“What do you have to lose?” This feels so right.
“I don’t…” Her thoughts weigh heavily.
Would we both be put at ease if I simply told her I’m not my brother? I don’t want her to get freaked out that I’m a stranger. She might leave, and I wouldn’t be able to handle that. I have to be near her a few more minutes, then I’ll come clean.
“Tell me about yourself. What do you do to relax?”
“Read books.”
“Is that it?”
She shrugs. “Lots of books.”
“Let your hair down.”
Her hand flies to her chest. “Mister Adams…”
“Or I can do it for you.” Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. It would be my preference to run my fingers through her silky strands, find the little clip that’s holding her together, and undo her. That would be the old me. I’m on thin ice, but the flicker of excitement in her eyes lures me further.
Her blush takes over her entire cheeks. Angling her face to the side, away from me, she holds her bun with one hand and timidly retrieves two bobby pins. When she pulls her hands away, her hair spills down, signaling my cock to wake up. She rakes her fingers through her hair, each stroke a virtual brush over my thickening rod.
“There, now you look relaxed too. Doesn’t that feel better?”
She ducks her head. Intending to refresh her drink, I head to her, but when I’m close and can see the subtleties of the golds and blondes in her rich brown hair, I lose focus.
I stroke a finger over her ear. “You’re gorgeous.”
Two
Natalie
“Thankyou.”Yearsofetiquette, of how a young woman is supposed to behave are ingrained in me so the pleasantry flows off my tongue easily. The shallow breaths, the lightheadedness, and the excitement over my fantasy coming true make it impossible to utter anything else.
Forcing breaths deeper into my lungs, I regain what composure I can. Mister Adams has switched from his normal expensive musky cologne to a new one that I can only describe as the perfect combination of spice and sex. It invades every pore, every thought, every bit of my being.
With my back straight, ankles crossed, and mangled bobby pins in my hands, I say, “You are very attractive too.”
In my fantasies, I’m much more eloquent, and I also wouldn’t still be making metal origami out of my hairpins. My plan, if that’s what a fantasy could loosely be called, was to let my boss release all of my sexual frustrations with a single kiss. Anything he did after that could be considered a Christmas bonus.
“Let me take those before somebody gets hurt.” His large hand cups mine, doing so much more than removing my pins. He’s owning me, protecting me, giving me a promise, and I don’t even feel silly reading that much into it. He shoves the metal carnage into his pocket.
I’m so lost in my fantasy that I can’t tell what’s real anymore. While I roll around in my maybe-real, maybe-not bliss, he continues, “So you like the way I wear the casual look?” His voice is like melted butter on my popcorn.
“It’s like you’re a whole different person. There’s the Mister Adams from the office and then there’s…”
Accumulation of drool as I’m trying to speak causes me to cut myself off so I can swallow, and not just because I got myself thinking about buttery popcorn.
He stares at me, contemplating something. “I am—”
A low rumble rocks my world and for a split second, I think it’s a reaction to my boss. I reflexively grasp the arms of my chair, but it’s not until I note the concern on his face that I realize the rumble was real. I’ve never been in an earthquake, but I imagine it would feel like that.
I’m happy to stay put while he checks the house and looks out the windows. The chance to breathe is useful. Am I willing to see where this goes? Which lines will I let him cross? I fan myself as heat overtakes me at the thought of my boss being my first.
The swagger in his stride as he re-enters the room steals my breath all over again. “Everything’s in place.”
He stops beside my chair. When I angle my head up, looking at him from under my lashes, he says, “It must have just been my heart pounding when you let your hair down.”
The sexual confidence oozing from him is the counterbalance to my sexual innocence. His finger tucks under my chin, breaching untouched territory. The things I’m feeling are so much stronger now that I have his attention. At work, I’m his robot secretary, or that’s how it feels since he handles as much as possible through purely professional emails.