"I'm not nervous. I'm—" What? Terrified? Angry? Turned on despite myself? "—fine."
"Hmm." He stood, and suddenly I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Take off your apron."
My hands went to the ties automatically, then I stopped. "It's not ten PM yet."
"I'm not going to touch you. Not yet." His eyes tracked my movements. "I just want to see you without the armor."
The apron wasn't armor. It was just—he was right. It was armor. I untied it slowly, folded it, set it on the chair by the window. Without it, I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Just me in my uniform dress and the weight of his stare.
"Better," Olek said softly. "Do you know what I've been thinking about all day?"
I shook my head.
"You. In this room. In that bed." He stepped closer. "The sounds you'll make. The way you'll look with your legs spread for me. The way you'll taste."
Heat flooded my face. Lower. "Olek?—"
"The way you'll say my name when I make you come." His hand came up, and I thought he'd touch me. Instead, he just tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I've wanted you for six months, Katrina. I plan to take my time."
"That's not—we agreed?—"
"We agreed you'd come to me tonight. Voluntarily." His thumb brushed my cheek. "And you will. Because as scared as you are, you're curious too. Aren't you?"
"No."
"Another lie." He leaned in, his mouth next to my ear. "Your pulse is racing. Your pupils are dilated. And if I slid my hand under your dress right now, I'd find you wet."
My breath caught.
"But I'm not going to do that," he continued. "Not until tonight. Not until you walk through that door and give yourself to me."
He pulled back, grabbed my apron, and handed it to me.
"Ten p.m., Katrina. Don't be late."
Then he walked out, leaving me standing in his bedroom with shaking hands and the terrible realization that he was right. I was curious. And that was going to be my undoing.
Katrina
Ichanged my clothes three times.
The first outfit was my regular uniform, but it felt too formal, too much like I was just doing my job. The second outfit was jeans and a sweater, it felt too casual, like I was pretending this was a date instead of a transaction.
The third was a simple black dress I'd bought. I loved how it fit all my curves. Though part of me was terrified to wear it. I felt exposed and readily available to him, which was something that made me feel vulnerable. Even if another part of me had been wet since this afternoon.
"Fuck it," I muttered, and grabbed my phone.
The walk to the third floor felt longer than usual. Every step echoed in the quiet mansion. Most of the staff had gone home. The ones who lived on-site were in their rooms, probably asleep or at least pretending to be.
No one saw me climb the stairs.
No one witnessed me walking into my boss's bedroom.
The hallway was dimly lit, wall sconces casting warm pools of light across expensive carpet. I vacuumed this carpet yesterday. Dusted these side tables. Straightened the paintings that probably cost more than my life.
Now I was about to let the man who owned all of it fuck me senseless. The thought sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. I stopped outside his door. Took a breath. Then I knocked.
"Come in."
