seems thoroughly disappointed. “What? What about some kissy-kissy action?”
“No… none of that either.”
She cocks a brow. “What’s wrong with you? The man is hot… I’d be on that like steak on a grill. Is he gay?”
I laugh. “No, he’s not gay.” Unlike Abigail, Claudia is not privy to the unique relationship Weston and I share. And she would never understand my reluctance to move forward. She doesn’t know what losing a loved one is like.
“Well, I was hoping for some juicy details, but what can you do.” She heads toward the entry hall. “I guess your date was a dud. I should get going.”
I reach for her and give her a squeeze. “Thank you so much, Claudia. I really appreciate you babysitting tonight.”
She shrugs. “What are friends for? And besides, I had the night off, and nothing better to do on a Saturday night… the downsides of dating a chef.”
“So it’s not all roses and lollipops?” I tease.
“Well, we both work nights and weekends so we’re perfect for each other,” she points out. “And the sex is mind-blowing.”
I shake my head. “Okay… don’t need to hear more.”
“You know… sex?” she jokes. “It’s something you do with someone else, and it feels really good. You should try it sometime.”
“Get out of my house,” I scoff jokingly.
She laughs, and she’s out the door in a flash.
As soon as I close the door behind her, I lean against the wall, and replay the night’s events in my head; Weston in his fabulous jacket, the feel of his mouth on my cheek, the sensation of his hand up my skirt.
Yes, yes… sex. I’m dying to try it again.
Claudia doesn’t have a clue.
“Hey, Honey.” Rosetta is all smiles, already sitting at her desk. “Come and give me a hug. I can’t get up.”
I reach for an awkward hug. “It’s so nice to see you again. How are you doing?”
“Not bad,” she says. “I don’t mind being waited on hand and foot.”
I smile. “Well, anything I can do…”
“You’ll regret those words, Honey. You are now my slave. I can’t really walk yet, so you’ll be my little fetching bitch. Are you cool with that?”
I laugh. “Yes… believe it or not. Anything I can do.”
“How have you and Boss Man been getting along?”
I stifle a smile. Wouldn’t she like to know. “Uh… good.”
“He hasn’t been riding you too hard I hope,” she goes on. “He can be quite the taskmaster sometimes.”
Nope… no riding, just spanking. “No, he’s been good. He’s great.”
She lifts a brow and studies me for a long uncomfortable beat. “Uh-huh.” And then she turns her attention back to her monitor, and I wonder what is going on in her mind.
I turn back to my desk, and settle in. I fire up my laptop and get back to work. Maybe with Rosetta around, I might actually get some work done.
Work is moving along. I’ve finally got all my design concepts done, and laid out just so, ready to present to Mr. Boss Man and Rosetta.
An email alert halts my momentum. My pulse races at the sight of Mr. Boss Man’s name.
Dear Grasshopper,
As mentioned previously, now that our delightful Rosetta is back, you and I need to be much more discreet. Sure, we could have our playtime in my office, but our Rosetta is a clever girl… she will surely know what we are up to.
We must be as inconspicuous as we can be.
I’ve been thinking about you endlessly since our date this past Saturday night, about touching every inch of your skin. Needless to say, my Sunday was not exactly sinless. To be completely honest, I’ve been driving myself wild thinking of you.
I hope you have remembered our discussion, and are almost bare under your skirt, for me to touch at my leisure. I can’t wait.
Please meet me at eleven o’clock sharp in my bedroom. I will be expecting you.
Sincerely,
Boss Man
Damn. Work time is officially over. I check the clock at the top of my screen. 10:50 AM. I will be useless until then. How can I possibly focus after reading that message? My heart feels swollen, its beat conspicuous. My whole being feels both hot and numb. This sensation of arousal is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I love it, but I also kind of hate it.
Rosetta is busy clicking away at her keyboard, oblivious. I nervously rearrange my desk, and check my social media. The minutes are not moving fast enough.
I glance at the time display over and over again. And finally… 10:58 AM. Well, I wouldn’t want to be late, I tell myself. And it will take me about a minute to make my way there, I further justify.
I quietly peel myself out of my chair. I don’t want Rosetta to notice me leave. Which is stupid, I know. I could be going to the powder room. I could be heading to the kitchen, or the patio for some fresh air. Or to the entry hall to fetch something in my jacket.
The click-clack of my heels on the marble floor is much too loud, but she doesn’t seem to notice. My pulse races as I walk down the hall, past the kitchen, down another hall, and finally to Weston’s bedroom. I’m quiet as I enter, expecting him there already. I’m surprised to be greeted by complete silence. I wonder where he is. I study his bedroom. His bed is made, duvet tucke
d perfectly at the corners. Not a stray sock or item of clothing in sight. No empty glass. Even the fur throw is folded perfectly and sits on the bench at the end of the bed. I touch it and delight in its softness.
I venture into the walk-in closet, and slide my hand against the rows of perfectly pressed Boss Man clothes.
“There you are.”
His voice makes me jump. “Oh… Hi.”
Just the sight of him, standing tall in a beautiful suit makes my pulse race. “Wow… you’ve dressed for the occasion,” I tease. “You look amazing.”
His smile is playful as he closes the distance between us. “I had a meeting, but I made sure I made it back on time for my little grasshopper.”
“Yes… I was wondering where you were.”
He presses a hand softly on my ass, barely there, but I feel it everywhere. I’m amazed by how responsive my body is to his touch… his voice… everything. I wonder what he has planned for us today. I’m filled with nervous excitement.
He studies me for the longest time, a hint of a smile on his lips. He toys with a lock of my hair, and his gaze travels to the buttons of my blouse. “You look beautiful,” he says softly. “I love the blouse and the skirt.”
I stare down at my frilly plaid skirt, just above the knee. It’s not what most would consider sexy, but sexy is in the eye of the beholder I suppose.
He slides a hand up my skirt. His touch is suddenly hard, aggressive. He bites my neck softly, catching me off guard. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” His hand travels between my legs, and he finds me wearing a thong, just as he wanted. He growls as he slides a finger along my folds, driving me absolutely wild.
I close my eyes. “Me too.”
“I want this skirt off,” he says. “And everything else.”
I smile.
“Turn around,” he commands, and I spin around to face the row of shirts hanging in his closet. He undoes the button on my skirt, and slides down the zip. I can’t wait to be completely naked for him. The skirt falls to the floor, and he strokes my ass and slides a finger along my thong. “I love this,” he breathes against my ear.