Beg Me:Sold to My Dad's BossBy: Cassandra Dee
~Sold to My Dad’s Boss~
A May December Romance Novella
For everyone who’s ever begged …
Admit it, you liked it!
I struggled into my swimsuit. It was kinda obscene, I had to admit. I’ve grown a lot in the last year, horizontally mostly, and my boobs, which had been tiny before now went out to here, while my ass went out to there. Basically I was the proverbial hourglass, sassy, curvy, busting out in all places.
But I sighed. What choice did I have? It was my parents’ twentieth anniversary and I’d rushed home for the party after finals. I’d been so busy studying and trying to do well that I hadn’t had a chance to buy myself a new swimsuit. So I scrutinized myself again. Okay, well if I hiked the top up a little at the neck, and made sure the butt part stayed down, at least most of me would be covered … almost. Barring any accidents, any slippery mishaps, I’d be okay.
So I sighed again, turning away from the mirror in my childhood bedroom. Yep, the space was exactly as I’d left it last year, a blast from the past. In high school, I’d been really nerdy, studying all the time so that I could get into a good college and the room showed it. The walls were bare but I had a huge bookshelf filled with textbooks and “serious” reading like Charles Dickens and some Russian authors whose names I couldn’t pronounce, then or now. Go figure.
But despite the boring exterior, I’m still a fun girl … it’s just fun of a personal kind. Because I got a Kindle for Christmas and suddenly there was unlimited access to all sorts of naughty stories, steamy times with my hand tucked between my legs, bringing myself to heaven as I devoured the words, ate up the dirty pictures and videos. So I was the proverbial good girl with a bad side – innocent on the outside but filthy within.
But I shook myself, sighing. Right, back to business. This swimsuit. I looked kinda like a pornstar even though it was a modest black one-piece, something that was supposed to cover real acreage, totally appropriate for a family setting. The problem was me, there was so much of me now that the conservative cut was now racy, flesh jiggling this way and that, creamy and exposed. But sighing again, I gave up, tying my brown curls into a ponytail, grabbing a towel and leaving the room. I’d just have to be careful, I reminded myself, padding downstairs to the kitchen and glancing through the back window to the patio outside.
The party was already in full swing, people splashing in the pool, my dad at the grill looking jovial, chatting up a storm. It was mostly older folks, my parents’ friends, middle aged couples in their forties, wrinkled and tired.
But then I saw him. Christopher Jones was my dad’s boss at United Electric, although I think he was actually a few years younger than my dad. I’d always had a crush on him and at this moment, the big man was hauling himself out of the pool, his arms strong as he dragged that muscular torso from the water. I gasped, my breath coming fast, knees literally going weak because the man was like a god come to life, so gorgeous and dominant emerging from the water.
Rivulets of liquid sluiced off his hard muscles, his arms strained and flexed as he pulled himself to hip height, level with the pool’s edge before maneuvering himself out all the way, rising to stand on the deck. He was like a warrior come to life, his body muscled, perfectly proportioned, those broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, the thick, heavy thighs. And as if feeling my gaze on him, he turned sparkling blue eyes to me, meeting my eyes through the window, his look knowing, warm. I flushed, growing bright red, forcing myself to stay still instead of instinctively ducking out of sight. Oh my god, had he seen me, or was it just a trick of the light, a reflection of the window pane?
It was impossible to know for sure, but my inner parts tingled suddenly, wetly moist from that masculine stare. Oh god, how did Mr. Jones do this to me? There were boys at school who’d been interested but they did nothing, I’d shared a couple kisses, wet and slobbery, and a few had felt up my boobs, moaning with ecstasy as they grabbed fistfuls of breastflesh, making me squeal with pain, pull away at the manhandling.
But I knew with certainty that Mr. Jones would be completely different. Reflexively, my gaze dropped to his large, square hands, dripping with water and my mouth went dry, a fire lighting within my body. Because those hands would be so smooth, so agile on my curves, stroking me to heaven, making me come again and again, my body moist, open, begging him for more.
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