ʻʻWhat's forbidden is always the sweetest.ʼʼ
This is a story where you're going to hate him. You might even hate her. The two people who are doing something very wrong in other people's eyes, but to them it's the most right thing they've ever done...
A week later, Mr Welch wakes up early in the morning and comes down, surprising the hell out of me when he steps into the kitchen at a very early hour. What surprises me even more is that he looks ... bad.
"Cassandra. Where are the painkillers?" he asks in a gruff voice.
"I ..." I turn around the kitchen. I actually don't know. I open a few cabinets until I find them in one of the drawers. It's a drawer full of pills, actually, some I don't even know what are for.
Mr Welch pushes me aside, softly, taking out what he needs. I take that chance to look at his face. He's pale and there are bags under his eyes. He's still in his pyjama bottoms, keeping his chest bare and my attention is yet again on his muscles.
"Do you need anything else, Mr Welch?" I ask, shifting my eyes back to his face.
He looks at me then, for the first time this morning. "Adrian."
My eyebrows snap together. "Pardon?"
"Call me Adrian."
For whatever reason there is - I blush. "That's ... unprofessional," I say quietly. Keep his stare is getting harder.
Mr Welch's eyes get darker. "I had my finger in your wet pussy, Cassandra. We're way past unprofessional."
You also slapped and groped my ass, but I don't add that. I don't say anything back. I don't trust myself with what could come out of my mouth.
"Just bring me some tea. And maybe some soup," Mr Welch says. I honestly can't think of him as Adrian. He's just Mr Welch. Because if I start calling him by his first name in my head, I know things will get different for me. They will get more real and that wouldn't be wise.
I nod. "Right away, Mr Welch," I say robotically.
He was ready to leave, but he gives me all of his attention again. "Adrian. Remember that before I give you another lesson about mistakes." His eyes darken and even though he looks tired and unwell, he still manages to turn me on. How sick is that?
"Yes ... Adrian," I purposefully use his name this time. It sounds foreign on my tongue, yet I like it, especially the taste of it. The name suits him, it's strong and powerful and it feels so intimate when I say it.
I hear him inhale and then he nods, leaving the kitchen. I watch his bare, sculpted back and his amazing ass move.
I remember I still have a lot of work to do and ogling my boss isn't one of the tasks for today.
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Three days later, Adrian is feeling better, although he still chooses to work from home.
I caught a bit of conversation between him and his wife yesterday when he came down to the living room. They were sitting on the couch and Mrs Welch was lovingly caressing his hair, murmuring how he should be still resting and how he works too much and doesn't give her any attention.
