by Mac Flynn
The next day I still wasn't quite over my I-love-my-boss mindset, and went to his house with dread mixed with schoolgirl glee. I knocked and he answered with a smile on his face. I nearly melted on the spot, but kept myself together by imagining my putty self in my strong mold of self-confidence and abstinence. "You don't have to knock. You work here now," he pointed out to me.
I shrugged. "It's still your house," I countered.
"Yes, I suppose so," he agreed. He stepped aside and I stepped inside.
"So what's on the agenda today?" I asked him.
He pulled out the little black book, and I looked over the details. There were more phone calls, and they were written in red ink. "This looks serious," I told him.
Benson sighed and gave a nod. "It is, but I hope to be laughing at myself tomorrow for worrying so much about it today."
I handed back the book. "So what do I need to do in these phone calls? Take your side of the conversation and make up my own story for the other line?" I teased him.
He smirked, and shook his head. "No, but that would be tempting to see what you would come up with."
"Ah, you say that now, but you've never seen my creative stories," I countered.
"Blood-chilling gore?" he guessed.
"Something far worse."
"Suspenseful murders?"
"Even more deadly."
He laughed. "I give up, what are your creative stories about?"
I leaned in toward him with my face a mask of fear and horror. "Sparkling unicorns."
Benson blinked in bewilderment. "You're joking."
I grinned. "If I was joking I would have made a somebody-walks-into-a-bar joke."
"Then you're right, that would be terrifying and I don't think I would want to read it."
I sighed and shrugged. "Nobody knows the sufferings of a starving artist."
He looked over my solid frame with no sign of this starvation I spoke of. "You're right, a lot of people wouldn't know it from looking at you."
"Hardy-har-har," I quipped. "But you still haven't answered my question."
"What was the question?"
"What am I supposed to do while you have all these phone conversations?"
He grinned; it was an evil, you'll-regret-asking-that kind of grin. He gestured with his finger to follow him, and I obeyed him with all the humor of a funeral march. He led me down the hall to the study and over to the desk, where sat a pile of paperwork in folders. "This is what you need to do."
I nervously glanced over the papers. "They need burning?"
Benson looked alarmed until he realized I was joking, which was only partly true. "Each of these folders have different assignments. Some you have to call and set up phone appointments between the person and myself, others are to arrange for purchases and sales of stock."
Now I was really nervous. "And your secretary is the one who's supposed to be doing this?"
"Yes."
"And if I make a mistake, will that cause the complete collapse of civilization as we know it?"
"No, and you won't lose my fortune, either," he comforted me. "I don't take big risks on the market, and if I did I would handle the transaction myself."
I relaxed enough to breathe, but not enough to keep wishing I was far away; like in Hawaii. Benson noticed my nervous demeanor and put his hand on the small of my back. I stiffened, and chuckled. "I'm sure you'll do just fine, but how about we go for a walk first?"
I gladly tossed down the papers in my hand. "Sure. I need the fresh air before I dig into this pile of chores."
We went upstairs to the bathroom for the usual lathering, but things were different than yesterday. I rubbed his back and drooled over his body, and my own responded with a deliciously annoying heat. His tall, muscled back tempted me with tantalizing images of us together, embraced and sliding against one another atop the sheets of his bed. I was glad to be seated behind him when my face took on a redder hue.
"You're taking a long time," he murmured. His sultry voice didn't help me, but my inner self squealed.
"I-I just want to be thorough, that's all," I replied. It wasn't a lie, just not the complete truth. The full truth was I wanted to rip off my shirt and bra, and rub myself against his slick back. Before I could stop myself I'd let out a groan. We both stiffened, and the bathroom air turned a notch toward tense. I patted his back and stood. "All done!" I yelled louder than I meant to.
"Not quite," he argued. He turned around and held the bottle out to me. "The front still needs some work."
I gulped so deep my tonsil bounced off my feet. "I-I'm sure you're better at this than I am. You know, practice makes perfect and stuff, so I'll just go get your-"
"After that thorough job on my back I think you're ready for the front," he interrupted me.
I looked down at his smooth, glistening chest. My eyes wandered down farther than I meant and brushed over a certain bulge in his pants. He was affected as badly as me, and my rubbing him anymore wasn't going to help either of us. "N-no, really, I'll just-"
I turned to get at the door, but he grabbed me by the wrist and gently pulled me into his lap. My legs straddled his for the best position, and that plopped my heated spot right on top of his hard manhood. I put my hands on his firm chest and my face lit up like a ten-thousand watt Christmas bulb. "I-I don't think this is a good idea," I stuttered out.
His bright eyes caught my own, and when I shifted he shuddered. No matter how I moved I rubbed up against him, so I stiffened. "I-it's all right," he protested. "I won't do anything you won't like."
That was the problem; I liked everything he did to me. His hands slid up my shirt and massaged my back while he leaned in and pressed soft, heated kisses along my neck. I leaned my head back to allow him a better angle, and bit my lip to repress a moan. "N-not good," I whispered.
"You like it," he softly teased me. Damn it, he was right. I was changing into a pile of malleable flesh, with him as the sculptor.
One of his hands undid the strap of my bra, and slid around to the front. He brushed away the loose bra and cupped my breast in his hand. His warm, gentle fingers squeezed and massaged my plump flesh, and I encouraged him by leaning into his touch. His caresses were like soft wisps of cool air on a warm summer day. They relaxed and invigorated me, and I found my hands wrapping themselves around the back of his neck and pulling him closer.
His hot lips left a blazing trail of heat up my neck until he captured my mouth in his breath-taking kisses. I ached all over for his touches and ground my hips into him. He grunted and broke off the kiss. His smoldering eyes looked into mine with a need that left me aching for more. "You're making this very hard for me, Angel," he teased.
I was about to make it a little harder. "And that's why we need to stop," I gasped.
His face fell faster than all my previous metaphors combined. "What? Why?"
"We can't do this," I told him.
He wasn't angry, but he was frustrated. "Why not?" he hoarsely whispered.
"Because we're in a bathroom," I reminded him.
"We could-"
I pressed a finger to his lips and shook my head. "You could change the location and we'd still be boss and worker."
He clasped my hand in his, and his eyes had a playful glint in them. "I could fire you right now and solve that problem."
I had to admit that was really tempting, but that wouldn't have solved my money problem. "I'd rather you didn't. It would feel like we're cheating."
Benson sighed and his hard manhood deflated. "All right," he agreed. He reluctantly let me go and I just as reluctantly slid off his lap.
I felt a wet, oily substance on my hands, and glanced down to see my arms up to my bare elbows were covered in sunscreen. "Oh damn."
My comment startled him. "What? What's wrong?"
I held up my glistening hands. "Mind if I use your bath for a few minutes?"
He raised a lecherous eyebrow and smi
rked. "Sure, but the price is we take one at the same time." I opened my mouth to scold him, but he held up his hand and nodded. "I know, I know. I'll behave and meet you downstairs with your work."
"What about the walk?" I asked him.
He stiffly rose up; his hard-on wasn't quite a soft-on yet. "Perhaps later after I've recovered from your bewitching spell."