She shrugs. “What are friends for? And besides, I had the night off, and nothing better to do on a Saturday night… the downsides of dating a chef.”
“So it’s not all roses and lollipops?” I tease.
“Well, we both work nights and weekends so we’re perfect for each other,” she points out. “And the sex is mind-blowing.”
I shake my head. “Okay… don’t need to hear more.”
“You know… sex?” she jokes. “It’s something you do with someone else, and it feels really good. You should try it sometime.”
“Get out of my house,” I scoff jokingly.
She laughs, and she’s out the door in a flash.
As soon as I close the door behind her, I lean against the wall, and replay the night’s events in my head; Weston in his fabulous jacket, the feel of his mouth on my cheek, the sensation of his hand up my skirt.
Yes, yes… sex. I’m dying to try it again.
Claudia doesn’t have a clue.
“Hey, Honey.” Rosetta is all smiles, already sitting at her desk. “Come and give me a hug. I can’t get up.”
I reach for an awkward hug. “It’s so nice to see you again. How are you doing?”
“Not bad,” she says. “I don’t mind being waited on hand and foot.”
I smile. “Well, anything I can do…”
“You’ll regret those words, Honey. You are now my slave. I can’t really walk yet, so you’ll be my little fetching bitch. Are you cool with that?”
I laugh. “Yes… believe it or not. Anything I can do.”
“How have you and Boss Man been getting along?”
I stifle a smile. Wouldn’t she like to know. “Uh… good.”
“He hasn’t been riding you too hard I hope,” she goes on. “He can be quite the taskmaster sometimes.”
Nope… no riding, just spanking. “No, he’s been good. He’s great.”
She lifts a brow and studies me for a long uncomfortable beat. “Uh-huh.” And then she turns her attention back to her monitor, and I wonder what is going on in her mind.
I turn back to my desk, and settle in. I fire up my laptop and get back to work. Maybe with Rosetta around, I might actually get some work done.
Work is moving along. I’ve finally got all my design concepts done, and laid out just so, ready to present to Mr. Boss Man and Rosetta.
An email alert halts my momentum. My pulse races at the sight of Mr. Boss Man’s name.
Dear Grasshopper,
As mentioned previously, now that our delightful Rosetta is back, you and I need to be much more discreet. Sure, we could have our playtime in my office, but our Rosetta is a clever girl… she will surely know what we are up to.
We must be as inconspicuous as we can be.
I’ve been thinking about you endlessly since our date this past Saturday night, about touching every inch of your skin. Needless to say, my Sunday was not exactly sinless. To be completely honest, I’ve been driving myself wild thinking of you.
I hope you have remembered our discussion, and are almost bare under your skirt, for me to touch at my leisure. I can’t wait.
Please meet me at eleven o’clock sharp in my bedroom. I will be expecting you.
Sincerely,
Boss Man
Damn. Work time is officially over. I check the clock at the top of my screen. 10:50 AM. I will be useless until then. How can I possibly focus after reading that message? My heart feels swollen, its beat conspicuous. My whole being feels both hot and numb. This sensation of arousal is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I love it, but I also kind of hate it.
Rosetta is busy clicking away at her keyboard, oblivious. I nervously rearrange my desk, and check my social media. The minutes are not moving fast enough.
I glance at the time display over and over again. And finally… 10:58 AM. Well, I wouldn’t want to be late, I tell myself. And it will take me about a minute to make my way there, I further justify.
I quietly peel myself out of my chair. I don’t want Rosetta to notice me leave. Which is stupid, I know. I could be going to the powder room. I could be heading to the kitchen, or the patio for some fresh air. Or to the entry hall to fetch something in my jacket.
The click-clack of my heels on the marble floor is much too loud, but she doesn’t seem to notice. My pulse races as I walk down the hall, past the kitchen, down another hall, and finally to Weston’s