I’m not sure what to think of it. Mr. Roth has never given me a gift before.
“Oh, thank you,” I say. Maybe I misread him yesterday. Maybe he simply doesn’t know how to show his emotions.
Mr. Roth grunts and turns his head away to look out the window.
When we’ve finished the morning appointments, we return to the office for a few hours to attend some corporate meetings. These are Mr. Roth’s least favorite, and he always comes out of them in a bad mood.
“Waste of time,” he’ll say with a distasteful curl of his lip. But it’s a requirement, and one he can’t skip.
I wait in his office, typing up notes to occupy myself. When Mr. Roth storms back intothe room, he looks even more annoyed than usual.
“Quarterly reports,” he snarls, slamming his office door behind him so hard that I worry it’ll shatter the glass. I think it’s actually plastic, though.
“I’ll set aside time.” I scroll through the calendar, looking for a few hours I can mark off for working on them. While I’m busy with my task, Mr. Roth lowers the curtains to his office, blocking us from sight.
This time, he grabs me by the ass and sits me on the very edge of the desk, lifting my thighs up as he settles his massive waist between them. I’m still accustomed to him from yesterday, so he fits in easily, sighing with contentment as he buries himself in me up to the hilt.
I keep my voice down as he fucks me against the desk, the whole thing creaking with the force of his thrusts. He makes sure that I get there, too, pausing to rub my clit as he takes me, but I don’t come like a freight train the way I did yesterday.
Again, he gives me a single tissue to clean up and insists I don’t wipe off the rest. He sniffs the air as he opens the curtains again, then returnsto his desk chair, continuing with his day as if nothing happened.
I settle back in my seat, pretending everything is normal when the receptionist comes in to ask a question. This should all be my ideal situation—getting fucked like I’ve always wanted by my boss during the day, working my job at night. So why does Mr. Roth treating this so casually… kind of hurt?
The week continues that way, on into the next. I don’t see him at all that weekend at Octavio’s, which makes me certain of what I already knew: that all I’m good for is a warm body. He has no need of Velvet anymore.
On Thursday afternoon, I say goodbye like I always do when George drops me off at my apartment, then head up to get changed and ready for Octavio’s. I barely have the heart for it, though. If a client wants to go to a back room tonight, I might not have it in me.
I’m not surprised at all when Mr. Roth doesn’t show up. I spend my time with other clients, trying to stay focused on conversations, trying to enjoy it when they touch me the way I like to be touched. It’s always been a pleasure of mine to be used, to be passed around and gropedand fondled. To be watched and seen and enjoyed.
But I find I miss him. I miss the orc who showed up just to eat me out, just to bury his face in my pussy. I’ll probably never see him at Octavio’s again, now that I’m his toy at work.
Oh well. I should have known from the beginning that’s what this was. I need to get with the program. There’s nothing for me with my boss, and besides—I don’t need anything else. I have everything I could want between my two jobs. Maybe I have to keep what we do a secret during the day, but I get to be seen all night.
It’s probably better this way. Less complicated.
I’m sitting on one man’s lap while his friend feels up my tits. They’re enjoying watching each other play with me when someone massive steps into the VIP room. Someone who commands the attention of everyone there.
It’s Mr. Roth, and within moments, he’s looming over us like the shadow of a mountain, his lips curled down into a devastating scowl.
“Vincent,” I say, sitting upright. For a moment, I feel ashamed that he’s seeing me like this, engaged with two other men. But then I remember this is my job, and he knows that. Ihave no reason to be ashamed when he came here as a client himself once upon a time.
“Who are you?” the first man says to our visitor. I think he said his name was John or something like that. He grips my hips where I sit on his lap. “We’re a little busy here.”
Vincent’s brows lower dangerously over his eyes, and he makes a noise I can only describe as a snarl. “Get your hands off her.”
The second man in the party quickly releases my tits, intimidated by the huge orc standing over us. But John isn’t going to back down so easily.
“I’m paying good money for this,” he snaps, which is bold for a human in the face of an orc who could snap him in half without trying. “Go find your own girl.”
Vincent leans closer, his sharp, dangerous tusks jutting out of his massive jaw. “She’smine.” He reaches toward the man as if to grab him by the throat, but reflexively, I knock his hand away.
How dare he come in here while I’m working and scare off my clients? He already gets me five days a week. And he’s never once claimed I washisat the office.
He’s made it very clear to me what we are.
“Stop it.” I glare daggers to get my message across. “I’m not yours.”
Vincent retracts his hand, curling it into a fist, and opens his mouth to argue—but I narrow my eyes, waiting for him to contradict me.
