Boss's Bratty Daughter

Abigail grunts, catching sight of her visitor. "Ohmygod, you're like the third troll from Mom’s office today." The sound rasps out of her throat. "She’s forever sticking other people with the work she won’t do." A dry laugh shakes her shoulders. "Sounds exactly like her," Casey mutters, irritation tugging the corner of her mouth. Abigail exhales, theatrical. "Fine. Come in. Make it quick, I got plans." A flick of her wrist sends Casey down the hall. The moment the door shuts, Abigail flops onto the couch, thumbs already on her phone. A smirk curves slowly into place. Casey returns. "Done. I’ll just—" "One picture first," Abigail interrupts, patting the cushion. "We look like friends. Humor me." Casey perches, hesitant but obliging. Abigail snaps the selfie, then yanks the woman closer and kisses her full on the mouth—camera shutter clicks a second time. "Mom’ll lose it when she sees this," Abigail gloats. Casey’s jaw tightens. "Abigail, that’s not how you win. Just delete it. She’s difficult, she’s demanding, but I need the job—" "Delete it? Sure. On one condition." Abigail toys with her shirt hem. "Fuck me. Right now. Then it vanishes." Desperation knots Casey’s stomach; the price, though lewd, is the price. She nods. Abigail kisses her again, sliding the blouse down Casey’s arms. Pert nipples spring free against Abigail’s palms, and Casey’s breath turns short. Whether she likes it or not, pleasure blooms.