Filthy Boss (2 page)

"Whatever works for you," She says, the purr back in her tone. The innuendo is practically dripping off her words.

"If you'll excuse me, it's been a long day."

I don't wait for her to answer before I walk away. Some things never change, and I've had to make this escape one too many times to be polite about it anymore.

But Alyssa...that could be interesting. I think about the flushed look on her face when she said she wanted nothing but professionalism. A bold statement like that is as much for her as it is for me. I'm willing to bet she was thinking some decidedly unprofessional thoughts about me.

I catch myself following that fantasy through one more time, and pull myself back. Professionalism. I can do that. If it's professionalism she wants, that's exactly what she'll get.

One Week Later

"A
lyssa." Charles calls from his office.

I get up and push open the door. "Yes?"

"I need you to set up a teleconference with Robert Jenkins from the Seattle hotel some time next week. Can you tell him I need to speak with him about some of the expense reports?"

"Sure thing." I make a note at my desk to make the appointment first thing in the morning. It's almost the end of the day and I already know that the Seattle staff is most responsive in the morning. You get to know the problem customers quickly.

I check my e-mail. Nothing new except for a call for help from Jennifer asking for volunteers to organize and decorate the next office party. (It's going to have a theme!) I plan on ignoring that email as long as possible. I've only been here a week so I think it's a little early for me to be sucked into planning the office parties.

Especially since I have a feeling Jennifer will want to know all about my first week working for Charles after my little display at the party, and that's a conversation I don't want to have. Not only am I not sure that she would keep anything I said to herself, but I also don't want to tell her that I feel like a complete and utter idiot. He's done nothing to indicate he even notices that I'm a woman, let alone that he wants to sleep with me. Utterly smooth and polished, not even a moment where I could question his propriety.

So naturally I feel like a prick for calling him out on behavior he clearly doesn't have. He's been nice enough not to mention it though.

All that doesn't change the fact that he's hot. I rarely swear, and the man is fucking hot. If his face wasn't enough (It is.), you can tell under his suits that his body is fantastic. If his body weren't enough (It definitely,
definitely
is.), his voice is enough to make your mouth water.

In fact, his voice is why I'm so embarrassed and don't want to see Jennifer. He may not act inappropriate at all, but the sound of his voice makes me want him too. His voice plays a regular role in my fantasies now, telling me exactly what he wants to do to me, followed by exactly what he wants me to do.

This has been a fun week for my imagination.

I can hear Charles from the office now, making a call, and I let myself imagine that he's speaking to me. Telling me to come into his office and lock the door. I pull up my web browser and log into the Tantalize website. This collection of people's deepest sexual fantasies is the only thing that's been keeping me sane this week.

I've been reading for years and occasionally I wrote something, but never like this week. Now I have one for every day I've been here. Some days two...writing down the fantasies gets them out of my head. They'd be all I can think about otherwise.

"Lock the door." He says.

I do.

"Come here."

My body is moving almost before he says it, like it already knows what he's going to command.

He leans back in his chair and observes me. I don't move. I wait for him to tell me what to do, and I'm shaking with anticipation. "Go face the window."

The city unfolds before me, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. It's vertigo inducing—like I'm going to fall even though I'm safe. I see his ghostly reflection moving closer behind me, and I can feel the heat from his body because he's so close, but he doesn't touch me. Not yet.

"Did you do what I told you to do?"

"Sir?"

I hear the smile in his voice, "I told you that the next time you came into my office, you weren't to be wearing any underwear. Do you remember?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Are you wearing any now?" His breath tickles my ear, and I brace myself against the glass.

"No, Sir."

His hand snakes around my waist and I feel the entirety of him pressed against me from his chest to his erection. "Do not move unless I tell you to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." I feel dizzy from the sensation of almost falling, and from his closeness. "I understand, Sir."

His hand slides up my body to the buttons on my shirt, undoing them so can access my breasts. His fingers are teasing through the thin material of my bra, circling and caressing before moving to pinch the nipple to the edge of pain before smoothing it away.

His other hand pulls up my skirt, bunching it around my hips, and I gasp as his fingers start to explore. The sound he makes when he confirms that I am most certainly not wearing underwear is not a gasp. Somewhere between a moan and something more primal that pulls at my gut, and my hands come off the window.

His grip tightens and his fingers freeze. "Don't. Move."

"I'm sorry, Sir." I place my hands back on the windows.

He strokes through my folds, and it takes everything not to move. I'm already soaking wet and sensitive. He slips a finger inside me, and its my turn to moan. He moves in and out slowly, drawing out the sensations till I'm quivering. "Tell me how it feels."

It's hard to find my breath, "It feels very good, Sir." He brushes his thumb over my clit, and I close my eyes, struggling not to move. "So good."

I feel his laugh rumble against my chest. "But you're not going to come yet, are you?" Nothing escapes me but a moan, and his fingers go still. "Tell me."

"Not until you tell me to, Sir."

He slides another finger inside me, and I feel his lips against my neck. I force my eyes open and take in the feeling of pleasure and vertigo. His hand starts to move faster, and his other arm locks around me pinning me in place. His thumb is circling my clit in time with his fingers, and sparks flare in my body with every touch.

My breath comes in gasps, and I feel that ball of pleasure building deep inside. "Sir." I say.

"No." He responds. He knows what I'm asking. Instead he moves faster, fucking me with his fingers until I'm breathless. My whole body is shaking, and I think I'm making some kind of noise, I'm not sure. Nothing exists outside of his fingers touching me, and my body waiting for his command.

His lips press against my ear, and he says it so softly. "Come."

He presses down on my clit and the pleasure bursts outward. I'm gasping and blind, riding his hand, staying still entirely forgotten. Every part of me is consumed with pleasure, a super nova.

His hand slows down, softly caressing, making me jump with every sensitive touch. "Turn around." He says, and he kisses me when I do, pressing me back against the window. "You are so beautiful when you come. Especially when you come for me. Luckily, our lunch hour is far from over."

His pants are already undone, and I'm close to coming again when he slides into me.

"Alyssa?"

I jump in my chair. Charles is standing at the door. I place a hand on my chest—my heart is pounding. "Mr. Saxon, I'm sorry. I must not have heard you call." I minimize the website on my computer, trying not to think about the close call.

"I didn't call, I needed to bring you this." He hands me a flash drive. "I was hoping I could ask you to run an errand. I know it's not the norm."

I smile at him, relieved that he didn't notice that my absentmindedness was anything more than that. "Of course, what do you need?"

"The investors from Heely International need to move their meeting to early tomorrow. I need the presentation boards for the hotel done over night. There's a shop near my apartment that will do it for me, and I can pick them up in the morning. I have a call now, so I can't take them myself."

"Sure thing," I nod, "You have all the specifications?"

He scribbles down the dress on one of my post its. "I'll send you an email with everything while you're on the way. Take a cab and we'll reimburse you." I look at the address and see that it's across town.

"Tell them I sent you." Charles says as I'm grabbing my bag and the sticky with the address. "Oh, and Alyssa? Take the cab home when you're finished. It's close enough to the end of the day. Thanks for doing this."

I laugh, "It's not a problem. Really. I'll see you tomorrow."

I
nvestors are a pain in my ass. So is Robert Jenkins. So, it seems, is everyone else in the world today. Except Alyssa. She is always lovely no matter what she's doing. I make a mental note to send her a gift for doing the job of a messenger. But those presentation materials are too important to trust to a messenger. If everything goes well tomorrow, we might have our first international hotel.

I think about the bottle of wine I'd been saving for just this milestone. Hopefully in the near future I'll get to drink it. Maybe, eventually, I'll get Alyssa to toast with me.

There she was again. No matter what I did this week she was never far from my thoughts. I had given in to my fantasy about her more than once the night of the party. While I was showering, while I was in bed...

Every time I asked her to do something in the office I thought about what it might be like for me to tell her to do something else. I imagined her choosing to obey my every word. The results of that thought were luckily hidden by my desk. I'd had to sit more than usual this week, given the fact that I got hard at the mere sight of her now.

But she wanted professionalism. She was flushed earlier when I had spoken to her, almost like she was embarrassed. The darker corner of my mind said it could be a different kind of flush. Something a little more provocative.

Which was ridiculous.

Wasn't it?

I had seen her close something on her computer before I gave her the flash drive. The thought pops into my head before I can stop it—she's gone for the day. I sent her home. I shouldn't look. I should
not
look.

I'm not sure why I'm moving towards the door, but it seems my body has already made the decision for me. The rational part of me knows that this is a breach of privacy. However, the rational part of me is also aware that it is not currently the one in control.

I take a look around the floor to make sure no one is heading in my direction. The rational part of me agrees that I shouldn't get caught looking at something risqué on my assistant's computer. If there is anything risqué.

I move the mouse and the screen pops up to her desktop. Along the bottom, there is a single tab. Knowing it's the stupidest thing I've ever done—and that includes ice dancing lessons—I click on it. The page is a deep burgundy, and the top is decorated in gold scrolling lettering 'Tantalize'. Then, in smaller letters, 'Where fantasies come to life.'

On the screen is an open writing box, and it looks unfinished. I scroll back and read the beginning. I think my jaw drops open, but I'm not entirely sure because as far as I'm aware there's no blood in my head any more. I expected something dirty, but I didn't expect her to be
writing
it. And I didn't expect it to be...this. This is everything I had wanted.

A burst of desire rolls through me, and I grip the edge of the desk. I look at the screen name. AlysInWonderland. Before anyone can see I black out the screen and go back into my office, and just like the first line of her story said, I lock the door.

I quickly pull up the website on my phone and search for her name. Half a dozen stories pop up. I click on the first one and skim through it.
He tells me to kneel down, and so I do, a thrill going through me at the thought of being at his command.
I go back and click the next one.
"Touch yourself," he says, "I'm going to watch, and then you're going to watch me."
And the next.
I place my hands on the desk and wait for him to life my skirt and take me. I'm prepared to wait. He like to take his time.

It's completely impossible to ignore the fact that my dick is, if possible, the hardest I've been in my life. Every one of these stories is a power play between a secretary and her boss. He gives a command, she does it without question. Alyssa...and me.

I sit in my office and think about nothing. About cacti and baseball and prunes and anything and everything to get my dick under control before I leave. Because I'm going home. My fantasies be damned. Tonight I'm going to read hers. And tomorrow I'm going to see how professional she really wants it to be.

W
hoever would have though that Thursday traffic is the worst of the week? It seems to be that way here, or at least it was this week and last week. Maybe everyone is over eager to get to work because more than half of the week is over? I don't know. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that I am fifteen minutes late.

I hate being late.

I hustle through the lobby and of course today is the day that the elevators take forever. Why is everything against me today? I bolt out of the elevators and try to sprint-while-walking as much as I can. Charles' office is all the way in the back corner of the building. It's the perfect office for a CEO, it's a nightmare for a late employee.

An employee whose boss isn't even in yet.

I bite my lip in an effort to contain my frustration. I put myself through all that, and he's not even here. Of course he's not, he's meeting his Heely International at the hotel downtown. So, it turns out I'm a total airhead after all. My mother was right.

I flop down at my desk, thoroughly annoyed that I put myself through all that anxiety for nothing. Even if he had been here, Charles hasn't given me any reason to believe he'd be angry about it. He's been a great boss so far, unlike my last one who could never let the small things go. There's a message blinking on my phone, and I dial my voicemail while tapping my mouse to wake up my computer.