Bossy Request

Bossy Request

He looked up at me with his steel-blue eyes and the casual smile that melted my heart. His elbows rested on the quartz counter-top of his expensive kitchen, one in a neighborhood where I had to be buzzed in just to drive the streets and every house looked like something out of a dream, impossibly large, and impossibly beautiful.

Like him.

The man of my dreams is a multi-trillionaire, and while I suppose he could be my boss in some fantasy I decided that my fantasies would be now and I would drink of them as deeply as my eyes feasted upon every fire of his being.

Mister Wolff Sharke.

He had invited me here for dinner.

He smiled as he tapped the spatula on the counter, the puzzled look in his eyes drawing me in. He looked down, guiltily, and then back up as I threw my jacket over the back of the overstuffed leather couch and I closed with him, narrowing the distance between us.

He remained in the kitchen, waiting for me.

"What happened to the chef you ordered for us?" I said, being deliberately coy.

"He couldn't make it," Wolff said, "and I realized I am at a bit of a loss at this whole cooking thing."

"You know Sylvie," he said as he examined the box of Hamburger Helper in his hand, "I just can't figure this stuff out."

My long, slim, and hard-working fingers snatched the box from his hand. He gave me an innocent look, and I ignored him at first, resting my eyes on the back of the box for a moment as he took me in. His cologne hit me, and I am sure my perfume hit him as I notice the sudden jolt of my scent touch his nose with his eyes reacting in tow. I read the box but not really, letting him stare all over me as I leaned against the counter, nodding my head slightly as if I were taking the carefully written words of a food marketer down, and wondering how many times they fucked this recipe up in the test kitchen before they agreed upon these measurements and cooking times.

Finally, I gave him the look he waited for, my eyes staring into his. I waited a moment before speaking, moving my lips slightly to watch his eyes dart down to them and back up into the pools of my attention, and then I gave the anticipant man the exact words he needed to hear.

"Are you good," I said, "at following directions?"

He nodded without saying a word.

"Then bring me your meat."

I opened the box and grabbed a copper pan and spoon from overhead, as I readied the stove for tonight's festivities. I filled a measuring cup with water and placed it to the side of the stove, separating the sauce packet from the dried noodles, and then turning on the stove as the pan heated.

He stepped behind me and wrapped me entirely in his attention, one arm to each side of me as the heat from the stove rose between my breasts.

"Where do you want me to put the meat?" he said, placing a paper-wrapped pound of ground sirloin on the counter next to me. "Do you want me to put it in now?"

I shook my head and teased his face with my hair. "Not yet, wait for the pan to get hot, we want a good sear on it for the flavor. Cooking is all about flavors, you know, knowing how to pull them out, how to nurture them, and knowing what flavors go with what. There is also a question of too much, too fast, and too slow, and knowing when those moments are good instead of bad."

I grabbed his wrist with my hand suddenly, and I felt him jerk in response.

"Sometimes readers need a good shock to the taste-buds every now and then," I said. "Life is a mix of slow-cooking and sudden, bold flavors. You need to know when, and you need to know those you serve. The dish matters, but the moment and audience do as well."

I paused and smiled. "It is like this book I read..."

I felt him silently laugh behind me, as the sudden rush of air from his nose tussled my hair. "Here we go again..."

"Silence," I said, "and follow directions. So this book, a secretary and her hot boss. She spends the whole first part lusting after him, watching him in the company gym, taking in the scent of his cologne, and just drooling over every task he assigns to her in Outlook. I half expected her to go back to a private office, strip nude right there at work, and begin touching herself on a vacant desk until her inbox was filled by those long fingers of hers. Those long legs planted on the desk with her knees bent sharply. Those stockings still on, and her heels planted firmly on the surface. Her hands searching and long fingers probing like a metadata search for the word pleasure."

I paused. "I know I would."

He jerked, and rested his chin on my shoulder. His hands wrapped around my waist. "Remind me to hire you for something, anything."

I continued to cook while I let him simmer.

"So he invites her back to his place for dinner, and then does the whole spill scalding coffee on herself thing so he can get her shirt off in his office. I didn't like the whole scalded skin bit, as I seriously stay away from burn injuries in my erotic romance, but it luckily turned out to be a no-harm done thing and the two of them had some near-misses and skin-on-skin time in the workplace. I liked it, and it was a tasty bit of appetizer before the main course."

"I like it," he said, speaking dangerously close to my ear, "she sounds fun. What would have you done to seduce your boss?"

I smiled. "Pop a coffee pod into the machine, press the button, and then sit on his desk in front of him in a skirt short enough for the gals on the morning news while it brews. Do the whole crossed-leg thing as his mind searches for a way to crawl up my skirt. Uncross them and rest them the other way for a while. The slow tease as the coffee assaults his senses. Spend a couple moments too long at the machine asking him how he likes it as he checks out my ass under my pencil-thin skirt. You know, the whole letting him fuck me with his eyes thing."

The meat went in the pan as the sear of the sizzle sending a cloud of steam into the air, and I felt him stiffen behind me.

"I wouldn't have let you get up off the desk," he said into my ear in a low tone of voice, and I felt the shiver of pleasure race down my spine.

"Don't sharpen your pencil yet," I said with a smile, waiting for the meat to sear before turning it over to sear the rest, "I'm not done. So anyways, she gets to his place and lo and behold, the cook is a no show and he is screwing up dinner. I loved that part, because it let her ride into the rescue. She cooks, and he spends the rest of the night getting close to her, which was a fun little scene and I just loved the turnabout. He had these sort of silly dom things where he told her what to do, but she remained herself and in control of the kitchen and I loved that."

I waited as I cooked and he never removed himself from my back. He gave my waist a playful squeeze as he watched me cook over my shoulder. Of course, I knew he checked out my handiwork in the pan just as much as he spent staring down my shirt, because men think with their stomachs and follow other parts of their anatomy like a cart attached to a horse.

Except tonight, I was driving.

"Did they have sex?" he said, brushing the side of his face into my hair.

I nodded, making a mmm-hmm noise as I finished up the meat, poured the water in and mixed in the sauce packet. I covered it and turned around in his arms.

"I liked it."

And really, that is all he needed to know. I let my voice dip down into a husky range I rarely use, slowing my words, and letting my tongue help pronounce the words in a more sultry way.

"A lot."

And that is because I wanted to turn up the heat just a little more to get tonight's main course to a rolling boil.

"This one was a great little office romance, plus a scorching wild romp afterwards as dessert. I loved the writing style here, everything teased and laid on the layers of sensual. The expectations and emotions stacked up like a seven-layer chocolate cake, and by the end I was ready for a glass of wine and some bath and candle time alone. This one was a great little short about someone working under someone in more ways than one, and it lit a fire in me that won't easily be sated."

"By the way..." I sighed and gave him a relaxed smile. "What's for dessert?"

He held up a box of no-cook, easy-bake peanut butter cup dessert with the chocolate Graham-cracker crust.