Archie
I’ve got no idea what to expect as I head into work on Monday morning. My P45? Weird awkwardness as neither of us talks about what happened on Friday night? Sex?
The main gate opens for me as I walk towards it. Does that mean Hamish is watching out for me but doesn't want to talk to me? I roll my shoulders back and hold my head high. We were two consenting adults having fun in our own time. There's nothing wrong with that.
The next gate opens too and then starts to swing shut behind me as I walk up the lawn to the house. I slow down, my heart beating heavily in my chest. The main door is open. The door to Hamish’s office is closed. There’s nothing unusual about that. Hamish is probably writing. I go straight to the kitchen to make him a coffee.
I get a mug out and some coffee beans—I’m slowly working my way through trying every type Hamish has, and he has a lot—and fill up the machine.
“Morning.”
I practically jump out of my skin. I do spill the coffee beans. I put the packet down, press my hand to my chest, and turn around.
“Sorry, sir, you scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
I can't help but skim my gaze over him. Damn, he is gorgeous. He's dressed as he normally is, in smart casual clothes that fit him perfectly. I've decided he has a tailor because there's no way he gets off the rack clothes to fit that well. Not that his clothes matter, because I'm mentally undressing him and imagining running my hands through his chest hair.
I clear my throat and force myself to look up to meet his eyes. “I’m just making you some coffee, sir.” I should probably stop calling him that for the sake of professionalism, but it just keeps popping out of my mouth.
I turn around and push the spilt coffee beans into my palm before throwing them in the bin. I roll the bag of beans and put it back in the cupboard. I haven't turned the coffee machine on, thanks to Hamish distracting me. I do it quickly. It starts to hiss and bubble. I drum my fingers on the counter. It doesn't normally seem to take so long for the machine to do its thing.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” I ask, turning to face him again.
I’d half thought he would have slipped away, but he’s still standing in the doorway, looking at me. I can’t read his expression, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. He doesn’t seem angry, but he doesn’t seem to be happy to see me either. My knees tremble. This is weirder than I could have imagined.
“Sir?”
I need him to say something, anything, even if it’s just to tell me to get out of his house and never come back. Scratch that. I definitely don’t want him to do that.
The coffee machine buzzes to tell me it’s finished. The strong scent of coffee fills the air. I glance at the mug, which is now full.
"We've got a problem," Hamish says before I can pick up the mug.
“We do?” My palms become clammy and start to prickle. I reach back and hold on to the edge of the counter, bracing myself to be fired.
“Aye.”
I lower my face subserviently. “What problem, sir?”
“Fuck, Archie. Do you have any idea what it does to me when you do that?”
“Do what, sir?”
“You know damn well what.”
He's right. I do. He's referring to me calling him 'sir'. "What does it do to you,Sir?" So of course I do it again, putting emphasis on the word. It's more than a word. It's a title.Histitle.
“It makes me want to fuck you right here.”
I shiver. Blood rushes to my cock, but I make no effort to adjust my trousers to hide my growing erection. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“No, you’re not.”
He’s right about that too.
“You’re very naughty, Archie.”
