Chapter 4 #2
I shatter all over his dick. I break and come and gasp, sweating and grinding, totally lost. It tears me apart and I feel like I’m floating.
My vision tunnels and my limbs go numb. I feel blood rushing into my chest and my core as I struggle to breathe.
I crash back down, gasping, my skin so sensitive it’s like I’m on fire.
I squirm and he slides himself out, his massive dick glistening with my soaking wetness.
“Do your job,” he orders.
I can barely move. But I manage to get up on an elbow. I guide him into my mouth and lovingly clean it. What a perfect cock. What a beautiful dick. I lick and lick, and when he groans and grabs my hair, I know what he needs.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, looking up into his eyes. “You can come in my mouth, sir.”
He rips onto my tongue. I watch him break and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. His muscles tense and flex as he comes down my throat, and I lick and suck him, doing my best to keep everything as neat and tidy as I can.
Just like I know he wants.
When he’s done, he collapses back onto the bed. I stare at him, tingling all over, not sure what to do. I mean, do I touch him? Can I lie next to him? I hesitate, but I figure this is over now, right? He probably wants me to go.
I start slipping away from the bed.
But he reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Where are you going?”
“I was thinking, uh, you know, since we’re finished—”
Cold fury passes over his face. “You think I was going to use you like a toy and throw you away?”
“I mean, I don’t—”
“Not you. Never you.” He pulls me over to him and roughly wraps his arms around me. “For such a clever girl, you can be so obtuse.”
I breathe in his musky smell and tentatively wrap my arms around him.
And that feels nice.
Which surprises me.
Declan always seems so cold and hard. But this close, touching each other, naked and post-sex, he’s still hot and warm and masculine.
Slowly, the tension bleeds away, until I’m in his arms and feeling more comfortable and protected than I’ve ever felt before in my life.
I wake with a start.
What the hell?
Sunlight streams through the big windows. I groan, squinting, and it takes a second to understand.
I’m still in Declan’s bed.
I’m in his room. In his apartment.
I had sex with him last night.
I don’t move, terrified that I might disturb him. How pissed would he be if I woke him too early?
But oh my god.
Last night was…
Incredible. And scary as hell.
I can still feel him between my legs.
The memory of him in my mouth, his tongue on my nipples, his fingers between my legs…
I can’t believe that really happened.
Fortunately, I’m not hungover, which means I can’t use alcohol as an excuse for acting like a horny moron. I don’t know where our working relationship is going to be after this, but it’s probably in tatters.
He’s going to fire me.
Or worse, he won’t fire me, and I’ll have to quit in shame.
I squeeze my eyes shut. How did this happen? Why am I so stupid?
Declan’s the first man to show real interest in me for years and I just throw myself at his feet and call him sir.
Which was admittedly hot, but still.
Pathetic and needy.
There’s no way he’ll respect me after this. Forget about saving for my dream house. I’ll have to get a normal job that pays a regular, average salary, and that means at least another five years of living at home with Sheila before I can afford to think about buying my own.
I berate myself for a few more minutes, but eventually I have to pee. Slowly, quietly, I slip off the side of the bed. I risk a glance over my shoulder as I sneak over to the bathroom, still completely naked. Which is mortifying.
But the bed is empty.
Declan isn’t there. I stare at the pillow beside mine and it’s all messed up like someone slept on it the night before.
But the man himself is missing.
I hurry into the bathroom and take care of myself. When I’m done, I stand beside the bed and finally look at the clock.
It’s after nine in the morning.
Which means I’m late for work.
No wonder Declan isn’t here. He gets into the office at exactly eight every single day, and he expects me at my desk by eight-thirty sharp.
If he wasn’t going to fire me before, he sure as hell will now.
“You’re such an idiot,” I mutter to myself as I look around frantically. I find my clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed and start yanking them on.
I almost miss the note written on yellow legal paper on top of my shoes. When I finally pick it up, my heart skips a beat.
It’s a list written in Declan’s perfect handwriting.
Casey, please finish the following tasks and be in the office by ten at the latest. If you oversleep, there will be consequences. D.
I shake my head as if the words somehow don’t make sense.
He’s letting me come in an hour and a half late? And threatening consequences?
In context, these consequences could be a very wide range of things, from a stern and professional lecture to a vicious fucking on his desk.
Am I seriously thinking about having sex with him again already?
There’s something deeply wrong with me.
“Alright, Boss Bastard, what stupid jobs do you have for me today?” I mutter to myself.
1. Bring my gym bag. It’s in the kitchen on the island.
2. Collect my dry cleaning.
3. Inform the driver that he will not be needed for lunch and will detail the car instead.
4. Print the Turner agreement and collate it properly.
5. Put on the ring.
I stare at the list and have to read it twice. All that seems normal until the very last entry.
Put on the ring? What does that mean?
I rack my brain trying to understand. Is that a job code I can’t remember? Or some kind of slang?
It makes no sense and I’m obsessing about it as I head downstairs, moving quietly like a mouse even though I know the apartment is empty.
Why would he care if I wear a ring? There’s no dress code around jewelry at the office. Is this some kind of sex game or something? Or just a new requirement? Maybe Mr. Whelan is going to be twice as strict now to compensate for what happened last night.
I’m confused and struggling to make sense of that last entry when I find the gym bag.
And the little black box beside it.
My heart thuds wildly in my chest.
That can’t be what it looks like.
Carefully, with shaking hands, I pick up the box.
The little black ring box.
This can’t be real. Why would Mr. Whelan give me something like this? Is he trying to bribe me for last night? Is he afraid I might report him to HR?
I can only imagine how that might go.
Yes, ah, I sucked my boss’s dick right after he gave me the best orgasm of my life. It was wonderful, yes, I’m still sore today from his massive tool, 10/10, no complaints.
Seems insane.
I flip the box open and scream.
It goes clattering to the floor as I step away, covering my mouth with both hands.
“That wasn’t real!” I say, my head feeling light and dizzy. “Oh my god. That wasn’t real. But actually, I think it might’ve been real!”
I get on my hands and knees and turn the box over again.
The most beautiful diamond engagement ring I’ve ever seen stares at me like a venomous snake.
It’s simple. I’d expect nothing less from Declan Whelan. But the rock is clearly wildly expensive. It’s an exquisitely made piece.
5. Put on the ring.
This is crazy. This is totally insane. What is happening? Did he propose to me in a note? One that also ordered me to get his dry cleaning? Does he feel guilty about having sex with me and is this his way of doing the right thing?
“Absolutely not,” I say, snapping the box shut and shoving it into my little clutch. “This can’t be happening. This makes no sense!”
I’m dizzy. I must be dreaming. But no, I’m awake, and I don’t know what to do.
I’m panicking, but I manage to remember his gym bag as I hurry away from his apartment, the engagement ring like a ticking bomb in my mind.