And they still paid even the floating position pretty well so that I could save my money and get out of my parents’ house. I had no complaints. Life was pretty smooth sailing. Then they promoted me to being Jim’s secretary because no one gets to hang out in the sweet spot of being a floater forever.
At first I dreaded extra work and responsibility— I had no idea what I was doing and was sure I was going to someone commit malpractice even though I’m not even licensed to practice law— but it turned out to be an even easier gig. And it paid even better— much better, in fact— than the floater position had.
So now I’m coasting along in the slightly faster but still slow lane at work. You know, the one where you’re not sure if you should scotch on over to the right to let the cars behind you go faster, or if it’s worth putting pedal to the metal a little bit and joining the cruisers in the far left lane, risking speeding tickets and pile-on accidents.
People keep asking me what I’m going to do next, but change is fucking scary and increases my already- present anxiety, so I usually say nothing, even though I want to say it’s none of their damn business. The next step up would be a paralegal but that seems like way too much work although they’re paid even more.
I don’t even like the legal field. I’m just doing this to save money, get out of here, and figure out what I might want to do next. So, for the time being, I’m happy with where I’m at in life— a concept I’ve found that most other people have a hard time grasping.
If they’re not striving towards the Next Best Thing or working towards some Perfect Vision of the Future they might never have, people just don’t seem content. It takes a pothead like me to have these deep, profound thoughts and to be happy with the here and now, when I’m not freaking out with anxiety or depressed over circumstances beyond my control.
Speaking of circumstances beyond my control, I need to go face my crazy family. I reach into the consul and grab the little bottle of Febreze fabric spray and apply a generous portion of mist all over my clothes and skin.
It’s probably overkill, because it seems my parents wouldn’t recognize the smell of pot if it wafted over to them and said, “Hi, I’m of the Devil.” But if they did find out what I was doing, they would probably make me go give a public apology to the entire congregation. So, I try to stay on the safe side.
My dad is a pastor. We have to live in the parsonage house right beside the church where he preaches. So, we’re always under scrutiny from the congregants. And we’re always reminded of that fact and told we must be on very best behavior. Hence my anxiety.
Anyone in my situation would need to smoke pot to calm down. I can’t even tie my shoe without my dad looking out the window to see if some neighbor is watching and judging how far my skirt rides up my knee as I tie it.
Now, as I walk into the house, my little brothers are running around shooting each other with Nerf guns while my slightly younger sister is practicing her piano lessons. She’s still fully indoctrinated and plays the organ for church services. Obviously, we have nothing in common.
“Hi,” I yell to my mom, who is cooking dinner in the kitchen and who strains to hear me over my sister’s pounding of the keys and production of the music notes.
“Hi honey, how was your day?”
This question comes from my dad, rather than my mom. I didn’t even know he was home. He peeks his head around the corner of the wall separating the living room from the kitchen.
“Tamara, can you please cut that out for a second?” I ask my sister.
She sighs gruffly but stops playing the hymn mid-sentence.
I lift mine eyes up, unto heavens, where does my... plays in my head as I try to answer my dad.
I still know every word to every hymn, just as I know seemingly every important Bible verse. I was Bible quiz champion every year at Good News Camp. I was a teen missionary spreading the gospel throughout Central America.
My parents are so disappointed with how I’ve turned out, which surprises no one. They wanted me off at some Bible college by now, or married with a baby on the way.
“My day was fine,” I tell my dad. “I’m going to go on up to my room now.”
“Oh honey, we’re going to have a family dinner,” my mom says, frowning in disappointment. “Just as soon as this pot roast is ready.”
From my view of the kitchen, I can see my dad walk over to my mom and sniff his nose up in a distasteful manner.
“That’s pot roast?” he says.
“Yes,” she answers hesitantly.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“It’s not totally done cooking,” she says, already with a note of apology in her voice.
“Well why not?” he demands. “I’ve been working on Sunday’s sermon all day long and you can’t manage to have dinner on the table at a reasonable hour.”
“Mom, Dad, don’t fight,” I plead, something I feel I’m constantly doing.
It’s pointless. They don’t listen and come Sunday morning they will forget all about their fighting, just in time to act like a big fake happy family in front of the congregation. And I’ll have to play my role as the good little oldest daughter.
I’m used to it, but it still sucks.
“I would just like to sit down to a nice meal and a clean house for once,” my dad says, fighting more instead of less and obviously not listening to me. “I don’t even understand what it is you do all day.”
I don’t want to hear him berate my mom any further. I wish I could pipe in that I don’t understand why she stays with him all this time— especially after everything he’s put her through— but I know that would only make things worse instead of better.
I’ve learned a long time ago that there’s nothing I can do to make anything any better for either of them. I can only make things better for myself by removing myself from the situation. And I have a certain boyfriend waiting for me to spend time with him— William Faulkner. The Sound and the Fury isn’t going to finish itself.
“Well, I’ll be in my room until dinner’s ready then,” I say, as I head for the stairs that lead up to my room.
“See, now Katie’s home from a long day of work at the law firm and you don’t have anything for her to eat,” I can hear my dad tell my mom. “I’m sure she’s starving.”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I say. Except for having to deal with you.
I’m a grown woman and can and should make my own dinner. But I also learned a long time ago that it’s pointless to tell that to my dad, too. He still sees me as twelve years old.
I’m happy to slip out of my work clothes and into comfier clothes. I can’t help but look at my body in the mirror and that immediately makes me think of the guy who bumped into me at work today.
Damien. He’d told me his first name and then Ruby later told me he’s Damien Hudson, owner of a bunch of different lucrative companies.
He’d approached the firm to help him pro bono— for free— on some sort of venture in which he makes toys for kids with disabilities. But Ruby had done some of her sharp online detective work and found out he’s worth a fortune so since then the firm has been charging him and now plans to charge him more.
I haven’t been able to think straight since that happened and it’s not because of the weed. I’m a lot more used to vaping than I am being literally plowed into by a super-hot guy I had just been ogling from afar.
I can’t get over the way he looked at me. Like he thought I’m as attractive as I think he is. I look at my large but kind of saggy breasts in the mirror and wonder if he liked them. I run a hand over my nipples, which are getting harder just by thinking about him.
Then I touch the hair down between my legs. Should I shave? Does he like a bush? Trimmed? Bikini wax? Bald?
I can’t believe I’m even thinking about these things, involving this stranger of all people. It’s not like I’m really going to sleep with him.
Is it?
But why did he look at me that way?
&
nbsp; How could I lose my virginity to someone who looks old enough to be my father? Even if he is dashingly handsome and powerful and filthy rich?
I have leggings and a long, comfy shirt to put on but I decide to slip under my sheets naked. I’ll just read for a little bit, I tell myself, in the nude before getting dressed for dinner.
But I can’t concentrate on any of the words. I know I’m in too deep already, if a guy in real life makes me swoon more than Faulkner’s words do.
My hand returns to where it just was— my nipple. I twist it a little bit and wonder if that’s what Damien would do to it. He seems to be the type to like it rough. A real alpha.
I don’t know why —I never thought that would be my taste— but I think I’d like it. I lay the book down on my bed and slip my other hand between my legs. My fingers travel up and down my clit before deciding to rub on it just a little bit.
Yes.
It feels really good, but I wish it was Damien. Not just in my mind but here with me in person.
I bet he would know what to do to make me feel even better. I begin to rub myself harder, faster, opening up my legs a bit to be able to play with myself better.
I imagine his mouth on my nipples, and then on my clit. I feel myself getting so wet as I massage myself and think about Damien all over me. He would know how to get me off even better than I’m doing right now. But just thinking about him is making me feel so good.
I lean back on the pillow and allow a wave of pleasure to roll over me as I think about Damien bending me over and taking me from behind. I imagine he has a huge cock and knows what to do with it— both of which are things that I know must be true. I can just tell from looking at him. He exudes confidence, decisiveness and power.
But he wanted me too. I could tell that I had an effect on him. And thinking about his dark brown eyes looking at me as he has his way with me makes me give way to a full on orgasm.
Oh, my God, I think, but try not to say out loud. I don’t moan, although I want to. I don’t say a word. I just give in and let myself go to the thought of complete abandonment and surrender.
To Damien Hudson. The guy with the power to make me have the best orgasm I’ve ever giving myself, just by thinking about him and playing with myself.
“Katie!” I hear my name being called at the same time I hear the knock on the door.
“Just a minute!”
It’s my little brother Brad.
I jump out of bed and reach for my leggings.
“You can stop reading your boring old book now,” he says and laughs. “It’s time for dinner. If Mom didn’t burn the pot roast too much.”
Oh great. Now Brad thinks he can moan about Mom’s cooking as meanly as Dad does.
I need to get out of this place. But first I need to get myself together.
“I’m coming,” I tell Brad, and I can hear him walk back down the stairs.
Except I already came. And it was great. As I scamper to put my clothes on I wonder when I can see Damien again, and if he’s thinking about me right now the same way I’m thinking about him.
And I wonder if he’ll really do to me in person all the things I just thought about him doing to me right now.
Chapter 5 – Damien
I decide not to drive back to my office. I often work late but I’m annoyed by my meeting with Ron Sanchez and Asher Marks. How dare they quote such a high price to me. They obviously don’t want my business.
I need to make sure they don’t do any more digging into my personal information and continue raising my prices when they find out how much I’m really worth. They think they know I’m worth a lot, and it amazes me how they found out that much, but if they had any idea that it’s way more than that, they’d be gouging me even more.
Finding out how to stop their digging requires talking to my team at the office. But I can do that on the phone. I need to blow off steam.
And, I have to admit, I’m still pretty hot and bothered by seeing that hot little number I ran into in the hallway. Katie, she’d said her name was.
I can’t believe how much my body and mind responded to her immediately. It’s not like me, to lose control like that. I don’t know whether to embrace the new feeling or fight against it.
First things first. I need exercise. My body doesn’t maintain its youthful vigor and ripped abs by itself.
I strap a leash on my dog Fiji and run a few miles, trying to stay focused on the problem of whom to hire to represent me if Ron and Asher don’t come down on their fee quote. But I know they will. They have to.
Then I lift weights in my home gym and try not to think too hard about the girl who works for them. Katie with the stunning green eyes and lovely curves. Why the fuck can’t I get her out of my head?
Finally, it’s time to call my team at work. When I pick up my cell phone I notice that I have a few messages on my phone, and they’re all from women.
“Hey Damien, this is Rochelle. I had a great time last night and I know they say to let the guy call first and to give it a good three days but I just couldn’t resist seeing if maybe you…”
I press seven to delete. How pathetic.
“Damien. It’s Michelle. I know it’s been a while. But life got in the way. And I was just wondering…”
I hit seven again. Michelle is so last month.
“This is Monica and I can’t stop thinking about that amazing sex and your huge…”
Seven. I can’t even remember who that one is.
Seven seven seven.
None of these girls are worth my time. They’re either too clingy and pathetic or they’re not submissive enough. It’s so hard to find the right balance: independent and not needy, while also willing to be tied up or held down and letting me do what I want to them, without their putting up too much of a fight.
I have to admit, though. None of them are striking my fancy today because of my encounter with the girl in the hallway.
Now I’m the one being fucking pathetic. Usually I don’t let any one girl stop me from chasing all the rest, in search of the one who will be my pet for a while until I tire of her and move on to the next chase.
Who the hell loses interest in all surefire prospects just because they saw someone new after a rough day? Not Damien Hudson. Or at least not usually. What the hell has gotten into me?
I need to focus on something else. I call my IT office.
“Damien,” says Morris, my tech guy, who answers on the first ring. “What can I do ya for?”
There’s a reason I pay him and the rest of his team the big bucks.
“Since some little girl at the Marks, Sanchez and Reed law firm was able to find out a lot of information about my holdings and finances, do we have some sort of a leak?” I ask, right off the bat.
I’m not one to beat around the bush.
“And what if they’re able to find out even more about how much I’m worth?”
“They wouldn’t be,” Morris says. “Or at least, it would be very hard. They would need an IT guy with skills who rival mine. And you know that’s impossible.”
He laughs at his own joke. But I’m not very amused.
“Well, it did already happen once,” I tell him. “And today I met the girl who did it. If she can do it, anyone can.”
I fill him in on the details of what went on today and my fears of having further information about me discovered. He sounds genuinely perplexed but assures me that he’ll get to the bottom of it.
Well, he’d better. I’m loyal to a fault but he’d better protect my information. If he can’t assure me that nothing further will happen then I’ll find someone who will.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell him, willing myself to be more polite to him than I feel like being at the moment.
I need to shower. I stink like a sweaty mess from all the fucking exercise.
But of course, as soon as I’m naked and the water is running over me, all I can think of is the girl in the hallway. Katie. Katie Katie Katie who
won’t stop fucking with my head.
I decide I deserve to indulge in a little fucking fantasy. I never mix work with pleasure. But she doesn’t work for me. And it’s not like I’m ever going to see her again. Not unless Asher and Ron come way down on their prices, which they might just be too greedy to do.
I look down at my rising cock and wish that she was here so that I could make good use of my hard-on. Taking it in my hand, I grab ahold of it as I think about her curvy, tall body and her innocent looking green eyes.
How I wish I could defile her. Yank those preppy looking clothes off her, because they looked out of place anyway, and see her full naked body. She looks innocent but I know she has a naughty side lurking underneath. Maybe she just hasn’t met the right guy to bring it out.
I want to be that guy. I want to bring out her inner bad girl and I also want to bring out her pussy juices until they’re dripping all over my hand as I tease her by playing with her clit and tracing my fingers up and down her thighs. I want to see her up close. Smell her. Taste her.
I feel my cock throb in my hand as I imagine sliding it into her wet and willing pussy. I stroke my shaft back and forth as I think about fucking her pussy and maybe even her ass.
I wonder if she’d let me fuck her ass. Spank her. Tie her up. Have my way with her.
I want to make her go down on me while I fuck her mouth. I want to lick her pussy until she moans and wiggles and screams at me to stop because I’ve made her come too much that she needs a break. And then I won’t give her a break. I’ll keep licking her pussy and then I’ll fuck it.
I feel so good that I know I’m going to come. I just wish she was here to enjoy it with me. I blow my load into the tub and watch it get stuck in the drain for a minute before making its way down, and I think about what a waste that was.
It should be on Katie’s back. That’s where my cum belongs. And all over the rest of her too. In her hair. On her face. Dripping down her entire body. In her pussy.
I don’t even know her, but I want to mark her as mine. Claim her as my own.
Take Me, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Page 41