Page 9 of Marked By my Boss
The best thing I can do is get a fucking grip. I know that. She’s young, she’s been through hell, and the last thing she needs is her boss overcomplicating everything.
Tearing my hand away, I turn off the lamp, leave the fire burning low, and settle into the chair across from her. I’ll stay up, just in case.
Tonight, she’s not alone, and tomorrow… we’ll figure out what comes next.
Chapter Five
Delilah
I’m at work with my headset on, fingertips grazing the keyboard. I’m dialed in, ready for a call, but it’s a slow day, and we haven’t gotten any calls in over an hour.
I glance up at the clock and realize the hour hand is moving backwards.
What the hell?
I stand from my chair, moving closer to the ticking clock, but the second I stand, I realize I’m not wearing any clothes. How did I leave for work and forget to put clothes on?
Spinning in a circle, I search for something to cover myself with, but suddenly the room is empty. No desks, no computers, no filing cabinets, no phones. It’s just me, standing in the center of a dark, empty space.
My heart pounds when I see him move from the shadows. He’s wearing pressed black slacks, a dark blue button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his gaze is on mine with some sort of feral look I’ve never seen in a man before. It’s wild and untamed, like his next move is about survival.
Beau’s arms slide beneath me with effortless strength, lifting me from the ground as though I weigh nothing. My breath catches as my body presses against his, the heat between us undeniable. The empty floor stretches ahead, gleaming under the low lights, but all I see is him, his gaze locked on mine,intense and unyielding. Each step toward his office is deliberate, the silence around us amplifying the thrum of anticipation in my chest.
I’m not sure what’s happening but I’m aching for it.
He pushes open his office door and settles me on top of his desk before pulling a chair to the edge to look up at me. “You’ve been late updating your dispatch reports. Care to tell me why?” His tone is dark and commanding, intimidating even. He’s also wrong. I’m never late with anything.
“I’m not behind. I do the reports as soon as the call ends.” My shoulders roll back as I speak, proud of my work.
“That’s not what the computer is telling me.” He turns the screen toward me, showing me some spreadsheet with red marks that I don’t recognize. “You’re missing one.” He stands, the rough pads of his fingers tracing the edge of the desk as he circles me like prey. “You know how important it is to get our reports out on time, Delilah. We have a very sensitive job. If we miss a deadline, we lose the trust of the people.”
“I know.” My heart pounds.
His voice is low, deliberate, each word laced with authority that coils around me. I can feel him behind me now, the heat of his body radiating as he leans in close, his breath grazing the tip of my ear.
“You’re usually so precise,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of my shoulder, “so controlled. But today… you’re off your rhythm.”
I swallow hard, the air thick between us. The room feels smaller, the walls pressing in, the silence stretching taut like a wire ready to snap. I can’t tell if I want to run and demand he check the system again, or if I want to let him believe I didn’t do my work and see how far he’ll push.
He moves again slowly until he’s in front of me. His gaze pins me in place, dark and unreadable. “Tell me, Delilah. What is the correct punishment for an offense like this?”
My lips part, but no words come. The question hangs in the air, heavy and provocative, daring me to answer. His eyes don’t waver. They’re sharp and assessing, like he’s waiting to see whether I’ll flinch or rise to meet him.
“I… I don’t know,” I manage, though the tremor in my voice betrays me. I do know. I know exactly what he wants to hear, but I’m too nervous to say it.
He leans in, one hand braced on the desk, the other lifting to brush a strand of hair from my cheek. The touch is featherlight, but it sends a shiver down my spine.
“That’s not true,” he says quietly. “You know the rules. Your reports should be sent to me by the end of the day. So, I’ll ask you again.” He tilts his head to the side. “What punishment do you deserve?”
The room pulses with heat, the line between discipline and desire blurring with every breath. I meet his gaze, heart hammering, and whisper the only answer that feels right, “Whatever you decide.”
“Good girl,” he groans, sitting back in his chair, still staring at me. “Then I’d like to see you spread those thick thighs for me. I’ve been desperate to see that pretty, pink pussy for too damn long.”
A shot of energy rushes up through my spine and down again, and I’m pretty sure I’m soaking his desk.
Oh God! I’ve thought about this moment too many times. It’s been the fantasy I’ve retreated to when things were going to hell with Dave.
But how can this be real? I don’t think it is. I think I’m dreaming. Imustbe dreaming.
