Billionaire Novelist 1 : Working for the Billionaire Novelist(13)

"Maybe I'll get two, in that case."

You're an ass**le was what I wanted to say but didn't. I crossed my legs, surprised by the feeling that was happening between my legs. I was actually getting turned on by arguing with Smith, imagining the tickle of his stubbly chin on my body, his face between my legs. Why did he have to be so infuriating and also so sexy?

He continued, "If I had a Border Collie, I'd treat her like a princess. I'd brush her long hair and stroke her all over. I'd kiss her on the nose and get her to sit on my lap, even though she'd be much too big for a lap dog."

I recrossed my legs and crunched on my cold toast.

He kept talking about his imaginary Border Collie, and how much he'd love looking down at her on the ground as she gazed up at him with absolute adoration in her eyes.

After breakfast, we went upstairs to the office. The levers on the chair no longer amused me, and I couldn't get the settings quite right. The story was meandering, and I kept typing the word "um" every time he said it, much to his annoyance.

"The editor can take it out," I said.

After an hour of this, and two dozen occurrences of the word um, he leaned over my shoulder and did a quick search-and-replace to remove them.

"There," he said proudly.

After that, I had to get more creative with the vocal ticks, making each one different, such as errr, guhhh, and hrmm.

Eventually, though, I stopped typing the vocal ticks, as it was no longer annoying him, and I'd started to feel petty.

At the end of the morning's session, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Good work. Thank you, Tori."

His touch and utterance of my name sent shivers down between my legs, and I felt my ni**les tightening up within my bra. He squeezed my shoulder and said it again. "Thank you."

I turned and looked at his hand on my shoulder. The fingernails were tidy and buffed to a shine-likely a manicure. The upper knuckles had tiny blond hairs, and I wanted to rub my cheek on them. I wanted to suck on his fingers. 

He pulled his hand away and moved to the doorway.

"I'm going to have a shower and possibly a nap," he said. "Our afternoon session might be delayed. Feel free to take a few hours for yourself, do whatever it is you like to do."

And then he left.

I went downstairs and poked around in the fridge for lunch.

The shower went on upstairs, and I imagined him naked, under the water. I didn't want to be alone for a few hours; I wanted to be with him.

I went to my room and clicked on the television. I kept thinking about Smith Wittingham, up there, naked. My hands wandered down, inside my shorts. I locked my door and took off all my clothes, all the better to touch myself.

I stood before the mirror over the bureau, noting my hair was messy. I grabbed my hairbrush, and a wicked thought surged through me.

Once the idea entered my mind, there was no shutting it out. The idea howled at me, a fantasy desperate to happen.

And so, absolutely naked, I left my room and walked up the stairs with my hairbrush in hand.

Smith's bedroom door was unlocked, as was his bathroom door.

His bathroom was much more sumptuous than mine, with a large soaker tub as well as a stand-up shower with a glass door. He was in the shower, and he saw me as soon as I came in, but he didn't say anything. He grabbed a plastic bottle of shampoo and kept going, washing his hair.

I got down on my hands and knees and put the hairbrush between my teeth.

"Woof," I said around the hairbrush.

Grinning, he rinsed the suds out of his hair and turned off the water. He stepped out, magnificent and na**d within a cloud of steam.

"What have we got here?" he said.

I wiggled my whole body, simulating a wagging tail.

"You look like a stray. Did you run away from home?"

I didn't answer, but gazed up at him, trying my best to put adoration in my expression, though it was a new one for me.

He grabbed a towel and quickly dried off, rubbing the towel under his balls and around his cock, which was already poking straight out like a towel hanger.

"I should adopt you," he said. He patted me on the head and walked along me, running his fingertips down my bare spine. He grabbed my bu**ocks and pulled them apart, leaning down to inspect me. "Yup, you're a female," he said.

I wriggled my body with pleasure. My mouth was watering, drool coming out around the hairbrush in my mouth.

He stepped past me, out to his bedroom.

"Here, girl!" he called.

I padded after him on hands and knees, my head hanging low. Once out on the carpet, I stopped and rolled onto my back, exposing my stomach. I held my hands up as little bowed paws above my chest. I turned my head to the side, away from him, taking only sidelong peeks at him.

He knelt beside me, breathing heavily with excitement. He took the paddle-shaped brush from my mouth and gently brushed my hair, easing the brush slowly through the knots. I kept gazing at him as he brushed all my hair, fanning it out on the soft carpet around my head. He moved down my body and used the over-sized brush to comb the triangle-shaped thatch of red fur above my pu**y, the part I didn't get waxed.