CHAPTER FIVE

The fluorescent light overhead flickers with an erratic rhythm, mirroring my pulsing anger.

I should send another email to maintenance to replace the bulb, but that isn't why I'm unable to work.

No, I'm pacing my office like a caged animal instead of returning phone calls because of the rage threatening to boil over inside of me.

All thanks to my boss, Mr. Ettin.

This morning's meeting replays on a continuous loop in my mind—how dare he question me and my work ethic!

Ever since I joined Boggleworks, I've done nothing but turn a pretty profit for Mr. Ettin, and yet, he singles me out of all the other department heads to pick apart every freaking meeting.

The man has an infuriating knack for riling me up—it's like he's got direct access to some hidden switch that instantly pisses me off every time he flicks it.

And fuck if Mr. Ettin doesn't push my buttons.

Doesn't he realize how hard I worked this weekend—how many late nights and early mornings I put in for this project and many, many others?

Instead, he thinks that I don't know what I'm doing.

The absolute gall to drill me in front of everyone in the conference room, delivering each blow wrapped in ‘helpful' criticism.

My thoughts spiral out of control as I debate whether or not to confront him, but in my heart, I know that I can't back down.

If I let this go, Mr. Ettin will just keep doing this kind of thing, and I'll be miserable knowing I didn't say anything.

No harm can come of me just bringing it up…unless he fires me.

My throat clenches at the thought. I need this job, but I also have my dignity.

It's not fair that Mr. Ettin constantly questions me and not the others.

A part of me acknowledges that I should reach out to HR, but I don't want a middle-man to step in—this is between Mr. Ettin and me alone.

With this in mind, I march up the stairs to his office.

Every step brings me closer to unleashing the fury boiling in my veins.

I won't be undervalued by him or anyone.

Pausing but a nanosecond outside of the polished mahogany door to Mr. Ettin's office, it doesn't occur to me to knock.

In truth, I'm too far gone in my own wrath to remember how to be civil.

Unknowing to my boss, he opened old wounds I thought long buried and put to rest.

Foolish of me.

The hurts of the past never go away if not properly addressed, and goodness knows I never did anything of the sort.

Now I realize they've festered silently, growing into something rabid and wild. I'm losing control of myself, but I can't stop.

I tell myself that I'm the victim, and in my self-righteous indignation, barge through the closed door.

Luckily, Mr. Ettin is alone.

Unluckily, he appears to be very busy.

"Wyn!" he groans in a guttural voice.

My gaze takes in the way his shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths before drifting down to where his hand flies over the length of his exposed cock.

Ropes of thick, bright blue cum arc from the tip, splashing all over his desk and lap.

The entire time, his vibrant magenta stare never leaves mine.

The two of us are locked in this moment, neither of us able to look away.

Arousal sweeps through me, slow and insidious.

Did Mr. Ettin call my name because I walked in or because he was thinking of me?

Suddenly, the room is too hot—everything is too hot.

My boss stammers out what could be an apology, but I don't hear him.

I should leave and pretend none of this happened, for both our sakes.

Return to my office where I can drown myself in work until the memory of Mr. Ettin's cock fades from my mind.

But my body betrays me, refusing to move as my gaze traces the contours of my boss's obvious arousal.

Mesmerized, I lick my lips while my stomach clenches in desire.

My blood sizzles with awareness, and my nipples tighten as I struggle to contain my whimper of need.

Too easily, I can imagine Mr. Ettin touching me, caressing my breasts while I sink to my knees to tease his cock—to taste his cum.

"Shit, Wyn, I…"

I jerk my gaze away from his crotch to Mr. Ettin's remorseful expression.

No doubt he's worried I'm going to run and tattle to HR.

But I'm not.

It's not his fault that I didn't knock. Although not locking the door was the height of stupidity.

Did the man want to get caught?

The thought takes me aback, and I slowly inch out of Mr. Ettin's office, slamming the door shut behind me as I run away.

Everything seems to tilt as I bolt to the nearest bathroom.

I barely make it to the sanctuary of the stall before collapsing.

Slamming the door shut, I lean against it, trying to catch my breath.

Every inhale is like shards of glass tearing through me, and fuck if my mind doesn't keep drifting back to what I just saw.

The image of Mr. Ettin's cock is permanently burned into my memory—the dark navy length with the almost barbed tip, smokey around the edges…

Lust coils within me, and I grit my teeth, fighting against the waves of desire threatening to sweep me under.

Seductive thoughts whisper through my head, each one threatening to unravel my carefully built walls.

I try to stand up—try to get myself together—but my legs refuse to listen.

All I can do is groan and bang my back against the cold, metal door.

Despite my best efforts, this man arouses me to a fever pitch, and I tumble headlong into the dark desires that haunt me whenever I think about my boss.

Ugh, stop it, Wyn!

I press my palms against my eyelids until neon shapes burst behind them as I ponder when this pesky attraction snaked its way under my skin.

It's the middle of the workday, and I've got a pile of spreadsheets screaming for attention, but my stupid brain could care less.

This time, when I attempt to stand, I steel my spine and force my legs to straighten. I have work to do.

There's nothing but animosity and apathy between me and Mr. Ettin—nothing.

With this half-truth, I emerge from the stall, slightly more composed.

I splash cold water against my cheeks, going through a mental checklist of how to remain professional.

I grip the break room sink with bloodless knuckles, blinking hard against the sting of tears that threaten because I love my job.

But a line's been crossed that neither of us can pretend wasn't.

Whatever fragile boundaries existed before lie trampled.

The workplace rapport that Mr. Ettin and I managed was like a rickety bridge now collapsing under the weight of what just happened.

All of my dirty office fantasies about the monstrous man come flooding back like an avalanche.

His deep voice whispering filthy encouragements in my ear while he fucks me on his desk from behind.

Him making me beg to come as he takes me to the edge of my pleasure but never fully giving in until I'm nearly catatonic with need.

Opening my eyes, I swallow hard and try to calm my racing heart.

I bite my lower lip and grab some paper towels, wiping down the counter where I splashed water by accident.

A bead of sweat trickles between my breasts as I push past the shock from the depth of my desire for Mr. Ettin.

I've always fancied him—secretly—but today's display just catapulted my furtive lust to new echelons of yearning.

Finally, I get a grip and exit the bathroom to walk back to my office.

I pass my colleagues with a forced calmness, every step as measured as I attempt to regain control over my thoughts.

The damned images of Mr. Ettin jerking off just won't leave me alone.

His sexy moan echoes in my head, the sound of my name on his tongue nearly my undoing.

Enough!

I can't let this incident consume me because I am professional, even if my body wants something more.

So my boss sparks forbidden longing deep inside of me—no big deal.

I've handled much more complicated situations before with rational detachment, and this time will be no different.

Holding myself ramrod straight, I stride into my office, hellbent on acting like absolutely nothing happened.

I can do this—no one else controls me or my reactions—and today is just another day.

But my gaze, traitorous thing that it is, drifts upward, reminding me of where Mr. Ettin's office is and all the naughty, delicious moments that took place in there.

Growling, I plunge myself into a whirlwind of activity, intent on never thinking about my boss inappropriately ever again.

For the most part, I succeed, and when the clock hits four, I rush home faster than I ever have before.

I thank my neighbor for picking up and watching over Jake, and then I make dinner while keeping up a stream of constant chatter with my son.

We laugh, play some board games, and eat way too much ice cream, but when I tuck him into bed with a smile, I decide it was worth it.

Not once this evening did I think of Mr. Ettin, and as far as I'm concerned, today's events are nothing but the past.

Tomorrow will be a new day where we both forget what happened and move on like the adults we both are.

Satisfied with this, I get ready for bed. But as the hours stretch on, my mind returns to what I saw.

Even now, I swear I can hear my boss groan my name.

It sends a shiver down my spine, and to my shame, I touch myself.

When I come, it's my turn to cry out his name.

"Bash!" echoes into the shadowed corners of my room, and tears fill my eyes.

Silently, I sob at my own foolish weakness and promise myself that never again will I let this happen.

That's how I eventually fall into a fitful sleep.

Lying to myself.