Breaking My Cold-Hearted Psychotic Ex Boss

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Chapter 4 Chapter 4

SHANE

Ping!

The bell of my private elevator dinged, its door automatically swishing open. I stepped out with ease and gently made my way down the passage to the hall.

“Good morning, Mr Blackwood.” Everyone chorused as usual.

I ignored their worthless existence and kept walking, crossing the aisle to my office, then pushed open the door of the outer office.

Dawn, my new fat assistant, with this grotesque haircut called “Bob,” was eating at her desk when I walked in. She flinched violently, terror overwhelming her entire fat face as soon as she saw me.

I didn't need to talk. My death glare did the talking for me, and she flinched again, more violently than the first time. Then she quickly swept everything she was eating into a bag and tossed it into the bin by her side.

“I-I-I'm so sorry, sir.” Her voice quavered, “I-it won't happen again.”

“Fat cow!” I said with disgust, then walked into my office.

I have a great aversion to fat people. They repulse me no end. All they know is food, food, food and food.

I do not hire fat people in this company. Fat people are known to be incompetent, clumsy and unreliable. I wouldn't have hired this fat cow called Dawn if I had a choice.

After Jones left, finding the perfect replacement became an unending rollercoaster. All applicants were either clumsy, lacking in some way or the other, or just fucking useless.

I was running out of options and needed a fucking assistant. Dawn was only hired as a last resort. Sure, she's not as efficient as Jones was, but she's still… manageable.

The only problem I have with her is her fat, disgusting ass. I wonder how long I can put up with seeing her disgusting face every morning.

I sat down behind my desk and set the briefcase down beside me, then let out a soft sigh. I cracked my fingers and got to work.

Not long after, a timid knock sounded through the door, before it softly creaked open. Dawn stepped in with a steaming mug of coffee in hand.

“Your coffee, sir.” Her voice came out low.

She quietly crossed the office and set it down on my desk, then took a step back, fidgeting.

I didn't need to spare it a glance to know it tasted horrible… as usual.

“Take it away.” I snapped, voice harsh.

She jerked, grabbed the cup and was gone in an instant.

“And don't bother making another one, you fat cow.” I muttered under my breath, voice rough.

It has been like this since Jones disappeared. Everything in both my personal and work life has been out of order.

That little bastard…

I'll make him pay.

The day was the same as usual; penning down my signatures where they were needed, answering telephone calls, sitting down in the same room with a bunch of useless knuckleheads in the name of meetings.

It wasn't until after Dawn brought over the day's report for me to review and left that I received a text from O’Brien.

O’Brien [Hey, you off from work?]

I stared at the text for a while, contemplating whether or not I should respond. Then I let out a soft groan and started to type.

Me [Yes, why?]

O’Brien [Just wanted to know if we could meet up, and you know. It's been a while since we did it.]

Me [And you know exactly why.]

O'Brien [Yeah, yeah, that's right. Sorry. How about I suck you off, then? You don't have to overexert yourself or anything, just sit, and I'll be doing the work. How's that sound?]

I brooded for a bit

No harm in trying.

Me [Yeah, whatever.]

O'Brien [We'll meet up at the new location?]

Me [Yes.]

O'Brien [Will be there in half an hour.]

I clicked off my phone and relaxed back on my chair, then sighed. I rose to my feet and packed the things I might need in my briefcase, then exited the office.

Timothy drove me to the new penthouse I bought. I couldn't stand stepping foot into Pinnacle, not after what happened there, so I bought a new one.

O'Brien was standing outside when I arrived, dressed in a white shirt and grey jeans, a baseball cap over his head, coverting his face.

He smiled as I stepped closer. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I returned, then typed in the passcode.

The door buzzed, automatically unlocking. O'Brien reached out to the doorknob and twisted it, then pushed it open.

He stepped to the side, and I walked in first. The penthouse wasn't as impressive as the one on Pinnacle, but it was better than having to walk in there and being reminded of how I was nearly pathetically killed by the little bitch I taught how to kill.

“Should I mix whiskey for you or something?” O'Brien asked, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“No,” I declined, then slowly walked over to the armchair and took the weight off my feet. “Just come suck my cock.”

Excitement filled his eyes. He didn't hesitate. He crossed the room and dropped onto the floor in front of me.

He reached out and started to unbuckle my belt, which clinked softly against his fingers. When the belt came free, he pulled down the zipper and sank his fingers into the waistband of both my briefs and pants, then tugged them down eagerly.

My cock sprang out, heavy and throbbing in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, licked his lips and pressed his nose against it, then inhaled deeply.

He dragged his nose along the ridge of my shaft, savouring the musky smell before he opened his lips and wrapped them around my cock.

The wet heat felt good at first. He sucked my cock gently, dragging his tongue along the underside, moaning around it as he bobbed his head.

Pleasure built fast, but then… it shot straight to the persistent injury on my thigh. Sharp pain flared up in my leg. I sucked in a deep breath and pulled back quickly.

He looked up, eyes wide. “Did it hurt? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll go easy this time.”

I glared down at him for a moment, then relaxed back. O'Brien leaned in again, sucking softer this time. His cheeks hollowed, warm and tight. It started to feel good once more.

Then he took me deep into his throat and moaned. The pleasure spiked hard, and so did the pain in my thigh. Fucking hell, it burned worse than before.

I pulled out fast, breathing hard.

“Did I hurt you again?” He asked, worried. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

My cock was still hard, wet and sloppy. I pulled up my briefs and zipped up my pants, my chest rising and falling with sudden burning rage.

O'Brien stared up at me, his eyes filled with concern. I fucking hate that look. “Are you okay, Shane?”

“I said I'm fine, didn't I?!” I barked at him, voice hostile.

He didn't flinch.

“No, I'm not talking about this, I'm talking about… how you're feeling.” He said gently. “You haven't been okay for a long while now. Do you feel like… talking?”

I glared down at him, “No, I don't need a fucking therapy. You can leave.”

He hesitated.

“Now!”

He stood up, wiped his mouth, his eyes soft. “I'm always here if you need someone to talk to. Just… wanted you to know that.”

Then he turned and left.

I reached into my briefcase and brought out my pack of cigarettes, then pulled one out. I slid it between my lips, lit it up and took a heavy drag, letting the smoke drift down my lungs, before I blew out thick plumes.

I stared into the thin air for a long time, the fire still burned in my chest, flaring and unquenchable.

Henry Jones, I swear if I find you…

If I find you…

Just pray I don't.

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