I kept bouncing between feeling flushed that he trusted me enough as an employee now to show me his more human side every now and then, being absolutely sure that I was imagining everything, and thinking that he was still trying to trick me. It was a confusing place to be, so no wonder my mind had been full enough to leech into my dreams.
I shook my head and stumbled sleepily back to my room to check my phone. It was only about half an hour before I normally woke up anyways, so I might as well go about my day. Not that I didn’t usually need every minute of sleep I could get, but I knew that I was too wired and tense to even slip back under before my alarm went off.
So instead I indulged myself with a longer shower than usual, letting the hot water wash over the curves of my body and turn my skin a bright pink. I always liked the water to be near-scalding, and for once I had enough time to let it actually get hot.
But as I soaped myself up, it was so easy to get distracted. I felt so oversensitive, with my skin demanding contact but the brush of my fingers being not quite enough. My hand crept towards my womanhood, itching to satisfy myself as only I had been able to for my entire twenty -two years, but I forced myself to stop.
I knew me, and if I masturbated, I would be so sleepy and boneless that getting to work would be absolute torture. No, I was just going to have to wait until I got home at the end of the day.
Besides, it was one thing to have a sex dream about my boss, which I couldn’t exactly help, but it would be another entirely to get myself off with Mr. Fitzgerald and his impossibly chiseled chin on my mind.
So, I soldiered through my routine, getting to take a little extra time with breakfast too. But by the time I got to work I was strung as tight as a fiddle and about as liable to pop. My whole skin felt too tight and too hot for my body while my focus kept flitting everywhere, like it was trying to find some forbidden relief.
This time, when I reached my desk, I only set my things down and then headed straight for Mr. Fitzgerald’s office. Ever since Tuesday, we’d been working on a new project in his office. Well, he was working, I was taking notes and diction and only occasionally offering my opinion.
I grabbed his coffee -I had started to pick it up on my way to work rather than dropping all my stuff off at my desk then heading right back out again- then strode into his office.
For a moment I was sure that he could read everything that happened right on my face, but his smile was only as jovial as usual.
“Ah, Ms. Viello, good. We can start again.”
“If you’re ready, sir.” I said politely. “Do you have any morning tasks that need to be done first?”
He waved the idea away with one of his large hands and I tried not to focus on what those thick fingers had done to me during my dream. But even as I tried to stop myself from thinking about it, I could still feel my cheeks slowly coloring. Maybe I needed to stay wearing make up to work, if only to cover up the embarrassing flush of guilt.
“Are you alright?” Mr. Fitzgerald asked, his hand reaching out. Before I knew what was happening, his palm was resting right on my forehead, as if he was taking my temperature.
It was such an innocent gesture, but my whole body froze. He was touching me.
He was touching me.
“You’re quite warm,” he said with no shortage of concern.
“There was just a lot of wind outside,” I said, as if a little breeze-burn could have me flushed so.
“Ah. I see. You know, you do have sick days.”
“Not yet,” I answered quickly. “I’m still in my probationary period. While I do have benefits, vacation and sick days don’t kick in until after the ninety-day period. Besides,” I squinted at him. “You’re certainly not taking a sick day.”
“Yeah, but I have an incredible mattress, my own car to get me home faster and a personal shopper so I don’t have to worry with all the day to day chores that I’m sure you’re familiar with.”
“Alright, good point. But now you’re just bragging.”
“Perhaps,” he said, that smile sliding back into place. “But is it so wrong of me to want to impress you?”
“Wasting an assistant does seem like an awful waste of time.”
“Not if it’s you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just looked to my notebook. “I believe I was taking dictation?”