IRRESITIBLY SINFUL (A compilation of short erotic stories)

Roxanne POV

Winfred Ashcroft left that morning for his usual dawn jog after giving me orders on what to make for breakfast.

I stood in the kitchen, my fingers trembling as I reached for the chef's knife to slice some cabbage but I wasn't even concentrating.

I shouldn't be thinking about him.

But it was definitely impossible not to.

Focus. Just make his breakfast and stay invisible like always. I told myself, gripping the knife harder as I chopped on the cabbage.

That was the unspoken rule of working for Winfred Ashcroft. Be present but unseen. Efficient but silent. I had mastered it over the past five months, moving through his spaces like a ghost, preparing meals he barely acknowledged, existing in the periphery of his cold, controlled world.

Dawn was breaking over the city skyline, painting the clouds in shades of rose and amber, but I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere, wandering down a path it had no business travelling.

He had never looked at me. His steel grey eyes would pass over me as if I were part of a piece of furniture. Even furniture got more attention than I did. And I told myself that was fine and better.

But God, I had started to notice him.

Ever since I walked into his room when he was wearing only condom boxers. The flawless colour of his skin, the way his muscles stood, the way his abs were toned, the way the underwear had outlined his cock, it made my stomach churn with desire.

I dropped the knife and it clattered against the cutting board as my hands went still. My pulse quickened, heat blooming low in my belly despite the cool air.

No. Not now. I tried to talk myself out of thinking about him, but I couldn't.

I closed my eyes, just for a moment. Just to breathe.

But the moment my eyelids fluttered shut, he was there in my mind as if he was standing before me. I could see the sharp line of his jaw, perpetually set in that expression of barely contained irritation with the world.

The way his dark hair fell across his forehead when it wasn't slicked back with that severe perfection he preferred.

He left that morning, wearing nothing but athletic pants and a compression shirt that clung to every defined muscle of his torso. I could still remember the way he looked sexy.

God. How long was I going to keep up with resisting him? He was way too hot to ignore.

My breathing grew shallow as the fantasy took hold, unbidden and unwelcome but impossible to stop.

In my mind, he wasn't my hostile boss. His green eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my knees weak, and those elegant long fingered hands of his were between my legs, smearing my wetness on my folds.

The kitchen suddenly felt too warm and I couldn't hold it any longer. I needed to do something to satisfy my urge.

My free hand drifted down my apron, my fingers finding the hem. I knew that this was beyond appropriate, standing in his kitchen, thinking these thoughts. But the house was empty except for me and the ache between my thighs had become impossible to ignore

"Just for a moment. He won't know." I whispered to myself and shut my eyes as my hand slipped beneath my skirt.

My back pressed against the cold marble counters as my fingers found their destination. A soft gasp escaped my lips and my head fell back as pleasure sparked through the nerve endings.

I slid my middle finger in and found my already wet clit.

"Fuck." I closed my eyes as I slid two fingers in.

Yes. It felt so good.

I widened my leg as I increased my pace, biting my lower lip.

"Winnie," that was the pet name I gave him in my mind. The name I'd use if we ever dared make out.

"Ahh...yes...fuck." I cried as I pushed my finger deeper and out.

I imagined him whispering my name, he probably didn't even know my name, but in this fantasy, he did. He said it like a prayer and curse combined. I pictured him backing me against this very counter, holding me tightly as his fingers worked on my pussy.

"Yessss. Faster." I whimpered as the fantasy grew more vivid, his mouth on my neck, his hands gripping my hips and that deep voice I had only ever heard give curt commands now murmuring dark promises against my skin.

I was so close, lost in the fictional version of him that existed only in my most secret thoughts when my eyes opened slightly and I saw him standing before me, leaning on the doorway with his hands folded across his chest.

My eyes widened as I stared at him.

Shit.

When did he return?

The room suddenly felt too small, the air thick and heavy in my lungs. I shut my eyes, my heartbeat thundering in my ears as I prayed it was only my imagination, some cruel trick of my longing for him, and that when I opened them again, he'd be gone.

But when I did, he was still there.

Still watching me.

His gaze burned against my skin, sending a chill down my spine. The familiar coldness in his expression was gone, replaced by something unreadable, something that made my breath hitch. It was unfamiliar, unsettling... and for the first time, I wasn't sure whether to be afraid or drawn closer