Seven Days With Her Boss

By: Penny Wylder

I mean, I know that he could replace me in the time it takes to pick up the phone, but to be that unwanted? It hurts.

“I’m not that type of woman,” I say. I’ve always been shy about being exposed, and even just one on one with him, this is beyond what I think I can do. Looking at the clothes, I long to be that sort of woman. Just thinking of being dressed like that for him . . . My entire body aches with desire. Confused with the lust and what he wants from me, I pick up one of the scraps of lace and drop it onto the desk. “These have nothing to do with my job.” Repeating the motion with the shoe, I don’t have the chance to drop it when a hard body pushes me into the desk.

He’s huge, dwarfing me, and he’s so close that I can feel everything: his hard body, his breath, even the thudding of his heart. Kodiche meets my eyes and somehow gets even closer without moving, like he fills up all the gaps between us. It’s overwhelming . . . and hot. It’s hard to remember why stripping for him is a bad idea. Getting naked sounds so much better, both of us naked.

“Everything I tell you to do is your job.” His voice is sweet, a sing-song tone that worries me more than the icy anger. I can’t anticipate what he wants when he speaks like this. “If you’re scared, I will help get you started.” Those hands I’d felt steadying me before unbutton the top of my shirt, and I freeze. Without even trying, he could cup my breasts. Only one person has ever done that, and it’s been longer than I care to think about. I’m so turned on that I can’t stop shaking, and I really wish he didn’t affect me like this. It’s unfair.

He undresses me slowly, admiring me with raking eyes that appreciate the lean lines and soft curves he reveals with each button. “So innocent,” he whispers as one finger accidentally brushes my nipple, making it harden.

My body jerks in response, the sharp pleasure twingeing all the way down to where I’m still covered. Being topless I feel so exposed—laid bare to him, as if he’s seeing more than my skin. He’s standing before me in his vest, shirt, and slacks, while I tremble in my underwear and unbuttoned pants. It’s unfair. Maybe if he even had an idea of what it feels like to be in my position . . .

Feigning boldness, I toss my hair back out of my face and pretend I’m not horribly mortified at what I’ve gotten myself into. “It’d help me adjust to being naked in front of you if you took off your clothes, too.” I make a small smile, the coy kind I’ve seen other women use around him during meetings when they try to flirt.

Eyeing me, he smirks but stays silent. My blush heats my face and neck, and it must be spreading down my chest as I watch Kodiche pull free his tie and then drop his hands to his belt. In a matter of seconds his shirt is undone and pulled free, the vest draped over my desk. Tattoos decorate his skin in a myriad of languages and black lines. Tribal art mixed with images, and a broken heart—the kind a teenage girl would draw on notebook paper—on his ribs. The writing there is faded and barely visible, unreadable from my position. It looks like it could be initials or a name.

His muscles are even more impressive. How can he be so fit for a guy who sits behind a desk all day? He has a six pack, maybe an eight pack, and his stomach is so flat that the veins are visible where they trail under the waistband of his slacks. Hairless, I can’t tell if he is naturally that way or waxes, and I’m disappointed when he stops his striptease.

I’ve been caught ogling him, and he is amused if anything, and arches one eyebrow as I try to lean back. He’s right there though, only an inch or two from me the entire time, and all I can think about is having that hard body pressing down onto me in bed, what it would be like to have his hands lifting me to him, and then that mouth . . . His lips are full and lush, a deep rosy shade that draws my eyes. They always have. I wonder what he kisses like? Would it be a gentle kiss, a tease, or would it be hard and demanding, making my own lips swell? What would it be like to have that mouth on my body?

I look away, blushing, not wanting him to even guess what I’m thinking about. He won’t let me live it down.

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