Excerpt for Obedience by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Kimberly Zant

( c )copyright by Kimberly Zant, July 2018

Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, 2018

ISBN 978-1-60394

Smashwords Edition

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

“Take your clothes off.”

A jolt of shock rocked me. I sent my boss a bug-eyed look that was a combination of stunned surprise and … yes … hopefulness, thinking I must have misheard him.

He was giving me that look that always rattled me, totally annihilating all self-confidence—as if I was a bug under a microscope and not a particularly interesting one.

As I gaped at him, he settled back in the overstuffed chair he occupied across from me in the living room of his penthouse and lifted his long legs one at the time to prop them on the coffee table in front of him. His impressive biceps, curtsey of the gym he frequented five days a week, bulged as he crossed his arms over an equally imposing, muscular chest.

I must have imagined the command, I decided.

And yet ….

His stance suggested he was waiting for me to obey the order he’d given me.

A wave of arousal skated along my nerve endings. Directly on top of it was a chilling thought that awoke fear.

What if I really had just thought he’d said undress? What if I obeyed—thought I was obeying—and I was wrong?

I’d been working for him for four years. The last of those, I’d been his personal assistant.

I still had to pinch myself over that promotion from time to time.

I hadn’t even applied for it!

And I couldn’t say that I’d exactly comported myself with distinction and that had resulted in being chosen to replace the latest personal assistant’s unexpected departure.

Because if I knew the boss was anywhere around me I couldn’t behave like a person of normal intelligence. I went into stuttering moron mode out of an excess of admiration.

Despite my—well, it was almost more of an obsession by now than a ‘crush’—he’d never indicated by look or word at any time in the past year I’d followed him around like a puppy dog that he had any interest in me as a human being, let alone as a desirable woman.

Why would he suddenly demand to see me naked?

Logically, I told myself, he wouldn’t.

There was the complete lack of interest he’d shown up till this point as a strong indicator that I was off my gourd. I’d finally cracked under the pressure and begun to hallucinate.

And then there was the women’s movement where even a whiff of typical male aggression was sufficient to destroy lives and certainly enough to give men everywhere mental castration issues.

Not that he had to worry about that!

According to the office grapevine, he was all business when he was at work. There had never been so much as a sniff of that sort of thing. Which was a very good thing since being the owner and CEO of the company wasn’t enough to protect a man from fallout for that kind of thing anymore.

So, if I’d misheard him, what had he said?

Or had he not even spoken?

Had I gone off the deep end and just imagined he’d said something I—let’s be honest—wanted to hear?

I blinked at him a couple of times, trying to force my brain into gear.

He unfolded his arms and examined his nails. “Now what, I wonder, has made you so slow to comply?” he murmured. Lifting his head after a long moment and fixing me with a speculative eye. “Should I consider punishment?”

I felt my jaw slide to half mast.

I felt my kegels clap with anticipation.

I shot to my feet, dropping my palm pilot on the floor from nerveless fingers.

Because as appealing as it was to find out what sort of punishment he had in mind, the need to obey was far stronger.

I licked my desert dry lips as another wave of doubt hit me, struggling with the urge to clarify the order. “You said …,” I stammered.

“Undress, Ms Skylar Folsom. Is that clear enough?”

I blinked at him.

When he abruptly sat up and leaned forward, though, I reached a little frantically for the buttons on my shirt and began struggling with shaking fingers to shove the buttons through the holes.

To my relief, he settled back to watch.

Well—I wasn’t entirely relieved. The idea that I was ‘entertaining’ him rattled me. I was a far cry from ‘perfect’ and the fear that I would fail to please beat at the back of my mind. But I was relieved that he seemed to have abandoned the intention of punishing me.

Sort of.

It titillated me to speculate on what form punishment might take and teased the back of my mind as I awkwardly finished unbuttoning my shirt and shrugged out of it. I couldn’t decide what to do with it when I’d removed it. I was generally tidy. My impulse was to carefully fold it, but I had an idea that wouldn’t be sexy.

I also couldn’t bring myself to just drop it on the floor.

I compromised by tossing it to the couch I’d just vacated.

Using my toes, I nudged first one and then the other shoe from my foot while I unfastened my trousers and then stepped out of my trousers and pushed the shoes aside before I could trip over them and embarrass myself.

Or worse.

The look he gave me when I was down to panties and bra brought a blush to my face.

It wasn’t pleasure and it wasn’t sexual interest.

I couldn’t read it at all, in point of fact, but that didn’t make me more comfortable.

After a brief internal debate, I removed the panties and bra.

Then I looked at him with a mixture of apology and embarrassment.

I had a good figure. I was convinced of that.

Unfortunately, I was also aware that it fell far short of spectacular and it almost seemed an affront to offer up a peek to a man like Rob McKissick. Rich, handsome, well built--with exquisite manners, high intelligence, sophistication and elegance that put him nose bleed level above a mere ‘10’.

Thankfully, he didn’t look bored or affronted or disgusted with such mundane fare.

It may just have been my imagination, but I almost thought I could detect a gleam of satisfaction in his amazing, sapphire blue eyes.

Those laser-like orbs homed in on my mound after a thorough once over and narrowed. He flicked a look at my face after a long moment. “I’ve nothing against au naturale in a general way, but I dislike hair in my teeth. Lose the hair.”

My heart fluttered. I felt a blush heat my cheeks with discomfort.

I hugged that possibility of satisfaction, however remote, to me, though, as he abruptly shifted forward, glanced at his watch, and shoved his rangy form to his feet. “I’ll most likely be late. You may use the guest room … for now … and help yourself to whatever appeals to you in the kitchen.”

Chapter Two

I was highly disconcerted when he left. So much so that I merely stood gaping at the vibrating door for a time—before embarrassment began to set in.

Part of that was the obvious reaction to my situation—I’d gotten naked and he’d dismissed me and left.

Part of it, though, maybe most of it, was embarrassment that I’d gotten so worked up by the ‘seduction’ that I’d completely forgotten my boss had a very important dinner/business meeting.

That would’ve been bad enough under any circumstances, but I was his personal assistant! I’d set the damned thing up to start with!

I felt foolish and uneasy.

Struggling to keep the uneasiness from fully forming in my mind and giving me answers I didn’t want, I turned and looked at my clothing, trying to decide if I should get dressed.

He hadn’t told me to and it made me more uneasy to consider doing something I hadn’t been told to do.

Recalling after a few moments that he’d said I should ‘lose the hair’ I looked down at the offending patch critically, feeling a little resentment flare briefly.

It was hardly a wild jungle! I kept it trimmed neatly.

But the teeth part ….

Goosebumps erupted all over me at the thought and ‘girly’ … well, it was sort of like a gulp she executed.

Like she’d begun to drool and had to suck it up to keep it from trickling down my thigh.

Picking up my clothing decisively since it occurred to me that my boss was a stickler for neatness, I left the room and wandered down the short hallway. I wasn’t actually familiar with the apartment despite the fact that I’d frequently joined my boss there to work from his private home office. The first room I came to lacked any sort of personal objects, however, and I decided it must be the guest room he’d spoken of.

I was still unnerved at the idea of going in and making myself at home.

What if I was wrong and it really was his room?

After standing indecisively for several moments, I assured myself that he truly was gone and it wasn’t likely he would pop back in and discover me searching through his private things and I went in.

Relief flooded me when I discovered the drawers were all empty.

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