16
Idash to my bedroom in search of the perfect pair of undies. I have quite a selection of sexy panties, which I haven’t worn until very recently. I find it challenging to part with any of them. Many of them remind me of Donovan. Quite a few of them are also part of panty-bra sets. I finally notice the pretty pink lacy ones I bought on impulse one Valentines Day. I’ve always found them a little tight and uncomfortable. Perfect.
I quickly remove my day clothes and slip them on, along with my pajama pants. He’s requested them to be worn, and that’s exactly what I’m giving him. Ethan pops his face in the closet, curious.
“Are you hungry?” I ask him.
“Hungry,” he cheers.
The kitchen timer goes off, and we both scurry off. “Stay out of the kitchen, Ethan,” I warn him. “Mommy’s making pasta.” He’s only two, but we’ve already had the conversation about the scary pot of boiling water.
I finally settle at the table with him, exhausted, and the dichotomies of my life suddenly occur to me. Perhaps it’s the reason I love being with Weston. Sure, it’s a huge turn-on, but it’s not all about sex. In my every day life, I have responsibilities; a small child to take care of, meals to make, bills to pay, and a condo to keep clean. But when I’m with him, I can forget all about my responsibilities. He’s the one who takes care of me, who coddles me. Abigail was right. He’s my naughty Daddy.
And I love every second of it.
An hour later, Weston replies to my email.
Grasshopper,
Why must you be such a little troublemaker? I will amend the agreement first thing in the morning.
The restaurant is casual. Wear what you are comfortable in. You will be beautiful in anything, I’m sure.
Sincerely,
Weston.
P.S. Looking forward to your undies.
I smile so hard, my face hurts. The cynic in me suddenly rears its ugly head.This feels too good to be true.
This can’t possibly last.
* * *
I havethe weirdest boss in the history of bosses.
I’m signing the new agreement. He’s amended it to include:
Boss Man may request specific items of clothing and any other items belonging to Grasshopper. Sharing of such items is up to Grasshopper’s discretion.
As soon as I’ve signed, I reach into my briefcase, and hand him the pink lace undies. His smile is impish as he brings them to his face and sniffs them thoroughly.
Such a dirty, dirty man.I understand now why we needed this agreement.
“Thank you,” he says. “Now get back to work, Grasshopper.”
I grin. “Okay, Sir.”
He seems to love working me up, and then shipping me off. What a tease.
I don’t see another trace of him until lunch time, when he whips around the corner, all smiles, and asks me to join him. “I have leftover chicken parmesan… how ‘bout it?”
“Yes… would love to.”
I quickly save my document, and follow him to the kitchen. I help retrieve plates and silverware as he heats up the food. We’ve already kind of fallen into a routine of sorts, and I find it reassuring. I never know what to expect from him in the bedroom (or should I say office) but lunch time is a constant I can rely on. I like constants.
I pour us some water, and we dig into our plates.
