Mr. King [Book 1]

Seven

After getting little to no sleep, due to lying awake for most of the night trying to decipher what the hell happened and what the hell it all meant, Katherine's alarm went off entirely too early for her taste. But what could she do? She needed to be up and ready to make breakfast for the megalomaniac she now lived with and worked for. She needed to fulfill her job, even after what happened the night before.

This fact didn't stop her from lying in bed as long as she possibly could to avoid the morning. Visions of the previous night flashed through her mind and she almost couldn't believe it actually happened – but it did. It actually happened. She got fucked by her boss right on the dining room table. What in the actual fuck was she doing with her life?

Katherine winced as she pulled herself out of bed. She could feel every tender, overused muscle from her belly down to her thighs and everything in-between. Holy shit. If it hadn't been the best sex of her life, she probably would be regretting it right about now.

She padded across her bedroom floor to the bathroom, turning on the shower to let the water heat up – although in a house like that, it was almost unnecessary. Mr. King had the money to have things like instantaneous hot water and heated floors in his bathrooms – which there were, right below her feet. She never had to worry about stepping out of the shower onto polar ice caps ever again – well, as long as she was living there.

There were also heat lamps in and out of the shower, a phone by the toilet, and the best shower pressure in the western hemisphere – it literally felt like she was being massaged as she stood underneath the dual-headed spout. The shower felt good on her sore muscles. With every wince of pain, her mind cut straight to a memory of the night before and she couldn't help but want to feel him again.

She wanted so badly for him to make her feel wanted again – except she knew it wasn't going to be that easy. He was her boss. He was her boss and last night should have never happened. And she wasn't sure how the morning was going to go. Would he mention what they did? Would he ignore it? Would he grab her in his arms and fuck her senseless again because he too sat up all night thinking about it?

Not likely.

Katherine scoffed to herself as she got out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the shelf under one of the many heated lights. Mr. King was probably doing just fine not thinking about her this morning. What was there to think about? She was just a girl who gave it up all too willingly.

As she stood in front of the mirror drying herself off, her eyes raked up and down her naked frame – stopping quickly on her hips. Her mouth dropped open as she stepped forward, getting a better look. There was distinct bruising in the form of fingertips dug into her flesh, from her hip bones all the way down to her mid-thigh, which also wrapped around to the back of her thighs.

Holy shit.

What did he do to her? Was he really that rough? She didn't think so, but then again, she wasn't thinking about what he was doing to her hips...

She shook it off as she hung the towel on the back of the door and walked into her bedroom to get dressed. She stood in her closet for longer than she cared for, trying to figure out what to wear. Usually she would have just mindlessly pulled out an outfit and dressed, not caring if she really actually looked good. But today, she wanted her outfit to look flattering – if only to make Mr. King think it wasn't an entirely bad choice that they did what they did with each other.

She dressed in black dress pants and a blue form fitting v-neck shirt that she knew would help bring out the blue tones in her hazel eyes. She wore more makeup than she usually would, and did her hair up in a sleek high ponytail.

Her nerves were making her ill by the time she actually needed to go make Mr. King's breakfast. What would she say to him? What would he say to her? She was so nervous about their interactions that she kept playing over scenarios in her head as she moved fluidly around the kitchen making his usual breakfast – an egg white mushroom and Swiss cheese omelet with fresh fruit, wheat toast and orange marmalade. He was a creature of habit.

"Ahem," she heard Mr. King clear his throat and it startled her. She jumped as she turned quickly to see him.

"Oh, Mr. King," she gasped, holding her hand over her wildly beating heart.

She watched as his eyes worked up and down her body, but he held no expression on his face. She could never tell what he was thinking. Ever. It was more than a little frustrating.

"Good morning, Miss Mason," he said sternly, not breaking even a hint of a smile.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted sheepishly as she blushed and turned back toward the stove.

"I think I'll take my breakfast at the center island counter today," Mr. King said, pulling out one of the tall chairs.

"Of course, sir," she said, turning to give him a polite smile before focusing back on her task. She didn't know why he pointed it out. That's where he always ate.

"It would seem that the dining room table needs a good wipe down," he said passively.

Katherine stopped breathing as she bit her lip and closed her eyes tightly. Oh, Jesus.

"Of course, sir," she choked out before taking a deep silent breath, and slid the omelet onto a plate for him.

How embarrassing. Did he really even need to point it out? Of course she would clean it. It would be her number one priority after breakfast.

Katherine took a deep breath before she turned toward him, placing his plate in front of him. His eyes were on her immediately, causing the blush in her cheeks to grow hotter and hotter.

"Orange juice, Miss Mason," he requested, tapping the empty glass in front of him.

"Of course, sir," she replied, feeling flustered as she moved quickly toward the refrigerator, grabbing the pitcher out of it.

Mr. King's eyes stayed contently on her as she moved back toward the counter where he sat. She wished she knew what he was thinking. He was a closed fucking book. Was he angry with her? Was she doing everything wrong? Did he have any respect left for her after their tryst? Because really, she didn't know if she had any respect left for herself...

"Full glass, sir?" She asked him, tentatively looking up into his brown eyes. God, he made her so nervous.

"Full," he replied, still staring at her, his eyes nearly piercing right through her.

"Anything else, sir?" She asked him and watched as his vision cut to the dirty pan on the stove.

"Of course, sir. I will just... I'll just clean up," she stammered, making her way to the stove to begin the dishes.

She felt his eyes on her the whole time she moved around the kitchen, tidying up. Every time she got the nerve to actually look in his direction, she found he indeed had his eyes on her and it was unnerving.

"Ahem," she heard him clear his throat once and she spun to face him, seeing he already vacated his spot at the center island counter and was standing right behind her carrying his dirty dishes.

"Oh!" She yelped, immediately grabbing them from his grasp.

"Please, let me," she told him, feeling extremely flustered at the fact that he even bothered to clear his dishes.

"Thank you, Miss Mason," he said as his enigmatic eyes never left hers.

He was standing rather close to her and made it very difficult to breathe. She was choking in his presence. His look lingered longer than necessary before he cleared his throat and turned out of the kitchen.

"Oh my god," she sighed as she moved toward the sink to finish off the dishes.

This morning was almost worse than she ever imagined it would be. She thought he would at least talk to her – at least make polite conversation. But, no. Not him. He wasn't giving anything away. It only made her insecurities and neuroticism worse.