Tied Up by the Boss (Office Kink #2)(10)

Chapter Six





Parker





“Fucking smug bastard!” I yelled into my office after I’d slammed my door shut. I’d needed something to slam since I couldn’t risk Morgan’s wrath.

What the hell was his problem? He seemed to like kicking me when I was down. He must’ve wanted me to snap. And oh boy, did I want to snap?—his fucking neck, even with that sexy stubble and hot Adam’s apple.

Crap, what was my problem? The more he made me want to kill him, the more turned on I got. I craved punching the man in the face while licking every inch of it.

I shook my head at the thought. Could Morgan have a point? Was I sabotaging my work in order to piss him off and ultimately provoke him? Did I really like when he threw his weight around, towering over me and calling me out on my bullshit like a domineering father?

No, no . . . it couldn’t be that. I didn’t have daddy issues.

I had a great relationship with my parents. They pushed me to be successful by letting me do my own thing. Of course they never gave me much recognition for my success, but I didn’t care. I was confident in myself. I’m fucking awesome.

Then why? What was so messed up in my head that anger and passion seemed to go hand in hand? Maybe I needed professional help.

Whatever it was, I didn’t have time to psychoanalyze myself. I was still stuck with redoing all the work I did yesterday in addition to a whole new list of tasks that were increasingly more tedious and soul-sucking.

I grumbled, ripping off my jacket. Then I threw myself into my chair. Morgan wanted thorough and inspiring; I’d give him thorough and inspiring. I’d give him everything he wanted and more. Never underestimate Parker Greenhill.

I worked my ass off for the rest of the day, ordering lunch in again like a goddamn workaholic. But I was on a roll. I dropped off my reports in hard copy at the end of the day and Morgan barely looked at me. He dismissed me, saying he wanted to get home and “retire” early. I guessed that’s what old farts like him did. Get up at the crack of dawn, eat dinner at four, and go to bed after reading a book like Chicken Soup for the Soul, Reader’s Digest, or in Morgan’s case, jacking off over Charles Dickens.

Great, now I couldn’t get that vision out of my head. And you better believe I’d never be able to see A Christmas Carol again without getting aroused.

Honestly, I couldn’t picture Morgan doing most of those old people things anyway. I imagined him coming home to a swanky upscale apartment, greeted by his partner who handed him a glass of wine, and then led him to the fine meal he’d prepared. They’d talk about the day, watch some TV, and make love like animals.

Shit. I needed a life. I was having romantic fantasies about my boss with other men. Or could I be the partner in those fantasies? Why would I want that? With Morgan?

I wouldn’t.

But when I got home to my cold, empty apartment, I couldn’t deny that the idea of having someone there sounded appealing. I actually enjoyed being in a relationship. When Paul and I weren’t fighting, it was nice to have him stay at my place. I found it comforting. He was the cook. I’d never cooked for anyone but myself. And I wasn’t very good at it. But maybe for Morgan, I’d learn. The jury was still out on whether I’d dump his dinner over his head or feed it to him bite by bite . . . just to watch his lips wrap around the fork and hear his moans of pleasure.

I barely made it to the bedroom before my slacks were off and my hand was stroking my cock, imagining feeding Morgan and then him feeding me his hard, thick dick. I got on my knees on the bed and leaned back, pumping myself only for a few seconds before I shouted my release, coming all over my stomach, jerking and twitching.

Fuck.

If the real thing even came close to my fantasies, I might die. I had a death wish, anyway. Because if Morgan found out I thought about him like this, he’d kill me. Or punish me.

Dammit, I was hard again.

I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer and some left-over Greek food before turning in at nine. Geez, how old was I?

I slept well at least . . . after jerking off again to some mundane Morgan fantasy turned sexual.

Back at the office come morning, I unwrapped the scarf from my neck, the chill invigorating rather than off-putting. I sipped my coffee but decided not to bring it to my meeting with Morgan. I didn’t trust myself not to toss it at him. I might fantasize about the man, but some of those fantasies involved revenge too.

I walked into his office in a surprisingly good mood. “Good morning, sir,” I said, taking a seat.

He chuckled, as if not believing me, keeping his eyes on the computer screen. Today he wore a charcoal gray suit and hot pink tie that made his skin glow. I thought I smelled something spicy in his cologne, catching a whiff. It made me want to bury my nose in any part of him to inhale that scent.

I swallowed my desire and forced myself to think of something to ward off the inevitable boner if this kept up. Grandma Evelyn. Dead bodies. An overflowed toilet. Chick-fil-A.

Done.

“You all right, Parker? You’re a horrid shade of green.”

“Fine. Fine. Just anxious to get the day started.”

He barked out a laugh. “Don’t be a smart ass. Here you go.” He handed me a document. “Remember, tomorrow we have our first team meeting to go over the Axion proposal. It’s imperative you complete that list with the utmost care. We’ll be using much of it in our discussions.”