Read Bossy Request Online

Authors: Lacey Silks

Tags: #desire, #love, #Erotic Short Story, #series, #short story, #couples erotica, #sex, #lust, #Fantasy, #Adult, #Erotica, #sensual, #Erotic Romance

Bossy Request

BOOK: Bossy Request



by Lacey Silks


Kobo Edition


Copyright 2012 © Lacey Silks


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Publisher’s Note

This book is a work
of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be
constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events,
locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are
reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the
publisher and author.

Warning: the
unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
Criminal copyright infringement, influding infringement without monetary gain,
is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a
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This book is for
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considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot
be accessed by minors.



Sharon helps her hot boss to match his ties to his
wardrobe every morning. Straining to keep their working relationship
professional, she keeps her distance from Frank until an accident at work
forces them closer. An invitation to dinner, to thank Sharon for her help,
stirs feelings she’s hidden from Frank for years. Fearing she could lose her
job if their relationship flourishes, Sharon hesitates. Frank’s feelings toward
his secretary are tested. He can no longer resist Sharon, and makes his move.
Will Sharon begin to work under him the way he’s dreamed for years?

Bossy Request is an erotic romance short story,
approximately 5600 words (250 words/page). Contains adult content and graphic
sex scenes (M/F).






About the Author

work by Lacey Silks

with Lacey online


To our hot bosses



I adjusted Frank's tie with passion,
the same way I did each morning. The man had no sense of style. In the top
drawer of his office desk he kept over thirty ties, all neatly folded in
custom-made, six-by-five compartments. Before work started, my boss counted on
me to pick the right one for his outfit.

"Hold still." I tugged at the loop, tightening the
fabric. My eyes leveled at the height of his Adam’s apple.

"You changed your perfume." He sniffed. “Very
compelling. What's it called?”

"Thank you, but I don't remember," I lied,
adjusting his collar. My cheeks felt hot. How could I tell him the scent's name
sounded like 'fuck'?

"It smells like F.C.U.K." He grinned, holding my
gaze. Something about Frank’s green eyes and caramel skin made him sexier than
most men. And the morning aftershave he wore intoxicated me as if I had drunk a
bottle of wine instead of coffee. The scent’s lethal dose warmed my body from
my nose down to my toes.

"Yeah, I think that's it. You're all done." I
stepped back just as my pulse began to race.

"One day I'll take you out to dinner to thank you
properly for keeping me coordinated."

Dinner with Frank was an offer most of his female co-workers
would have jumped at; perhaps the male ones too. After all, the thirty-year old
executive had everything a girl could want: a career, independence, money,
expensive taste in cars, and the looks of a supermodel. He was a California
surfer living in New York. Frank's morning workout in the company's gym
downstairs had him ripped like a Roman statue. And the fact that he was the
kindest man I’d ever met was an added bonus.

I heard myself sigh. Frank’s smoldering eyes sparked with a
mysterious flicker, catching me off guard. He narrowed his brows, and then
resumed fixing his hair in a full-length mirror. What secrets were those green
gems hiding? Why had he been single all these years?

Standing so close to him in his office each morning when I
chose his tie gave me a chance to brush up against his muscular arms, glide my
fingers along his pecs, and touch his chin with the back of my hand; all
accidentally—at least, he thought so. As comfortable as our relationship was, he
remained my boss. And I needed to keep my job.

I stepped closer, peeking at his reflection beside mine. We
did look good together, except I could have wished for bigger boobs, wider
hips, and a plushier rear. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t quite supermodel material,
especially in terms of my height, but it was me in his office every morning
helping Frank, no one else.

"For all the times I've helped you, you owe me dinner
in the most expensive restaurant." I stepped back and leaned my behind on
his desk.

“How long have you worked under me?” He turned his attention
back to me and strolled over. His eyes narrowed and my heart began racing again
at the entendre.

The way I’d imagined working under Frank had a different
meaning for me. Was that his intent?

“Five years,” I whispered.

“Yes, it’s definitely time for an expensive restaurant.” He

“Your coffee is ready.” I pointed to the steaming mug.

“I’m in meetings all day, but I’ll try to arrange
something,” he said.

I held my breath. He’d really do it. Frank would take me out
to dinner!

“I’ll be at my desk if you need anything,” I turned on my
heel, feeling a heavy stare on my behind. Before I left his office, I locked my
gaze with his again. His eyes gleamed with desire, but unfortunately there was
nothing I could do about it.

I kept his sultry expression in my mind for the rest of the
day, though, and into the night.

Friday morning, I arrived at work an hour early. A restless
night of wet dreams had kept me awake for hours. I clenched my right hand,
recalling the gentle massage that turned into a full-throttle rub in my dream
about Frank. It wasn’t the first time.

As I passed the company gym downstairs, I saw Frank running
on the treadmill. I stood by the glass wall, watching sweat drip down his back.

Leave it to Frank to break the gym's rules and not wear a

He pushed forward, faster. His body moved in a perfect
rhythm, not a spot jiggling—except perhaps his package at the front, which
unfortunately I couldn’t see. From the fitted suit he wore to work, I knew it
was a worthy package. It had been a while since I'd seen him run, and I had forgotten
how good he looked without a shirt.

I found myself staring at the side view of my boss's
physique until he caught me. Heat rushed toward my cheeks, and I ran away like
a little girl. Was that how I wanted him to think of me? A little girl? In my
mid-twenties, I was old and mature enough to handle a man like Frank. Did I
want to handle him? No, I couldn't. He was my boss. It was strictly against
company policy to get involved with co-workers.

I rushed up to my office, disappointed I couldn’t look at
Frank as just my boss. How could I look him in the eye this morning when I
helped him with his tie? I’d have to concentrate on his Adam’s apple again, but
that was an even bigger turn on. Would he want to chat with me about company
policies? He hadn’t before. It wasn't the first time he’d caught me admiring
him; except each time, I had pretended it hadn’t happened. Ogling Frank as if
he were being served on a platter and I were a starving whore had been the best
perk of my job for years.

Flushed, I sat in Frank’s leather chair and opened my legs.
A breeze blew up my pencil skirt, cooling through the dampness in my underwear.
If I didn’t regain control before Frank came, I’d need to sneak off to the
bathroom to release myself.

To forget about my hot boss, I decided to begin my morning
routine earlier. I swiveled on the chair and opened the drawer to tidy up his
ties. On the top, an olive envelope popped out with my name on it:

The gentle strokes and curves of the cursive font suggested
a well-thought-out message. I lifted the envelope to my nose. Frank's cologne
filled me, and I imagined it mixed with the salty sweat of his body. I rushed to
my cubicle and carefully pulled the metal opener along the edge.



Please accept my invitation to a formal dinner at my
house, tonight at 6:00 p.m. I’d like to show you my gratitude personally,
instead of at a restaurant. I hired a chef, so I promise you the food will be

I cannot imagine anyone else working under me, and I
can’t wait to thank you properly.



My knees suddenly felt week. I was sure there was something
in the company's policies about a boss inviting his secretary to dinner. But it
was just dinner. Right? Nothing else. Frank went to company dinners all the
time—although I didn’t think any of them happened at his house.

And, he’d hired a chef! For me. Well, at least we wouldn’t
be alone. Did I want to be at Frank’s house by myself? No, that was something
that I could not handle. Perhaps if I organized his ties at home it would make
it easier for him to get dressed in the morning... No, I couldn’t do that. I
to help him in the office with his ties in the morning. Dressing him was the
best part of my job.

I hurried off to the lunchroom to get Frank's and my coffee.
Why had he sent such a fancy card? Why not just ask me? Was this more than a
thank you? Did I want it to be? No, it didn't matter how hot he was, I needed
to keep it professional. My job depended on it.

As I contemplated what I should say to my boss, part of me
got lost in the thought of what it would be like to visit his house. I've never
been there, but I'd heard rumors about his kinky decor that resembled a porn
set—with dance poles, satin sheets, cameras, red lighting and all.

I poured the coffee into both mugs.

Then again, it wouldn't surprise me if some bitter former
employee had made it all up because Frank wouldn't sleep with her. He was one
of the most professional bosses I'd ever had—not that I’d had many. I simply couldn't
imagine him differently.

A soft brush on my shoulder startled me, and I jumped up. The
steaming coffee spilled on my silk blouse.

"Ahh! Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot!" I tried to pull
the wet fabric off my skin.

"I'm so sorry, Sharon! Quick, hands up." Frank
tugged the hem of my blouse out of my pencil skirt.

I lifted my arms and he pulled it off, blowing a cooling
breath on my chest. I hadn't noticed when his swift fingers unbuttoned the top.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

I clenched my fists as the heat spread from my chest
inwards. Frank kept blowing at my front as he waved a folder he’d brought with

"Now I really have to make it up to you." His
concerned gaze flew to the olive envelope I'd set on the counter. "You're

I looked down at my barely covered chest that had taken on a
pinkish shade. My soaked bra didn't help to hide my beasts. That's when I
noticed my nipples hardening as his cooling breath soothed the burning

Frank took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around my
shoulders. "Come quick. No one else is here yet." He grabbed the
envelope, stuffed it in his pocket, and pulled me along into his office. Frank
locked the door behind him and then guided me to the private quarters of the
room that I rarely ventured into. Behind glass doors that separated his
workspace was a lounge chair, an original Picasso painting, and three potted
plants. The view opened onto the Hudson River, glistening in the morning sun.

My chest pulsed with heat from the coffee and I felt weak in
the knees.

“Sit,” he ordered, gently pressing on my shoulders.

I sat down and leaned back on the lounge chair, shaking. He
lifted my feet up on the chaise. Chills began running over my body, turning the
burn into shivers.

Frank knelt on the white rug at the foot of the seat.
"Let me see the damage." He began opening the jacket, but I gripped
its edges shut.

“Sharon, we need to cool it down,” he whispered.

I let go of the fabric and let him expose me, again.

He examined my front before his head came closer to my
chest. “Don’t be afraid.”

The sound of his soothing voice calmed my nerves, but when
his lips touched my chest I felt my breath lock in my lungs. It wasn’t a kiss,
just a touch of his mouth against my skin. My insides clenched the same way my
fists had.

"I think it's calming down." He pulled away and
gently placed his palm to my chest. A new wave of shivers ran through me, this
time from anticipation of the pleasure I thought about when Frank’s lips were
involved, and I forgot the burning pain.

“You got some on your undergarments too. I’m so sorry,” he

“It’s not your fault,” I heard my voice shake. “I should go
get that washed in the bathroom.” I pointed to my stained blouse in his hand.

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