Anything He wants

I went over to the box again, looking at them and feeling my hands tremble.

Not only would I be out my new job, but I wouldn’t even have another job to go back to. And let me tell you, if anyone in town was hiring except the guy who fired my dad? I’d already be working there.

“I’ll do it,” I said softly, a sigh upon my voice. Though Martin had hung up almost immediately upon my acceptance. It was clear I wouldn’t get a lot of sympathy from him. He was probably too busy busting his ass for Mr. Romy to care about anyone else.

I squeezed myself into that outfit, just as I was ordered to. Though the stockings, heels and ridiculously-short miniskirt were a challenge, it was the top that snugly hugged my bosoms and made my cleavage bulge out that really was the toughest part. But I suffered it, because I had to, and made my way up to wait by the door for Mr. Romy’s arrival.

He came home himself that evening, looking as handsome and hardnosed as ever. His gaze went to me immediately, and he shut the door behind him as he let his briefcase thunk to the floor.

“Very nice,” he said in a gravelly voice, and for once I actually heard what approval sounded like from my boss.

But I just felt like running and hiding. I looked at the briefcase and wondered if I was supposed to bring that in. The job didn’t really come with a list of duties other than the few that I’d been told, but more than that, rich guys always wanted their staff to be mind readers.

I shifted in my heels, my hands clasped behind my back. I thought it’d make me look professional but instead it just made my chest stick out more.

“Thank you, Sir.”

He took his time sizing me up, but he kept such a calm, cool aura about him all the while, somehow avoiding the disposition of a letch like I was more used to dealing with.

“I approve. You’ll get your raise, Miss Tish,” he said to me, pushing his shoulders back and looking at me expectantly. “Well?” he asked.

I blanked.

“Excuse me, sir?” I said, and that made him furrow his brow in irritation.

“Didn’t you study your new duties?” he asked. “On your tablet?” and I suddenly turned blood red, realizing I must’ve missed some other things.

“Surely Martin told you,” he said.

He didn’t, I didn’t think, but I stared up at him blankly.

“Grocery shopping. Taking an inventory. No guests…” I trailed off, trying to think of what else Martin had told me. His brows furrowed and he looked irritated.

“Take my briefcase to my office, set the table for supper and await further instructions,” he commanded me firmly. “After tonight, I’ll expect you to go over the details in the tablet, understood?”

It was less a question like when Martin said that word, and more of a command itself.

My cheeks went hot and I grabbed for the briefcase, my knees trembling a little as I went up the few stairs into the main area, going towards where I figured his office was. I regretted not looking around more earlier, but it felt strange, being in someone else’s house all by myself.

It took me longer than I’d hoped just to find the office, what with how big his place was! But at last, the spacious room was in my sights and I laid his case upon his hardwood desk, taking but a moment to admire the very old-fashioned style of the decor as compared to the more modern look of the rest of his place.

I came out then, rushing to the table, when I found him doing something I’d never thought I’d see: cooking.

There he was, tie and jacket gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, working at the stove with such intense focus.

I’d just assumed he had someone to do that as well.

And secretly I was grateful that wasn’t another one of my tasks.

I stood for a moment, my head cocked to the side as I drank the sight in. He looked good, and it was nice to see him, without being seen. To study him and let my eyes roam over his hair, his trim figure, the way his forearms bulged from out beneath his dress shirt.

I had to keep my head clear, though. But honestly, it was hard. I was dressed up like some tramp, and you’d have to be someone way more moral than me not to feel exposed and a little turned on. You can’t dress up like you would in the bedroom and not feel a bit of that bedroom allure.

I licked my lips and was so aware of the sensation before I pushed it aside. I hated this man. I hated that he dressed me up like a doll.

I just had to keep reminding myself of that.

I walked into the kitchen, looking at the cabinets.

“Place setting for one, Sir?”

“Yes,” he said, absent-mindedly, paying me only a tiny morsel of his attention as he focussed himself upon his cooking. The frying pan sizzling as he set to work on whatever culinary creation he had in mind.

Finding the things I needed to set the table was the most troublesome part, but once I was done… I wasn’t quite sure what came next. I stood there, a little awkward and confused until his voice came out of the kitchen.

“Grab a bottle of wine from the rack, the one on top,” he instructed, not burdening me with the fancy names and boring dates of his wine collection.

When at last it was all done though, he came to the table with his food as I stood there. Not sure what to do with myself as I imitated a living statue.

Though as he began to eat, his eyes would drift to me again now and then.

“Do you have experience in those kind of heels?” he asked me out of the blue, in between bites of his stir fry.

Was I trembling that much? I thought I had it under control.

Honestly, it wasn’t the heels that were bothering me so much, though they were way higher than I anticipated. But it was everything else. Nerves.

I brushed my hand over my stomach, smoothing out the fabric though just for an excuse to hide my eyes from him.

“I’ll get used to them, Sir. I promise,” I raised my eyes, hoping I looked resolute.

He laid down his fork, and wiped his mouth, gesturing to me.

“Stand closer to me,” he instructed firmly.

I did as he told me, but it put me within an awkwardly close distance of him, right up against my towering boss almost.

“This isn’t an easy job,” he said to me, looking up over my body before resting his gaze upon my face once more. “But the rewards will scale with your effort. Doubling your pay will just be the start, as long as you’re willing to put in the commitment,” he said smoothly, his voice losing some of that edge. But only a little.

“How does that sound to you?” he asked.

“I’ve always worked hard,” I managed, though I had to wonder why my voice sounded so weak. I swallowed, licking my plush lips and tried to be more confident. “I’m sure I won’t let you down.”

Though honestly, I had no idea what I was agreeing to. But I needed the money, and if I needed to dress in a skimpy costume to earn it, I’d do it.

He raised his one arm up, and placed his hand upon my lower back, rubbing there… and brushing against the round swell of my rear.

“I knew I had a good feeling about you,” he said, touching me so brazenly, feeling my flesh through the thin silk and lace fabric of my uniform. “You’ll adapt in no time, I’m sure. Now,” he said, continuing to talk before I could object, “are you hungry?”

There he speared his fork through a piece of chicken and broccoli, looking at me with a brow raised in anticipation of my answer.

My stomach being up with my chest, both of them tight with nervousness, made me want to say no.

But Mr. Romy wasn’t the type of guy that wanted me to say no.

I instead nodded, my head spinning as I looked at that bit of offered food. It really did smell and look divine, but I was too worried about the precariousness of my situation.

And of what he really wanted.

I wish I’d looked through that list of duties to see if ‘let me grab your ass’ was on it somewhere.

“On your knees then,” he said so firmly, so matter-of-factly. I was a little dazed, but his strong hand upon me guided me down, and I knelt beside his seat as I was ordered. His cruel disposition had vanished, or rather shifted, he was commanding still, but it had a different air to it then…

“Part those luscious lips,” he instructed, and I felt like a fool as I obeyed, and he very slowly offered me the food, placing it upon my tongue for me, leaving me to pull it from the fork.

“Good girl,” he husked in approval.

What the fuck was happening in my life?

My mind was spinning, and I had to close my eyes as I chewed. I knew this wasn’t right. I mean, I knew he wanted to play puppet master, but this was a whole other level.

Part of me wanted to just get off the floor and run home, find something else. Anything else had to be better and less degrading than being fed off my boss’ fork, kneeling on the floor at his side.

So why did I stay put? And why wouldn’t my body do what I wanted it to?

That cruel man who held my fate – and that of my families – in his hand, speared another forkful of food and fed it to me in turn. His hand stroking over my back, as if I were some dear pet and not a grown woman and employee.

“There you go. It’s nice to have some pleasant company for dinner for a change,” he said, smiling wryly as he continued the bizarre, demeaning ritual.

I shifted, my knees digging into the marble tile of his condo, my body trembling in barely suppressed rage, laced with desire. I was making myself sick, honestly. What type of person could even think of how great his thighs looked beneath his pants, or how strong his hand felt as it tenderly caressed my body?

I definitely should not be thinking that.

I should be thinking about getting the fuck out of here. No wonder his last maid quit.

So why wasn’t I moving? Why was I just staying?

Because this isn’t bad.

Shut up, subconscious.

I looked up at him, a furrow in my brows as I swallowed the latest bit of food.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

His steady hand continued the ritualized feeding, while I watched his handsome, stern face contort to one of pleasure and amusement.

“You’re a very good girl,” he said in a breathy murmur. “I have a feeling you shall exceed in this new position of yours.” With that, he laid down the fork, the meal at an end as he smiled at me. “Now, clean up,” he said, in an almost patronly tone of voice.

Part of me was relieved, mainly the knees, because the floor was so hard! But I got up, took his dirty dishes and brought them away from the dining table in front of that massive window into the kitchen.

When I returned, he was gone, however. And I saw nor heard no sign of him the rest of that night.

My first night with my boss was so bizarre, but after that I had the time to read over the instructions in full. Martin had neglected to tell me about it, but the tablet contained an extensively detailed list of everything required of me, from taking his briefcase and placing it on his desk, to how I should arise early to set out some eggs on Sunday and Thursday mornings, to prepare for him to cook with.

Why they had to be set out early on those days, I couldn’t fathom that night.

But the coming morning, a Thursday, I got to see what he did with it at least.

There was no mention of him feeding me, or him touching me upon the list at all, but when he served up his home made waffles for breakfast, it became clear that little event was to happen on repeat.

“Come here,” he said as he sat there with the morning light shining upon him and his dark hair. And by his tone of voice, I could tell… he wanted more than for me to merely come closer. “I bet you’re hungry,” he said, as I looked down on the thick waffles, sprinkled with colourful fruit.

I had to admit, they smelled and looked divine.

I’d spent all night thinking about what I was going to do. Half of me just wanted to tell him to stick his job up his ass.

Then I thought: hey, if I wanted some revenge, knowing these weird little things could only help, right? A weird, sexual scandal could really hurt him, I reasoned with myself.

Funny how elated and relieved I felt when I decided that. Revenge was a dish best served cold, not with a strange tingle between my thighs.

But I knelt at his side without needing to be told, biting in on the corner of my plump lower lip.

“I am, Sir,” I said like the obedient lap dog I apparently was.

“Good,” he said, and he served me up a neatly pre-cut square of waffle with fruit and syrup, feeding me once more as he pet my hair this time. Luxuriating in the long, blonde strands.

“You can claim the satin cushion from my office for this from now on. No need to risk bruising your precious little knees,” he said, half-amused, but half pleasant, as if some part of him wanted to be nice to me despite how cruel his nature was.

This was weird. I knew it was weird.

My mind must have been fucked up, because he was doing messed up things to my body and brain. I swallowed, and it tasted so good.

But his hand felt better.

As the meal went on, a tiny bit of syrup spilled from a bite of waffle onto my chin, and he took up his fancy napkin and gently dabbed it away.

“Hold still,” he cautioned as he cleaned me up, removing all trace of that sweet syrup. “Very good girl,” he remarked with a smile, a certain glint in his eyes that made me both worried and pleased.