Lord of Rain (The Dragon Demigods Book 5)

by Charlene Hartnady

  Bolt leans back in his seat. He’s sporting a five o’clock shadow. He fills that button-down shirt just so. Makes my mouth water. For once, he’s not wearing a tie. The top two buttons of his shirt are open. My face feels hot. My whole body is buzzing. This man wants me. Little old me. I know I should have more confidence in myself. Sean told me that countless times. Funny enough, him saying it only made me feel worse.

  He runs a hand through his hair. There’s not a strand out of place, even after a whole day at work. I look a mess. Then he sucks in a breath. “Communication would be key. Also, we can take it slow. I’m okay with that.” His eyes stay on mine. “You can tell me what you like. What you want. How you want it.” His voice is a deep caress.

  “What I like?” Sweet Jesus, but I like the sound of that. My nipples actually tighten.

  “Yes, Miss Shaw.” He gives a deep nod, looking serious. Again, I want to pinch myself because we can’t be discussing this right now. “I would feel most comfortable if our agreement was in writing, but the document can be fluid.”

  “A document?”

  “Yes, an agreement in writing, but subject to change.” It’s like he’s coaxing me. Like he did in the interview.

  “What kinds of things would we put in the agreement, and how would it be subject to change?”

  “You would be in the driver’s seat. It’s important you know that.” He lifts his eyes for a second. “Okay, your question was, what would be in the document? You might be comfortable with some things…even insist on them, but uncomfortable with others. We can list these things.” He must see how I’m frowning because he adds, “For example, you might not be comfortable with anal sex. We would—”

  I have one of my coughing fits. Oh, frack! I can’t stop.

  “Do you need water?” Bolt asks when my eyes well with tears. I keep my hand in front of my mouth and cough it out while shaking my head. Eventually, I can breathe again. I pull a few breaths into my lungs.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Much. Go on.” I’m shocked at how relaxed I sound. Anal? Freaking anal?

  “Okay, so we put in the agreement that you don’t want anal sex, but then maybe you decide that you want to try it.” He holds up a hand. “This is hypothetical…then we change the clause and move in that direction.”

  “Have you had anal sex before?” The question is out before I can stop it.

  “We’re not discussing my previous sexual encounters, Miss Shaw, but I’ll answer this once, no, I have not. I would be open to the idea if you’re into—”

  “No!” I shake my head vigorously. “That’s fine. I’m…quite boring, actually.”

  “I think you might surprise yourself.” OMG! He didn’t just say that. I want to fan myself. “Okay, so no anal, but would you be opposed to toys, like a butt plug or my finger?” He quirks a brow. “Or is your ass completely out of bounds?”

  I squeak because my throat has closed, and I need air.

  “Too much too soon?” His mouth twitches.

  I nod because I can’t trust my voice.

  “It’s all outlined in the agreement.” He pushes a document across to me. The envelope is fairly thick, considering what it holds. Namely, rules surrounding our sexual relationship. “It’s comprehensive, but I think that’s important. I know this is a lot to take in. I can see you weren’t expecting this, and that you need some time to think about it. In fact,” he gives the document a tap, “read through this tonight.” He smiles and out pops that dimple. His eyes glint. “Run yourself a nice hot bath tonight. Pour yourself a glass of wine and think about it. I urge you to read this. Don’t just sign.” He shakes his head. “We can discuss anything you’re unsure of. I’m open to negotiation. It’s not normally something I tell people, but I’m making another exception with you.”

  “I’m mostly worried about how this will affect my job, Bolt. I need this position now more than ever.”

  “I assure you that your job is safe. You can turn me down, and I would be fine with that. Again, we’re adults, we have a professional relationship.”

  “What if we entered into this…arrangement and I decided at some point that I wanted out? Maybe I end up bruising your ego. What if we can’t work together anymore? Sex can complicate things.”

  “That’s the nice thing about putting everything in writing and keeping emotions out of it. I assure you that this agreement covers all of that. It’s set up very much in your favor. I’m not here to take advantage of you. Or to exploit you. This can be mutually beneficial, Miss Shaw. Let’s get the agreement out of the way, and we can have a trial run.”

  “A trial run?” Holy moly! OM-double-G!

  “Yes.” His voice is impossibly deep. His eyes seem darker. They’re focused so intently on me. “Another kiss? Maybe I can touch you…make you come with just my hand…put my mouth on you. We could go all the way, and fuck right off the bat.” He shrugs. “You tell me.”

  His hand…his mouth...

  I need cold water.

  I need a fan.

  Help!

  “Again, it’s all up to you, Miss Shaw. You tell me what you want.”

  “What if I don’t know what I want?”

  “Then we’ll figure it out together.” He knows exactly what to say. I think back to our conversation where he said that sex doesn’t always lead to orgasms. Heck, even if I only orgasmed every other time we had sex – gosh, make that every now and then – I’d be satisfied. I have this feeling though that if he so much as touched me, I would detonate like a bomb with a short fuse.

  His eyes hold mine. “My suggestion would be, bath…wine…read the document. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He picks up the agreement and holds it out to me. It’s in a white envelope. It looks so innocent.

  I take it, even though a part of me is ready to drop the thing and run.

  “Don’t make any rash decisions until you’ve had a chance to go over it. Think about it. We can discuss every aspect of it. You may need a couple of days.”

  “Okay…you’re sure I won’t lose my job if I turn this down?”

  “You won’t lose your job, Miss Shaw, but when I want something…or someone, I don’t give up easily. You need to know that.”

  “It’s just…I need this job. Sweet Things are killing it with their set up. There’s so much we need to change at Buns…” I’m talking too much. I force myself to close my mouth. “I literally don’t have a job to go back to.”

  “You won’t lose your job. I promise. Scout’s honor.” He winks at me, and I want to laugh. I doubt very much that Bolt was ever a Boy Scout. He has a good memory, using my line back on me.

  I must say, I believe him. “Do you always make people sign these?” I have to know.

  “I don’t fuck around as much as you would think. It’s been…at least six or seven months since I slept with anyone.”

  That shocks me. He told me as much without giving exact details, but I assumed a long time for Bolt was two or three months tops.

  He folds his arms. “I always make someone sign a standard NDA. As I said, I don’t normally make these kinds of agreements with my staff and the paparazzi are hounding me relentlessly at the moment. We have a working relationship to consider. I would feel more comfortable if there was a specific agreement in place.” I get the feeling that there’s more to it, but I don’t push. His reasons make sense.

  “I’ll take a look, but,” I push out a heavy breath, “I don’t know.” I’m looking down at the envelope in my hand. It’s fairly heavy.

  “If you need to discuss that with anyone, you can do so with me or with your lawyer. He or she is oathbound to keep it confidential.”

  Crud! I had planned on calling Candice over to discuss it. I was going to call her as soon as I got into my car. I could use a voice of reason right now. Then again, forget reason, I have a feeling Candice would urge me to go for it. I don’t have a lawyer, which means I’m on my own.

  “The original NDA still stands, Miss Shaw. If
you agree to this, no one can know…and I mean no one. It doesn’t matter how hard you come or how often you come. Who’s your best friend?”

  “Candice.” I have to force my tongue to work. It feels like a piece of beef jerky right now because my mouth has gone dry.

  “Candice doesn’t need to know that a butt plug has replaced her as your new best friend. Or that you joined the mile-high club. Or that I fucked you on a boardroom table ten minutes before a major meeting. That I made you sit through an entire lunch meeting without any panties.”

  I clear my throat. Thank goodness I manage to hold back another coughing session. And talking about panties, mine are soaked through. I can feel it. “I thought things were going to stay professional. I didn’t think sex at work would be…acceptable.”

  He laughs under his breath. “I said we can have fun and remain professional. Thing is, Miss Shaw, I can fuck you hard, and then run a meeting like nothing happened. I have a feeling you’ll manage just fine as well. It’s how you’re wired. It’s one of the many things I like about you. If you’re completely against it, then we meet after hours,” he shrugs. “If you’re uncomfortable with anything…we don’t do it. It’s as simple as that.”

  I stand. “I’d better get going.” I clutch the envelope to my body.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll set aside some time for us to discuss this in greater detail.”

  I nod. Then I turn and walk away. I walk as quickly as my heels will allow. I’m thankful I’m in my low ones. I have a feeling I would have killed myself otherwise. My mind is going nuts. I can’t believe this.

  Nightmare?

  Every naughty fantasy come true?

  Probably all of the above, I think. Which means I have a dilemma on my hands.

  20

  Ashley

  The envelope is on the kitchen counter. It’s all I can think about.

  I can smell the rich aroma of chicken roasting in the oven, but my stomach is clenched so tight I struggle to feel anything remotely resembling hunger. It’s sad because I love roast chicken. Tonight, I’ll have it with potatoes and gravy and all of the trimmings, and tomorrow I’ll have it with a salad. Thursday, I make a potpie from the leftovers. I make a really good flaky pastry. It doesn’t get old. Candice laughs at me. She says I’m the only single person she knows of who’ll cook an entire roast chicken for themselves. I don’t do those easy meals very often. I prefer real food.

  I’m in the bath. There are bubbles up to my ears, and I’m sipping on champagne. Yes, the real thing. Bolt had a bottle of the stuff delivered to my apartment half an hour after I got home. I could get used to this. That’s the problem…I could get used to this.

  Did he hire me because he wanted this arrangement?

  I find I don’t like that idea. It’s probably the case, since we haven’t known each other that long at all. It must be why he’s been so nice to me. I’m hoping, deep down inside, that it was the kiss. That the kiss started something. Maybe if I agreed, something could grow from this. Something more. The thought scares me because I don’t think it’s going to happen, and then I’ll be left with feelings for someone who’ll walk away.

  Walk away? I snort, and the sound reverberates around my small bathroom. I wouldn’t be able to walk away. Bolt is my boss. I work for him. I couldn’t just up and leave. I’d have to see him every day. If I had feelings for him, that could be pure torture. What if he dates someone else, and I have to make dinner reservations for them? What if he makes me buy her presents and flowers? Oh, my word! What if he makes me sign the card? It could end up being a nightmare for sure.

  I drink some more of the champagne. I probably shouldn’t have opened the bottle. I couldn’t resist. I won’t have more than this glass, and then I’ll go through that document. I’m apprehensive. I force myself to stay put for another ten minutes. I work on breathing techniques designed to de-stress. Yeah…they don’t work.

  I get out. Towel off and get into my pajamas. Then I head to the kitchen and check on my chicken. It needs another ten or fifteen minutes. Everything else is ready.

  I top my glass up. I know, I shouldn’t, but… Come on! My boss – Bolt, sex on legs – wants me to be his sex slave. Not only will I be his slave, but I get to be in charge. An ‘in-charge’ slave. At least, he made it out to be that way. I’ll have to read this thing to be sure. Now is as good a time as any. I pull the agreement out of the envelope, pull up a chair, and start reading. The first few pages are almost copy-and-pastes from the NDA I already signed. I went over the document in greater detail after Bolt told me I should never have just signed. It was too late, but I gave it a read-through anyway. There’s loads of the standard stuff in this one too. It might have more detail to it, but there isn’t much that’s different…yet.

  Standard.

  Standard.

  Fine.

  Okay.

  I can deal.

  Standard.

  Then I start getting to the good bits. I’m expected to list sexual positions I would prefer, and those I’m completely against. Sex toys – big gulp – which ones I want to use in the bedroom, and those I’m opposed to.

  Oh frack with a side of fudge crickets!

  I need to write down a safeword! A safeword? I take a big gulp of champagne. Will the sex be so hardcore that a safeword is required? I giggle. I’m nervous and can’t help it. I don’t find this remotely funny.

  There are clauses referring to sex in public places. Sex during work hours. Sex outside of work hours.

  The next clause has me clutching my chest. I take another glug of champagne. I need to step away from this agreement for a few minutes. I need to go and take a cold shower. Instead, I go and check on the roasting bird. It’s done. Although chicken doesn’t need to rest before eating, I cover it with a lid and sit back down. I need to read all of this before I can eat anything.

  I can’t believe this is an actual clause in a contractual document. I’m floored. I reread the clause. It pretty much states that I will orgasm every time we have sex. Each and every time. How can this be a condition? How can Bolt possibly guarantee something like this? And yet it’s here, in black and white. The second part of this clause is just as unbelievable; that I will orgasm first every time. Bolt is literally not permitted to orgasm unless I’ve done so, otherwise he’s in breach of the contract.

  He wasn’t lying when he said that I was in the driver’s seat. I smile. Then I laugh. If someone saw me now, they’d think I had gone totally batty.

  This next part of the contract has me going cold. My back goes right up. My eyes bug out of my head. He wants to give me an allowance on top of my salary. To do with as I please. Having said that, it goes on to list things like waxing, lingerie, sex toys, spa treatments, hair, nails, etc.

  Do me a favor!

  I don’t like it.

  It makes me feel icky.

  From there, things go downhill fast. In fact, it’s a freefall. It’s disgusting. It’s wrong. It’s the final clause that has me downing most of my wine. I put my glass down so hard that it almost breaks. If that bastard thinks I’m going to sign this, he has another think coming.

  Bolt was right. He is an asshole. Possibly the biggest asshole I have ever met. I send him a text.

  Me: I’m going to be late tomorrow!

  That’s it. I don’t ask permission. I tell him. I’m shocked when those dancing balls come up, indicating he is writing me a message. It’s like he was sitting by his phone waiting for me to text him.

  Bolt: Sure thing, take all the time you need. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.

  I roll my eyes. I put the contract back into the envelope. I have to work not to throw it in the trash where it belongs. Then I pack up my amazing dinner. There is no way I’m going to be eating a single bite tonight. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks. I know it’s wrong, but I pour what’s left in my champagne flute down the drain and put the bottle in the fridge. I need a clear head for the conversation I�
��m going to have tomorrow.

  The next morning…

  I knead the dough, putting everything I have into it. I knead and knead and knead. I know that if I don’t stop soon, I will overwork it. Begrudgingly, I force myself to stop. It needs to rest for an hour, and then I get to punch all the air bubbles out. I can’t wait. I might just pretend that the dough is his face.

  “It didn’t do anything to you,” Simon says.

  “What was that?” I look over at him.

  “I said that the dough didn’t do anything to you. It certainly doesn’t deserve that angry stare or the low growl you just gave it.” He chuckles. “You reminded me of a rabid dog just then.”

  I didn’t realize I was even doing it. “Oh.” I force a smile. “Kneading dough is therapeutic, and I’ve missed it.”

  “Aha! I thought so. Something is clearly up. Are you ready to talk yet?”

  I stormed into the bakery this morning…early. I told everyone to pretend I wasn’t there. I’ve had a few odd stares from my mom and Simon, but so far, everyone has been nice enough to leave me alone.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Thanks, though.” I put the dough into a bowl, cover it, and put it into a cupboard near the oven to rise. It’ll be nice and warm in there.

  I think of making another batch of cupcakes next – the ones with sprinkles on them – but that just gets me angry all over again because it makes me think about Bolt. Such an asshole!

  “What was that?” Simon asks.

  I realize that I must have been muttering to myself like a deranged person.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head again. “How’s Helen? How is the pregnancy going?”

  He looks at me strangely. “It’s only been a week since you left, but she’s great. Not much has changed.”

  Simon is right. It’s only been a week. It feels like much longer. I wonder why that is.

  “Are you back?” he asks. “I mean, to stay?”

  Yet again, I shake my head. “Maybe.”