by S. R. Watson
“Tell me, Brennan,” he whispers next to me. “Have you ever been touched like this? Is your pussy craving for my fingers to come closer? Do you want them to get lost in that sweet wetness that I smell?”
I want to be appalled … I really do. He’s my boss, for God’s sake. But he’s right. My panties are soaked. His filthy forward talk has me wanting things I shouldn’t. Things I can’t admit to out loud. I grab his wrist with trembling fingers because I’m scared he may continue his travels north.
“I don’t want anything,” I lie. “And I don’t have to answer that question. You’re my boss.” My indecisiveness is giving me whiplash. I’m leading him on, yet I can’t help it.
“Mere words. Don’t ever lie to me. That question was rhetorical. I know exactly what that tight little cunt wants. I’m the master of these types of games, love. You want me to chase … to beg … to be the pursuer? I won’t. I only fuck what’s offered freely; if I choose to accept. So go ahead. Deny what you’re feeling right now. Hide behind the ‘I’m your boss’ cloak. Just know you’re the only one who believes that.”
He removes his hand from between my legs and pours himself another glass of scotch like he just didn’t issue that verbal slap. I didn’t ask him to pursue me or any of the other crap he just said. I feel like I’ve been doused with a bucket of ice water. How dare I step out my league? I should have never agreed to come up for a swim and definitely not joined him for a drink in to his personal space. So much for not leaving things on an awkward note.
“And with that, it really is time for me to go,” I say as I stand. I sway and have to grab the back of the loveseat to remain upright. I may be a little more than just buzzed. Silas quickly stands too, ready to offer me his hand. “I got it.” I refuse to let him help me after he basically told me I wasn’t worth chasing.
I stumble past him and head to my room. Silas follows closely behind me until I make it safely down the stairs. Neither of us says anything more, and I’m kind of disappointed he is letting our night end this way. Oh well, back to reality.
The alarm on my phone goes off next to my head, and I groan. I can’t believe it’s eight a.m. already. I was out until one with Silas, but sleeping in didn’t help. My head feels like elves are tap dancing on my forehead, my mouth is dry, and my stomach is roiling every time I move. At least the phone alarm is less offensive than the one from yesterday.
I slowly reach for the button located above the nightstand and press it to electronically open the curtains. The room floods with instant light, and I have to blink a few times before my eyes accommodate to the intrusion. It is then that I see orange juice next to my bed and two aspirins. There is a note, but it simply says, “Take me,” with no signature. It must be Silas. Only he would know the hell I’m in at this moment, but how did he get in here? And without me knowing? I take the pills and drink just enough juice swallow them. I spot the bottle of water next to where the juice was sitting, but my stomach is protesting the thought of any of it.
Within ten minutes, I’m hovering over the toilet and dry heaving. I’ve already thrown up the little that was in my stomach. I hear a knock on my door, but I can’t lift my head from the porcelain to care. I’m not scheduled to work for another seven hours, so I’m not obligated to be bothered with anything work related. I’m content to ignore whoever it is until I hear the distinctive beep of a key card being inserted and then my door opening.
“Brennan?” Silas calls. Ugh. This day just went from bad to worse. Maybe if I don’t answer, he’ll go away. How dare he let himself into my room? Again. I dry heave once more just as he opens the door to find me kneeling on the floor. “Shit, Brennan.” He curses.
“Go away,” I manage to say between hurls. I know I look completely disgusting, and he’s witnessing me at my worst.
“Cut the tough shit because I’m not going anywhere. I should have never let you drink that much. If I had to guess, I’d say you’ve never been drunk before either.” I turn slightly to see him shaking his head. Well, fuck him.
“What happened to not chasing or pursuing me? Why are you here? I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not doing either. You’re doing a fine job, by the way, of the taking care of yourself bit,” he rebuts just as snarky.
“Fuck you, y-y-you jerk!” I snap. Yup, I just cursed out my boss. There goes my job. I regret the words as soon as they’re out. I’m usually better at holding my tongue. I had years of practice at the Neumann’s … well, mostly with Mrs. Neumann. Silas surprises me, though, with a hearty laugh that fills the small confines of my bathroom.
“In time, sweets. Today is not that day. Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time,” he quips.
“You’re impossible.” I don’t elaborate because I can’t win with him. His whiplash tendencies are just as bad as mine are. He is so mercurial.
“Impossible to resist. Yes, I know. I hear that all the time.” He chuckles while I huff in frustration. He walks over to my shower and turns the water on.
“What are you doing?” I panic.
“Well, I figured you might want to wash away that puke you’re wearing.”
I look down, and sure enough, I have a few chunks on my leg that missed the toilet. “Ugh,” I groan. “Just shoot me now.” And if that wasn’t enough, I just realized I’m on the floor in just a t-shirt and panties. I really am a mess right now. All my dignity just went poof in a puff of smoke.
“Don’t be embarrassed. We’ve all been there at one point in our lives. Just admit that this is a first for you.”
“Fine. I’ve never gotten that buzzed before, and now I’m paying for it. Happy now?”
“Oh, sweetheart, you were wayyyyyy past buzzed. You drove straight past buzz fest and into drunkville. What you’re experiencing now is called a hangover,” he informs me. “I have no reason to be happy about this. I can think of quite a few other firsts of yours that I will enjoy, but this isn’t one of them.”
I know one of the “firsts” he’s hinting at, but he just said quite a few. What other firsts is he talking about?
“You’re pretty sure of yourself for a guy who swore he wouldn’t pursue me. I remember that, so I guess I wasn’t too drunk.”
“So you’re admitting that you’re a virgin?”
“Whatever. It’s not like it’s a big deal. Yes, I’m a virgin. There, I’ve said it even though it’s none your business. My sex life, or lack thereof, has nothing to do with this job.” I push myself up off the toilet. I couldn’t be even more ashamed if I tried so no use in just sitting on the floor.
“I’m going to enjoy filling that smart mouth of yours with my cock just as much as I will enjoy making your ass red.” That sexy smirk of his is back, and I have no doubt he means every word. I have to look away. My stupid body is reacting to him even with being sick.
“Are you crazy or something because I can’t keep up?” I take it back. His whiplash rivals mine. He’s cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs cray. He is all over the place. One minute, he swears he’s not going to chase me, and the next minute, he’s in my room telling me what he’s going to enjoy doing to me. I just have to resist being pulled under his spell again.
“Take your shower, Brennan,” he instructs. The change in his tone throws me off as a sharpness lingers in the air as a finality. He leaves me standing there and closes the door behind him. I get into the shower, dumbfounded on what just happened.
I spend at least a half an hour in the shower trying to make myself feel human again. After washing my hair, I’m exhausted. My headache is finally dissipating, but I’m weak, and my stomach still feels sick. I have no idea if Silas is still here, but dammit, my clothes are out there. I step out of the shower and wrap one of the bath towels around me. I peek my head out of the bathroom, and there he is—sitting on the empty bed, opposite of mine. He points at the t-shirt and joggers he’s laid out on my bed. I was wrong. It is possible to be even more embarrassed. If he’s set clothes out for me, that means he went through
my things—my ratty, secondhand things.
“What are you still doing here?” I ask in an attempt to appear unfazed.
“Brennan, where are the rest of your clothes?” And there it is. The ultimate gut punch. It’s not the first nor will it be the last time that someone looks down their snobby nose at my clothes. I’m not quite reading that vibe from him, but the judgment is there all the same.
“Why do you always answer a question with a question, Silas?”
Trying to change the subject is futile. His stupid handsome face frowns. I try to walk over and snatch the clothes off the bed, but he beats me to it. He grabs me by the wrist and swings me around to face him. I hold on to the towel with my other hand to keep it from falling.
“Answer me. Why don’t you have clothes? Why is everything in your suitcase at least two to three sizes too big? Didn’t that last job pay you?”
“Which question do you want me to answer first, boss?” I smart off. I can feel the tears threatening to fall, and my throat gets tight.
“Don’t deflect. I’m just concerned. I need to know that they paid you fairly,” he growls.
“They paid me, Silas. Just leave it, please. I’ve put my money into savings. The things you took it upon yourself to rummage through belonged to my mother. I don’t need more than that. I don’t live beyond my means.”
He drops my wrist and doesn’t push the issue further. “Get dressed. I’m going to order food.”
I grab the clothes he set out for me and take them back to the bathroom. I notice a little late that he didn’t include a bra or panties. I wasn’t wearing a bra to begin with, and I’m not putting the same panties back on, so the way I see it, I have two options. I can either just put these clothes on and forego the undergarments, or I can go back out there and dig through my suitcase and face even more embarrassment. The decision is a no-brainer. I throw on the clothes and walk out just as he is ending the call with room service.
“Thank you for checking on me, Mr. Lair. I do appreciate it.”
“Nice try, sweetheart. I see we’re back to the Mr. Lair bit, but I’m not going anywhere. You didn’t even drink the water I left for you to rehydrate. I got you drunk, and now, I’m going to take care of you. I’ve ordered you a light breakfast of eggs, coffee, and toast. I’m here to make sure you eat.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I smart off, inserting an eye roll to give my sarcasm weight.
“Good because I’m not in the business of babysitting,” he says, handing me the bottle of water. He waits until I take the bottle from him before he smacks my ass—hard. I’m caught so off guard I don’t know how to react. The sting lingers, but something unexpected happens. My pussy throbs … like really throbs. It’s like the vibrations traversed to my vagina. What the hell?
“Hmmm. Interesting,” Silas mumbles to himself.
“I’m not into that spanking kinky stuff you’re into,” I warn. Or am I?
“Mmmhmm. Drink the water, sweetheart,” he says, unconvinced. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Listen for the food to arrive. I ordered for me too.”
I assume he’s going back to his room until he goes into my bathroom and shuts the door. I hear the shower turn on, and once again, I’m dumbfounded. I’m still standing in the center of the room speechless with the damn water bottle in my hand when he reopens the door enough to peek around it.
“Listen for Atticus too. He’s bringing me clothes to change into.” With that bomb, he disappears back into the bathroom. He loves dropping these little “what the fuck” bombs that render you stupefied and wondering what the hell just happened.
This is truly a “what the fuck” moment. Atticus is going to think I’m already fucking the boss and all by the third day. This man is going to drive me insane and leave my reputation in the toilet.
A few taps on my door and I’m hoping it’s the food. I begrudgingly get up to open it, and just my luck, it’s Atticus.
“Morning, Miss Delavan,” he greets me as if delivering clothes to his boss in one of the housekeeper’s rooms is the most normal thing in the world.
“Morning,” I bid him in return. I can pretend too.
“Are you getting acclimated okay?” His eyes wander around the room to gather evidence that Silas and I just finished a romp session, I’m sure. The shower stops, and his eyes return to mine. Awkwardness permeates the air.
“So far everything has been going smoothly,” I say in a rush. I don’t even know why I’m so nervous. It’s not even how it looks.
“Well, let me know if you need anything. See that Mr. Lair gets this.” He smiles as he passes me a Gucci shopping bag.
“Will do,” I assure. He nods and backs out of the door. I walk over and set the fancy gold foiled, brown bag down on the empty bed Silas occupied earlier. I’m tempted to look at what’s all inside when he emerges from that bathroom wearing only a bath towel.
Fucking hell, sweet baby Jesus. Rivulets of water trail down his naked torso and disappear into his towel. I visually count each etch of his six pack. His towel hangs unnecessarily low, exposing the veins that lead to his thickness bulging from the plush white fabric. The sun shining through the curtains gives me my first real look at the sleeve on his right arm. I thought it was badass at the pool last night—added to his sex appeal—but now I can see all the detail. I wonder about the meaning of it. It definitely ups his hotness factor, if that’s even possible.
“Can you speed up eye fucking me so that you can pass me the bag?” He smirks. Busted.
“I’m not,” I lie. I so am.
I grab the bag from the bed and walk it over to him except I can’t look him in the eyes. I focus on his outstretched arm with the sleeve, and that proves to be yet another mistake. More veins. His arms and chest are simply swoonworthy, but the vascularity of his veins within his V adds to his virility. It makes me want to lick the path to where they lead.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not very subtle. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
He takes the bag from me since I fail to actually hand it to him. Gah, you’d swear I’ve never seen a man before. I have. Just nothing that even remotely compares to this man. He turns away from me and lets his towel drop as he heads back into the bathroom. I don’t even pretend not to watch. He has a really nice ass. The knock on the door jolts me from my lustful stupor. This time, I’m sure it’s the food. I open the door, and I couldn’t have been more surprised if I tried. A lump forms in my throat in absolute fear. It’s Tory, and she is pushing the cart with our food.
“Morning, Brennan,” she half-ass greets. She pushes past me with the cart without being invited in.
“I didn’t know that you delivered food to the rooms,” I say snottily. I couldn’t resist the taunt. She has been a bitch to me since we’ve met. Also, I want her gone before Silas comes out. Maybe my rudeness will make her leave.
“Oh, cute. I don’t usually deliver food. I was coming by to see how you were handling things with your new assignment and met up with Dominic outside. I saw the food was for your room, so I told him that I would bring it in.” She flips her hair in her telltale “I’m better than you” fashion.
“You think you’ve ordered enough stuff? All that is going to go straight to your ass,” she warns as she looks horrified at the silver domes of covered food. I’m seconds away from telling her to get the fuck out of my room when Silas chooses this moment to come out of the bathroom—only half dressed. If my reputation wasn’t doomed before, it sure as hell is now. Tory’s jaw drops as she looks back and forth between us with obvious disdain.
Silas strides over to my mirror and runs his hands through his still wet, tousled hair. His low hanging jeans are every bit as enticing as that damn towel. And why couldn’t he put on a shirt?
“What can we do for you, Tory?” he asks without turning around. “Oh good, the food is here,” he says as an afterthought.
“Really, Silas? This is what you’re into now? A cross between a hobo
and—” She doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Silas is in her face within seconds.
“You may not want to finish that sentence, doll.” I wince at hearing him call her doll. Then I get pissed for caring. A shitstorm is brewing before me, and all I can focus on is that he called her doll?
“Or what? You’ll fire me? I’m the only one on this goddamn boat who knows exactly what gets you off without being coached or taught,” she screams while making air quotes.
“That’s enough,” he booms.
Holy shit. This is a different Silas, and I want to be as far from him as possible. I make my way over to my bed after grabbing my food off the cart. I hate that I’m the cause of the fallout between him and his … what? Fuck buddy? Girlfriend? Then I think about the fooling around we did last night, and I’m annoyed. Surely, whatever they had is over if he was with me, right?
“You’re right. I’m done here.” One lone tear falls before she turns on her designer stilettos and heads out the way she came. I feel bad for her. I’m not exactly a cold-hearted bitch. I recognize broken even if she is a conniving twat waffle.
I take small nibbles of my food, praying that I can keep it down. My stomach feels like a roller coaster, but eating gives me something to do besides feel awkward. Silas grabs his omelet off the cart and comes to sit next to me on my bed. Suddenly, this room feels too small. We both eat in silence for several minutes until the guilt is too much.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“For what?” A single eyebrow arches in confusion. His intense stare pins me to the spot, yet he continues to eat his food.
“For, umm, messing things, umm … up with you and Tory.”
He pauses midbite. “That’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. And you did nothing wrong. She came to your room and was obnoxiously rude. I will handle things with her, but you don’t need to give her little performance a second thought.” The finality in his voice clues me in to just let the conversation go. He doesn’t want to discuss her.
