Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I stayed there frozen for a second, body still shuddering slightly in the aftermath of a powerful orgasm. Then as the reality started to settle in, my belly started to roll so hard that I was sure that he had to worry less about holes in his couch and a lot more about vomit on his carpet as I rolled onto my side and tried to deep-breathe through the cocktail of confusion, pleasure, anger, and almost crippling embarrassment.
"Oh, my God," I whimpered to myself, bringing my hands up to cover my face that felt unnaturally hot.
What the hell did I just let happen?
I not only made out with, but let my boss sort-of finger me.
That was bad enough in any normal boss-employee relationship.
But Byron St. James wasn't just any normal boss.
Byron St. James was the boss equivalent of a third-world fascist dictator.
And I hated him. I didn't hate anyone. Not even the bully in school who picked on me mercilessly from age seven until thirteen. Not even the so-called best friend I'd had all through high school who used to steal every boy I was interested in out from under my nose. Not even the loan shark who had once broken three of my father's fingers when I was twenty.
But, boy oh boy, did I hate Byron St. James.
I guess that didn't exactly mean my body couldn't react to him.
Maybe there was something to that whole love and hate being closely linked thing. I always thought that was bullshit, but, well, my still-throbbing clit had a mind of its own.
"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," I groaned, forcing myself up to sit off the couch, quickly checking for heel holes, of which I found none and was almost disappointed, then stared blankly at the TV for a long couple of minutes, until I was positive that Byron was safely tucked away behind his bedroom door, before I stood up. I kicked out of my heels, reaching to hold them in my hand as I flew up the stairs and down the hallway to my room on my tip toes, careful to make sure my door didn't so much as click as I closed it.
I stripped out of my uniform while drawing a bath, sinking into the hot water and reaching for a loufa, desperately trying to scrub the sensation of him off my skin and the humming aftermath it seemed to leave.
It was okay.
I was just going to... I dunno... act like it didn't happen.
Even though a part of me was pretty sure he would get a sick sort of pleasure out of never letting me forget that, not only did it happen, but I hadn't even attempted to fight it.
Oh, yeah. He was never going to let me live the whole thing down.
And I was just going to have to find a way to not let it get to me.
It happened. I couldn't change that. I would just have to move on.
I mean, really, I wasn't entirely convinced it was even possible for Byron St. James to out-douche himself. So maybe I was worrying over nothing.
SEVEN
Prue
I woke up at my usual time and dressed in yet another of the obnoxious uniforms, leaving my hair wet and down, and going to Byron's room with a lifted chin that did nothing to betray the spinning, whooshing sensation of my empty belly. But as I went in to grab the sheets, he was nowhere in sight. The bathroom wasn't even steamy. With a shrug and a silent 'thank you' to whatever higher power was obviously watching over me in that moment, I took the sheets down the stairs and stopped halfway down the hall.
Byron's office door was open, but he wasn't inside. The kitchen was as spic and span as usual, but there was no one making food. There also seemed to be none of the maids bustling about either. I backtracked a few steps to look out the front door, hopeful that the usual guards would be missing as well.
It was asking for too much.
I walked to the door anyway, pulling it open, surprising the man standing there.
"You're to stay in the house," he informed me, barely sparing me a glance.
"Like a good little prisoner. Where is the warden and the other inmates?"
To that, his brow quirked up and his lips tipped into a small smile. "It's Sunday."
That was true. But it didn't answer my question. "And?"
His head tilted to the side. "Sundays, the boss goes out. Since he's not here, he lets everyone else have the day too."
"Except me and you," I mused.
"Big house like that, sure you can find some way to amuse yourself," he shrugged, turning back to the gates.
And, well, he was right. I'd never gotten a chance to really look around, always completely paranoid that Byron would see me or one of his employees would tattle on me or something. So with that, I threw the sheets in the wash along with all my dirty sets of uniforms. That included the one I wore that day since, one, no one was around to see me and two, it was a day off and he could kiss my ass if I was parading around in ankle-aching heels by myself in a giant house. I threw on jeans and a tee, tied up my hair, and went barefoot, grabbing my Ipod and a dock out of Byron's office, and making my way to the kitchen.