Seven Days With Her Boss
By: Penny WylderI’ve only slept with one man, and he broke my heart not long after. He just wanted to fuck me and then made sure to shatter me before going. A few months into our relationship, he made sure everyone knew that I was too much effort to be worth it. My infrequent migraines from stress were too much for him, as was our “vanilla sex life” as he’d put it. My boyfriend got down on one knee at a party, and when everyone turned their attention—thinking he was going to ask me to marry him—he announced I had just been a pity fuck. “Who could really love someone so broken and sick all the goddamned time?” he’d said when all eyes were on us.
It's been three years since I’d trusted anyone with that level of intimacy, three years of not letting anyone close enough to touch me, and there I was with my boss this morning: panting and ready for him like I was in heat. It took a few months for me to get accustomed to Kodiche and his Oh-God-Please-Fuck-Me-Bad-Boy aura. I went on runs during my lunch hours to try and sweat out my arousal. All it did was earn me knowing smiles from the other women at work. In my time as his secretary, I had never seen a family photo or heard about a girlfriend. His father came for the holiday party once after retiring, but he left following the toast without making any small talk with our staff. I’ve forwarded his calls a few times, but that’s it.
Kodiche seems so alone.
My thoughts accompany me all the way back to Kodiche’s mansion, and a garage door is open as he’d promised me. Thinking of how lonely he must be makes me feel a little less annoyed with him for choosing this dress for me. It can’t be easy to find true companionship when he’s busy all the time. Maybe this is the only way he knows how to get someone? I don’t want to think of how many have been like this before me. I really don’t want to think of what else he might ask of me. “Just one moment at a time,” I whisper into the nearly empty garage.
It’s a struggle to get all his groceries into the door leading to the pantry from the garage. I manage to get them all in without dropping the eggs or smashing the bread, truly a miracle given the lack of help I receive. Kodiche doesn’t seem to even notice I’m back . . . If he’s even home. For all I know he could have left for the office, leaving me here alone.
The pantry has each shelf labeled with what goes where, but it’s so empty that the few groceries he sent me for don’t take up much space. Steak and shrimp go into the fridge, and even it is bare. A bottle of ketchup and another of soy sauce are in the door, sentinels guarding the single box of leftover takeout in the entire fridge. It’s bizarre—does he never eat at home? Is that why he has me here, to cook for him? I mean, he could just be absolutely clueless in the kitchen. With his work hours, it’s not like he would be home often to cook for himself.
With that task done, I check my coffee to make sure it’s still hot before going to find if Kodiche is home. Carrying the two cups, I wander throughout the main level, checking each room as I go. The stiletto spikes of my heels make a strange echo against the marble, accompanying me on my search. A light is on in the den. Even that’s empty, but a door is open on the far side. Peeking my head around the corner, I call his name softly. “Mr. Lamant?” When there isn’t an answer, I go in further. There was a larger library further down the wing, but this must be his private book room. The space is mostly barren: the empty room only has built-in bookcases, a coffee table marred with circles from condensation rings, and a chair. A book lies open on the chair, and I can’t resist the temptation to see what he was reading. It might be easier to understand Kodiche if I have any ideas of what he’s like outside the boardroom.
The spine is cracked from frequent reading, and while I don’t recognize the title, the cover art makes it easy to tell the subject. A man is dressed in a suit and has a woman on her knees in front of him, not covered much less than I am now. It’s the look of rapture on her face that steals my attention.
Setting our coffees carefully on the table beside the chair, I sit down and skim the book. He’d left it open to just the first chapter, an introduction from someone named Master Donovan to the reader about the story they’re sharing. Looking over my shoulder, I check to make sure no one is watching me as I skim the first few pages. A dominant and submissive are taking part in lots of naughty scenes, and it’s far more erotic than I thought, and also tender—at least after. The book has been opened a lot to a later chapter, and it doesn’t take me long to see what he was reading.
