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I liked her traps.
“What were you wondering, curious Ro?” I asked her.
“I mean, it’s just odd to me, your nickname.”
“Why’s that? Some of them worked for me at one point or another, and they thought I was a tyrant as a boss.”
She snorted. “No way.”
“Excuse me?”
“They were being sarcastic when they named you that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not a tyrant.”
My brows shot up. I could tell by her tone that our conversation was about to turn interesting.
Interesting and a touch volatile.
“I’m not?”
“No. They call you that because you’re bossy, but even your bossiness is half-assed. You can’t be a tyrant because you don’t take anything or anyone seriously. You know what you really are?”
“Do tell.
“You’re a coward.”
I felt my smile freeze on my face. Leave it to Ro to surprise me with a gut punch like that. “How so?” There was a bite to the question.
“You talk a lot of shit, that’s a fact. But that’s all it is. Talk.” And with that, she left, the little termagant.
She was half my size soaking wet, but she’d just wiped the floor with my ego.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ANOTHER SIGNIFICANT PROBLEM arose when I found her tiny body curled up on the couch one lazy Sunday afternoon, sleeping like a baby kitten.
It did something to me, to see her like that. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but it was dangerous.
It made me feel wild and alive, like even I couldn’t predict what I’d do next.
It was delightful and a bit terrifying.
She’d asserted that her day off would be on Sunday, and so it was. It drove me a little crazy as she proceeded to leave the house for hours for church and ‘family time,’ and laze around the house. On top of that she completely ignored all of my orders and pleas throughout her declared day of rest.
And now here she was, sprawled out on the sofa in my rec room, a dog eared Alasdair Masters paperback flung above her head.
I got a kick out of that. I’d be sure to tell him his latest release was putting people to sleep, but even that thought wasn’t enough to distract me from Ro’s luscious little body writhing around restlessly in sleep like it was looking for something.
Namely, to ride my cock.
I’d caught sight of her earlier heading to church. She’d been wearing one of her church lady floral atrocities and that had been just fine. Now was another matter. She’d changed into her Sunday lazies sometime after she’d come home, and it was just too goddamn much for me. My mind had burned a lot of calories feverishly trying to imagine what was under all of her horrendous polyester, so when I got my first real confirmation that I might be right it was all I could do not to come in my pants.
Her outfit wasn’t meant to be sexy. Just the opposite. It was an ugly, oversized gray T-shirt, but it was riding up high enough to show her flat little tummy. Her belly button was an innie. I knew it!
On her bottom half all she was wearing were some men’s boxer shorts. Two thoughts assailed me at once. 1. Where the fuck had she gotten those boxers? Were they from some ex-boyfriend? And 2. Why did she hide those legs? They were gorgeous, shapely but trim and topped by a perfectly plump little ass.
