Bossman's Sacrament

Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, legs pressed tightly together, the silk of her nightgown whispering against her thighs. The night before she had considered the bedroom a snare, a place for an ambush. Having Hank Granger in her apartment, aroused, ****, gave her all the power.

But now power was the last thing she wanted.

Sarah wanted Hank. Well... that wasn't exactly true. At least not the whole truth. She wanted Hank, but she wanted him to be in control, in the driver's seat. She wanted, she craved, for Hank Granger to tell her what to do.

All night she'd felt the need growing in her. She'd tried to sate it, to fill it with inconsequential things, just to take the edge off.

"Do you think I should have a second helping?" Sarah had asked at dinner, hoping that he would direct her.

"I could open a bottle of wine if you tell me to," she'd teased, hoping for an order.

"What should I wear to sleep in?" she asked as she laid out her options, waiting for a decision.

Each response had felt good, but Sarah knew, deep in her heart, that none of it would matter until she had ceded complete control to Hank. It was the only thing that would truly make her happy. The idea was delightful: complete and utter submission to her man. He could have her body, her finances, her everything. She'd do anything, be anything to achieve it.

But not all at once. Too quick and she'd scare him off. Hank needed to trust her. She hadn't been completely honest with him before that weekend, all her machinations, all her schemes. What Sarah needed to do was change the course of their relationship. She was in it for the long haul, so she needed to take her time, give him what he needs, all while giving more of herself every day.

And just because she was taking her time didn't mean she couldn't still have her fun.

"I was thinking," she said, "Tomorrow is a work day. I don't want anyone to think poorly of you, the boss, sleeping with his assistant. So we should set some ground rules."

"Sounds reasonable," he replied, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into her laundry hamper. HER laundry hamper! She felt a thrill at the thought of washing their clothes together. It felt so permanent.

"First, I was hoping we could drive separately," she said, not wanting to tell Hank what to do, but praying that he'd see the wisdom in what she was proposing. "To shake off any suspicions."

"Okay," he said. "Good thinking."

"And I was also hoping," Sarah continued, "to make sure that we act like there's nothing going on. No kissing, no touching. You're the boss, I'm your employee. In fact, could you make a point of it? Order me around, tell me what to do. Be as direct as you can. I promise I'll do everything you tell me. I'll be a model employee."

Hank chuckled. They'd been working together a long time and he knew that she loved to get a bit saucy when he got direct. She could tell that he was imagining the pair of them in the office, an extension of what they'd had that weekend.

"I'm serious, Hank," she said, pouting. "If anyone catches us, your career will be over. You need to be a taskmaster. I will be your obedient subservient underling. Please."

"Fine," he said, "But let's just ease up on the underling talk. That's not how I run the operation. You know that."

"I think you're going to have to," she insisted. "At least with me. There can be no hint of familiarity. You're the boss. You tell me to jump and I'll ask you how high and if you want anything photocopied while I'm up there."

Hank laughed. He had such a great laugh. The kind of laugh that filled your heart with joy. Laughter had always been something hollow to her, something that she used to get what she wanted, but not to express her feelings. She had always imagined herself as the clever one, the ambitious one, the manipulator. But with Hank, all of that had melted away, replaced by a need to be controlled so strong it left her lightheaded.

His pants hit the floor, leaving him standing in his boxer-briefs. Sarah found herself staring at him, open-mouthed, questioning how she had gotten so lucky to be with a man like Hank. He carried himself like a figure out of myth. Her breath caught. She could not imagine anyone more solid, more deserving.

"That chicken marsala Portia was incredible," he said, sitting next to her on the bed, placing his hand on her thigh. "But she was a little... touchy. During dinner, I mean. She kept reaching across and touching my hand. It wasn't, you know, a thing."

Sarah's lips curled into a smile. "Of course not, silly. But Hank—" she tilted her head, lashes low, "—you know I could never be jealous of her. Not when I have you and I trust you. Portia and I are like sisters."

He raised an eyebrow, crossing to sit at the edge of the bed beside her. "Sisters?"

Sarah giggled softly, the sound nervous but warm. "Mmhmm. She looks up to you the same way I do. I can see it in her eyes. But it doesn't scare me. I want her here. She's safe with us. With you." She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips, then, "She's going through a time where she has a chance that so few of us get, a chance to start over. I want you in her life for that. I can't think of a better man than you, and I can't let jealousy rob her of the chance to start fresh with a man like you around, showing her what life could be like with the right guy."

He studied her for a long moment, and Sarah tried not to squirm beneath his gaze. He could see through her, she was sure of it. See every thought, every weakness. Good. She wanted him to. She wanted to be powerless, to hand him the keys to her soul.

When he leaned forward to kiss her, she nearly collapsed into his chest. The warmth of his lips set her skin on fire, and she clung to him as if afraid he'd vanish. His weight pressed her back into the pillows, and she moaned before she remembered herself.

"Quiet," he murmured into her ear, his voice a command more than a suggestion.

She shivered. "Yes," she whispered, nodding against his shoulder. But then, almost involuntarily, the words tumbled out of her in hushed tones. "But I don't think Portia would mind. She knows what an amazing man you are. She knows how crazy I am about you."

He hushed her again, firmer this time, and Sarah bit down on her lip. That felt good. So good. It was exactly what she wanted. And she would be obedient. She would take his word as law.

As his breath moved against her throat, Sarah's mind spun away from the heat of the moment and into worshipful clarity. She had thought she understood men before—weak, grasping things she could twist around her finger—but Hank was different. Hank was the measure by which all men should be judged. She had once thought of him as her boss, but now he was something else entirely: a god made flesh, gracing her bed, blessing it with his presence.

She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the steady strength there, and whispered, "Thank you."

There was no acknowledgement of her thanks. There was no need. Sarah knew her place. As Hank's lips moved down, kissing her chest, pulling one breast out of its hiding place in her nightgown, he put one nipple in his mouth and gave it a nibble. She sighed and shook at the sensation. She wanted to be louder, but Hank had ordered her to be quiet, and quiet she would be.

That didn't mean she couldn't try to make him get a little louder.

Once he stopped with her nipple, Sarah made her move. Gently, she pushed him, indicating that she wanted him to roll over onto his back. Then, following his lead, she began to kiss down his body. His lips, his chin, his neck, his chest. Then she sat up and maneuvered herself lower, dragging her nails down his stomach, over his hips, and to his thighs. Slipping off of the bed, positioning herself between his legs, she pulled at the elastic waistband that held his underwear in place.

As if it was spring-loaded, Hank's erection sprung out. From her knees, she sat up as straight as she could, then leaned forward and took him into her mouth. He moaned. Of course he did. Sarah knew what she was doing when it came to pleasing a man. Only in the past it was never about pleasing a man. It was about playing a long game, providing titillation in order to position herself better in the future. Her body, her skills, were just tools of the trade.

Now, though, that she had ended up with this man, this Adonis, everything was different. There was no game to be played. He deserved this. He deserved more. So much more. More than she could ever give. There had been a moment earlier, during dinner, when she had looked at Portia and wondered if she should cut her out of Hank's life. She could do it. It wouldn't be difficult. But then she saw the joyful smile in Hank's face as he listened to a joke that Portia told him. Portia, like Hank, was a gift. Sarah could never be enough for a man like him. She needed Portia. She needed to give Hank more than her everything; Sarah needed to give Hank Portia's everything, too.

The entire time Sarah pleasured her man she was silent as a mouse. Hank, however, forgot himself. Louder and louder he became. She didn't blame him. Every sound, every moan, every grunt, was a celebration. A firework shot up to announce their love.

And it wasn't the only thing that shot up.

Soon her mouth was filled with his cum, so full that she could hardly contain it. As quickly as she could she swallowed, something she usually disliked, but the very idea that Hank Granger had produced this sperm, that it was released from his very loins, turned a disdainful act into something precious.

She cleaned him up after he was done. Licking, kissing, then pulling his underwear back on. She tucked him in, too. Not long after his orgasm, Hank was asleep, softly snoring on the pillow next to Sarah's head. Briefly she considered touching herself, bringing herself to her own orgasm, but quickly dismissed the idea. It wasn't about her. It was about Hank. In the end, she really didn't care about her own happiness. What she cared about was his. And she had put him to bed in the best way she could, so even as unfulfilled as she felt, she would sleep soundly.

It was all a woman could ask for. It was all a woman could need.

Sarah sighed softly into the darkness, her heart aching with gratitude. She was less than him, and she loved it. She was nothing without him, and she wouldn't have it any other way.