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He’s my new boss. Oh no!
That only leaves one thing unanswered…
How badly is he gonna punish me?
And how much am I gonna like it?
*** It’s the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Boss in this second installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sexy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happy Ending? Always, babe ***
102
Ashley
I wake up slowly, surfacing in a groggy fog. My head is pounding and I’m not sure if I want to be awake, but there’s some reason…
Something I need to…
There’s this nagging worry at the back of my mind…What the fuck am I worried about?
I shoot up in bed, shoving my hair out of my eyes. The guy lying next to me—Mike? Dave? Troy?—is snoring away.
“Wake up,” I say, shaking his shoulder.
“Wha…?” he asks blearily.
“I have to go to work,” I say, swinging my legs out of bed, heading for my bathroom, “and you need to get out of my apartment.”
“Oh,” he says, disappointed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Are you sure you aren’t up for a little morning fucking?”
I poke my head around the corner of the bathroom and glare daggers at him. “I am late,” I say, enunciating every word, “and you need to get the fuck out of my apartment. Pronto.” I run through a sponge bath that barely covers the basics, and then hit my closet. I rummage through my clothes, trying to find something that I can throw together that won't look like I threw it together.
Morning fucking. Is he fucking with me right now? I brought him home last night, hoping to finally get some, but nope, he just fell asleep on me, too drunk out of his mind to fuck. Now my six-month itch is six-months-and-one-day old, and I have to go to work horny.
Again.
I peek my head around the corner, making sure he's moving his ass, and he is.
Slowly.
I consider throwing a shoe at him to hurry things along, but then decide to hold back.
For the moment. I’m not above chucking the shoe if need be. A nice stiletto would get his attention, right?
I finally settle on my low-cut lilac silk shirt and black pencil skirt, ‘cause I know it’ll emphasize my curves just right. My immediate boss, Dick Henningford, is a lecherous old man who forgives his female employees almost anything, as long as they wear the right clothing. I’m not above using this to my advantage.
And anyway, I have a feeling that this morning, I’ll need his forgiveness because I check my iPhone and see that I only have 65 minutes to get to work, and it takes 60 minutes to get there.
On a good day.
Oh yeah, I’m fucked-not-actually-fucked this beautiful Monday morning. Ugh.
I stick my head around the corner again and spot Dave-Mike-Troy sprawled out on the bed, snoring.
Stiletto time!
I pick up my red patent leather pair—my favs—and chuck them across the room, one after another.
“WHAT THE HELL?” Dave-Mike-Troy roars, jackknifing into a sitting position.
