by Sky Corgan
You need this job. I try to remind myself. And besides, it's not like he's done anything to me. We're just standing here. Just talking. It's innocent. Only my mind is making it into more than what it is. This is all me. Not him.
“Do you ever wear your hair down?” His eyes make their way to the tight bun that I keep my hair pulled back in.
“I wear it up for religious reasons,” I quickly inform him.
“What religion?” His gaze settles on my face in interest.
“Christian,” I reply, still thinking of the bulge in his pants. There's nothing Christian about what just went on here—about what's going on right now.
Calm down. He's just asking you questions.
“1 Corinthians 11?”
My mouth falls open. “How did you know?”
“Are you familiar with this part then? If a woman has long hair, it is a glory to her; for her hair is given to her for a covering. But if anyone seems to be contentious, we have no such custom, nor do the churches of God.”
The fact that he knows any of the bible shocks me. The fact that he can quote it, even more so.
“I did not take you to be a man of God,” I say in my most mousey voice.
“I'm not a man of God.” He smirks. “I just learn what I need to know to get what I want.”
Now I'm shocked for a completely different reason. “Excuse me?”
“I'd like for you to wear your hair down here.” He looks at my hair again. “You should feel no shame about it.”
I avert my gaze, not sure what I'm feeling anymore. I'm so confused and out of my element.
“Shall I help you?”
Before I have time to respond, I feel Mister Sanderlin's fingers in my hair. He threads them into the strands at the base of my bun, using his grip to pull me closer. All the oxygen leaves my lungs in a whoosh as I lose my balance and crash into him. I try to press my hips back, but it's too late. I felt him, and electricity shot through me, pooling in my depths.
My eyes meet his, and I let out a shuddering breath, hating myself for being so aroused. His other hand reaches behind me, tugging at my hair tie until my long brown hair cascades over his fingers and my shoulders.
It feels like my heart is caught in my throat. I'm looking up into the face of sin, and I feel powerless. Like Lucifer, he's so unbearably beautiful; so horribly wicked.
He holds me in place, tracing his tongue over his bottom lip. I follow it with my eyes, wanting to know what he tastes like. His mouth is silently beckoning to me, and all I can think about is being locked together with him in unholy congress.
And then he speaks to me, the heat leaving his voice as he lets me go. “You'll call me Xan when we're in private from now on.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Xan,” I mouth his name, but no sound comes out.
I'm frozen in place; sensory overload has gotten the best of me. No man has ever held me so closely. No man has ever seen me with my hair down since I came into womanhood. No man has—
“Christiana.” Xan snaps his fingers to get my attention. Somehow, in the span of my distraction, he's managed to make his way back to his desk. Now he's staring at me expectantly.
“Yes, Mister Sanderlin.” I shake my head as if coming out of a dream. “I mean Xan,” I quickly correct myself.
“Take off your clothes.”
The world stops spinning. It's the cherry on the cake of unbelievable things that have happened since Xander Sanderlin walked into my life. I'm not even sure I heard him right.
“Sir?”
“Did I stutter?” He leans back, observing me, though there's no amusement on his face. “I laid out your new work uniform for today.” He gestures to the lingerie on his desk.
I blink a few times, hoping I heard him wrong but knowing I didn't.
“Sir, I can't do that.” I take a step back, holding my palms out to the lingerie.
“Does that go against your religion as well?” He scrubs his hand across his jaw.
“You know it does.” I eye him seriously.
“Well, unfortunately, I couldn't find a passage about it being Godly to wear lingerie for your boss.”
My anger flares at his mocking of my religion. “I'm pretty sure there's a passage in the law about sexual harassment.”
“Are you threatening me, Miss Miller?” Xan leans forward. If he's fazed by my words, I can't tell. His lips are twisted in amusement.
“I won't wear that.” I point at the lingerie.
“And I won't make you,” he tells me, and I can feel the muscles in my shoulders and neck instantly relax. “But if you won't wear it then you obviously aren't meant for this job, so I'll have to ask you to leave.”
“I tried to tell you that I couldn't do this job.” I look away, feeling a tendril of guilt for disappointing him, though I know I'm doing the right thing. “I thank you for the opportunity. I'll return to my previous position tomorrow.”
“Oh, you misinterpreted me.” He steeples his hands on top of the desk. “If you leave here today, you have no job. Not with me. Not with Checkmarks Scholarly.”
“You're going to fire me because I won't take my clothes off for you?” I'm unable to stop the words from coming out of my mouth in all their rage.
“Weren't man and woman meant to be naked? Isn't that what your bible taught you? Before Eve ate the apple, wasn't that the purest form of man?” My anger doesn't affect him, and that only upsets me more. This seems like it's a game to him. Corrupt the virgin. How many women has he played this with before me?
“But she did eat the apple,” I remind him.
“I'll make this easier for you.” Xan stands and walks around the desk. I sink back slightly, fearful that he's going to take me by the arm and escort me out of his home.
Instead, he stops in front of me, his hand moving up to his neck to loosen his tie. My jaw feels permanently hinged open as I watch him pull the tie from around his neck and toss it onto the desk before he slides his jacket down over his shoulders and discards it as well. Then his fingers pop open the buttons on his cuffs before moving to the collar of his shirt.
I should ask him what he's doing and sound indignant about it. I should, but I don't. Because I know what he's doing, and I secretly don't want him to stop.
I stare at him like a deer in the headlights while he removes article of clothing after article of clothing. I can't even pretend not to be looking at him lecherously as his muscular chest is exposed to me. I hadn't realized how tight his shirt was until I saw how flush the button was to his skin. The shirt practically burst open when it was unfastened, the ones below it giving slightly less resistance as they reveal a perfect eight-pack, his skin so taut against his muscular frame that I can see his veins snaking their way down into his pants.
And then his hands are at his belt buckle. My cheeks flame with all the heat I'm feeling inside. I should tell him to stop—that this has gone on long enough. But a dark part of me yearns to see the rest—to see all of him completely exposed and vulnerable.
Vulnerable? Ha. I doubt Xander Sanderlin has ever felt vulnerable a day in his life. If being naked made him vulnerable, he obviously wouldn't be undressing for me right now.
His belt makes a zipping sound as it slides out of the belt loops. I wait for him to continue, to see his deft fingers unfastening the buttons at his waistband. My eyes are fixed on his crotch. The bulge is still there—the outline not leaving much to the imagination. Is he even wearing underwear? I wonder. I don't see them peeking out from beneath his slacks.
His hand pauses at the waist of his pants, his thumb brushing the top gray button there. In the most sensual of motions, his fingers dip further down, crudely outlining his dick as he strokes himself over the thick material. My clit pulses—forbidden desire that I shouldn't be feeling—and I have to tear my eyes away.
I try to fake disgust, but discomfort is the only thing that reaches my expression. This is an uncomfortable situation, after all. When I finally look at Xan
again, he's smiling.
“Would you like for me to continue, Miss Miller?” He readjusts himself, momentarily dragging my gaze to his hand.
“Of course not.” I fold my arms over my chest, trying to put some kind of invisible barrier between us.
“Then shall I help you get started?”
He's behind me before I can even think to say no, his hands brushing my hair back over my shoulder. I know I should run for the door, but a dark part of me is curious how far he'll take this. Surely, a decent human being would stop.
I feel a hand on my throat, fingertips softly petting the flesh there. My heart is thudding so hard I'm afraid it might break through my skin. Can he feel it? I wonder.
His other hand wraps around me, and the collar of my blouse gets momentarily tighter as he works to unclasp the first button. The sound it makes when it comes free is deafening in the silence of the room, though it's quickly usurped by my unsteady breathing.
“Does it really make you happy to always be the good girl?” Xan whispers into my ear in a low sexy voice as he continues to work his way down the front of my shirt.
I don't answer because I'm too afraid to speak; more scared that I'd by lying to myself than to him. Of course, there's a sinful part of me that's always fantasized about being like other girls. It's human nature to imagine, in passing, being what we're not. But that's just it...I'm not like those other girls; girls that he's seduced probably hundreds of times before. I can't be like them.
I place my hands on top of his. “Stop.” They feel so tiny in comparison. It's a reminder of how he's taller, broader, stronger. If he wanted to, he could take me against my will. That thought should terrify me...but instead it does something else entirely—makes heat pool below.
“Is that what you really want, Christiana?” He nuzzles the bridge of his nose against my hair. It's the first sign of affection he's shown me since I stepped into this house, and against my better judgment, I close my eyes and savor it.
Again, I find myself speechless. A desperate part of me doesn't want him to stop. I know it's the right thing to do, though. I want to keep myself whole for the man I'm going to marry someday. It won't be him. This is wrong.
His hands begin moving again. I suck in as he slides them into my blouse, gripping onto the open sides. For a moment, I think he's going to molest me. But then he pulls them closed. Relief washes through me as I realize he's going to start buttoning my blouse again. Then it's torn away just as quickly as he rips my top open the rest of the way with one firm yank.
Buttons pop and clatter to the floor. My breath hitches and I involuntarily push back into his arms. Xan lets go of my shirt and clutches me tightly against him. For a second I feel every sinful inch of him. Then sense returns to me, and I fight my way out of his grasp, spinning on my heels and backing up against his desk as I run out of space. My hands fly up to cover my exposed bra, and I glare at him.
His expression is full of admiration as he unabashedly looks me up and down. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, Christiana.”
I don't know what to say to him. Don't know what I'm feeling. Don't know if I'm mortified of flattered. Aroused or repulsed. All I do know is that I have to get away from him.
My hands tremble as I desperately try to close my shirt. I fumble for buttons that aren't there, so shaken that I can't even process that they're gone until I look down and see it for myself.
There's a rustling noise, but I pay no mind to it.
Get out. You have to leave this house.
Warning bells are ringing through my head; sirens like that from the fire station across the street from where I live. Danger. Fire. If you stay here, you'll burn. He'll consume you. He's already proven he has the power to do it.
Frustration at my helplessness wells up. I hadn't realized that Xan hadn't made it that far down my blouse before he ripped it the rest of the way. The only buttons left would barely conceal anything.
I glance back at the white lingerie on the desk, though I don't know why. It's barely a scrap of material. It would probably offer even less coverage than what's left of my shirt.
No, I need to go back to my room, put on a new shirt, and leave. Hopefully, I can find another job. Even if Xan tells everyone not to hire me, I could probably still go back and work at the ranch. I left on good terms. The family there loved me like I was their own daughter.
When I finally look in Xan's direction, all of my thoughts are obliterated as I see him pulling down his boxer briefs. He must have been disrobing the rest of the way while I was busy trying to cover myself. I have half a second to avert my gaze when he's bending over; plenty of time in the grand scheme of things. But I know I couldn't force myself even if I tried. And when his underwear hit the floor, and he straightens, and I see him in all of his naked glory, I'm assaulted with a myriad of feelings that are completely foreign to me—things that are both physical and emotional. My mouth dries up. I allow my eyes to fall to wear his hand is leisurely stroking his cock. I gulp at the sheer size of it.
Big. Bigger than I thought it would be. Long and veiny and flush with all of the blood making it this imposing size. His arousal. He's turned on being here with me. And I feel it, too.
Looking at the perfection of his body, which no doubt took countless hours in the gym to create, my nipples tighten, and even them just brushing against my bra sends electricity down below. There's wetness seeping from me. I can feel it pooling in my panties. And no matter how wrong I know this is, I just can't take my eyes off of him. No man has ever looked more handsome to me at any moment in my entire life. It's like I'm looking at everything God ever meant to create in the flesh.
“It's not that difficult, Christiana.” Xan stops stroking himself and takes a step forward.
I push back against the desk, but there's nowhere for me to go. I'm trapped, so I just cringe away from him as if I'm afraid he'll touch me.
“Now,” his voice is oddly gentle. “You can put on the lingerie, or I can put it on for you.”
I close my eyes as he leans into me. Something brushes against my arm. He's intentionally close, but it takes me a moment to realize that he unintentionally touched me. When I open my eyes again, he's holding the lingerie up. He must have reached past me to grab it.
“It would please me very much to see you in this.” He pushes the outfit into my hands.
I gingerly take it from him, glancing down. Big mistake. I catch a glimpse of his manhood. It's practically touching my leg, the helmet thick and pink with a sheen of pre-seed on the tip. My mouth waters as I wonder what he tastes like. Then I chastise myself for the thought, forcing myself to look away.
Thankfully, Xan takes a step back. Oxygen rushes in to fill the space between us, though I feel little safety from the distance.
He smirks at me, walking backward slowly as he speaks. “I'll tell you what. I'm feeling generous today, Christiana, so I'll meet you halfway. I'm going to step out of the room and give you five minutes to change. When I come back in, you'll either be wearing that, or you'll be fired.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I'm not sure what possesses me to even consider putting on the lingerie. Maybe it's because Xan didn't give me a whole lot of time to think about it, and I do want to keep my job. He's doing this weird push and pull thing. He invades my personal space—makes me think he's going to do something horrible...but then he backs off. He tests my boundaries but doesn't overstep them. And for that reason, I wonder how far we can take this before I decide it's too much and tap out.
There's an immense amount of comfort in being alone. But I honestly don't know when Xan's going to return, so I make haste taking off my clothes and pulling the white camisole over my head.
Once it's on, I'm surprised that it's not see-through at all. The white lace is so thick that there's just a tint of my skin beneath, but nothing is actually exposed. It's not as long as I'd like it to be, stopping a few inches short of my navel, but it covers a lot more than I thought it wo
uld, and for that I'm grateful. The bottoms offer similar protection. They're not quite shorts but not quite underwear either. Some strange hybrid that makes my legs look longer. If I said I didn't feel sexy in the outfit, I'd be lying.
While I had thought my changing had consumed the entire five minutes, apparently I was wrong. I stare at my pile of discarded clothes on the floor, wondering why I'm willing to sacrifice so much of my modesty to keep this job. Of course, the monetary aspect is obvious. But deep down inside, I think I'm really staying because I'm curious. This is undoubtedly one of the most exciting things that have ever happened to me. Not that my life is particularly full of excitement. Before this, the most interesting thing I can say that's ever happened to me was watching a man get gunned down on the street. I was just a bystander, a child at my mother's side while she sold her daily bread. It was a horrifying experience more than anything else. Not like this. Not like this at all.
What's taking him so long? My eyes dart around the room, looking for a clock. They land on a grandfather clock against one wall. I didn't check the time when Xan left, but it sure feels like it's been longer than five minutes.
I gather my clothes from the floor, fold them neatly and set them on the corner of Xan's desk. Then I check the clock again. Three minutes have passed. He's definitely late. Does he want me to come out? No. He told me he would be back. I should probably stay put.
I lean back against his desk, briefly thinking about striking a sexy pose. Who am I kidding? I don't have the vaguest idea of how to be sexy. Besides, I shouldn't be trying to seduce my boss. Don't I want him to stay away from me?
Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing before me naked. I see his seductive green eyes. That jawline that goes on for days. Those full kissable lips. His defined Adam's apple that's oh so suckable. And down, down, down my thoughts go. Rolling over his broad chest and the valleys of his abdominal muscles and further down to his thick cock. I remember the way my mouth watered when I saw his slick arousal and curse myself for wanting...
