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"We have the rest of our lives to explore each other," Boris murmurs. "There is no need to rush."
No need to rush, but every reason to linger. He kisses me again, slowly, savoring every moment, and then bids me goodbye for the night.
***
The next morning, I wake up with a smile on my face. Momentarily, I forget that last night wasn’t a dream. And then, reality hits.
Boris and I have both been holding back from the one thing we want: each other.
My heart sings with joy as I walk out to look for him. But Boris, being Boris, has let me sleep in as usual and already left for work.
Feeling confident with the progress we’ve made in our marriage, I shower and dress hurriedly. For the first time in a long, long time, I can openly admit that my husband belongs to me and I to him.
And today, I can’t wait to get to the office and see him as soon as possible.
***
I stride into the office less than an hour later, and as usual, there she is—the new secretary, Suzannah. Her black leather skirt is so tight it looks painted on, and her blouse, what little there is of it, is transparent, deep cut, and straining at the buttons.
"Excuse me," I say, my voice cool and calm, but all steel underneath. "We have a dress code here. This isn't a nightclub."
She turns, all wide-eyed innocence that's fooling no one. "Oh, Robin. I understand how you must feel right now, you poor thing. Pregnant and all, but I know the dress co—”
"Cut the crap," I interrupt. "You know what you're doing. And if you think batting your lashes atmy husbandis going to get you anywhere, you're dead wrong. Next time you show up dressed like this, you're out. Am I clear?"
“Boris wouldn’t fire me,” she says haughtily.
“Oh yeah?” I scoff, making my way toward his office. “ One, that’s Mr. Zolotov to you. And two, you want to test me?”
“No. Wait, please,” she says, meekly. I turn to face her.
"I understand," she mutters, cheeks flaming.
"Good." I spin on my heel, leaving her to stew in her embarrassment. It's a new day, and I'm no longer the naive girl who accidentally fell into this life. I'm a Zolotov, and it's about damn time I started acting like it.
We finish our work by four in the afternoon, and Suzannah is just sitting around. I look at the clock and then at Boris, who is in his office, looking as handsome as a Greek God would.
A thought comes to mind, inspired by a flash of raw, carnal desire.
“Suzannah, pack your things and go. I’ll see you early tomorrow,” I order.
“You sure?” she asks, confused. “I can stay.”
“Leave,” I growl.
She doesn’t question me further. She takes her things and runs out like she’s being chased by a wild animal.
I giggle to myself. I didn’t mean to scare her so much, but it is time she remembers who happens to be the boss around here.
And perhaps Boris needs the same lesson, I think to myself, a shiver going down my spine.
Once Suzannah leaves, I use the office software and enable the do not disturb sign on the escalator, barring people from being able to enter Boris’s floor without us clearing them through. Good. Now, no one can interrupt.
Feeling emboldened, I close my eyes and remove my trousers. Now, I’m dressed in nothing but an oversized button-down shirt.
For a brief second, I wonder if I’ll make a fool of myself. But then, the memories of last night rush back. His groan as he showed self-restraint and the sizzle in the air when our breath met as one.
I’m overthinking this, I tell myself. There’s no doubt that the man wants me.
