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“If you want to go,” he said, watching me with interested eyes as I skulked toward him.
“Why aren’t you at work right now?” I asked, taking another predatory step closer.
“I took the day off,” Ken replied, scooting his chair away from the table.
“Why did you take the day off?”
“Because my girlfriend wants to go to the museum, and she’s probably still too drunk from last night to drive herself.” Ken smirked up at me as I placed my hands on his shoulders. He was wearing a navy-blue button-up with no tie.
I missed the tie. It would have given me something to drag him upstairs with.
“Your girlfriend sounds like a real winner.” I laughed, straddling his khakis with my bare legs.
“She’s all right.” Ken ghosted his smooth palms up my flushed thighs. They came to rest on my bare ass cheeks, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I hear she’s into butt stuff, so I think I’ll keep her around.”
I had just scoffed and pretended to slap Ken across the face when I heard a tiny voice squeak, “Sorry!” and slam the garage door.
I froze, staring at Ken with my mouth agape. “Was that…Robin?”
Ken nodded, his features tightened into a wince.
“Oh my God.” I clamped my hand over my mouth as inappropriate laughter bubbled out of me. “Ken, you’re her boss.”
“And her landlord.”
“And her landlord!” I chuckled. “I’m sorry! It’s not funny!”
Ken smiled as he watched me laugh. His usually cold eyes felt warm on my cheeks. “It’s kind of funny.”
“It’s so funny!” I blurted, cracking up. “She thinks I slapped you!”
“Maybe you should.” Ken’s smile disappeared. “You know, so she doesn’t get the wrong idea.”
I smiled and shook my head at him. “I am not hitting you. That’s abuse.”
Ken’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“Oh my God, you really want me to hit you.” I sighed, looking around the kitchen. “Can I at least use a wooden spoon or something? I don’t feel right about just backhanding you across the face.”
Ken’s smile was back tenfold. “You can use whatever you want.”
“There is something seriously wrong with you.” I giggled, leaning forward to plant an open-mouthed kiss on the curve of his lips.
Ken kissed me back, swirling his tongue around the tip of mine and tenderly sucking on my bottom lip. Releasing it with a quiet pop, he said, “You’re the one who wants to hit me with a wooden spoon.”
“Hey, if you don’t watch your mouth, I’m gonna go with a plastic spatula.”
Ken’s angular eyebrow shot up. “Tease.”
“All right, motherfucker. You asked for it.” I climbed off of Ken’s lap, pretending not to notice the delicious bulge there or the glistening wet spot I’d left on it. Walking across the kitchen, I opened his utensil drawer…and slid the entire thing out of the cabinet. Holding the drawer full of spoons, spatulas, whisks, and rubber scrapers, I turned and headed straight for the stairs without giving Ken a second look. I didn’t need to turn around to see if he was coming.
I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.
Once we were back in his room, I set the drawer on the foot of his bed, the utensils bouncing with a metallic clang. Spinning around, I placed my fists on my hips and pinned the man before me with a vicious stare. Mistress B was reporting for duty.
“You. Strip,” I ordered, biting the insides of my cheeks to keep from breaking character.
The corner of Ken’s mouth curled up in amusement, but he did as he’d been told. Button by button, I watched him lazily remove his shirt, undershirt, khaki pants, and boxer briefs, laying each garment out on the floor so that they wouldn’t get wrinkled.
