by Nikki Chase
“That sounds like the train,” Heath says on the phone.
“It is.” I bite my lower lip to stifle a moan.
Considering all the weird stuff that happens every day in subway stations and trains all over the city, a woman wearing a vibrator and coming while surrounded by commuters wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. But I would rather raise none.
Yet I’m doing this. It’s not even a part of our agreement that I have to follow all his sexual demands. But this is not about the agreement anymore.
There’s just something about Heath. I can’t explain it, but he gets me so hot and bothered that I’d do anything for a release.
It’s the way he looks at me. The way he talks to me.
“Get on the train,” Heath commands.
“I need to wait for the next one to get home,” I say, my voice shaking with concentration.
Just talking is a struggle because if I’m not careful I’m going to sound breathy and raspy, and it would become too obvious to the people around me that something strange is happening with me. I’d turn more heads than Sally when she met Harry and faked an orgasm over their meal at that diner.
“I said get on this train,” Heath repeats. “I told you to go home, but I didn’t say when, did I?”
“No,” I admit.
“And the agreement also says that your hours are nine to five until you get pregnant and move in with me.”
A part of me wants to tell him the agreement doesn’t say anything about sexual acts that won’t result in pregnancy. But another part of me doesn't care; it's throbbing and dripping with arousal, willing to do anything as long as Heath dangles a sexy payoff at the finish line.
So I get on the train.
I walk slowly. My legs feel weak, and I know at any time Heath could turn up the intensity of the vibrations and make this even harder for me.
I pick one of the empty orange seats lining the sides of the subway car. When my ass lands on the hard, plastic surface, it pushes the vibrator deeper inside me. I look down to hide my face as my breathing gets heavier.
“Okay. I’m sitting down,” I say, panting into the phone. I know he’s listening. He can probably tell by my voice that I’m already close.
“Good,” Heath says. “Are you wet?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I could be there to watch you. I’d sit right across from you and just watch you squirm in your seat. And if it weren’t for these fucking meetings, I’d take you somewhere quiet so I can do even more. I bet you're completely drenched right now.”
My core clenches around the toy inside me as I imagine Heath spearing into me. I can’t wait.
“I still remember how you writhed for me last week, kitten. Just thinking about how sweet you tasted and how wet you must be right now…” Heath lets out a sexy groan that makes me want to grind myself against my seat.
But I’m an adult with self-control, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself. So I listen with frustration to Heath’s dirty words, tensing all my muscles so I won’t make strange movements in my state of extreme arousal.
“I hope there’s a something for you to hold on to, kitten,” Heath says, “because this is going to be one bumpy ride.”
I cast my glance around me. If I move three seats to the right, there’s a pole I can grab. But I’d be sitting right next to the door, through which people walk in and out of the train.
So I keep my gaze down and grab the edge of my seat with both hands. My knuckles turn white as the vibrations in my pussy grows and grows until a shudder rips through me.
“Did you just come?” Heath asks. No doubt he notices a change in my breathing.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
I sigh with relief as the vibrations dissipate. As I come down from my climax, heat washes over my body, probably as much from the orgasm as from the embarrassment.
“That was unbelievably hot. You’ve made me hard as stone, kitten. I can’t wait for tomorrow,” Heath says before he ends the call.
I have to get off at the next station and make a long detour to finally reach home. Along the way, I keep expecting the vibrator to suddenly start moving again, but it turns out Heath is pretty busy with his meetings.
I wonder when he’s going to finally fuck me.
Technically, if we just keep doing this forever and never actually make a baby, there’s no end date to this arrangement.
Or is there? I can’t remember exactly how things are worded in our contract.
I guess this is why I’m not a lawyer. Overly convoluted language turns me off. I much prefer the simple prose of romance novels, the kind that doesn’t get in the way of the story-telling.
As soon as I open the door to my apartment, I dash into the bathroom. I pull out the vibrator, which is coated with my slick juices, and clean myself up.
When I’m done, I head to the living room and plop down on our cheap Ikea sofa. It’s just long enough to accommodate my 5’6” height. I lie down and stretch.
It’s noon. It’s going to be another six hours until Jane gets home. Even though I’m home early compared to my normal work day, I’m exhausted.
I guess my next challenge to myself is: don’t move from this sofa until Jane gets home. Yes, that’s realistic, achievable, and measurable. All signs of a good goal.
I reach my hand out onto the coffee table and grab a random magazine from Jane’s usual pile.
Hmm… Celebs Magazine. Not a bad pick for a lazy read, I guess…
Oh, are Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie getting back together? No way!
I impatiently flip open the magazine, looking for the cover story. But before I can find it, I see something that makes my blood run cold.
What the hell…?
Is that… Heath?
And is that… me?
No way…
Jane would’ve told me… right?
Jane buys a ton of magazines, and sometimes she just leaves them piling up on the coffee table for days until she finally reads them all, in one go. So it’s possible she hasn’t seen it yet.
But that’s not what’s important here.
There’s no mistaking Heath’s broad, solid body underneath that designer business suit, or his steely blue eyes, or his wicked, arrogant smirk.
And he’s a regular in the media, so I’m not surprised to see his pictures here, except I think I recognize the woman beside him, too. And I think there's a chance she could possibly be… me.
Jane says pencil skirts make my ass look good. Now that I’m finally looking at pictures of myself from behind, I have to thank her for making me buy a bunch of them when I got this office job.
I recognize the white lace one that I wore when we went to France. I recognize my pink blouse, too. And my blonde hair in a simple, practical bun.
This photo was taken at the airport, when we were about to board our flight. Heath’s arm wraps possessively around my waist, his strong hand looking large on my narrow waist. Beside Heath’s imposing frame, I look small and delicate.
I skim through the article. It contains quotes from “a close friend of the couple” and “an onlooker.” Just an all-round excellent piece of journalism.
My heart races as I keep reading, expecting to read my name whenever I move down to the next line of words. The article also mentions a “reported sighting” at a local hotel, although there are no pictures of that—thank God. And there’s no mention of my name at all.
I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the last paragraph, where I read a sentence that jumps out of the page and stabs me in the heart.
“She’s just someone who works for me.” That’s what Heath said about me.
Yep. It says “Heath” right there. Not a “trusted source.”
He said that. I’m just someone who works for him.
I mean, he's not wrong. Heath has every right to say that. I do work for him.
What confuses me is… Why would it hurt to know that’
s what he thinks about me?
This was just supposed to be about an exchange. Baby for money. Okay, so the “baby” part hasn’t happened yet, but we’re getting to it.
My point is, this should not hurt my feelings. Because Heath and I were never about feelings—just sex. Oh, and the baby, too.
But maybe it’s not such a strange reaction… I mean, if Jane were to suddenly say that I’m just someone she lives with, I’d be hurt too. But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with her, right? It’s just that we’re a little more than that, and it hurts when that’s not acknowledged.
It’s not like Heath can acknowledge the actual nature of our relationship in public, though. Neither one of us needs that kind of attention. It would only hurt both our reputations.
I can't stop thinking about that sentence from Heath’s own mouth. “She’s just someone who works for me.” It keeps repeating again and again in my head. My mind even re-imagines it in Heath’s voice, so vividly it feels like I was there when he said it.
When Jane saw the magazine, she asked me questions and I gave her half-hearted answers. I tell her I don’t know anything, mostly, which is true. But I also don’t feel like talking about this with anyone.
I was going to keep this strictly business, and it seems like I’ve failed. But I can get this situation under control before anyone realizes it.
The next morning, I show up bright and early at my old desk, right in front of Heath’s office.
Another personal assistant is managing Heath’s appointments and all the other admin stuff now, but since Heath has told her that I’m only temporarily off duty to help him with a certain project, she remains at her old desk. My desk is empty.
As soon as Heath shows up, I follow him inside.
I won't make the mistake of entering his office without him again. The first and only time I did it, he ended up reading my dirty fantasies.
“You got here early, kitten,” Heath says as he walks into his office. “You miss me?”
I rip my gaze away from his cute butt and take my seat. This is no time to be thinking dirty thoughts. I need to have a serious talk with him.
But as Heath’s fingers unbuttons his suit before he sits down, I can’t help but imagine him removing more buttons until he’s naked before me, or him undoing my buttons and getting on top of me.
“Yesterday was hot as fuck,” Heath says as he leans forward in his chair and rests his hands on the desk between us.
Desire flashes in his eyes as his gaze caresses my hips and my tits. His jaw tightens as his stare gets more obscene. He smirks.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, sitting on the subway and coming for me, with people all around you,” he says. “I wanted to pick you up after work, but it was after five and that would’ve been against the agreement.”
The agreement. Right. That’s what I came here to talk about.
“Were you wet when you got home, kitten? Did you play with yourself?” Heath asks. “I was rock hard last night, and I thought of you when I—”
“I got home yesterday…” I cut him off before I get carried away by the filthy things he’s saying. I realize my voice sounds squeaky and I clear my throat. “I got home yesterday and I saw my pictures in a tabloid. Then I went online and saw more pictures of me—and you, together—on the celebrity gossip blogs.”
Heath doesn’t seem surprised. “I thought those were going to hit the newsstands soon.”
“So you admit you knew about this?” I ask. Of course I already know that he spoke with at least one reporter, but everybody says not to trust the tabloids.
“I’ve been approached by some reporters,” he says calmly.
“And you didn’t think to let me know?”
Heath shrugs. “I have reporters asking me questions all the time. I had no idea you were expecting me to report every single encounter. Besides, I don’t think they know who you are.”
“But they have my pictures,” I say incredulously.
“Taken with a long lens from afar. That really can’t be helped, unless you want to live in hiding.” Heath pauses as he considers his own words. “Sometimes I forget that not everyone’s personal life is regularly offered up for public consumption. I’m sorry.”
I was ready with a counter-argument for his excuses. I was going to tell him that the agreement made it perfectly clear that my anonymity was to be protected.
But despite his ruthless reputation in destroying businesses he doesn’t like, Heath respects contracts once he’s signed them. From my short stint as his personal assistant, I know he goes to great lengths to meet his obligations.
“I should try harder to protect your privacy,” Heath continues. “We can just stay here in the office if you want. That means nobody will see us together outside.”
“That sounds good.” I was about to suggest the same thing as a solution myself, but it looks like I won’t have to.
“Or you can always move in with me sooner.” Heath traps my gaze as a lopsided smile curves on his lips. “How about tonight?”
Heath
“Umm… That’s probably not a good idea,” Kat says as she sits there, all pretty and tempting.
“Okay. It was just a suggestion.” I shrug.
I don’t know why I asked her to move in sooner. It’s a bad idea.
But maybe it has something to do with the fact that I stayed up just to jerk off to thoughts of Kat coming for me in the subway. How fucked up is that? I didn’t even look at one porn video.
“So we’re going to just stay in the office from now on?” she asks again.
“Sure. If that’s what it takes to give you peace of mind,” I say, projecting an air of calm and agreeableness.
Inwardly, I’m surprised that she doesn’t use this as a weapon to get more money out of me.
I guess I’ve been jaded by my dealings with Melanie.
Even though she’s gotten more money from the divorce than she could ever need, she still calls me from time to time, asking for more.
She makes all kinds of meaningless threats. Once, she said she was going to make a statement to the media about how I’d told her my business had been floundering, but of course that piece of “news” only got as far as the gossip tabloids. The serious publications probably asked her for proof and she couldn’t come up with shit, so that was the end of that.
I never pay attention to her anymore.
I’ve blocked her number and directed her to the legal department. Jeff can deal with her.. It pisses her off to no end that she can’t ruffle my feathers anymore—which, of course, means that it was the right move.
Another thing I did, which I’m proud of, was taking out the gold bars and the jewelry from the safety deposit box at the bank.
According to the branch manager, Melanie and her lawyer got there about half an hour before the bank even opened—I didn’t believe this until I saw the security footage myself because she was always late. To her, punctuality only mattered when money was involved, apparently.
She demanded the bank manager to open the door early for her, stomped inside as soon as he’d obliged, and then found only a note from me in the box.
It simply said, “He who is greedy is always in want—Horace.” Short, succinct, and eloquent, I thought.
Melanie didn’t appreciate it, but the bank manager got a chuckle from the piece of paper she crumpled up and threw on the floor of the vault.
I’m glad I’m done with her.
I don’t regret losing the money. I’ve learned an important lesson from my business. Sometimes you have to lose some today to avoid losing even more in the future.
What really riles me up, though, is the feeling that she’s made a fool out of me, that I was dumb enough to fall for her deception and lies.
Now, I have to avoid putting myself in that position again. Because if I keep doing the same things again and again, I’d just keep getting caught in the same mistake.
And that, as Grandpa Joe would sa
y, is not how an Anders man handles things. An Anders man learns quickly and does what needs to be done.
If I get soft, I’d end up marrying ten wrong women and getting scammed by all ten. And then I’d retire in poverty, like Grandpa Joe.
What was I trying to pull, asking Kat to move in when it’s not yet necessary? I’m already straying from the script by… well, doing things that won’t result in a baby.
The problem is, the contract says that we won’t have sex once Kat gets pregnant, which seemed reasonable at the time. But once I get her naked, once I’m staring at her supple, delicious curves, I can’t help but want to worship her body. I want to draw it out, to take it slow, to burn every little taste to my memory.
Yes, I’ll admit it. I’m deliberately prolonging this because I want to have her body to myself for a while longer. I’ll hate myself if I fuck her once and she gets pregnant right away, preventing any encores.
But it’s time to man up. Grandpa Joe would’ve been proud of me for doing what I have to do.
But first… a little fun.
“Come here, kitten,” I say slowly.
She gets up and walks around the desk, her hips swaying with every delicious step. She doesn’t utter a word, but her lips are parted with desire, and her green eyes are darkened with want.
“Tell me what you want.” I lean back on my chair and stare at her. I make sure she knows I’m watching her every move.
“I want you to kiss me,” she says with a nervous smile.
I pat my hand on the surface of my desk and say, “Sit here.”
“Huh?” Kat eyes the pieces of paper strewn on the desk.
“You heard me. Get your sexy ass on the desk.”
Kat gently moves the pieces of paper aside before she daintily sits on the space she’s cleared.
“Lie down,” I say.
Apprehension and lust flash in her beautiful eyes. She opens her lips to protest, but she knows she’s going to enjoy whatever I’m about to do to her.
The corners of my lips tug up into a smile. “You didn’t say where you want me to kiss you.” I put my hands on her knees and slide them up her thighs, pushing up the hem of her skirt as I do.