Continental Breakfast by Ella Dominguez Page B

but I’m immediately stopped.
    “Ms. Darcy, your attendance this evening is not a request. I expect you to be on my arm.”
    His voice is commanding and fierce and when I turn to face him, his look matches his tone. His eyes scan me up and down as if he’s confused and aggravated by my sudden resistance. He acts as though a woman has ever told him no before. Perhaps they haven’t.
    “I’ll call Avenue Temps and have someone sent over to accompany you this evening, Mr. Pettifor,” I state more resolutely.
    Again, I turn to leave, but Mr. Pettifor’s voice stops me dead in my tracks.
    “Ms. Darcy…”
    I’m unable to bring myself to look into his deep hunter green eyes, so I remain motionless and facing the door.
    “I’m not interested in a temp accompanying me. It’s you that I want.”
    His voice is cool, but it heats my blood. He wants me. Until Leggy Blonde shows up, that is.
    I cave to his command, “Yes, Mr. Pettifor.”
    The rest of the d ay goes by quickly. My letter of resignation is complete and the plan is to hand it in tomorrow, first thing in the morning and before continental breakfast . Better yet, after breakfast. I might as well enjoy the man of the hour one last time.
    Mr. Pettifor buzzes me and I enter his office. He has a gorgeous strapless, deep blue evening gown laid out for me with stockings and a dazzling pair of Louboutin studded heels. His taste in clothing is impeccable.
    “Let me dress you, Ms. Darcy,” he states, motioning me towards him.
    I stand before him and he takes complete charge over me, undressing me neither slowly nor hurriedly. He kneels in front of me when I’m down to my panties and he removes them sensually, sliding them down my legs and kissing my mound as I step out of them. He slides a finger into me and licks it off when he pulls it out.
    “I want a little snack before we go.”
    I can’t deny my boss when he says such naughty things to me. He pushes my legs apart and buries his face in the seam of my pussy. His expert tongue finds its way and my body pulses with lust. I’ve never touched his hair before. He has always forbidden me to touch him in such an intimate way, but tonight, knowing that our time together is limited, I fist my hands in his black and white frosted mane. It’s soft; oh, so soft . He quickly pulls away from me and stands, glaring down at me.
    “You’re pushing my limits today, Ms. Darcy,” he growls tetchily and runs his hand through his hair.
    Without delay, he grabs the gown and I step into it. He drags the zipper up, his fingers skimming across my spine, prickling my senses.
    O pening his top drawer of his desk, he removes a teal colored box that I immediately recognize as being from Tiffany’s. He opens it and the necklace and earrings within are jaw-dropping. The deep blue sapphires match the gown perfectly.
    “The color matches your eyes,” he says under his breath as if he finds it necessary to explain his choice. I turn away from him as he clasps the chain around my neck. I touch it, making sure it’s real and not just my imagination. He spins me around and then puts the earrings on me. I always feel so pampered when he does this. He steps back and eyes me head to toe.
    “Take your hair down,” he instructs and I remove the French braid and l et my hair cascade down, shaking my head and loosening my hair.
    “Yes, that’ll do just fine,” he tells me without revealing anything.
    We arrive at the large social hall within minutes of leaving. The party rooms are magnificent and opulent with large ornate chandeliers and decorative statues throughout. The room is crowded with over-primped trophy wives, mistresses and a few escorts no doubt. The men are all handsome in their business attire and the smell of masculinity is heady and intoxicating. I’ll miss this.
    Mr. Pettifor leads me around the room, his hand on the small of my back. He never introduces me, but it’s just as well that he doesn’t. I like being the anonymous