He pulls the knot into his tie, and my eye zooms to his clean-shaven neck. Strong jaw, cleft chin. A Roman god in my bedroom, dressed to the nines.
Or nine-to-five, as it were.
I smile and slink towards him. Tug the patterned silk and turn my lusty, devoted gaze up at him.
“I miss you when you’re gone,” I pout.
His smile is like debauchery dipped in decadence. His eyes, dark and deep, appraise me.
“Be a good girl while I’m gone, and you’ll get a reward tonight,” he replies.
I nod, my eyes on his but my hands slipping down, past his belt to cup the bulge of him. The object of my need.
“Pet,” he warns.
I step away, eyes downcast, hands folded behind me. I know my place, and I didn’t ask permission, but he makes it so hard.
He walks by, dark slate pants rustling with every movement. He looks like, stands like, is — the absolute boss. At the office, and at home. He rules me, and the sight of him dressed to leave me makes me wet and weak.
“What are my chores today?” I ask.
I follow him around, making sure I’ve laid out everything for him. Lunch packed, briefcase ready.
He turns and regards me, serious gaze bathing me head to toe. “Do your own work.”
I nod. Projects I have, errands to run, nothing specific. Easily handled. I stand by the door to see him out, falling to my knees as he grabs his keys.
He brushes strong fingertips through my hair, petting me goodbye. The door clicks and I’m alone.
Several hours later I’m bored, preparing a meal for us to enjoy later tonight. My phone chimes and I rush to it. A text.
Edge, pet. Three times.
I glance at the clock and abandon the half-chopped vegetables. I can hear the words in his voice, the sultry low tone, the enforcing growl. Collapsing on the couch, my hand flutters between my thighs.
I think about his tie.