Page 10 of Boss Daddy

Simple. Professional. But all I can think about is those hands—big, capable, and oh-so-ready to pin me in place. I shouldn’t want that. Not with him. Not with my boss.

But the memory of his eyes lingering on my lips, the way he watched me while we drank the Old Fashioneds, makes my skin heat in ways no asshole at Misha’s club ever managed. Those jerks stared and pawed like I was a piece of meat. Samuel looks at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve. A woman he needs to understand.

The train screeches to a stop, the doors sliding open with a hiss, and I step out onto the cracked platform. The cold air hits me, sharp and unforgiving. I shove my phone into my pocket andhike my bag higher on my shoulder, my boots scuffing against the grimy concrete as I head for the stairs.

The neighborhood greets me with its usual mix of garbage bags piled against graffiti-covered walls and the distant sound of sirens. A few flickering streetlights cast weak pools of yellow onto the sidewalk. The corner store has its metal shutter halfway down, the smell of burnt oil from the halal cart drifting through the air.

I keep my head down and my pace steady. It’s not the worst place to live, but it sure as hell isn’t the best. Broken bottles glint in the gutter. A guy in a hoodie mutters something as I pass, but I don’t catch it or look around.

My building’s up ahead, a crumbling four-story walk-up with peeling paint and a front door that never quite latches. As I step inside, the hallway light flickers, a lone bulb doing its best to survive.

I climb the stairs to the third floor. My apartment, 3C, is locked. When I push open the door, the place is dark and silent.No roommates. Just the cold, empty quiet of a shitty apartment.

I let out a slow breath, drop my bag by the door, and lean back against it.

Tomorrow, everything changes. I have no idea if that’s a good thing or the beginning of another mistake.

On top of it all, I have no idea how Misha’s taking my resignation. I simply walked out, and for all I know, he’s still pissed about it. He’s a piece of shit and I’m glad he’s out of my life. But all the same, I can’t help but worry about the consequences of being on the shit list of a man like him.

Will he hold a grudge and try to exact some sort of revenge? Hopefully not.

I flick on the light. The living room is a mismatched mess of secondhand furniture, clothes draped over the couch, and half-empty takeout containers littering the coffee table.

The place isn’t bad, considering I found it on Craigslist when I was desperate. The rent’s cheap enough to split four ways, and aside from the occasional cockroach and peeling wallpaper, it’s bearable. I share it with three roommates: Tiffany, Erica, and Kailee.

We’re not exactly best friends, but we don’t hate each other. Tiffany’s the closest thing I have to a friend between the three of them, the one who doesn’t mind sharing a room, a laugh, or the occasional bottle of wine.

Erica and Kailee are a different story. They’re party girls, often stumbling in at three in the morning with a new set of guys in tow, laughing loudly, their heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I’ve learned to tune out the creaking bed frames and muffled moans. It’s not like I have a choice.

I cross the living room and head to the tiny bedroom Tiffany and I share. It’s barely big enough for two beds and a dresser. I kick off my shoes and head to my bed, my eyes falling on the stack of books wedged between my mattress and the wall.

Psychology 101,Social Work Fundamentals,Trauma and Healing.

Dreams I can’t afford to chase just yet.

I run my fingers over the cracked spine of one of the textbooks. Someday, I’ll trade this life for a classroom, then an office whereI can help people escape their own nightmares.

Someday.

Right now it’s hard to think about anything other than keeping my head above water, but I’m not giving up. I never do.

With a sigh, I fall back on the bed and close my eyes. Instantly, Samuel’s face appears in my mind.

Am I crazy or was there really something happening between us? The conversation had been nothing more than an interview, but the moments spent with him felt like something beyond that.

Maybe that’s just how he is. Intense, the kind of guy who locks his eyes onto yours and makes you forget about everything other than him.

I return to the fantasy from the train, imagining being bent over in front of him, my pussy soaked and ready.

My heartbeat slows as I imagine his hands on my waist, his mouth tracing along my neck. My body hums at the thought, heat pooling low in my belly, making my pussy clench.

Fuck it.

I push up from the bed with a groan. Time alone in this place is a rare luxury, and I’m not about to waste it. I grab a towel and a pair of pajamas, then head for the bathroom before the others get home and ruin the quiet.

The bathroom is small. The tiles are chipped, the grout is permanently gray, and the bathtub has seen better days. But the door locks so I know I can have a little privacy. I twist my hair up into a messy bun and turn on the faucet, the sound of hot water filling the tub a relaxing hum to my ears.

I slip out of my clothes and step into the bath, the water stinging at first before the heat seeps into my muscles, forcing a pleasurable sigh from my lips.

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