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Hazel.
I never knew she had such sexual awareness. I suspected she had a fiery side bubbling under the surface. But the cusswords and the speculation about the size of my cock? Me eating her out on my desk?
My cock twitches, and suddenly my pants feel tighter. What the fuck? I grab the journal and open it again, flicking through the pages and scanning her confessions and fantasies.
I'm sucking him as he finishes a virtual meeting. I'm under his desk, kneeling before him, running my tongue up and down his cock. I want all of him in my mouth, but I can't fit it. He's too big.
I'm big, all right.
I touch my collar, wishing it hadn't shrunk in the past few seconds.
Shit. Who knew? Hazel Dillon is trouble—of the worst kind.
After Nancy left, finding a good assistant took me a while. And now, these journal entries leave me confused. What if she's planning to stain my good name somehow? I'm not a celebrity, but I'm well-known in the travel business and Texas.
If gossip sites have a slow news day, they could pick up the story of the horrible boss who menaced the poor assistant. I scowl. The poor horny assistant.
Perhaps she's writing a different book—not a tell-all, but an erotic one, and is using me as inspiration.
I rub my temples. What do I do? I can't fire her. Maybe I should contact Human Resources or my lawyers and get their opinion. I drum my fingers on the journal.
My assistant wrote about sucking my dick under the table.
No, I swear that it never happened. Just her fantasy.
Yes, I want her gone.
Maybe that would make things worse.
Shit.
I hear female voices and footsteps on the hand-scraped hardwood floor. Shit, she's coming back—talking to that chatty receptionist who does anything but mind the reception.
When I was six, I found a picture of my father in my mom's jewelry box. Every day, when she was taking a shower or busy making dinner, I'd go to her room, open the box, take the picture out, and talk to it. Then, one day, my mom caught me, and although she didn't say anything, embarrassment filled me like an over-inflated balloon.
The same way I feel now.
Instinctively, I put the phone back in the drawer where I found it and close it. Then, I stand and turn, taking quick stock of the area to ensure she won't know I was there. I must find out the best way to deal with this situation. And more than anything… I need to make sure I wipe those dirty images from my mind as soon as fucking possible.
4
Hazel
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. When Emma offered me a dress to wear for tonight, I thought it was a good idea. After all, I don't have a lot of fancy gowns in my wardrobe because, let’s face it, besides work clothes, I live in jeans and shirts.
I told her I was attending a dinner party with old friends from out of town. Maybe she thought I wanted to seduce some of my said friends.
That's the only way this would make sense as I stare at how the dress hugs my curves a bit too snug for my liking. The slit on the knee-length hem is bold, and a deep V-cut squishes my breasts together in the middle. How will I even breathe in this thing?
I run my fingers through my hair. I’m originally a brunette but started highlighting my hair a few years ago, and now a couple of shades of blonde color my strands, making me a dirty blonde of sorts. I stepped up my makeup tonight after watching a couple of TikTok’s. My average lips seem fuller with the help of the lipstick pencil, and a dark pink gloss adds the finishing touch.
Black mascara adds allure to my eyes and makes them pop.
Moonshine, my three-year-old lab mix, barks, voicing her approval. I adopted her about a year ago when I needed an excuse to have someone check on my dad whenever I had to go out of town or work overtime. Since Dad doesn't believe anything is wrong with him, I hired a neighbor to walk the dog and check on him. Skylar always finds a reason to stretch out her visit, watch TV with my dad, and ensure he takes his meds if I'm not here.
