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On the other hand, teenage boys don’t know what they want out of life. They all need direction. I’ve already got one person in my life who relies on me, and I don’t need another one. With Con, I don’t think I’d need to make even one decision, unless I wanted to. He’d take charge, and I could breathe easy for once.
But, he’s not responded to even one of my lures because he thinks I’m a kid and I don’t know what I want. He’s wrong. I know exactly what I want. I want his hand in my hair, his mouth on my lips, and his dick inside me. I want to sass him all day, get my ass blistered pink, and then have him bend me over his desk and take me until I pass out. I want him to pick me up and cuddle me on his lap while we watch the snow fall over Central Park. I want him to call me his darling little girl and I want to call him Daddy.
Maybe that is messed up, but it’s what I want. Deep down, I believe that is what he wants, too.
Discreetly, I run my damp palms down my winter white wool coat as I ride up the elevator to the 40th floor to meet my new boss. It’s crowded in the small space as the elevator ascends swiftly, and my rising body temperature could be attributed to the press of bodies around me, but I know that’s not the real reason. I check myself out in the mirrored elevator door—my eyes are shining but other than that I look a lot calmer and more composed than I feel. My face feels flushed and my heart is thumping with anticipation. I practically vibrate with nervous tension.
When the elevator door arrives at my floor, I step out, walking towards the gleaming glass doors facing the lobby. I’m buzzed into an ultra-modern reception area, beautiful but cold. There are no decorations on the wall—not a wreath or bough of mistletoe or even an avant-garde holiday sculpture in here. Only the faint strains of carols over the office speakers give any clue that this office is aware that the best holiday of the year is approaching. I take a deep breath and I approach the receptionist.
“Hi, I’m Willow Kaplan, and Mr. Romano is expecting me.” I grin inwardly. Mr. Romano sounds so formal. I was ten when we first met. He told me to call him “Uncle C.” Dad calls him Con-man, which I despise, due to all the money Constantine has made over the past few years. One day I’ll call him Daddy while I’m sitting on his knee with his hand stroking me to an orgasm. One day soon.
The receptionist smiles politely and says, “Oh yes, Ms. Kaplan, just one moment please.” She picks up the phone and speaks briefly, announcing my arrival. After a short pause, she hangs up and says to me, “He’ll be out in just a moment, if you want to take a seat.”
Suddenly I’m not sure what to do—should I sit down, or would it be better to stand as I wait? I shift back and forth in my four-inch stiletto-heeled booties, vanity trampling practicality this morning when I chose my shoes. I want to look sexy and grown-up for him. Good thing there isn’t snow on the ground yet. The only problem is that my feet are already starting to ache a bit, and I don’t want to cripple myself on my first day.
I finally decide that sitting will allow me to arrange my long legs and sexy shoes more artfully than standing, and make my way over to the sitting area. There, I hesitate between the armchair and sofa, finally deciding on the sofa since it’ll give me more room to maneuver.
As soon as I lower myself I know I’ve made a big mistake—the seat cushion is soft and I sink way lower than anticipated and now it feels like my knees are up by my chin. Crap. This is what I get for overthinking everything this morning.
Before I can move over to the chair the inner doors swing open and a man strides through. My heart leaps to my throat. This is it!
But no, this isn’t Uncle C walking towards me, but a stranger with mint-green hair and a lighted bow tie—definitely someone who loves the holiday season. He should look ridiculous, but somehow it works. He stops in front of the sofa and holds out a hand and smiles. His eyes seem kind behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Hi, you must be Willow. I’m Tim, Mr. Romano's assistant.”
I should’ve expected he’d send out Tim—I know from my dad Con has had the same second-in-command for years. I grasp Tim’s hand to shake it and then realize that between my really low position, tight skirt and insanely high heels I’m going to need help getting off this sofa. “Hi Tim, it’s great meeting you. Um, would you mind helping me up?” My face is red with mortification now rather than anticipation.
