Baby for the Bosshole

“Well, one shoe, anyway.”

“But you did the opposite,” she says. “Took my shoes off. Does this mean I’m supposed to vanish at midnight?” She frowns a little. “But where would I go? It’s my home.”

“It is. So you shouldn’t go anywhere.”

“Are you going to disappear instead?”

“No. Unlike you, I don’t run when I’m uncomfortable. Also, there wouldn’t be any point. You already know who I am.”

Her eyes go wide and she wags a finger at me. “That’s true.” Then she weaves her way into the bathroom, swaying like a tree in a storm. Cursing under my breath, I follow her in. Bathrooms can be dangerous. All kinds of hard edges to slip and smack your head against. The vanity, a mirror, the toilet, the edge of the tub…

She plucks a sheet from a packet of wipes and runs it over her face. Then she reaches under her shirt and somehow manages to get her bra off by pulling it through the armholes. She flings it into a laundry basket in the corner and lets out a sigh. “Freedom…”

All my brain registers is that she’s braless underneath her top. Actually, my dick registers it first because more blood’s pooling there than up above.

She starts taking off her shirt. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just take the top off first, then the bra…? Not that I get very far with that line of thought. Because holy fucking shit, Amy’s topless!

Oblivious, she shimmies out of her skirt. But it isn’t some sexy, seductive move. She’s just taking it off. I really should leave now… But then her feet get caught trying to kick the skirt off and she starts to overbalance—

I step forward and catch her before she slams a knee against the toilet seat. She wraps her arms around me, her naked breasts crushed against my chest.

Her nipples poke me. A fire that starts from the touch blazes down to my dick.

This is both hot and frustrating as hell. I’m seeing more of her body now than I did yesterday when she was riding me.

“Hey, Emmett.” She smiles, her eyes glazing over as residual alcohol is about to drown what little awareness she has remaining. “You haven’t left.”

“Not yet.” Revenge. It has to be. And all because she’s in a snit over the Excel training from Friday.

She nods—or tries to. Then she disentangles herself from my support, stumbles out of the bathroom and collapses onto her bed. The good thing: her position hides her tits from my view. The bad thing: it’s showcasing that ass, which happens to be jackknifed fetchingly over the edge of the mattress.

She said she wanted you. That’s consent.

I put a hand over my eyes. No, no, no…

I go over, grab her around the waist and lift her completely onto the mattress, then tuck her in firmly. She doesn’t resist. Actually, she’s trying to cooperate. Maybe she’s remembering that I write her performance evaluations.

>

As I start to pull away, she takes my hand. I freeze.

“Can you not go?” she whispers, her eyes nearly closed.

When I don’t say anything—I can’t because I’m fighting a hellish internal battle against my baser desires—she tugs a little harder. “Juss stay till I fall asleep.”

The words are barely audible. Her mouth is set in a soft line, all vulnerable and sweet.

Just kill me now.

Sighing, I park my butt on the mattress next to her and try to think of new and creative ways to make money off credit default swaps.

Chapter Thirteen

Amy

My head feels like a million angry toddlers are pounding on my skull with spoons. Ugh. Why do I feel so awful?

I try to open my eyes but instantly give up. It’s way too bright. Didn’t I close the curtains before going to sleep…?