Restless

His eyes are still on me like glue, penetrating and dreadful. 
Suddenly, I give a fuck about him—everything about him. 
I move forward, my feet moving me towards him, unsure if he really needs me there or wants to slap the shit out of me for staring at him.

“Sir? Are you okay?” I ask, my feet barely able to hold my body. 
My boss sinks, embracing me like a drug he needs to take to be relieved.

My heart starts beating faster and his strong arms still locked me in like a cage. 
He pulls away from me gently and I remain planted in my spot. 
 “Did you speak with your mother?” he asks me, his voice like a sad melody for vampires. 
I nod, “Thank you very much. My mother is fine and—”
 “If you ever want to speak with your mother, I’ll have Dimitri arrange that,” my boss tells me, and I nod again, grateful that he is willing to do this for me, even though it's my fucking right.

Meanwhile, Dimitri left as soon as I drew closer given the boss’s orders. 
Staring at the multi-million dollar paintings shattered on the floor—according to my analysis—I start to fear for myself.

What must have infuriated the boss to make him want to pull the walls down? I ask myself and at the same time fear for myself. 
 “Ms. May?” he calls out as if he has recovered from his outrage, I shift my eyes back to him.
 “Yes sir?” I respond.
 “Prepare, we are going back to the main house and after you've refreshed yourself, we have a friend’s birthday party to attend,” he instructs and I do nothing but nod. 
 “Yes sir,” I add to my response. 
 “Good,” he lets out and walks away, leaving the smell of his perfume that's now a mist of sandalwood and of masculine sweat if you know what I mean.

~
A few minutes later, we are seated in his car, the boss, Dimitri, Tommy, and I. 
Mr. Clyde scrolls through his phone, impatiently searching for a contact while I remain still like a fucking A-list mannequin in a Versace store.

I hate this, all of it. I don't want to be a part of it. It's not me, anything violent is not in my nature. I'm not a wild girl or someone who needs to be so, I'm just a girl who needs to make ends meet by getting a legitimate job to start up my bakery.

Why is it so hard? Why is my life full of shit?

“Boss, I think Salvatore’s men are in sight in the venue. They go there to survey the area four hours before any event starts,” Dimitri says out loud interrupting the boss’s aimless search on his phone. 
 “Good. Let them know that I need to speak with him at the event. Vittorio needs to know what the fuck is going on,” My boss lets out without lifting an eyebrow.

Vittorio Salvatore sounds like someone they want to make a ruse with or give vital information to. 
I don't fucking care but I've seen that name somewhere and I have no idea where in particular. I'm fucking sure I've seen that name.

I debate in my mind while the car rolls. 
 “You hungry?” My boss asks me catching me off guard. 
Since when does he give fuck if I ate or not?
 “No sir,” I lie and not just that, my stomach rumbles and my boss smiles for the first ever since Dimitri passed an ugly message to him. 
 “Tommy, pass by the nearest restaurant,” My boss orders. 
 “Sorry boss, we are past the restaurants and we are—”
 “Tommy, find one!” Mr. Clyde says without a second thought or a need to listen to Tommy’s excuses.

At that point, I could give my boss a hug for saving a life. I mean, that batshit face named Dimitri hates it when I smile or am normal.


He likes it when I tremble like a puppy.

Soon, the car revs to a restaurant after we had driven back to a street I didn't know to find a restaurant. 
 “Get her good food,” My boss states and Tommy nods before stepping out of the car. 
Through the rear mirror, I see Dimitri shooting me a gruesome gaze that shows how bad he wants to chastise me for being hungry or making the boss reverse to find me a restaurant.

I don't bother about him, I secretly thank my boss for considering me after all while he continues searching endlessly for a contact in his phonebook.

***

Later. 
I get out of the shower, wrapped in my towel and drying my hair with the other towel, and I see him.

My boss.

He is sitting on the edge of my bed like a fucking patrol officer on the hunt to issue a speeding ticket.

My heart drops and so does the towel in my hand. Why is he here? Not appreciate, I scream in my head. 
I hug myself, thinking of what to say to him while he stares at me like a predator. 
 “Sir, you shouldn't be in here especially while I'm half-naked!” I gather my courage and let out firmly. 
 “I know, but you are not naked because I can't see your boobs or your cunt or your ass… yet we are under my roof… Raven,” he bites out and I scoff almost invisibly.

A mighty dickhead.

All that niceness had a price.

He walks over to me majestically, his demeanor reminding me a billion times that he owns the mansion and me, right? Since my shitty life is in his hands now. 
 “I brought some dinner dresses that you can pick from and guess what? I'll help you pick,” he says to me with that unbeatable cockiness and a sly smirk.

His index and middle fingers trace my neck as my lips unconsciously part.

His touch… soft, slow, familiar and…


 “I love your smell,” he sniffs me like a freshly baked cake. “And your eyes, curious as ever...” his fingers slowly trace the side of my face as I swallow the huge lump in my throat. Goosebumps consume my skin too, my heart racing like a fucking mustang. “Your lips, feral with words and enticing, Raven…” his raspy voice shakes in want and lust as he relishes me with his gaze.

Only his gaze makes me tremble.

My pussy starts to throb in absolute need to have his cock buried in it and brutally slammed.

I've never felt this way over someone let alone someone who is basically twenty-something years older than I am. 
Am I a slut to picture his cock in my pussy? My best friend’s father?


To say the least, my boss?

I start to move, unable to keep my composure. Something that I've traded for lust.

When he noticed that I was totally uncomfortable with him being that close, he pulled back gently and walked over to the expensive dresses on the couch. 
 “Red or black, Ms. May?” he asks me with a half smile.