Page 8 of Bred By the Boss

It’s not a big deal. I can do this.

I don’t know what I expected, but his bedroom just seems so normal. The furnishings are elegant and the bed looks plush and comfortable, if not a little disordered from being slept in. The lighting is soft, but it doesn’t hide the few strewn garments Connor’s left here and there over the past few days. The closet door and bathroom doors are both ajar, and both of them look like they’ll need a little bit of tidying, but all in all, it just seems like a normal space used by a normal person.

Relief washes over me.

Connor’s just a normal man. He’s not special or sinister or whatever. I was getting myself worked up over nothing. Of course I felt attracted to him earlier. He’s incredibly handsome and even a little disarming, but he’s just a normal guy at the end of the day. Seeing his bedroom suite is proof of that.

Getting to work after my realization is easy. I straighten the bed, change out the pillowcases, and make sure the sheets are all tucked in right. He likes them changed every few days, but I know for a fact that it’s a tomorrow task, and not one for today. Then I move onto the bathroom, reorganizing the products on his counter, giving the toilet a quick scrub, and wiping down the glass door of the shower. Towels and discarded clothes go into a hamper, and I pick up the random things he’s left in his bedroom on my way to the closet.

While the whole space smells a little like him, his closet … it’s almost overwhelming. Instantly, my senses flood with the scent of him. It’s enough to make me almost drop the laundry hamper in my hands.

I set down the hamper and take in the space, breathing in deep as I look at the rows of neatly folded clothes, boxes of shoes, and beautiful suits. There are some items out on the floor, shoestaken out as he decided which pair to wear, worn out lounge clothes and socks left on the floor for me to pick up, but it’s still not that bad. It all just … smells like him.

Need begins to trickle through my veins and pool low in my belly.

Something about being here, in his walk-in closet, is going straight to my head. I tell myself it’s the scent of him everywhere making me go a little nuts, but it feels a little deeper than that. As I bend to pick up the discarded clothes, I find myself fighting the urge to bury my face in them and breathe in the lingering smell of his skin on them.

It’s fucked up to feel so strongly, probably, but I can’t help it. My body craves the smell.

I finally crack when I find an old hoodie of his. It’s obvious he’s had it for a while and has worn it a lot. It’s soft with age and Connor’s smell is practically knit into the fabric, I can tell. It’s rich and warm and my head swims as I practically gulp it down.

For a moment, the world disappears, and I picture him and I in the kitchen again, just like earlier today. But instead of helping me with a cut, his hands are on me for different reasons. My skin heats as I imagine his hands skating up my thighs, squeezing my breasts, pulling me close as he—

I wrench the garment away from my nose, heart pounding.

Oh god, I cannot be thinking these things about my boss. Not only is it inappropriate, it puts my future in jeopardy. I can’t afford to lose this job and the protection it offers. That’s simply not an option. And yet … I can’t get myself to put down this sweatshirt.

After a moment of thought, I carefully fold the hoodie and put it on top of the hamper, before picking up the whole thing and toting it out of the closet.

It was on the floor for a reason, so it must need to be washed, right?

As I make my way to the laundry room, however, I know that I’m just being weird and selfish. Maybe it’s inappropriate to feel like this about my boss, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep it a secret. If I spend a few moments huffing his hoodie a little more before throwing it in the wash, he doesn’t have to know.

He can’t know.

Chapter Four

Connor

When I logged in to my home’s private security camera line, I was expecting to see the occasional glimpse of Noelle as she went about her day. I haven’t bothered to snoop on her over the past few days, but she was so … shaken after cutting her thumb open this morning. I can’t help feeling worried, even though my worry is sorely misplaced.

I have to remind myself that letting myself get close to her like this is all a part of strategy. I get close to her, make her feel safe, and that’s what leads to her eventual destruction, and then that of her father too. I just can’t help feeling like getting close to her puts my own heart in danger, too. No one’s ever drawn me in like she does, and while it’ll make seducing her much easier, eventually dumping her on the curb like I intend to will be harder.

I shrug it off as I watch her through the security camera. Now’s not the time to worry about any feelings. This stream is coming from the laundry room, and I can’t help noticing how tightly her jeans fit her as she bends to start placing things in the washer. Instantly, I can feel my cock starting to twitch with interest.

I shift in my seat, fighting the lust starting to surge through my body. Fuck, I’m just about ready to skip forward to the part where I fuck her and frame her for using me to the press, allwhile revealing her relationship to her father. I’ve already got the journalist lined up and everything, they’re just waiting for my call.

Over the past few days, however, my brain’s been getting very caught up in the “fucking her” part. I can’t deny that I’m eager to sink into her sinful little body, but I need to be careful and take my time. I’m a predator stalking jumpy prey. I don’t want to risk scaring her off, especially because it seems like she’s not going to bend to my will like that. Her interview made that pretty clear.

That doesn’t mean I can’t watch her though.

Finally, Noelle stands and starts to press buttons on the washer to get the load started. Just as I think she’s going to leave the room, she stops. I watch as she reaches for a piece of my clothing she left on top of the machine and pulls it close, burying her face in it.

My body tightens as I watch her shoulders move, as if she’s taking in a deep breath.

Is she … smelling my clothes?

I feel a smirk stretch across my face.

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