Page 9 of The Jealous Boss

It feels insane to admit, but it’s the truth. Even now, seeing her so close, her hand slick with her own desire, I’m not just turned on—I’m fucking jealous.

But then she moans, and I realize two more things. She’s not as close to coming as I feared—that was a frustrated moan, not the sound a woman on the verge of coming makes. And I’m not wearing my earbuds. Shit.

Quickly, I mute the sound. Then, for the first time since pulling up the camera feed, I take in my surroundings. Thankfully, I have this section of beach to myself.

Still, this is getting ridiculous. My behavior has spiraled so far out of control that I probably need professional help. I’m standing in the middle of a public beach spying on my nanny as she rubs her pretty little clit.

Anna is home. She’s safe. And she hasn’t found the package. I should close out of the app and finish my run.

But I don’t. I can’t.

I need to hear her make that sound again. And I need to know whether my beautiful, horny girl manages to come without me.

Slipping my earbuds in, I unmute the audio. My eyes stay glued to my phone as I make my way slowly up the stairs to street level. And then, she does something new. Something she’s never done when I’ve watched her pleasure herself.

She speaks.

Just as I reach the top, her moans turn into actual words. Words that turn me on so badly that I nearly nut in my running shorts.

Daddy, please, let me come… oh, please, I need you.

Suddenly, everything is crystalline. For the first time in three years, the monster and I agree. I can’t let Anna walk out of my life. Not when she needs me as much as I need her. And I can’t risk waiting until she graduates, either. I need to act now.

So screw ethics. Fuck power dynamics.Hearing my beautiful, horny girl moan those words defenestrated any scruples I had left.

If Anna wants a daddy, then she’ll get one.

And Daddy’s coming home.

ChapterFour

Anna

The nuns were right.There’s something wrong with me. This frustration is the punishment I deserve. Until I learn more self-control, I’ll always be unhappy—and alone. No wonder my parents left. They probably sensed how screwed up I am.

Because despite knowing it’s nearly as futile as my attempts to get off, I can’t resist changing into something cuter before Drew returns. How dumb is that? Dressing up for a Friday night at home with my boss. A boss who sees me as a sexless kid sister. Or worse—a child.

I select a lacy dress from my closet. Innocent but sexy. It’s a dress I know I look good in. Wearing it makes me feel more confident as I return to the kitchen. But as I resume my dinner preparations, my thoughts are consumed by the secret fantasies I’d never dare admit. Desires that are shameful if not outright obscene.

I’m lost in these fantasies when someone comes up behind me. Still clutching a bag of carrots, I freeze in front of the open refrigerator. I didn’t hear the back door open, but I know instinctively that it’s Drew even before he speaks.

“Put the vegetables away, Anna. I already ordered Japanese.”

My core clenches. His voice always does this to me. Every single time.

The cool air of the refrigerator blows against my flushed face. I breathe deeply, attempting to calm my racing pulse. Slowly, I put the carrots back and turn around. But at the sight of Drew, my heart rate skyrockets again.

I’ve seen my boss without a shirt before, but I’ll never get used to the sight. Fully clothed, he’s an attractive but introverted nerd. But then he takes his shirt off and he’s suddenly all tattoos and muscles—like the male version of the sexy librarian cliche, except more dangerous.

Abs that well-defined should require a special license to display. Or at the very least, come with a warning label.Because Drew Chase’s abs are a threat to the cardiac health and mental stability of any woman he encounters.

Holy hell.Did he seriously jog through the neighborhood looking like that?

The thought of him going on a run shirtless awakens a familiar jealousy. A jealousy that hits whenever he mentions his too-pretty, too-capable executive assistant—or any of the other women at Twinge. It’s why I shot down the idea of Sylvia living with us, insisting that with me here, he didn’t need a 24-7 maid.

It’s embarrassing how jealous I am—embarrassing and unprofessional. I’m always worried he’ll ask why I’m staring daggers at a waitress or cashier or random mother pushing a stroller. He acts oblivious, but theyallcheck him out.

He shoots me a quizzical look, and I realize I’ve been staring at him like a tongue-tied moron. But with him standing this close, I’m speechless, too aware of the aftershave he put on this morning mingling with the sweat from his run. It’s further proof that I’m a sex-obsessed freak; even his scent turns me on—sweat and all.

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