Page 29 of Our Little Cliche
After work I’m taking you out to explore Banff properly, of course.
Exploring? With my boss? That sounds like a recipe for disaster! But I give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe my first day was a bit too much for the both of us. Maybe I’m thinking too far into this, how can I be so stupid? He couldn’t possibly like me. How absurd is that?
Me:
Oh, sure. Sounds good.
Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss:
Great. It’s a date.
A date?
Oh no. Hedoeslike me… I have to put a stop to this.
Ineedto put a stop to this. Quick, think of something that might keep him at bay. “A virus?” I say to myself out loud. No that’s stupid, if anything he’d probably want to bring me soup and see that I’m not sick. “Chlamydia?” No! I snap my fingers, “Aha!” I know the perfect deterrent.
The friend zone.
Me:
C-ya tomorrow, mate. Uroo.
There, that should do it. Blunt, simple and completely friend zone quality. Maybe I should just fake sick tomorrow anyway? But, even as good as the idea is, I can’t avoid him forever. He and I werebothout of line today. Bosses shouldn’t say goodnight to their staff. Bosses shouldn’t take their employees on dates, or buy them house supplies. Bosses shouldn’t shove their bodies against their workers’ and nearly touch their lips. Bosses shouldn’t touch employees’ boobs.
And bosses certainly shouldn’t cause their staff members’ lady parts to flood with arousal and need.
Bossesshouldn’t.
But my bossdoes.
Hmm, I should probably take out the sexy from his contact name.
My shower is scalding, my hair is washed, my body squeaky clean. All that’s left is to get out. I dry myself with my new towel, leaving it on the hanger and walk downstairs in the nuddy to grab my long baggy shirt for bed.
Bedtime is quite possibly my favorite time of day—I can strip off my make-up, my bra, my knickers and just breathe freely while I restore my body overnight. Now that I have more blankets, I can wear less to bed.
Downstairs is like a sauna, I’d stoked the fire with a few logs before my shower and left the lever on high. Which reminds me, I need to remember to lock all my windows and doors tonight because I am certain that there is someone stalking me. Because again, like the other night I found a whole pile of freshly split logs. But this time they wereINSIDE!
Maybe Susan has a key and lets herself in to donate wood?
Maybe I’m hallucinating, and the wood has been there the whole time? I have been a bit all over the place lately.
“Ugh. My brain is going to fry if I keep overthinking things,” I mutter to myself, heading to the kitchen to boil a hot cup of cocoa—as this side of the world calls it—with my new kettle. The bitter, sweet nutty taste is far from an Aussie Milo, but it’s all I have, so it will have to do.
With my drink in one hand, and one of Cyrus’s books that I borrowed in the other, I crawl into bed and get comfortable under the blankets. I look forward to seeing his writing style. He is, after all, who I’m going to be editing for…if I stay that is.
The novel is entirely black in color with a soft matte coating, decorated in skulls, sharp vines, roses, chains and smoke with the titleIn The Shadows. “Ooh, spooky Cyrus,” I snicker, flicking through the pages.It’s a genre I’ve not yet read:dark romance.Though I’ve read my fair share of horrors, mafia romances, thrillers and other smutty books, so I’m sure I’m ready for the upgrade. I know what I’m in for, since the list of triggers is almost as long as the book itself.
By chapter two, I learn that the main female character unintentionally has the interest of a man.A criminal.At first, I expected to feel disgusted by the thoughts and desires he has for her, like stalking her and wanting her choking on his you know what… but as I continue reading I’m finding myself getting more aroused, and turning the pages for more as if it was a speed test.
Now, at chapter sixteen I haven’t been able to put it down. Cyrus had mentioned to be cautious with this chapter, but caution is nowhere in sight, the only thing I’m feeling right now is horny. Why you might ask? Well that’s because my moral compass to feel anything else but scared over an obsessive stalker is nowhere to be seen.
My clit pulsates with arousal as the masked man…which I did not know I had a thing for until now, breaks into the house of the woman he’s actively been stalking, who happens to be his twin’s girlfriend. She’s laying in her bed asleep?—
“Oh, shit. He’s not, is he?” I hiss, my two brain cells fighting one another as I slap the pages of the book with excitement and shame. He lifts her blanket without disturbing the woman and… “Mmm, yeah do it.”
No?
