Page 20 of Seduced By the Werewolves

Whoa. I blink a few times, realizing the water’s starting to go cold and my fingers are wrinkled like prunes. I think that deep-dicking last night scrambled my brains.

No, it was more than that. I’d felt so close to him, like what we were doing wasn’t just sex. Leon had shown me his dominant side, sure, but he was taking care of me, too. He made me feel comfortable and safe when he took control and guided me. He paid such close attention to my pleasure, when most guys have only ever bothered to rub me a little before doing the deed.

Certainly nobody’s ever eaten me out like I was the last cupcake left on planet Earth.

Finally, I get out of the shower, wondering how I’m going to focus on my job today when I can’t think about anything but my two hot landscapers and what filthy things they might do to me.

Without my usual run, I’m early getting into the office, and my good mood buoys me even higher. Maybe I can escape Mr. Bosley’s wrath by having everything ready before he even shows up. Now I don’t have to speed from the Starbucks to the office to get coffee onto his desk in time.

When Mr. Bosley comes in, I’m sitting in my chair, focused on my computer and the paperwork in front of me. He stops in front of me and frowns.

“Did you bring my coffee in with you today?” he asks. No remark on my punctuality, but that’s fine.

“Yes,” I answer quickly, politely. “It’s waiting in your office. I got here early today.”

That frown of his deepens, and I wonder what I’ve done wrong now.

“So it’s cold already, is what you’re saying?” Mr. Bosley asks in a dangerous tone.

I didn’t even think of that. That coffee’s been sitting there for ten minutes now. It’s not only cooled off, but likely all his whipped cream has melted, too, and I know how much he hates that.

“Oh.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think?—”

“Of course you didn’t.” The words are cutting. “You never think.”

My heart is racing as he stalks into his office, grabs the coffee, and returns with it. He sets it down firmly in front of me.

“M-Mr. Bosley?” I ask, trying to keep the waver out of my voice.

“Get me a new one. Hot this time.”

“But you have an appointment in ten—” I begin.

“I ask for one thing in the morning,” he interrupts. “One thing. A hot coffee. That’s it. It’s not that difficult. It shouldn’t be.” He levels his gaze on me. “I wonder if I should find another assistant. Someone a little more competent.”

Dread pools in my belly. I need this job. I’ve been here for two years already, and only recently started earning vacation. Before, I was unemployed so long that I nearly maxed out my credit card. I was lucky to find Mr. Bosley when I did, and he hired me even though I had little in the way of qualifications.

I’ve looked for other jobs, but there’s simply nothing out there for someone like me, with no degree, that would pay well and offer healthcare. And now Mr. Bosley is thinking about replacing me. How would I pay my rent then?

“I’ll get a new one right away,” I say robotically, as a familiar, sharp sense of panic rises up in my belly, to my chest and throat. I pick up the cold coffee and dump it in the trash as my boss watches me head for the door. I keep it together just long enough to get to the other side, and then I sprint to the bathroom. There, I crumple against the sinks, trying to bring air into my lungs. I can barely breathe as sobs wrack my body.

Why can’t I do anything right? I’m like a drunk gorilla stumbling around in the darkness, knocking everything over in my path.

I sniffle a few times, remembering what Eli said. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, until at last, my shaking subsides. Then I pull my keys out and rush to the Starbucks. The woman at the drive-thru looks perplexed to see me a second time. I hastily order Mr. Bosley’s drink, then zoom back to the office so I can get it to him before it gets cold again.

He says nothing when I come in with the replacement, not even looking up from the note he’s scribbling.

“I need you to sign the stack of orders on your desk,” he says, without stopping what he’s doing. He ignores the coffee, too.

“But I never sign orders,” I say without thinking. He’s supposed to clear those, not me. The last thing I want is to make a mistake on an order and clear a purchase for fifty AC units when we only need five. I’d definitely lose my job then.

Mr. Bosley’s pen slaps down hard on the desk, and he sighs with impatience.

“Can you not do this one thing, Ms. Dockett?” he says, shaking his head.

I back away, holding up my hands. All I need is to piss him off even more today. “Of course I can. I’ll do it right now.”

Still trembling from my harried rush in the car, I head back to my desk. Sure enough, a stack of orders waits for me.

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