IRRESISTIBLY SINFUL (A compilation of short erotic series)

Craving my boss 2

Winfred’s POV

I hadn’t completed my usual distance during my morning jog when Lucy, my secretary, called to inform me, far too late, that I had an important meeting she’d forgotten to mention.

I sighed at her carelessness, ended the call abruptly, and jogged home.

As I climbed the staircase to my room, my gaze drifted toward the kitchen.

Roxanne was inside, busy with breakfast.

I rarely complimented her out loud, but there was no denying it, she was competent, exceptional even. And beyond that, she was beautiful in a way that lingered, quietly seductive, her sexiness not loud or obvious but impossibly hard to resist.

The way her duty clothes clung to her curves made wanting her almost unbearable. I’d caught myself more than once imagining her blonde hair spilled across my sheets, her voice soft and breathless as she whispered my name, urging me on. The thoughts always came uninvited, and just as quickly, I forced them away.

I always kept my gaze averted, my expression cool, my tone strictly professional, anything to make sure she never suspected. She was my employee. Off limits. Not the kind of woman I allowed myself to want.… Yet that did nothing to quiet the hunger she stirred in me.

Reaching my bedroom door, I remembered I’d forgotten to tell her to prepare hot chocolate instead of coffee.

I took a long sip of water, easing the thirst from my jog, then headed back downstairs.

My fingers barely brushed the kitchen door handle when I froze.

“Winnie…”

The sound slipped out softly. Breathless.

My chest tightened. I leaned closer, pressing my ear to the door before I could stop myself.

“Ah… yes… f**k”

There was no mistaking it now.

My jaw clenched.

Who could it be? Had she brought someone into my house, into my kitchen, and crossed a line she shouldn’t have?

I pushed the thought aside. She wouldn’t dare. And besides, the house was too quiet. No murmurs, no telltale sounds drifting from the kitchen to confirm the image my mind had so eagerly supplied.

I turned the knob slowly, the soft click sounding far louder than it should have. And when my eyes finally found her, they stayed there, helpless, unwilling to look away, as heat surged through me and every other thought slipped out of reach.

Her hand was hidden beneath her skirt, her eyes closed, her head tipped back slightly as if she were chasing a feeling she couldn’t quite catch. The look on her face burned itself into my mind, lips parted, breath uneven, soft sounds escaping her without restraint.

She was completely lost in it, so consumed by whatever pleasure she’d found that she didn’t notice me at all. It was as if she’d been deprived for far too long, giving in now with a quiet desperation that made my pulse throb.

I leaned against the doorway, arms folded across my chest, watching in silence, like I’d stumbled into a private performance meant for no one else.

The subtle movements beneath her skirt, the faint, telling sounds she made, were enough to make my jaw tighten.

Seeing her like that, I could no longer deny the slow, dangerous pull of desire threading through me.

I hadn’t realized how deeply I wanted her until this moment,.until watching her like this made my body react before my mind could catch up.

I should have interrupted her, snapped her out of whatever fantasy had claimed her. I should have scolded her… maybe even dismissed her altogether. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The temptation wrapped in her movements was too intoxicating, too deliciously forbidden.

God, how was I supposed to resist her? The soft, needy sounds she made were sinful, tugging at me like an invisible thread, drawing me closer even as I stood perfectly still.

When she finally opened her eyes, I saw them widen in shock. She squeezed them shut, then opened them again, only to find me still standing there. My pulse spiked as I stared at her, hunger sharp and unhidden, like I could devour her with nothing but my gaze.

She jerked her hand away instantly, pressing her thighs together as she bowed her head, a vivid flush blooming across her cheeks.

“Sir… I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, her fingers clutching the fabric of her skirt as if it might steady her.

I smirked and pushed off the door. If only she knew what a single act like that had stirred inside me.

“Sorry for what?” My voice was calm, almost detached.

I walked toward her, hands buried casually in my joggers’ pockets. She tried to step back, but the counter behind her left no room to retreat.

“For… what you just saw.” Her head stayed bowed, her voice trembling, like she might break into tears any second.

I let out a light, almost airy chuckle and closed the last distance between us. Her entire frame quivered, and I could feel the tension radiating off her.

“You’re—” I started, but she cut me off before I could finish.

“I know. I’ll pack my things and leave. I… I’m sorry again. My actions… are inexcusable, Mr. Winfred.”

She took a step to the side, clearly intending to pass me. I placed my hand on the counter beside her, closing off any escape.

Her breath hitched.

“Look at me,” I said quietly.

She did.

“What you were doing,” I continued, “is only a problem if you didn’t want it.”

Her lips parted, uncertainty flickering across her face, then something else. Resolve.

“I wanted it,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Something inside me snapped.

I leaned in, but stopped just short of her mouth.

“It’s Winnie,” I murmured.

Her breath brushed my lips as she nodded.

That was all the permission I needed.

I kissed her slowly, deliberately, giving her time to pull away if she chose. Instead, her hands curled into my shirt, and she kissed me back, not hesitant, but sure.

As if she’d been waiting for this moment just as long as I had.

The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, until it felt like the world had narrowed to the space between us. I slid a hand around her waist, drawing her closer just as she caught my lower lip between her teeth, a soft, daring bite that sent heat straight through me. Her fingers brushed the back of my neck, gentle yet possessive, as if she were anchoring herself there.

My free hand slipped beneath the fabric of her blouse, meeting the warmth of her skin. I felt the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath my palm, each breath growing heavier, more uneven. I traced upward slowly, deliberately, and every small movement coaxed a breathless sound from her lips.

I hesitated then, just for a moment, giving her the chance to pull away, to change her mind. She didn’t. She leaned into me instead, wordless and willing, and in that silent answer, I knew she was ready… and so was I.