I drop my phone on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror, panting. I want the view he would have of me. The feel of his mouth all over my pussy, with his fingers burrowing inside me. Him sucking on me there, forcing me to come again and again, until I can’t take it anymore, and then thrusting himself into me with that massive cock. It’s too much and I let out a high, keening cry as my body shudders and then explodes.
“FUCK!” I scream heartily, not caring who hears. I shatter on my fingertips and my pussy squeezes violently as I dream of Gray coming hard in my sweet passage. I pant, moan, and touch myself more, even as my body crests. I’m sweating now and ramped up higher, if that’s possible. But there’s no help for it. Gray’s not mine, and this is just a naughty fantasy, and nothing more.
To be continued …
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Sneak Peek: My Boss’s Husband
Addy
Addy catches her boss and his wife doing something naughty. But what happens when she wants Marcus Steele for herself?
* * *
I hum to myself as I cut a strip of fabric. This cool blue is going to look great in the new dress I’m designing for the House of Steele, the clothing company where I work.
My boss, Marissa, doesn’t let me listen to music while I’m working because she says music is distracting, so I don’t have any accompaniment. I tried to tell her that music elevates the spirit and can spark creative freedom, but she doesn’t buy it. It’s annoying, but I don’t hate her because Marissa will always be Marissa. However, sometimes I wish she’d pull that stick out of her ass. It’s unseemly for a designer to be so uptight about something like music.
I hold up a strip of fabric. I’m not using a pattern because I haven’t developed it yet, and I’m just working free-form. This is going to be so cool. Maybe, I’ll drape it on the bias and then put in a high-low hem, which I’m really excited about. For girls shorter in stature like me, this kind of hem makes your legs look much longer than they are, while the waist is cinched to make you look skinnier. The neckline is sweetheart, which I’ve never done before, but I know from experience that these types of necklines tend to push your boobs up and out. This is going to be amazing.
But then I stop for a moment, feeling exhausted suddenly. The clothing business is a lot of work, and even if this is my dream job, it takes a lot out of me. I’m one of the last people at the office, and the large space is almost empty. We don’t have desks. Instead, we have work tables with stools pulled up around them. Swatches of fabric are scattered everywhere, along with dressmaker’s dummies and some sewing machines towards the back.
But this dress is going to be one of the best I’ve ever designed, and I’m determined to make it work. Of course, I’d never fit into my own creation because the House of Steele doesn’t design clothes for girls who look like me. I can’t fit into any of our clothes, period. Not when my hips are too wide, my stomach a bit too flabby, and my boobs too big.
It sucks, but I tell myself that this is just how high fashion operates. The House of Steele is an aspirational brand, and unfortunately, that doesn’t include big girls like me. No one sees it as “aspirational” to be curvy. They just want to be stick thin like the models in magazines.
Still, I try. I’ve talked to Marissa about the size-ism in our industry, explaining that there’s so much untapped potential in the plus-sized market, but she just laughed. Literally, laughed. Fashion designers don’t make clothes for those people, is what she said. I wanted the Earth to swallow me up because obviously, I’m one of those people. Yet I didn’t say anything. I merely nodded and went back to my stool, smarting with pain. I need this job, and swallowed hard even as my hands gripped the edges of the table with hurt. I’ll survive.
After all, I was lucky to land at the House of Steele right after design school. Most people have to start as window dressers or even secretaries, but Marissa and her husband took one look at my portfolio and decided to hire me on the spot. I’ve been here for a couple years as a junior designer now. I’m proud of the work that we do, and I’d like to move up the ranks, even if it’s tough never being able to wear my own clothes. Oh well. I tell myself that Karl Lagerfeld never wore any of Chanel’s clothes either, and he spent thirty years with the company. This job looks great on my resume, and that’s what’s important.
“Okay, Addy, take a look at this.”
I jump, startled. I’d forgotten that my coworker, Jemima, is here with me. We’re probably the last two people in the office, come to think of it. Jemima laughs.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s okay. What did you want to show me?”
“Right! Look at this dress I made for next year’s resort collection. What do you think?”
Jemima holds up a turquoise dress with sheer fabric draped over the skirt. The bodice is decorated with lace, but not too much. It’s understated and tasteful.
“This is amazing, Jemima. It’s beautiful.”
Jemima blushes. “Thanks, Addy. Mind if I try it on and you can do a walk around to check the fit?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much!”
Jemima disappears into the bathroom and I smile. The blonde girl’s been a good friend to me since we both started working at House of Steele a couple of years ago. We’re both junior designers but the difference is that Jemima is traditionally pretty and can wear our designs. I wonder sometimes if it gives her a leg up because she “fits” the House of Steele’s vision. Well, promotions will be coming soon, so I guess I’ll find out.
When Jemima returns, I’m in awe. My friend looks absolutely gorgeous, the dress swishing about her gracefully.
“Wow, you nailed it! I really like how the skirt just barely touches your ankles.”
She smiles happily, flipping her wavy hair back.
“Thanks, I figured it would look good with heels, but fine with flats, too. For the resort collection, it’s really important to go from day to night. Then again, I hate those torture-traps they call stilettos anyways.”
I laugh. “Me, too. I hate heels.”
She grins.
“I know, I love sneakers, and I’m so glad we live in New York, where women wear sneakers all the time. But what about the back of the dress? How does it look on my butt?”
It might seem weird to check out your friend’s ass, but it’s normal around here because sizing is very important. My co-worker twirls around and I stare at her tiny ass, frowning a bit. Then I smile.
“It looks great. The zipper falls high enough that it doesn’t make an awkward bump but low enough so that it’s flattering. I think Marissa is going to love it, too.”
Jemima beams.
“Thank you again, Addy. I hope she does like it. I’m going to change but I want to see what you’re working on when I come out!” she calls.
The blonde disappears and I turn back to the bodice that I’ve been working on. The skirt is finished already, so my sample is nearly done. I just have to finish hemming the neckline, and then wah-lah! I’ll be ready for a big reveal.
Jemima returns just as I’m finishing my seam, and I hold the dress up for her to take a look.
“That’s so pretty! Do you want me to stick around so that we can see how it looks? I’m happy to try it on.”
I smile.
“No, you don’t have to stay. It’ll take me a while longer to finish it enough to put on a human model. The dressmaker’s dummy is enough for now. Maybe tomorrow?”
Jemima smiles again.
“Up to you. I don’t mind staying.”
I shake my head.
“It’s really fine. It’s late. You should get home!”
She flashes me a dazzling smile.
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow, girlfriend.”
Jemima grabs her bag and squeezes my shoulder as she leaves. Without her, suddenly the sewing room is awfully quiet. I’m the only one here, but I
still don’t turn on any music. I feel like Marissa would find out somehow and reprimand me.
Instead, I go back to humming my favorite song as I finish the dress. Marissa doesn’t require me to work overtime. In fact, she tells me to leave at six like everyone else, but I like to get to a specific closing point once I get started. Otherwise, it can make it really hard to pick up the next day.
I put the finishing touches on the hem and hold the fabric up with a critical eye. It’s fine for now, and with a satisfied smile, I begin to fold the material. I’ll leave it at my work desk, ready for next steps tomorrow.
But as I pack up, suddenly a weird noise sounds out from the back. What is that? I go completely still, trying to figure out the mystery, but then it stops.
Fuck. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here, unless we’re being burgled. Is that what it was? A criminal?
A chill runs down my spine. Maybe Jemima forgot to lock the door behind her, and now I’m about to be attacked. Prickles run down my spine, but then I shake my head. She’d never do that because she’s no amateur. We all know that we have to keep the door locked. Not only does it protect our employees, but it protects our property because otherwise, anyone could walk in otherwise and steal our designs.
I know I’m safe, and yet my heart continues to race. I try to breathe and calm myself down. This building is old, rickety, and sometimes it makes weird sounds. It’s probably just the pipes or the building settling for the night. There’s nothing to be worried about.
But as I sling my purse over my shoulder, another noise hits my ears. There’s a creaking sound, and maybe some moaning, like a ghost begging me to release her from a locked attic. Oh shit! Where is the sound coming from? This can’t be happening. I’m alone on our floor, and moreover, I don’t believe in ghosts. There’s some logical explanation for the ruckus I’m hearing.
A normal person would run for the front door and escape, but instead, I grit my teeth. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I grab my purse more securely, and then stand up. Hopefully fortune favors the bold.
Slowly, I make my way to the back of our floor. It’s dimly lit, and there’s a narrow hallway which leads to management’s offices. The floors are polished concrete, and my footsteps make a soft shuffling sound. I try not to breathe.
Then another ghostly moan rings out, and I pause, the hair on my arms standing straight up. Oh shit. Is this Mr. Rochester’s wife signaling for me to save her? I’m hardly Jane Eyre, but that’s what it reminds me of.
Finally, I’m standing before a locked door in the very back. This is Marcus Steele’s office, and to tell the truth, I’ve never gone inside. Marcus is the CEO of our company, and he runs the House of Steele along with my boss, Marissa. This space is sacrosanct, and I’ve only seen high level executives enter.
But then the moan comes again and my heart pounds in my chest. What if someone’s in his office trying to steal the company’s property? Our designs are all on his computer. Some of them are trademarked, but some of them aren’t yet. Quite a few of our latest dresses are top secret, to be revealed during the next fashion week.
“Stop being a coward,” I whisper to myself. “There’s no one in there. And if there is, then you have to prevent them from stealing our stuff!”
Trembling a bit, I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it slightly to the right. Oh god, I hope I don’t get busted. Or rather, I hope I do so that I don’t have to confront this thief on my own.
But then my jaw drops and my eyes go wide.
Oh shit. There’s someone in the office, alright. Or rather, there are two someones because my eyes alight on my boss, Marissa, lying on her back with her legs wide open. She’s moaning and pinching her nipples, her eyes closed with ecstasy, as her husband Marcus drills her roughly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants musically before erupting into a high-pitched wail. “Marcuuusss!”
But he’s not done yet. His smile is sinister as pulls out all the way and shifts her ass around, trying to get a better angle. At that moment, I see his tool, and literally gasp. His cock is massive, at least nine inches long and as thick as my wrist. How is Marissa, a tiny woman, taking all of that? Would I be able to fit him better?
I catch a glimpse of Marcus’s sexy abs too and my mouth waters with desire. He’s my boss’s husband, but I’m not immune to those good looks. You could wash clothes using those abs, and his broad shoulders only emphasize how lean his waist is, leading to powerful, thick thighs. I’ve never seen him shirtless before, but from now on, I know I’ll only see him like this: powerful, commanding, and a conqueror in every way.
At that moment, Marcus plunges back into Marissa and she lets out another heady squeal. He grins and growls.
“You like that baby?”
Then he pushes her legs even further apart, so that she’s basically doing the air splits with her toes pointing at opposite corners of the room. By now, they’re both panting like animals, and nearing their climax. I know I should go and leave them to this private moment, but for some reason, I can’t turn away. My eyes are fixed on the sexy scene, and specifically on the hard, shiny flesh moving between Marissa’s legs.
“I’m gonna come,” he growls harshly, pushing his wife’s knees back so that she’s almost a human pretzel.
“Then cooooome!” she screams, exploding on his dick. Meanwhile, Marcus jerks, his jaw clenched, and I can literally see the base of his rod throbbing as he gives it up.
“Fuck!” he roars. “Oh shit!”
This would be my moment to get away: when they’re both so entranced in pleasure that they don’t notice me. But instead, I stare, utterly immobilized, and just as Marcus plunges into Marissa one more time, his eyes look up and meet mine as he finishes deep inside her.
“Fuuuuuck!” he roars again, his big body churning powerfully. “Shit!”
I let out a gasp and jump back while scurrying away as fast as I can. Oh my god! That never should have happened. Did Marcus see me?
I hope not. The door was only open a little bit, and I was standing in the darkness outside of the office. I was probably hidden by the shadows, and our CEO suspects nothing.
Nonetheless, I run back to the workroom with my hair flying and my purse slung over one shoulder. I have to get out of here. I wasn’t supposed to witness that, and any second, I expect Marcus or Marissa to burst from the office with rage in their eyes. Oh shit, oh shit!
Quickly, I make my way out of the building, clattering down the stairwell in my haste. There isn’t enough time to take the elevator. Once I’m outside, I begin speed-walking towards the subway. I know I look like a crazed woman, but I have to make my escape before everything blows up.
Once I’m seated on the subway, I finally take a moment to lean my head back against the closed window and exhale. Marcus didn’t see me, right? I hope to god not. Yet now, his image is tattooed in my mind permanently. My mouth waters a bit, remembering that sculpted chest and massive cock. I remember how it gleamed with Marissa’s wetness, and press my thighs together now, trying to satisfy the twinge in my pussy.
Oh god. This is so wrong. Marcus is my boss’s husband, and I speak with his wife every day! I have to stop these thoughts, and yet I know that I can’t.
* * *
To be continued …
My Boss’s Husband is now LIVE! Pick up your copy here.
About the Author
Cassandra Dee is a bestselling author of dozens of hot and steamy contemporary romances. She started out writing erotica but transitioned to romance after falling for one too many book boyfriends.
When she’s not tapping away furiously at her laptop, Cassandra can be found drinking gallons of coffee and watching lots of reality TV. She also enjoys taking the neighbor’s dog for walks, aimlessly wandering the local grocery store, and of course, reading too much about the lives of her favorite celebrities.
Cassandra is living her own HEA with her husband and a beautiful baby boy.
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My Bestie’s Dad: A Forbidden Romance Page 10
