Surrender

by Tawny Taylor

  I reached down, but he knocked my hand away. “A couple of ground rules. First, I can touch you. How I want. When I want. Where I want. You may not touch me without express permission to do so. Do you understand?”

  That was a strange rule.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good. Hands down. Where they were.”

  I curled my fingers around the edge of the chair’s seat.

  He placed a single index finger on my thigh. One little fingertip, and oh so slowly it wandered up, up, up. My insides did triple flips when it reached the crease between my inner thigh and pussy lips.

  Every cell in my body wanted that finger to keep going, to dip into my center. Instead, it circled around the places that ached the most for his touch, skimming over my skin, leaving a trail of tingling need.

  “Are you a virgin?” he asked.

  My face burned. “No. I’ve . . . I’ve had sex.”

  “How many partners?”

  I was mortified by his question. What did that matter, how many? Did I really have to admit that I was almost as inexperienced as a virgin? I started to pull my knees together, but he stopped me, holding me wide open. “No, you won’t hide from me. Not your body. Not your past. I want to know everything about you. Every secret.”

  A frigid chill raced up my spine. “That wasn’t part of our deal,” I snapped.

  He laughed. It was a deep, throaty guffaw, accompanied by sparkles in his eyes that made him look young and alive. The sound reverberated through my body, amplifying my agony. “Tell me what I want and you’ll receive a reward. A very nice one.” His gaze flicked to the part of me that burned for his touch. “There is a valid reason why I asked.”

  “I . . .”

  The finger that had been tormenting me started wandering again. “You . . . ?”

  Embarrassed, I glanced away, focusing on the wall directly behind his desk. “I’ve had two partners. Two.”

  “Only two?”

  “Only two,” I repeated.

  Did he have to make this more mortifying? Wasn’t it bad enough that I’d had to admit I was practically a virgin at my age? I had a very good reason for my lack of experience. And it had nothing to do with a lack of opportunity. Men did want me. Well . . . okay, so they weren’t beating down my door. But I’d always considered that a blessing. Trusting men didn’t come naturally to me.

  This situation wasn’t exactly helping matters.

  And yet, here I was, letting a man I barely knew blackmail me into letting him touch me, toy with me, seduce me. Why?

  That fingertip pushed against my pussy, easing between my swollen tissues. The cotton between his skin and mine pulled against me as he pushed harder. The pressure felt so good against my hard clit. Fresh waves of heat rippled through me.

  I could swear I was going to combust.

  I shouldn’t be so hot, so needy.

  I whimpered, legs spreading wider, thighs burning. A part of me wanted to tear those panties away and beg him to take me. Another wanted to clamp my legs closed and go hide somewhere until my brain started working again. This was crazy. This was insanity. I was playing with fire. I’d been burned before. I had a feeling that was nothing compared to what would happen if I let this . . . whatever this was with Kameron Maldonado. . . happen. I was making a mistake. A big one.

  But, oh God, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  His phone rang, and I jerked hard. He smiled, brushed his lips against mine, trailed his finger over my sodden panties, and straightened up. “I’ll leave you to go pack up your desk. You’ll be moving into your new office tomorrow.”

  “I . . .”

  “That’ll be all for now. Thank you, Miss Barnes.”

  My brain was spinning as I stood and pulled my skirt down over my soggy panties. Barely able to walk, I shuffled to the door and let myself out.

  I swore I saw the girl at the reception desk smile ever so slightly as I pretended not to stagger toward the elevator.

  How many flush-faced women had she watched stumble out of Kameron Maldonado’s office before me?

  How many women would she see stumble out of his office after me?

  Was I making the mistake of a lifetime?

  2

  The next morning I was a nervous wreck as I drove to work. Before the thing with my brother, I’d loved my job at MalTech. As an administrator in the purchasing department, I knew what I’d be facing every day. I had a routine. I liked routines. With what happened yesterday, I had no idea what to expect today. The unexpected made me nauseous.

  I parked in my usual spot. That gave me a tiny measure of comfort. Very small. Minuscule. Just like I had every weekday for the past year, I walked into the building, waved at the receptionist at the desk in the lobby and went to the elevators. But this time, instead of hitting the button for the third floor, I hit the one for the tenth.

  I tugged on the hem of my skirt as I waited.

  When the bell rang, I had a mini panic attack. I stepped into the car, moved to the back to let in the other five people who’d been waiting with me, and tried to pretend I didn’t feel as if I was going to be sick at any moment. Up we went, stopping at each floor, picking up riders, losing others. Once we cleared the eighth level, I was alone.

  As the elevator rumbled upward, my heart started pounding hard in my chest, and I felt a little lightheaded. When the car eased to a stop, I held on to the handgrip behind me and counted to ten. The door whooshed open, and within seconds I was in the reception area. The young, attractive brunette at the desk glanced up, saw me, and said, “Miss Barnes. I’m Stephanie. Congratulations on the new position.”

  “Thanks.” I returned her smile. “Abby.”

  “Abby.” Stephanie nodded toward the door. “Mr. Maldonado’s expecting you. Go on in.”

  Oh God.

  I sucked in a deep breath and started walking. My knees felt soft, like they were made of gelatin. I pushed open the door.

  He was sitting at his desk, talking on the phone. He motioned for me to close the door, which I did. Then I shuffled up to stand in front of his desk.

  “That’s fine,” he said to the person on the phone. He was looking at me, his gaze assessing. Up and down. “Good. We’ll nail down the details in the next couple of days.” As he paused to listen, he licked his lips. I’d never seen a man lick his lips like that, so sexy. “Nope. That’s it. Thank you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He ended the call, stood, smiled. “Good morning, Miss Barnes.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Sir,” he enunciated. His hands were clasped behind his back. For some reason, this made me feel a little less threatened. “You’ll call me sir. I appreciate formality. There’s a time and place for it.”

  Ah, so the man had a thing for power. “Yes, sir,” I repeated. Yesterday, I’d been desperate, shaken, scared. I had agreed to his ridiculous terms because I had felt trapped. But after I had left, I started to think about it, and the more I thought about it, the more this whole thing irritated me.

  How dare this man, who had probably never known what it felt like to be at another man’s mercy, use his position to manipulate me. I was a human being. With some self-respect. And morals. I was not a hooker. I was not a whore.

  He circled me. I felt his gaze on me. Despite my growing ire, my skin warmed. On my nape, my arms, my back, and, once he’d made it back around to my front, my face. “This outfit is acceptable, though it’s a little old-fashioned.”

  His words grated. So now he was going to tell me what to wear? Really? “Sir, it’s what I can afford—”

  “You can afford better now. This will get you started. Buy quality pieces.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a money clip full of bills, and peeled off a few. He handed them to me. I didn’t look to see what denomination they were. I didn’t care. Because I wasn’t going to take his damn money. What a jerk. I wasn’t a charity case. And I wasn’t a dumb floozy who would swoon at the sight of a couple of hundred dollar bills. Though tha
t money could come in mighty handy right now. But not for stupid clothes.

  Clothes! Sheesh.

  I jerked up my chin and thrust the hand holding the money back at him. “I will decide when I need to buy some new clothes, thank you.”

  He waved his hands, stepping out of my reach. “Fine. Do what you want with the money. Consider it a signing bonus.”

  I didn’t like this, and I let my new stubborn boss know it by giving him a squinty glare.

  He chuckled, and his eyes sparkled. “You’ll earn every penny. And it won’t be doing what you think. I can be a real pain in the ass to work for. Literally.” He motioned for me to follow him across the room. He stopped at the door positioned directly across from his desk and opened it. “This is your office. It is only accessible through my office. And only you and I will be permitted to enter it. Everything you need should be here. If not, let me know. You can get settled later.”

  The room was pretty big, with all the essentials—a sleek desk, file cabinets, a comfy-looking chair, and a wide window that brought in plenty of light, even with the shades drawn. But it lacked warmth, personality. The walls were pristine white. No art. Nothing personal anywhere. It felt institutional. I would need to change that. For the time being, I set my purse on the desk and shoved the signing bonus in the front pocket.

  “Now . . .” He circled back around to his desk, sat, motioned to the chair in front of him. As I was taking a seat, he pulled a small bound notebook out of a drawer and set it, and a pen, on the desktop in front of me. “Enough of that. Let’s get to work.” After waiting for me to flip to a blank page, he began, “This morning, I have a ten o’clock appointment. . . .”

  By noon, I did feel slightly justified in accepting the so-called signing bonus. Slightly. As it turned out, it had been roughly the equivalent of a month’s salary at my old pay scale. A whole freaking month. I’d been living on that much money all this time, and now my new boss expected me to spend that sum, every penny—he’d made that crystal clear—on clothes, shoes, a new haircut, and makeup.

  But there was a valid reason for his request. In his words, he needed me looking polished, chic, and professional since I would sometimes be accompanying him on business trips or to charity functions. It would seem that I would be hobnobbing with the rich on a regular basis, and he didn’t want me to be embarrassed or humiliated.

  While I had prided myself in dressing well for what I could afford, even I had to admit my clothes were second rate when compared to the luxurious designer garments his business associates would be wearing. If I wore my perfectly respectable Jaclyn Smith suit to an event, I would get all kinds of attention, for all the wrong reasons.

  Thus, I was ready to head to the mall during my lunch hour and spend some of that cash. Conveniently, the mall where I used to window shop was a five-minute walk away. In an hour I could spend at least a thousand or so. On a mission, and thinking I’d do myself a favor not eating anything during my lunch break, I grabbed my purse from my shiny new desk, and opened the connecting door to his office.

  I was stopped dead in my tracks by one very big man. He was blocking my exit with his hulking body.

  A shiver raced through me. It was followed by a little blaze of anger.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I was heading out to do some shopping on my lunch hour, like you suggested, sir.”

  “That’s a fine idea. Unfortunately, I made other plans for you.” He forced me back into my space and shut the door behind him.

  From the dark glitter in his eyes, I had a feeling he wasn’t thinking about splitting a submarine sandwich.

  Fuming a little, and confused, and conflicted, I stood frozen in place, my purse hugged to my chest as he sauntered over, cupped my chin, and lifted it. “I’ve been thinking about those lips all morning.”

  A little tremor quaked through me at the heat in his eyes.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “Shhh.” He leaned down, brushed his lips across mine. It was hardly a kiss at all, a soft touch, fleeting. A tease. He took my purse out of my hands, set it on my desk. “Come here.” He led me to my chair and, hands on my shoulders, forced me into it. Now he was looming over me once again, looking bigger and more powerful than ever. I felt small and vulnerable, unsure what he expected. Unsure what would happen next.

  This was so wrong, him manipulating me like this, forcing me to do things. Treating me like a toy that he could play with whenever he pleased.

  “Open your legs, Abigail.” He eased to his knees, which put us on more equal levels.

  My knee-jerk response was to grit my teeth and refuse. What would he do? Would he really fire me? If he did, what would be the reason he would give? He certainly couldn’t put “failure to allow me to sexually harass her” in my file.

  His brows drew together. “I thought we had an agreement.” “Yes, well. We did. But I thought about it last night, and I have some issues—”

  “Part your legs. Now.”

  Jerk!

  His tone raked along my nerves, making my inner rebel dig in her heels. “You said you wouldn’t force me.”

  “I said I would be permitted to touch you when and wherever I wanted.”

  Glaring now, I snapped, “What kind of man does that to his employees? What kind of man has to blackmail women into being his sex slave?”

  “You are not my sex slave.” He grabbed my chin. “Though I think you’d love that, being my sex slave.”

  “Don’t you wish.”

  He laughed again. Yesterday, my body had responded to the low rumble of his laugh, warming, softening. And I liked the way his eyes glittered. Not today. Today the sound made my blood turn to ice. “You have more spirit than I thought. I like a challenge.”

  “You’re in for one hell of a challenge, sir.”

  “Good.” Standing upright again, he stared down at me, silent, eyes calculating. “I will give you two choices. Open your legs or leave.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave.” I started to push out of my chair.

  But before I got my butt completely off the seat, he added, “For good. You’re out. Do you understand?”

  Asshole! I hated him. Even though he made my body burn and quake. Even though I had dreamed about him all night long. Even though the thought of him touching me again made me breathless.

  “What kind of game is this?” I smacked the arms of the chair.

  “It’s a good game. A fun one. You’ll like it. You’ll see. Before you know it, I won’t have to threaten you. You’ll want to do what I ask.”

  “Like the others?” I had heard the rumors. Plenty of them. About him sleeping with employees. Oddly, I’d dismissed them all, thinking no business owner would risk a sexual harassment lawsuit in this day and age. Silly, stupid me.

  His lips curled. “Perhaps.”

  So he had done this to his other assistants. This was his thing. Bastard. Asshole.

  Dammit, I was so stuck.

  How I wanted to leave! I wanted to tell him to go to hell, get my purse, and head to the nearest police station to report him for sexual harassment.

  But I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t report him, because he’d report Joss, and at this point, I didn’t know exactly what Joss had, and had not, done.

  I couldn’t walk out because our rent was due and I didn’t have the money to pay it. It had taken me so long to find the job at MalTech. And since then, the economy hadn’t gotten any better. In fact, around here, it had gotten worse. If I walked out today, I would be unemployed, with nothing to fall back on.

  Not even unemployment.

  I couldn’t even tell the bastard to go to hell. And, judging by the curve of his lips, he knew it.

  His gaze flicked to my knees.

  Vowing to start hunting for a new job ASAP, I parted them a tiny bit.

  “More.”

  Dammit.

  Face burning, I inched them open a little more.

  He bent at the waist
and used his hands on my knees to push them wider. As my thighs parted, my pencil skirt strained. He jammed it up, lifting my ass off the seat to clear it out from under me. “Now, that’s better.” His gaze meandered down my body, stopping at the juncture of my thighs where my black satin panties were getting damp, despite my conflicting emotions. “I like these.” Just as he had yesterday, he teased my tissues through the material with his finger. But this time he found the hard little nub pulsing with heat and rubbed it. His lips softly caressed mine.

  Oh, this was so wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! But suddenly I didn’t care. It felt so good being touched by such a gorgeous man, such a powerful man.

  A wave of need swept through me, and I felt my thighs tensing, my legs pulling wider apart.

  “Hmmm. You’re so responsive. Wet.” He hooked his finger in the sodden material and pulled, and it tore away.

  Shocked, angry, I jumped. He’d just ripped my panties. My panties. Mine! Those hadn’t been cheap. I almost said something, then remembered the money sitting in my purse. He’d paid for plenty of pairs of panties. No doubt he figured he could rip them off all he wanted.

  His finger eased into me, and a moan slipped from my lips.

  All thought fled from my mind. And hot anger was instantly displaced by another kind of burning.

  “Shhh.” He added a second finger, slowly pushed them in, then pulled them out. In and out. In and out.

  It was decadent pleasure, being stroked so intimately. God help me, I didn’t want him to stop.

  I closed my eyes, content to focus on all the other sensations charging through my body. As he leaned closer to nip my earlobe, the scent of his cologne filled my nose. I inhaled deeply, drinking in the tangy scent. When I licked my lips, trembling as my need grew, my mouth filled with the taste that was uniquely him. Sweet with a hint of mint. My skin burned where his lips touched me. My earlobe, the sensitive spot just below it. Even though he hadn’t touched my breasts yet, my nipples were tingling, hardening into sharp little points.