Dean Walsh was happy with his new life, his job, his girlfriend. Until his boss, billionaire Salomon Ellis, discovers his darkest secret. From then on, he will hold Dean hostage to his whims in exchange for his silence.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
It took me a while to put myself together enough to leave. I washed the best I could in the restroom, but my shirt was a mess of wrinkles, and there was no way to hide the wet patches of sweat in the armpits. However, the mirror showed the worst of my crappy reflection was my face. I was pale, fevered, still hyperventilating. My nerves were so on edge, a pin falling could've scared me literally to death. I looked like I'd just seen a ghost. Well, or like I'd been edged for a whole hour against my will, by no less than the boss of my boss' boss.
I didn't see a soul on my way to the stairs. The stiff lady at the front desk was gone, so was the security guard. My cramped thighs protested all the way down the stairs. Nobody in sight at the second floor, either. One of the vans that had brought the six pm shift was still outside the main access, waiting for the last operator from the afternoon shift. Lucky me, they were bound to my side of town, and they still had free seats.
Good thing about social distance: I knew nobody would come sit by my side to try to make shallow conversation. I was left alone to push the earphones into my ears, sink in my seat, fix my eyes out the window and forget I had people around.
I tried to keep from thinking about what had just happened. It didn't make sense as it was, and digging into it wouldn't make it any clearer. Maybe the unicorn was bored. Maybe he was into edging and that kind of stuff. Maybe he got off on subduing straight guys, or on exerting his power on others. I didn't know and I didn't care. It'd been awful, but I'd gotten it cheap, considering the variety of things he could've demanded of me.
It'd happened. it was over. Now I had to come up with a convincing excuse to explain my being late to Steph, along with my exhaustion and my crappy looks. It had to be something simple. I've never been a good liar, and Steph knew me all too well.
She was in our room when I got home, sprawled in bed with her laptop, streaming one of her chick shows on Netflix. She'd only left the light under the kitchen cupboard on.
"Hey, babe!" she greeted me from the bedroom. "Dinner in the microwaves!"
"Thanks, babe," I replied, dropping my bag on the couch with a heartfelt sigh. It was over. I was home. I was safe.
Her light footsteps tapped on the floorboards as I turned on the microwaves.
"Everything okay?" she asked, showing up at the kitchen door. "What happened?"
Well, you see, the CEO found out my true identity and gave me a one-hour handjob in exchange for his silence. "Yeah, I'm just wasted." I kept my back to her with the excuse of laying the table for me, because I was afraid that if I faced her, she'd see right through my bullshit. "They needed help at the hardware storage, so I lent them a hand. Those sons of bitches had me moving heavy boxes all the while."
She circled the breakfast bar and threw her arms around me from behind. Her full, round breasts brushed my back.
"You left me to have dinner alone," she reproached, her hands caressing my abs on their way down. "You know I hate it."
