Bad Boss, page 7
CHAPTER TEN
Ulysses
THE DAY DID not start out well. For a start, I slept in, which I almost never did, though that might have had more to do with me keeping Morgan busy for most of the night having sex.
Still, I wasn’t used to it. I had difficulty sleeping most nights and, the nights I did sleep, I was awake at five a.m. Yet when I’d woken that morning I’d looked at the clock to find it shockingly late—seven.
I had a morning routine I preferred to stick to. An hour in my private gym, a shower and then getting dressed. Breakfast at six-thirty. Then my driver would take me into the office and on the way I’d read the news websites and the hard-copy dailies. I’d be in the office by seven-thirty and ready to work.
Now it was seven and my morning routine was disrupted.
I didn’t have time for much more than a shower and quick breakfast, then I paused in the doorway of my bedroom, staring at the woman still asleep in my bed.
The sheet had fallen away from her shoulders, leaving her back and shoulders bare, and her hair lay black and silky-looking over my pillow.
My cock was hard, and had been hard ever since I’d woken up and a part of me wanted to go back to the bed, pull the sheet back and have sex with her again. A discomforting thought.
We’d both be very late for work if I did that and I hated being late. I also didn’t like that I wanted her again, which almost never happened. Normally, once I’d had sex I didn’t think about it again for at least a couple of days, and I never really wanted sex with a particular woman. I had my favourites, but they were mainly women who knew me and knew my tastes.
It wasn’t personal.
But the feeling that gripped me now seemed to be about one woman in particular: Morgan. It wasn’t sex per se, it was her.
That annoyed me. There was no logical reason still to be having sexual thoughts about her, considering everything we’d done last night.
I’d planned to wake her up, because if I didn’t she’d be late for work, but in the end I decided not to, some part of me not wanting to get too close to her.
Instead, I settled for scribbling a quick note, instructing her to have breakfast here and to call my driver to get a lift into work. And then I left for work myself.
But the disturbed feeling didn’t leave me.
Morgan was an hour late, and I thought that, once she’d got here, the day would settle into its usual familiar routine and my odd restlessness would vanish.
But it didn’t.
The moment she walked in, I noticed that, though her hair was in its normal bun, it looked a bit messy, black strands falling around her ears and the back of her neck. Her light blue skirt was wrinkled and the buttons on her white blouse had been done up wrong.
I didn’t know why I noticed. I certainly hadn’t taken notice of such things before and it was strange that I was doing so now. I was even conscious of her sweet scent, and how it seemed much sweeter this morning, making my mouth water.
Annoyance wound through me. I tried to concentrate on my computer screen instead of on her as she smoothed her skirt, hooked an escaped strand of hair over one ear and approached my desk.
‘Are you ready to go through your schedule?’ She sounded breathless. ‘Thanks for the breakfast, by the way. I really—’
‘You’re late,’ I interrupted, glaring at my screen. ‘By an hour.’
‘Sorry, I woke up late,’ she said. ‘And then I had to go home and get changed.’
‘You should have texted me.’
‘Seriously?’
I looked at her then, a hard jolt of electricity pulsing through me as her blue eyes met mine. There were dark circles under them and I knew how those circles had got there, that I was responsible for them. And all the sounds she’d made were still ringing in my ears, the little moans and sighs, the cries of release, the sobs of pleasure.
Sexual desire hit, my cock instantly hard, and almost as soon as I felt it myself I saw a wave of red stain her skin and a familiar blue spark ignite in her eyes.
My annoyance deepened. Why was I feeling this way now? I’d had a lot of sex last night and I wasn’t supposed to want more. I certainly wasn’t supposed to want to bend her over my desk and fuck her hard from behind only five hours after the last time. I was supposed to give her the pleasure I promised her then think no more about it.
‘Yes,’ I snapped, irritated about it. ‘You know I don’t like lateness.’
Her cheeks were still pink, and I had the impression that she was surprised. Though what she was surprised about I didn’t know. Then she glanced down at the tablet in her hands. ‘Perhaps you should have woken me up before you left this morning.’
She sounded more like her normal self, which should have calmed me, but it didn’t. Her voice held a chilly note that felt wrong, especially after the heat that had made it all husky and raw the night before.
I shifted restlessly in my chair. Yes, I should have woken her up. But I hadn’t wanted to, and I couldn’t figure out why.
‘The schedule,’ I said curtly, not wanting to discuss it. ‘Let’s go through it.’
Morgan didn’t argue so we went through my schedule, normally a settling, familiar routine. But again, like everything about this morning, something was wrong.
She wouldn’t look at me and I kept fixating on the cold note in her voice. I also couldn’t stop noticing that the buttons on her blouse were done up wrong and there was a tiny gap, allowing me to see the white lace of her bra and her pale skin beneath it. I couldn’t stop seeing the faint mark of a bruise on her neck where I’d kissed her the night before. Couldn’t stop noticing the way the fabric pulled tight around her hips and how it might excite her if I were to pull it down, using it to constrict her thighs, prevent her from opening them.
‘Ulysses?’
Would she like that? Would it make her eyes go luminous and dark, make her mouth go full and soft? Would she pant the way she had last night when I’d put her on top of me to test her responses?
‘Ulysses? Are you listening?’
No. You’re too busy imagining fucking her.
I shifted in my chair yet again, my cock painfully hard, my temper on edge. This wasn’t supposed to happen but, as it was, there was only one solution. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not listening. I can’t stop thinking about having sex with you and it’s annoying.’
Morgan blinked, another wave of colour staining her cheeks. ‘You...are?’
‘Didn’t I just say so?’ Impatience twisted inside me. ‘Last night was very pleasurable and now it’s difficult for me to concentrate.’
Her mouth was open. She shut it and glanced down at her tablet. ‘You enjoyed last night, then?’
I didn’t know why she’d phrased it as a question. Surely that had been obvious? ‘If I hadn’t enjoyed it I wouldn’t have been hard,’ I pointed out. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t be hard now.’
‘Oh...’ The word came out on a sighing sound. ‘And...you are hard now?’
‘I just told you I was. Really, Morgan. Seems like you’re the one not listening.’ I shoved my chair back and stood, turning around and going to the windows so I could look out over London. Sunlight glinted off the glass of the buildings outside and I counted the glints in my head, trying to concentrate on something other than the pain in my groin. ‘This will cause problems,’ I went on, because it would. ‘I have to be able to concentrate in order to do my job properly, and I can’t. So you really have two choices. Either you stay away from me for the rest of the day or we have sex again.’
‘I see.’
I turned around and met her gaze. And again it hit me, that jolt of electricity, as if I’d been punched hard in the stomach. ‘Your buttons are done up wrong.’ I knew this wasn’t what I should have said, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘And your bun is half-falling down, and your skirt is wrinkled.’
This time I recognised the definite surprise that crossed her face. ‘I dressed in a rush.’
‘However you dressed, it’s different. You’re different. You should be easy for me to ignore and you’re not.’
Another expression I couldn’t read flickered over her face. ‘Well, thanks.’
I knew she didn’t mean to thank me, that she was being sarcastic, that she hadn’t liked what I’d said. ‘I’m just pointing out the issues,’ I said impatiently. ‘And that it’s a problem for me. If I can’t ignore you, I can’t do my job, and that includes a meeting today with the Black and White Foundation trustees. A meeting you’re supposed to be attending with me and which I won’t be able to concentrate on if you’re in the room.’
‘So,’ she said slowly. ‘What you’re saying is that this is my fault?’
Her voice sounded neutral, but I knew from experience that she didn’t feel that way.
I frowned, unsure why she should be annoyed with me. ‘Well, I haven’t had this problem before. It’s only happened this morning, which is after we had sex. So logically—’
‘Logically, yes, it is my fault.’ Her mouth had flattened into a hard line and I could see what looked like anger glittering in her eyes. ‘Thanks, Ulysses. Thanks for making your dick my problem.’
My muscles tightened, annoyance prickling under my skin. All I’d done was point out an issue. ‘I didn’t say my dick was your problem. I only agreed that you’re the reason it’s an issue and that there were two ways to deal with it.’
‘Right. So, what? I bend over your desk so you can give it to me now? Or I leave for the rest of the day, yes?’
Again, her voice sounded very cool and calm, yet the gleam of blue in her eyes was hot. Was she still annoyed? And, if so, why?
‘Those are the two solutions I can see.’ I lifted a brow. ‘Unless you can think of something else?’
‘I can think of something else.’ She rose from the chair, tucking her tablet under her arm, her chin lifting in a familiar way. ‘In fact, I can think of two other solutions you haven’t mentioned.’
That lift of her chin should have warned me, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy looking at the gap in her blouse where the buttons were done up wrong and her skin gleamed pale. ‘Two other solutions?’ I muttered. ‘And what are they?’
‘One, you deal with your dick yourself in the privacy of your own bathroom,’ she said coldly. ‘Or, two, you shove it up your fucking arse.’
Then without another word she turned on her heel and stormed out of my office.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morgan
I STRODE FROM Ulysses’s office straight into the bathroom that was for the use of his two secretaries and myself, slammed the door then locked it for good measure.
I’d never felt so angry in my entire life and I couldn’t figure out why.
Ulysses was only being his normal, aggravating, infuriating self, no change there, so why was I so furious with him? Why had I lost it with him? I never shouted, never lost my cool, never was anything less than professional.
Except, apparently, for today.
Waking up this morning in his giant bed with its magnificent view over the Thames had been a shock, since I hadn’t expected to stay the entire night in his massive penthouse near the river. That he wasn’t there when I woke up had also been a shock, though it shouldn’t have surprised me. He never missed a day of work and he was never late.
A part of me had been glad that he wasn’t there, because after last night I was having a few problems adjusting to normality. And, as I’d eaten the breakfast the note he’d left me had instructed me to help myself to, I’d thought about how I’d deal with facing him across his desk on a normal work day. Which was simply to go on as normal, because that was what he’d do.
After all, it was a one-off deal. A night to explore my fantasy, nothing more.
Except he hadn’t gone on as normal.
The moment I’d walked into his office, flustered after having rushed home to get dressed, I’d felt the pull of our chemistry.
He was sitting behind his desk, a tall, broad, glowering presence. Unlike me, he was immaculate in his charcoal-grey suit, pristine white shirt and silk tie in a rich, dark blue. He was also, as usual, incredibly, coldly beautiful.
He’d been staring at his computer screen with a very studied intensity and I’d been relieved, thinking that maybe the chemistry I’d felt was all on my side, that now we’d let it burn for a night there’d be nothing left of it.
At least until he’d looked up at me and I’d seen that familiar heat flaring in his black eyes. The heat I’d seen every time I looked up at him as I’d lain naked beneath him in his bed.
He’d come to the point pretty quickly, letting me know in no uncertain terms that, far from our chemistry being done, it was a problem for him, and what was I going to do about it?
Cursing under my breath, I went over to the sink, turning on the tap and running some cold water, splashing it onto my hot face.
I didn’t understand it. A part of me liked being blamed for getting him hard, and also liked how he wasn’t able to dismiss our night together as easily as he dismissed other things. So why I was mad, I wasn’t sure.
Was it that I hadn’t expected him to be thinking about it? Or was it the coldly emotionless way he’d suggested that I was the problem and that I either needed to have more sex with him or get out?
You know what he’s like, come on.
I did know what he was like. Yet that didn’t make any difference to my anger. Or my disappointment, though I didn’t know what I was disappointed about.
He was a man who didn’t process emotion in the same way other people did, who found it difficult to understand the emotions of others, and I knew this. So why was I even getting angry with him? And what was this disappointment about?
You wanted last night to mean something to him.
I grabbed a hand towel from the basket beside the sink and patted the water from my face, then gazed at myself in the mirror.
‘You’re an idiot,’ I said to my reflection. ‘As if a night of exploring rough sex fantasies means anything.’
I didn’t want it to mean anything. Ulysses was my boss and, not only that, he’d never be a man I could have a relationship with. Never be a man I could have an emotional connection with.
Because that was what I wanted. Not just rough sex, but an emotional connection. Something that went deeper than physical, that gave me more. Certainly more than I had right now.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, I decided that not being around Ulysses was the best idea, so I went back to my own office, collected my laptop and went down to the HR department on the tenth floor, where I found an empty desk.
Ulysses didn’t try and make contact, which was a relief, yet as the day neared its end my temper got worse.
So much for being indispensable. He hadn’t wanted me to take any annual leave, yet apparently he was quite happy for me to be AWOL the entire day.
It wasn’t until just before four, when his precious meeting was supposed to start, that he texted me.
I expect you in my private meeting room in five minutes.
Typical. He didn’t want me until he wanted me and then I had to be there immediately. Normally I wouldn’t have minded, but I sure as hell did now. Because I knew what would happen. I’d get to the meeting room and Ulysses would treat me as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t been rude and angry and walked out on him. It would have left no impression on him whatsoever.
Like you didn’t even matter.
When I’d been in high school I’d been a massive poetry fan, and I’d particularly liked Keats. I’d read up a bit about his life and had been intrigued by the epigraph on his grave: Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
I felt like that sometimes—as if my name was written in water too. As if I could disappear and no one would remember me, except Damian.
Ulysses wouldn’t. He’d only get another assistant to replace the empty space I’d leave behind. He wouldn’t think about the person who used to occupy that empty space. It wouldn’t even occur to him.
Out of sight, out of mind—that was Ulysses.
I’d told him once that he had no sense of object permanence and he’d just looked at me as if I was mad.
You know what you have to do, then, don’t you?
I stared down at his text again, realisation hitting me, along with a kind of certainty.
I knew why I was angry. After last night, I’d expected things to be different. I’d expected myself to be different. To feel that something had changed. But nothing had changed. I was still myself. My life was still narrow and confined, no matter how down and dirty I’d got the night before. I was still running around after a man who saw me as nothing but filler in an empty space.
And why should he see me any differently? When my life was a shell with no substance to it, no weight?
My name was ‘writ in water’ because I was water. Transparent, colourless, tasteless. And I hadn’t done anything to change that. I’d expected other people to make me feel as if I was more by being a good girl, doing everything they told me. Hoping they would look and see me.
But in doing so I’d limited myself. I’d limited my life.
I’d turned myself into water and, if I wanted to be more than that, I’d have to be the one to change.
And maybe that change meant something drastic...such as leaving.
Leaving my job. Leaving London.
A drastic step, yes, but maybe it was the time for drastic steps.
Last night Ulysses had given me a taste of excitement, heat and passion, everything my life had been lacking, and if I wanted more of that I was going to have to go out and find it myself.
Or you could just get it from him.
I put my phone down without replying to his text, memories of the night before replaying helpfully in my head. His hands holding me. His strength keeping me exactly where he wanted me. His mouth exploring my body with a single-minded relentlessness that had driven me out of my mind. The hard length of his cock moving inside me, deep and hard and rough. My sex aching and throbbing, my skin sensitive.
