The Boss's Orders: Alpha Male Billionaire Office Romance (6 page)

A
fter he leaves
, I take a moment to try to collect myself. My mind is still reeling from my encounter with William. Mr. Godrich. My boss.

My body is reeling too.

I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my entire life. And never twice in a row like that. My entire body is still shaking with it. No one has ever done to my body what he does, no one has ever made me feel that way before.

But … part of me feels regret. He’s my
boss
. This is my
job
. If this goes south, we could both get in trouble. I could fired, my reputation smeared. No one wants to be known as the girl who fucks the boss. No one would hire me — I’d be a walking liability.

Thinking of HR reminds me that I still haven’t heard back from Kelly. To distract myself from my own dilemma, I fire her off another quick note, just saying that I hope she’s doing okay and then I’d still love to have coffee some time.

By that time, I’m starting to get feeling in my legs again and I go back to the filing job Mr. Godrich left for me. It takes me the rest of the day, during which time I don’t see hide nor hair of him.

Finally, after five o’clock, he strolls in. I’m just about to leave but he drops a shopping bag on my desk. It’s from the same store as the one from yesterday and my heart starts to race, wondering what he has cooked up for me now.

I look at him quizzically but he just nods towards the bag.

“Open it.”

Once again I paw through layer upon layer of tissue paper, finally pulling out something black. I unfold it. It’s a dress. A beautiful one. Short, but not scandalously so. Formfitting, and with a sheer lace back. I look at my boss, more confused than ever.

“I’m taking you to dinner.” He clears his throat. Is it my imagination or does the unflappable Mr. Godrich actually seem a tiny bit … nervous? “As a thank you for your excellent behaviour this week.”

My heart is racing even faster now. This is hardly what I expected him to say but in a way I’m even more nervous now. Have dinner with this man? The same man I can barely look in the eye?

“Yes.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I’d love to.”

“You can change in my office,” he says. Then adds, with a wolfish grin. “I’ll be watching, of course.”

We go into his office and he sits at his desk while I start to change. The sheer back on the dress means there’s no way I can wear a bra with this thing. I take off my silk top and then reach around to unclasp my bra. Mr. Godrich’s eyes blaze as my tits pop free.

I could pull the dress on now, and slide my skimpy little skirt off after I have the dress on — that would be the most discreet way to do it. But the look of clear desire in Mr. Godrich’s eyes emboldens me. I shimmy the skirt down off my hips until I’m standing naked in front of my boss.

“Distract me much more and we might not make it to dinner,” he growls.

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

Mr. Godrich comes over to me. He slides a hand up my torso and cups my breast, flicking his thumb across my hard little nipple.

“Claire, make no mistake. I
am
going to fuck you. But we’re going to do it when I say so. And I’m going to make you
beg
.”

“Beg?”

“Beg. Like you’ve never begged for anything in your life.”

I swallow.

Somehow, I believe him.

* * *

M
r. Godrich has
his driver take us to an upscale restaurant on the waterfront, not too far from the office. The hostess recognizes him and takes us immediately to a table in the very back of the restaurant, hidden from view by a series of pillars. As she walks with us, she sneaks glances back at Mr. Godrich. I can’t say that I blame her. I notice almost every woman in the restaurant turning to watch us — to ogle him, and to judge me.

Screw you, ladies, I almost giggle. No one here has to know I’m actually his secretary. Tonight I’m just the mystery woman on the arm of one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.

It’s actually a little bit thrilling.

“Is this all right?” Mr. Godrich asks me. We’ve been seated now, and the hostess has left, promising to send over our waiter in short order.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Mr. Godrich.”

“Claire, I think you can call me William.”

“William.” His name on my tongue somehow makes me flush. I hope he can’t see it in the dim candlelight.

“I like that.” He smiles.

I flush harder. “Me too.”

I’m saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of our waiter. Mr. Godrich — William — orders the wine, a 1987 French merlot that he swears I’ll love. Even though he knows nothing about my tastes, I somehow don’t doubt him.

After the waiter disappears, William surprises me by asking about my childhood.

“I grew up just a couple hours outside Chicago,” I tell him. “But all I ever wanted when I was growing up was to leave that town and build a life here in the city.”

“And now you have.”

“Mostly.” I don’t tell him about my bitchy roommates or the mice in our apartment or the fact that I have yet to make any real friends in the city. And of course, he already knows that my career is not exactly on fire at the moment.

“What about you,” I say, changing the subject. “Godrich and Associates, did you inherit your father’s company?”

His eyes narrow. “My father has nothing to do with my company. I built Godrich and Associates from the ground up. My money, my skills, my hard work.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that.” I obviously hit a nerve.

“It’s fine. It’s just that everyone assumes that because I’m young, I must be riding Daddy’s coat tails, when nothing could be further from the truth.”

“I understand.” And I do. “My parents cut me off when I was sixteen. So although I might not run a billion-dollar company, I know what it’s like to have to make it on your own.”

He raises his eyebrows. It actually feels kind of good to be able to surprise the man. “Why’d they cut you off?”

I shrug. I don’t usually talk about this part of my life very much, but something about William and what we’ve shared over the last couple of weeks makes me want to open up to him.

“I was dating a guy that they weren’t happy about.”

“That’s it? That doesn’t seem like a good reason to throw your daughter out.”

“Well, I was pretty wild back then. Drinking and a bit of drugs. My boyfriend at the time — Al — he was into some pretty serious stuff, dealing drugs and some petty crime. I think my parents thought that cutting me off would knock some sense into me.”

“Did it?”

I laugh. “Nope. I don’t think I needed to be cut loose back then. I think what I needed was discipline.”

The word hangs in the air between us. Time slows for a second. William licks his lips.

“Your wine, sir.” Saved — or maybe foiled — by the waiter. I catch my breath while he uncorks the bottle and pours a small bit into a glass for William to sample. William swirls the wine in the glass and then takes a small sip, which he swishes around in his mouth a little.

“Yes.”

“Very good, sir.” The waiter pours us both glasses. William orders for both of us — steak, grilled asparagus, oysters. I’m a little squicked out by the oysters but I don’t say anything about that.

After the waiter leaves we sip our wine. I don’t know much about wine but I have to hand it to William on this one — it’s absolutely delicious.

“The French, they really know what they’re doing,” William says, savoring a sip. “Their reds are just spectacular. Their champagnes too, obviously, but personally I think you can’t beat a good red.”

“Do you know I’ve never had real champagne?” I feel silly admitting it but William just shakes his head.

“We’ll obviously have to correct that. I think you’ll love it.”

We take another sip of our drinks. I try to taste as William must, but most of the subtle notes are lost on me. Chocolate? Peppercorns? Oak? Random non-food item supposed to make me sound cultured? I’d obviously be hopeless as a wine taster.

William puts his glass down. “What about now?” he asks, picking up our earlier conversation where we left off. “Are you close with your parents now?”

“My mom and I are pretty close, I guess. My dad died a couple of years after I left home.”

“I’m sorry.”

I wave it off. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but I’ve had a lot of time to process. I think that’s probably why I got myself back on the straight and narrow. My dad died thinking I was a failure, and I didn’t want him to be right.”

Before I know what’s happening, William has reached across the table and taken my hand in his. It’s a gesture that stuns me, maybe more than anything else that’s happened this week. A shiver goes up my spine as he rubs my thumb with his.

“I’m sure he didn’t think you were a failure.”

Tears well up in my eyes and threaten to spill over. Something about his unexpected kindness is like a punch to the gut.

“Thank you for saying that.” I take a sip of wine, anxious to change the subject. “I told you mine, now you tell me yours. I obviously hit a hot button when I asked you if Godrich and Associates was your father’s company. What are your parents like?”

He snorts. “Exactly what you’d expect. Cold. Aloof. Impossible to please. Frequently drunk and more frequently fighting.”

“They’re still married?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They just should have gotten divorced years ago. My mother’s fucked every tennis instructor or bus boy at the country club and my father just … doesn’t care. He throws himself into work and ignores the whole situation. They just fight about money and the house and about who’s the bigger asshole.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is. If anything, it’s made me crystal clear about what I absolutely
don’t
want in my life.”

“And what’s that?”

“A loveless marriage. Kids to fuck up.”

“What about a happy marriage, and kids who don’t get fucked up?”

He snorts. “Is there such a thing?”

“I like to think so.”

“Well, then, Claire, you are very naive.”

“Maybe.”

We sip our wine and before we can change the topic, the waiter arrives with our oysters. Oh, here we go.

William sees me wrinkling my nose.

“Not a fan?”

“They’re just so slimy.”

“That’s what’s so good about them,” he says. Then he grins. “Just like eating pussy.”

I nearly spit out my wine. “Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever done that.”

“Then you don’t know what you’re missing,” he says, and winks. I think about our encounter earlier today, and my cheeks go pink.

William nudges the plate towards me and I reluctantly take one. He slurps his down quickly, never breaking eye contact with me.

“Just like I remember it. Your turn.”

I hold the shell up to my lips and touch the slimy little blob tentatively with my tongue. It’s briny and slick.

“Bottoms up.” William is grinning.

I take a deep breath and tip the oyster into my mouth. It’s salty and sticks in my throat as it goes down. I shake my head and take a sip of my wine.

“Is that really what it tastes like?”

“What?”

I lower my voice. “Pussy.”

William laughs, the first real genuine laugh I’ve ever heard from him.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

“How?”

“Move over.”

I slide over in the booth and William crosses the table and slides in beside me. He drops his hand beneath the table and I feel him sliding my knees apart. The reality of what he’s doing hits me.

“William…”

“You asked the question, Claire.”

“I take it back.” I try to laugh, but William’s hand is sliding all the way up my thigh. I’m still not wearing any panties so when his hand reaches my heat, he has more than easy access. He slips his finger inside of me. My body shudders at the sudden intrusion. He swirls his finger around a few times, and flicks it in a way that drives me crazy. I take a sip of wine to try to calm myself.

When he pulls his hand away I can see that it’s slick with my juices.

“Open your mouth.”

Oh God.

But I do as he says. He puts his finger in my mouth and I lick it tentatively. It doesn’t taste as bad as I thought — not as briny as the oyster. A little sweeter and muskier. Almost as perfumey as cantaloup.

I lick his finger up and down and then, because I can see in his eyes that this is turning him on, I close my lips around his finger and suck. I move my mouth up and down his finger, as if I was sucking him off.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

“Mmmm,” is all I say.

William clears his throat. “Well, that settles it. Since you’re such a dirty girl, you will no longer be allowed to wear panties at the office. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

I smile around his finger.

“I knew I liked you, Claire,” William smiles. “From that very first day I met you. Getting yourself off in the bathroom at Prescott & Bailey. I thought, ‘Who is this girl and how can I have her?’”