Under My Boss's Authority: Office Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  I stop by the cherub statues for a minute to nod at them, and then I resume my trek. The walk down the tarmac is sullen and broken.

  I see the car, but I also wish I could turn back and see him watch me through the window. Like in those Nicholas Sparks books. Romantic, and the like.

  Nope. Not today. Today I am afraid I will find him watching. I would not know what to do with that.

  The gate buzzes me through, and I wave to the chauffeur. He opens the door and I settle in. I keep my eyes on the road as we drive off.

  Chapter Two - Henry

  Well.

  This sucks.

  Julia’s body is one finely tuned machine, I’ll give her that. The sway of her hip as she walks away, a tug of the skirt behind the small of her back, and the innocent caress her arms give her light and supple breasts are all enough to make any man fall. I want to be that man.

  For weeks I have wished for a moment of clarity, for some kind of sign to make a move on Julia. Today after I had breakfast made for her and sent the workers upstairs to work on the dusty rooms, or their weekly gossip, I asked her to sit with me and work.

  We have been avoiding the whole social distancing phenomenon as I definitely know we are seeing no one else. What I mean by ‘seeing’ is having company over. I know I see no one. I hope she’s seeing no one.

  She got so close that I could smell her hair. It smelled like it needed my hands to rub it.

  I trudge from the window when the cab leaves with her inside of it and sit by my wooden chair beside the fireplace. We ground into each other today by accident.

  She knew where her ass was. I knew where my groin was. We knew where we were, at the proverbial water cooler.

  It felt good. Three seconds of contact was enough. It was funny how we went back to the table still thirsty and empty-handed. Well, it was funny, anyway, until her phone rang, and she walked away towards the kitchen.

  My hand is down my waistline and it feels good to fondle my hard cock with her on my mind.

  Julia Cast is one of those women who seem to appear out of a dream when you look at her. Her face is thin and narrow at the middle, like a model who moonlights as a preschool teacher. She smiles when you least expect her to, and she laughs only when the joke is perfect.

  It has taken me three years to learn about her and who she is as a person, and after all that time I still feel as though she still holds back so much from me. I like that. Mystery engulfs the pleasure a man needs to feel fulfilled.

  This room will not cut it.

  I shut the folders and secure them in the safe above the fireplace. Marcy and Sarah, my father’s housekeepers, are busy somewhere on the grounds, sniffing around about some neighborhood gossip, I bet.

  Comfortably I tread towards my special bedroom downstairs and lock myself in it. I strip down to my socks. I light the room up with red candles and exhale.

  Then I pick up the bottle of lube from the stand and settle into the soft fuzzy chair, knees apart. My cock is still hard from being so close to Julia, and I stroke it with my eyes closed.

  I see her. I imagine her curvy, naked body in my mind’s eye, and I think about what I’d like to do it. I imagine bending her over and putting my cock into her tight, wet pussy.

  I’d play with her clit while I fucked her.

  I’d make her scream my name until she came…

  But right now, I’m coming, just thinking about her.

  That girl really does something different to me. She makes me surrender all thoughts and desire over to her.

  I hate that she owns my heart and my mind.

  I want to be the who owns her.

  Chapter Three - Julia

  I should learn from this. Preparedness is not only a virtue, but it can also be a universe of disappointment.

  The door feels rough underneath my flaccid and clammy fingers as I push it. Its weight is light and feathery, and I stamp my foot into the fluffy doormat with the misshapen black and creamy cat design on it.

  The wood clicks and I chink the key in, locking myself, and my disappointment, indefinitely indoors.

  Maybe not indefinitely.

  Today was supposed to be the day it all met in the middle.

  Literally.

  After so many years of dreaming about being with him, I really thought he make take me.

  Henry was supposed to grab me by my hips and pull me in and kiss me and fuck me.

  That was his moment to shine, to own me like a rag doll and squeeze my body like he would his mortal enemy. Fuck chivalry. And fuck me for needing to leave, to worry about finances and an uneasy feeling I had about someone being at my house. I needed to go check it out, but it was a very inconvenient time.

  Especially because my gray panties are soaked in the middle.

  Thighs spread, I lean back on the wooden cabinets at my house and rake the still sopping damp panties between my legs. Oh, it feels nice. The pure contrast between hot and cold, my fingers and the floor between my toes, jerks me backwards, and I stare at the rough-coated ceiling for a brief moment, and then shut them.

  Exhale. Inhale. Hold.

  I see darkness. I see red and blue lines mirrored in the vast black sea. I taste orange on my thin dry lips, and swallow a gust of shallow air.

  I shudder at the grasp of finger and lip and finger. I feel it. The gush of wetness melting down my inner thigh.

  Probing, I lift the hood and gyrate my thumb. Ah. It feels good, exceptional. I pinch the lip with a shy nail and let it fall. Pleasure.

  Dry air surrounds me. I swallow it once again and pull my clit aside, shoving a knuckle’s worth of my finger into my pussy hole, wishing that it could be Henry doing it to me instead. Oh God. It’s warm, slippery. I smile.

  A noisy echo bounces off inside my head. A faint image blurs into solidity. Thin face. Slanted eyes. Thick, strong nose with an ignorant bump at the far edge, ending in a swift curve at the tip. Soft nostrils. Wide. Narrow. Two strong muscle humps on either side of his neck.

  The sweet smell of anxiety brimming through his exotic cologne. Veins down his strong, muscular arms. Molecules of sweat running down his thick, black, smooth and wild hair.

  My fingers between these cold strands and warm scalp. My finger tracing down his clavicle, down the crevice between his chiseled breasts, down his small, cute navel, down his neat pubes, down his veined shaft, down into me.

  In my mind, his cock beats like his heart. The tip throbs. The end of it plays with and kisses my clit. I sigh. I gasp on entry, inhaling slowly and surely. His lips and my own share a hello, and we both fall into a sea of forgotten memories.

  In my fantasy, he thrusts. I thrust back. My thighs. They clench. They sing. They burn. They struggle to breathe.

  My clit, my fingers, my fuzzy mind, the darkness behind my eyes, the high-pitched frequency behind my ears, all meet at the same time and pull me apart, nearly in half.

  ‘Gooooood, oh Gooood.’ I exhale, inhale, hold my breath.

  I lose the world for a moment in eternity and scream until there is no more of it. An orgasm wipes my mind and flips a new page over. The back of my knees click on the floor. Ass and cunt fire up and make me kneel.

  My arm tires. My fingers run loose. They rub. They pump. They do not stop. I breathe and hold my breath again. The powerful climax relaxes and grips me once more. Its origins are from my womb and as high up as my aching nipples.

  ‘Ahaaaaaghh!’ I exhale, breathe, and hold.

  Orbs of light race down my neck, up my mind, down my nipples, up my ears, down my pussy, down my ass and then back up again. My fingers are frantic now, brushing the excited clit in demented vigor and alarming urge. My body shoots down and I breathe out.

  I see the floor first thing when my eyes pop open. There is drool on it. I check my face and wipe that off. Wow.

  The apartment is cold, and I’m alone. I sit up and urge myself to rise. Panties and pants by my ankles, of course. Ki
cking them aside, I get up. I check my fingers. Slippery and wet. There is liquid fire between my legs.

  I should wash up. The blinking light catches me in my stride towards the bathroom.

  The device is not plugged in. The screen is blank. The keyboard is dusty. It does not hum.

  So why did the laptop camera light blink once and then go dark?

  Chapter Four - Henry

  ‘Will that be all?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. Have a good night, Sarah. You too, Marcy.’

  The doors click into place and the room resumes its silence. I am one with it, and the cold smooth sip of fifty-year-old malt whiskey joins me for company. The fire in the hearth crackles and spits out, dances like a vibrant Samba beauty and shows me the other side of it, this life, the other life.

  It makes no sense how today has passed along, worse than I had hoped but far better than I imagined. My wrist itches. I soothe it with a scratch.

  One more sip. Salt would help. Ice too. This might be better. The taste reminds me of the old house growing up. Clambering down the stony steps to find hidden rooms within the mansion. Fighting with fresh zombies and anchoring their souls with my old and ancient magical sword.

  Kissing that mysterious girl behind the loft balcony overlooking the grounds’ pond. Fighting with my father over something as silly as whether or not the company name should be changed. Black umbrellas and suits in kind, with pats on the shoulder and swift clearing of the after-service spread.

  It comes full circle, this feeling, this oneness with being alone. I do not mind it. I think of my father a lot tonight. He was a hard man to please, as the old cliche goes. Mother left when he was nothing. She came back when he was something.

  He scoffed and she begged enough at his feet and got hers. Now she lives in Malibu or Accra depending on the weekend. She leaves me be. I leave her be, too.

  Another sip. This time it is dry. It hits my chest and trickles like pounding pepper down to my gut. I see her for a moment, and pull that image closer.

  I see her clearly now. Julia Cast, woman extraordinaire. I get comfortable with her in my mind, even forget the shadows dancing across the walls. She is enough light.

  Her curves were the first thing I saw when she walked into my office that day. From the looks of things, she had just been hired by the manager at the time, and I had just intruded on some small talk. Those curves, hidden under the vestiges of a properly ironed office dress with a hint of blessed pearls strung across her neck.

  She stuttered before she spoke. I was not calm when she did. It was in that singeing moment, oblivious to the world of our status as employee and employer, as corporate versus individual, that we both realized we were as old school and primitive as the old adage: we were man and woman.

  I kept my thoughts to myself, of course. It would have been impolite of me to give into my urge to take such delicate innocence. Julia never looked twice at me when we were in the same office. I chose to think it was unrequited, for as long as two years.

  One year ago, though, I had tasked her to be my direct aide in a board of governors meeting. She didn’t bat an eyelash and took on the assignment without question. Through the whole meeting as I listened to the board members talk and release and engage, I felt it.

  I did not look down, except at the side of her face. She was smiling, smirking, cheekily grinning at the slight touch of her foot on my inner thigh.

  We talked about it in our own imagination, yet never brought up between us in real life.

  That was when it got physical, yet, it stayed mute.

  I was in the private elevator going down when she joined me. I could tell her mind was elsewhere and not on the job that day. It came to me to try something.

  One foot away from her, I leaned and stopped humming. I let the tension wake her up from the crevices of her mind. I bet it did. The lines of tension between us could be drawn, painted and stuffed on a wall by preschoolers.

  She ground into my hand when dropping off some paperwork on some Tuesday afternoon. I was lazy until I felt her ass, and its associative heat.

  I offered her a silent special arrangement after the quarantine started. It was silent and yet, loud.

  I asked her to come to my home and work with me on a project, one that would take Palmer Sporting Goods to the next level of industrial competition. She accepted, and ever since it has been a fight within myself as to whether or not to explore things further.

  Today I chickened out. I should have told her to stay and talked to her about it. She should have tried to let me know more than a simple apology. She should have…

  I should call her.

  The number comes on naturally to my fingers and it rings twice.

  ‘Miss Cast.’

  ‘Hello, Sir.’

  ‘Julia...’

  ‘I’m sorry. Force of habit. Hey, Henry.’

  ‘Are you alright? You left in such a hurry this morning.’

  She exhales and I hear some ruffling of sheets. She must be in bed. It’s only just past six o’clock, though.

  ‘I just needed to sort a few things out on my end. It didn’t feel right to keep on working with half a mind.’

  ‘But my own was here. Or at least half of it. I was here,’ I insist gently. ‘With half yours and half mine, we could have finished it all today.’

  I feel her smile and imagine that she is tasting her lips.

  ‘It was not intentional.’

  ‘I know. You did not -’

  ‘Julia?’

  ‘Sorry. Um… I’m okay, no need to worry.’

  The drink in my glass, almost empty and in need of a top up, looks great in this lighting.

  ‘Maybe this place doesn’t make you comfortable. Would you mind if I came to yours tomorrow so that we can finish it? How does nine o’clock sound?’

  Static.

  I push the phone closer to my ear.

  I hear her breathing.

  Fast.

  ‘Julia?’

  A click.

  The line is dead.

  I try her again.

  There’s no answer.

  My gut hums loud right now, and I know what must be done. I set the glass down and move swiftly past the Victorian seats, past the old, low chandeliers and fight the long black coatsleeves up over my shoulders and then down my arms. I grab the keys behind the hidden painting and pluck the mask off a rack in the wall.

  I am out the door. I lock it. Dashing left, I find the garage door. I palm the screen and it beeps. The door slides inward and upward. Eyes of glass and color glare back.

  I choose my stead. The Harley will do for tonight. I kick it up and let it roar. The blue button on the right lever blinks as I pump the gas. The garage door locks behind me.

  The gate magnetically opens. The air slams into my face. Cold. Sudden. I push the gears harder. I swallow the bitter swill in my mouth. My gut hums louder.

  Chapter Five - Julia

  ‘So, tell me what you want to hear, something that’ll light those years, sick of all the insincere, I’m gonna give ALL MY SECRETS AWAY...’

  I would have won The Voice in an easy swoop, man. The lights, cameras, crowd would have all bowed down to my two cold feet, billowed a sexy gust right from the bottom up of my red cotton fluff robe and crowned me the Queen of Altos.

  The semi-full pink hot water bottle by my feet is trying and failing at its one job. Between my two cold feet, it is nuzzled and rubbed and fondled. Rhythm from the mildly blasting speakers find my arms in the air as I sing along to a classic that pulled me through college and while house hunting for a roommate.

  OneRepublic was Charlotte Prestige’s favorite band before she found funky beats from the mystical chimes of the Haitian people. I pull the glass of wine closer to my lips and take the old country in.

  I am no expert, but whoever made this batch in 2010 knew what they were doing. It slides down my throat and I smile.

&n
bsp; At a time like now, Charlie would have forced me to the kitchen with mitts on, and we would have made fudge from scratch. She would have made sure I had my fill of her childhood stories, and later we would argue about whose childhood memories of music or movies were correct.

  She would then ask me, when totally inebriated, whether I had had sex behind the bleachers for my sweet sixteen. The answers to these painfully personal questions would be an obvious and blatant NO, masked deceptively under the guise of needing to sleep or being too tired to have such a chat at two in the morning.

  She would pass out, and I would have taken an old, tattered muumuu that lay on the third hand couch we so cherished and covered her sick Norse tattoos and lightly moisturized arms. I would sleep next to her and thank the heavens, or the depths, or whoever listens to such utterances from the lips of a quiet and saintly virgin, for a friend who came from the worst and most vile and highly questionable vestiges on the planet: the Craigslist’s Roommates Wanted section.

  My phone buzzes twice and vibrates off my thighs. The caller ID is one I would know even if half blind. It has an emoji with a serious black tie and briefcase next to the name. I swipe right.

  Something clutters in the kitchen. Loudly.

  ‘Julia?’ Henry’s voice asks over the phone.

  I cut him off and hush the device to silent mode. Hastily I kick the bottle from my feet and hear it sploosh all over the carpet.

  I am on my knees, the band around my waist tightening between numbing fingers. Under the bed. It’s so stupid it’s almost Hollywood. But it will have to do. I have no closet. I have no attic. I have no fucking secret door that I can hide behind.

  Moving the strands of the duvet to the side, I grip my way through the dust bunnies and old shoes and lean on my elbows for support. The screen lights up. I swipe left.

  I am alone. And yet I am not alone.

  I shut my eyes and do that thing we all do during times like these. I pray.

  I hide inside the memories in my mind. Scrubbed pots and pans and dying flowers and mom’s shepherd’s pie and fresh custard apples and old school shoes and runny water behind the rusty tap and old newspapers and a tiny spatula and my first Prom dress and the last kiss on the cheek before running away from him and the acceptance letter to college and the late night phone call and the blinking laptop light and the…