She stalked forward, pushing me back until I was against the closed door.
“A slave? Do you feel like a slave when you're begging for me to fuck you like the dirty whore you are? Begging for my tongue on your cunt? That doesn't sound like a slave to me. I would say, “Correct me if I'm wrong,” but I know I'm not.”
Each word felt like a punch to the gut. The words might still be making my body react, but my mind hated them. My mind knew better.
Before this, when she called me names, there was an erotic undertone. I washerwhore.Herslut. She liked it. I liked it. It was a role I played for her and no one else.
But now the words felt… real. She was using them to hurt me, and as much as I tried not to let it get to me, she was succeeding.
I couldn’t keep it in anymore. Tears were running down my face.
I wanted to reach out to her. To have her hold me like she did after our sessions. But this wasn’t a session. This was real life.
Her face twisted when she looked at me, like the tears were fueling her anger somehow.
“Did you know that the entire time you've been working for me I've had to clean up your messes?”
Wait, what?
“You said I'd been doing better.”
She leaned forward, almost as if she was going to kiss me, and then whispered the two words that broke me completely.
“I lied.”
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. My brain was telling my lungs to expand, but it felt like an elephant was on my chest. Heat licked at my spine. Painful humiliation hit me like a slap to the face. But she wasn’t done yet.
“I've been lying. You're a shit assistant, but I can't bring myself to fire you. It’s not because of your pussy. It's because, just like in high school, I can't stop fucking thinking about you. Worrying about you. You're constantly on my mind, and I can't get you out. I can’t fucking escape you.”
Has she truly been this miserable this entire time? Did I misunderstand this whole thing between us? Did she lead me on so I’d get comfortable so she could absolutely wreck me when I least expected it?
Part of me couldn’t believe it. The other part remembered our high school days.
“You can escape me anytime. Fire me. Right now.”
She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her.
“I fucking can’t, and that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
The contract…
“Did you ever see this as more than a contract? Ever seemeas more?”
“What? It’s not the fucking… You know I did,” she grumbled. “If not, then why would I take you out? Why would I keep you around when the best solution was to fire you?”
But she can’t say it. Not like I did.
“Then why can’t you say it?”
She jerked back but stayed quiet.
“I don’t want to beat around the bush anymore. I told you I liked you, and fuck, that sounded stupid because Iloveyou, Emerson. I have for a long time. Maybe a part of me always will. But I want you to say it. I want you to assure me of what we have. Fire me, I don't care. I just want to know that all of this wasn’t… Wasn’t…”
My voice trailed off when I caught the look in her eyes. Her lips were pushed into a thin line. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.
But still, she didn’t fight me or what I was saying. She didn’t even try.
And that’s when I knew what I had to do.
