Before She Was Mine

by Amelia Wilde

  I don’t make it a habit to be in my office at Basiqué all day. For one thing, I have far too many business matters to attend to, far too many money management plans to guide, to do that, as much as I’d love to hang around waiting for Cate to find some excuse to visit my office before 5:00.

  She won’t do that, though. These meetings will mean release for both of us, but I know it’s the only concession that Cate is willing to make when it comes to testing Sarzó’s temper. I don’t know why she puts up with it. I don’t know why she’s so blindly loyal. I only know that she is.

  Ultimately, it’s probably for the best. This thing between Cate and I, this arrangement—it won’t be permanent. It can’t be permanent. And we both know it. If she gets too wrapped up in things, if it starts to mean too much, then at least she’ll have her job to go back to.

  That is—if they make it clear it’s not a waste of my money.

  The deal I’ve made with myself is that I’ll keep business separate from extracurricular pursuits with Cate. No matter how things turn out with her, I need to evaluate Basiqué on its own merits. It’s the only way I can be completely sure she’s not influencing me with her perfect body.

  “Come in.”

  She glides into the room silently and presses the door closed behind her, helping it along despite the fact that it’s designed to close by itself. From the set of her shoulders I can see that she’s nervous. There’s only a hint of her calm professional self, but she plays it up as much as she can, walking toward me with even steps, never wavering on her sky-high heels.

  “Hello, Mr. Hunter.”

  She’s brought a stack of notes with her to keep up the facade. Cate never lets any details slip, does she?

  Her weight shifts toward her usual seat, but then she reconsiders, biting her bottom lip. Straightens her back. Looks me in the eye.

  What a spitfire.

  “Ms. Schaffer.”

  I don’t waste another moment, standing up smoothly from behind my desk, not bothering to adjust the hardness pressing against the constraints of my pants. My first steps are back toward the door, and Cate swivels her head to watch me press my palm against the shiny plastic panel alongside the hinges. The lock engages with a barely audible click.

  In four steps I’m standing behind Cate and sliding my palms down the side of her curves, drawing her back into me. She lets out the tiniest gasp when her ass presses up against my erection, but she doesn’t pull away.

  I run the back of my hand down the smoothness of her cheek and bend my head toward her neck, planting a kiss at her jawline.

  “Is this—” she breathes, clenching the papers in her hands so that the paper crumples, “—is this what you meant when you said you’d make it worth my time?”

  “With twenty-six minutes left? I haven’t even started.”

  A shiver runs through her body.

  “What are—”

  I draw two fingers gently over her lips, silencing her. “I’m here to give you something you need, Ms. Schaffer.” She opens her mouth, and I know she’s going to ask me why I’m not calling her Cate. Pressing her lips again with my fingers, I take her earlobe between my teeth and apply the slightest pressure. Another gasp. “Arrangement or not, we’re still in the office.” She nods against my hand, opening her mouth slightly so that she can rest her teeth on my fingers. Her hot breath on my skin makes my cock jump.

  “What’s going to happen now…” I say slowly, letting her take in every word while I brush my hand upward from her waist and take a firm hold of first one breast, then the other, squeezing, cupping. Her nipples are hard, begging to be pinched, and I accept the invitation. “…is that you are going to obey my every instruction without hesitation, without question.”

  She stiffens in my arms, reacting to the gentle tweaks of her nipples with shudder after shudder.

  “Acknowledge that you’ve heard me.”

  “All right,” she says, exquisitely, softly.

  “Yes, Mr. Hunter,” I prompt.

  “Yes, Mr. Hunter.” As soon as I give her an explicit instruction, her voice becomes stronger, more confident.

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I release her, stepping back. “Bend over the desk.”

  “What?” She spins to face me, her eyes wide.

  “Bend over the desk.” I articulate every word carefully, but without irritation. I am the picture of patience even while my cock throbs in its prison. Her eyes cut over to my desk, and then lock back on my eyes.

  “Without hesitation, Ms. Schaffer,” I remind her with a half-smile. She’s going to love the hell out of this. But she has to let it happen.

  She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Squaring her shoulders, she steps over to the desk and bends over it.

  My god, is she a gorgeous creature. She’s already trying to do her best, even though she doesn’t know all the rules yet.

  I step over to her, placing one hand on the small of her back. “Good girl.” She has her head turned toward me enough for me to see her bite her lip, the blush spread across her cheeks.

  I’ve found her favorite phrase.

  That was easier than I thought it would be.

  Cate might have complicated reasons for subjecting herself to the torture of working for Sarzó every day for more than a year, but her deepest self is simple. And filthy.

  “A couple of adjustments. Your breasts should be firmly against the surface of the desk.” I press down, and she offers no resistance. “And your legs…” I move behind her and put one scuff-less, shining shoe between her heels, pressing outward so she’s forced to spread her legs farther apart.

  “Have you made a note of this position?”

  “Yes.”

  I tap her back twice. A beat goes by before she remembers. “Yes, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Good girl.” A tiny shiver of delight.

  While she holds herself in that position, practically vibrating with excitement and nerves, I run my hands over every inch of her back, her waist, her hips, finally moving down to the hem of her skirt.

  “Did you follow my instructions?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hunter.” Her hands are pressed flat against the empty surface of my desk, and she tenses as I lift her skirt, pressing it up to her waist so that her firm, round ass is exposed to me.

  “Oh, Ms. Schaffer,” I say, allowing a hint of disappointment to enter my voice.

  She swallows, says nothing. Amazing how quickly she’s catching on to our little game.

  “I see you’ve tried to follow my instructions. Unfortunately, you’ve fallen a bit short. You should understand that when I make a request, you should do everything in your power to fulfill it to the best of your ability. These are red panties…” I trace one of the lacy seams with a fingertip. “…but they’re a little threadbare. That’s not acceptable.”

  “No, Mr. Hunter,” she whispers.

  “Do you know what happens to people who don’t meet my expectations?” I keep my voice even and low.

  “No, Mr. Hunter.” A hitch in her voice when she says my name.

  “They get punished.”

  She takes in a sharp breath and starts to push herself upward.

  Stops.

  Lowers herself back down.

  My god, she is perfect for me.

  I push that thought aside. Perfection or no, there is no woman who will ever be allowed to have such an influence on me.

  “This is our first meeting, so I’ll go easy on you.”

  Her shoulders relax.

  “Hold still.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hunter.”

  I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pull them down to her knees, exposing the smooth, white skin of her ass, slightly parted by the spread of her legs. It takes everything I have not to groan out loud at the sight of it.

  I want her so badly.

  I might have been lying when I said I wouldn’t punish her today.

  It won’t be a punishment she’s expecting.<
br />
  The pink folds of her pussy are already glistening, wet, and all I’ve done is bend her over my desk.

  Yes. This is exactly what she needs.

  I catch a glimpse of the clock. Ten minutes.

  In one step I’m back beside her, one hand putting pressure on the small of her back, one hand on her inner thigh, sliding up to meet her wetness. She moans when I stroke her folds with my fingers like she hasn’t been touched in forever.

  She probably hasn’t.

  The thought that I’m the first in a long time makes my breath catch in my throat, but I don’t let on. Instead, I collect her wetness on my fingertips and start to explore every single inch of her, every single fold, every single crease.

  It drives Cate wild.

  Inside of a minute, she’s struggling to keep her legs spread and barely succeeding, pressing back against my hand, writhing. I stroke her in a measured rhythm and her breath matches it, little gasps that are so hot I want to fuck her right now, right here, the first meeting. I’ve already had to wait too long.

  But I can control myself.

  I need to show her that I control her as well.

  “Don’t move,” I say, my voice steely, and she tenses, trying so hard not to move that she’s shaking as my fingers work her pussy.

  Five minutes.

  I slide two fingers into her opening and they meet with absolutely no resistance, she’s soaked. Her muscles immediately clench around them and I let out a short sharp breath.

  I want to bury my cock in her up to the hilt, to fuck her with total abandon, to bottom out against the very limit of her and let myself go. I want to claim her like I’ve never claimed another woman before and never will again. I want to make her mine, so totally and completely that she’ll never consider another man.

  Three minutes.

  When I withdraw my fingers she whimpers a little, and I give her a light slap on the ass. “Who is in control, Ms. Schaffer?”

  “Y—you are, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Don’t forget,” I say as I glide my fingertips along her slit until they make contact with her swollen clit.

  Two minutes.

  She puts her own hand over her mouth to stifle the little moans that she can’t stop. I’m circling her clit with my fingers quickly, evenly, tiny targeted movements that are bringing her to the brink. Cate can’t escape it without disobeying me and the submissive side of her is on full display—she doesn’t make a single move to get away from the intense sensations. She clamps one hand over her mouth and curls the other over the edge of the desk, holding herself in place as she’s wracked with uncontrollable shudders emanating from her hips.

  One minute.

  I pick up the pace.

  Faster.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  At the perfect moment, when I see that she’s about to explode on my fingertips, I take them off her clit and shove three of them back into her opening.

  Cate cries out into her hand as the waves of her orgasm crash over her, my fingers getting the brunt of her pleasure, spasms of pure heat.

  Time’s up.

  Before I pull her upright, I lean down and slide her panties to her ankles, then tap one shoe, signaling that she should step out of them.

  She does.

  When she’s standing I help her straighten her skirt. Her face is pink, her breathing heavy. Her eyes go from my face to the red panties in my hand.

  “Time’s up, Ms. Schaffer.”

  “Are you going to—”

  “Give you your panties back? No.”

  A smile quirks the corners of her mouth.

  I knew she’d enjoy herself.

  “I’ll see you here tomorrow at five.”

  Cate heads for the door, and I beat her there, unlocking it. She steps through, and turns back.

  “Yes, Mr. Hunter.”

  18

  Cate

  I’m not back to Sandra’s office yet when the walls start to close in around me.

  My muscles are relaxed—it’s been forever since I got off by anything other than my own hand—but the warm, bubbly pleasure it gave me melts away ten feet outside Jax’s door.

  This is dangerous.

  Jax’s office isn’t soundproof. It’s impossible to see through the doors, but anyone standing outside would have been able to hear exactly what was going on. And Sandra would have no qualms about coming to interrupt one of our meetings.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  This is guaranteed to get me fired. Fired. How’s that going to look if I apply for other jobs? How’s that going to keep me from being forced out of my career before I’m ready?

  It’s not.

  And no matter what he says, no matter how he acts, Jax doesn’t care about me.

  The truth is that this is a game. This is an agreement. It’s something on the side to occupy the next month, and I was an idiot to agree to it. I cannot, cannot, let myself be overtaken by how much I want him.

  Because I want more than sex, more than orgasming all over his hand while he bends me over his desk. It kills me to admit that the moment I saw Jax I started to picture him as my someday person. The person that I’ll have someday, when my career is stable, when my savings are on track, when I can finally let go a little bit.

  He’s never going to be that man.

  I thought I could play on his level. I said yes to his proposal on an impulse, in the heat of the moment, and now I see how shortsighted it was.

  One meeting. A single meeting, and I’m torn in two.

  Part of me wants to run back down the hall and throw myself into his arms, kiss his neck, nip his collarbone with my teeth, lower myself onto his cock and take him for a ride.

  Most of me is sick with the risk I’ve taken.

  And it is all my risk. What happens for Jax if he’s caught with me in his office? Nothing. He’s a billionaire, with homes and cars and enough money to hush the whole thing up, if he wanted. His image wouldn’t be tarnished at all. But me? I’ve been working myself to the bone every single day for a year—more than a year, if you count the time I spent as an editorial assistant at Basiqué right out of college—to get where I am today.

  I clapped my hands over my mouth without realizing it, and people in the hallway are starting to take notice.

  Kirk sidesteps me with a gaggle of assistants and does a double-take at my face, which must be a sickly shade of white.

  “Cate?” he says, reaching out for my arm. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Instantly I pull my hands away from my mouth and smile at him. Over the past year, I’ve become a master of deception. If I’m tired or irritated, I don’t let it show. I’m certainly not going to let this slip to Kirk, not in the middle of the hallway, probably not ever. “Thanks, Kirk,” I say, brushing his arm away as kindly as I can. “I had an idea come at me from a new angle. Does that ever happen to you?”

  He considers me, his eyes filled with concern, and his jaw works like he’s trying to think of the right thing to say. “Of course it does,” he agrees, and then, with his assistants shifting uneasily around him, he says, “Take it easy, all right?”

  “Will do!” I call brightly after his retreating back.

  Enough of this.

  It’s time to get my shit together. I can’t afford to slip up like this.

  That night, I stay at Basiqué until ten o’clock. It’s dark when I call down to Mark to bring around the car.

  Every time my attention wandered away from my computer screen, it led me straight to images of my dad’s face when he told my sister and me that his job as a schoolteacher was finished. We’d both been surprised. He loved teaching. His favorite joke was that he’d work until he was 80, and then he’d volunteer in the school library.

  Sitting in his recliner across the living room from us, his face had crumpled, and he’d wiped tears away from the corners of his eyes. “After thirty years, they decided I wasn’t working hard enough.”

  His w
ords still ring in my ears.

  Which is why I can’t believe I agreed to such depraved hanky-panky with the billionaire who is ultimately my boss without a second thought. There are other ways to relax.

  Yes. More sessions with Carl are in order. The only way out of this is to put in more effort on every front. If I do that, I won’t have the time or energy to think of Jax, much less meet him for illicit office sex for the next four weeks.

  I pull out my phone and send my trainer a text begging him for four days a week instead of three—Fridays off. His reply comes in quickly.

  You’re joking! :)

  No, completely serious. Are you available?

  You sure you can handle that many sessions a week? You seem spread pretty thin already.

  His choice of words makes me bite my lip, color rushing to my cheeks. Spread out for Jax, more like it. How I must have looked in that position…it’s embarrassing. And I will never, ever admit how wet it made me, how much I already want more.

  I can’t. I won’t. It’s not an option.

  God. I am terrible.

  I can handle it. Are you telling me you can’t?

  It feels good to slip into easy banter with Carl.

  His next reply:

  See you tomorrow morning. Be ready!

  19

  Jax

  Five o’clock on Tuesday comes and goes, the minutes dragging by.

  There is no knock on my door.

  I pull out a portfolio and flip it open to some contracts I need to sign.

  It’s worthless. Inside of a minute, my eyes are sliding off the words on the page and back to the door.

  Where the hell is she?

  By 5:15, I’m done. Done.

  Closing my portfolio with a snap that echoes in the space where Cate is supposed to be, I stand up from behind my desk and pace over to the windows, looking out at the city below. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Control.

  Remaining in control is how I built my fortune from the ground up, no thanks to my worthless father. And I don’t mean the fact that I will never get an inheritance from him—I couldn’t care less about his money. He was a piss-poor example of what it meant to be a man who fulfilled his responsibilities the way he should have.