Page 7 of The Jealous Boss

You’d think that a twenty-one-year-old virgin would be one of three things: religious, romantic, or frigid. But the screwed-up part is that I’m none of those.

Sure, I’d prefer to give my virginity to someone I loved. But I’m so sexually frustrated that I’d settle for a guy who could simply turn me on. Because even though I’m horny practically all the time, the second a guy expresses real interest, a switch flips.

But worse is that I can’t even get myself off. As crazy as my libido is, I’ve never once orgasmed. No matter how hard I’ve tried. And believe me, I’ve tried.

The nuns would say it’s a punishment from God for my perverted fantasies. Maybe it is. And maybe working for Drew Chase is a punishment, too.

It’s so hard to act normal, let alone professional, around him. Especially lately. He’s started teasing me and casually invading my physical space—but not in the sexual way I fantasize about. No, he treats me more like a friend—or worse, a kid sister.

It seems crazy that he doesn’t notice my reactions to him, but I’m glad he doesn’t. It’s shameful… he walks into a room, and my underwear is instantly damp.

Embarrassing, but Drew has that effect on me. I don’t know why he does when other men don’t, but it’s becoming a problem. Such a problem, that in a moment of sheer frustration, I impulse bought a vibrator. An impulse I already regret.

He’s going to know. He’ll guess.Nothingis lost on that man.

Sure, a sex toy isn’t a scandalous purchase for a college student with a normal libido. But between my fantasies and my body’s responses to Drew, I’m anything but normal.

But how abnormal I am is a secret I’ll take to my grave. I’m not going to destroy the trust Drew has placed in me by letting him discover that I’m a sexual deviant.

It isn’t just that I enjoy being Elijah’s nanny. I genuinely care for Drew, too. And not just because he saved me from that pig George.

Drew is my favorite person in the world. I’m happier around him. I love spending time with him. I don’t want him to think poorly of me. And he would if he knew the truth.

But I’m afraid that I might have already blown things. Because when I get home, there’s no sign of my package. And when the garage door rises, it reveals Drew’s BMW.

Crap.

I enter the kitchen, calling his name. No answer. I call out for Sylvia next, but the house is silent.

Nothing strange about her leaving early, though, and Drew… His running shoes aren’t by the back door. Okay, thatisodd. Usually, he runs before breakfast. But a change to his routine doesn’tmeananything, or it doesn’t have to… I check my room for the package. Nothing.

Trying not to worry, I look to see what Sylvia left us for dinner but again come up short. Weird, but whatever. Grateful for the distraction, I start prepping dinner.

No package. No Drew. Those two things aren’t necessarily related, but they might be, and with my luck, they are. Could the delivery notification have been wrong? Maybe it was delivered to one of the neighbors instead…

And then maybe the neighbor brought it over, and Drew opened it… Or worse—the neighbor opened it and told Drew what a freak you are… UnlessSylviaopened it and was so grossed out that she didn’t bother making dinner even though shealwaysmakes dinner on Fridays…

I try to focus on chopping vegetables, but my mind keeps returning to my problem, worrying it like a dog with a bone. What if hedoesknow about the toy—and confronts me? God, the humiliation, I’d feel like a fifteen-year-old who’s disappointed her daddy—

Daddy.

Ugh, that’s another secret Drew can’t discover. It’s starting to feel like I have too many to count. Because I don’t just find my boss sexy. I don’t just fantasize about losing my virginity to him. I fantasize about calling him “Daddy.” I fantasize about that a lot, actually. Just the thought of Drew combined with that word…

Setting the knife down, I undo my jeans and slip a hand into my underwear. I’m ashamed but not surprised to find that I’m wet.

Soaking wet and stupidly turned on.

My breath catches as my fingers slide over my folds, desire pooling in my belly. I shouldn’t be doing this—not at all, and definitely not in the kitchen when Drew could return at any minute.

But I can’t help it. This happens every time I think of that word—Daddy—inconnection with Drew. It’s like a Pavlovian response, except dumber since Drew has never shown the slightest bit of interest, let alone trained me to get wet in response to a single word.

No, this is all me. Just further proof that I’m abnormal.

My hand moves faster, even though it’s futile. If I could get myself off, I wouldn’t have bought a vibrator. Yet the pointlessness somehow isn’t enough to make me stop, not when it feels so good…

Even if I do wish it were Daddy’s hand and not my own.

That naughty thought is too much. I need to get out of these jeans, need to lie down and touch myself properly.

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