Legally Binding

by Cleo Peitsche

  She was still facing the desk, the back of the office. The skirt was still bunched up over her hips.

  Looking down, she saw that her twisted panties cut a line across the swollen, delicate mound of her pussy. One of her lips was gently pinched beneath the elastic and held open, revealing a flash of deeper color and the pale pink tip of her clit.

  When Ethan turned her around, a thrill of anticipation hummed through her veins.

  And when Trent and Raphael saw her…

  The expressions on their faces, the surprise and instant desire, made for a deeply satisfying moment. It was even better than when she imagined running into that nasty Heather, when Maisie would introduce her obviously recognizable A-list celebrity boyfriend and flash the gargantuan rock on her ring finger.

  But unlike that fantasy, this one was actually happening.

  She met Trent’s eyes. His surprise had given way to something far more enticing.

  Dominance.

  Trent’s gaze pinned her in place as he yanked off his tie. She swallowed as he approached her. “We’ll have to play with you later,” he said hoarsely, pulling her arms forward.

  Her fingers accidentally trailed across her pussy, and she gasped and shuddered.

  “Damn, Ethan,” Raphael said. “You didn’t let her come?”

  Let her come? What was that about?

  Ethan shrugged. “She didn’t earn it, and you know how I feel about setting a good precedent.”

  9

  Trent slowly dragged his thumb across her chin and lower lip.

  Up close, she had to admit that he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. He should have been an action hero, not a lawyer; cast him in a movie, and she’d be there for every single showing.

  He used his tie to quickly and efficiently bind her wrists.

  “You’re going to wait over here,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and steering her toward the credenza. “Stand quietly. We have business to discuss.” Trent’s tone was detached and professional. The warmth of earlier had completely vanished.

  “Can I take off my shoes?” she asked hopefully.

  “Of course,” Raphael said.

  But then Trent said, “No, and I’ll explain why later, Raphael. You’ve missed a lot.”

  “Apparently.” Raphael sounded irritated.

  Pouting, Maisie bent her bound arms and brought them up so the men could appreciate her disheveled clothing and the scandalous state of her pussy.

  But the bastards weren’t paying the least bit of attention.

  In fact, Raphael was walking out.

  She wondered if they’d done this with other women in the company. Obviously they’d shared a woman before if she was their “new submissive.” What Ethan had said—about Trent wanting to wait until her probation was over…

  That suggested she wasn’t the first.

  How was she going to find out more without “gossiping,” she wondered.

  The thought started as a tiny seed, but it burrowed into her self-esteem. Really, what did it matter? She didn’t have any illusions that this was anything more than sex. She liked all three of the men well enough—to fuck.

  But she didn’t know them, didn’t know the first thing about them.

  Other than that they were hot.

  And rich.

  And dominant.

  And very naughty bosses.

  New submissive. Hm.

  Ethan opened a drawer in his filing cabinet. He pulled out a thick accordion file and started to hand it to Trent, then paused. “I’m assuming Raphael updated you on the Ballystock case?”

  A dark look crossed Trent’s face. “My gut says that if Davina goes back to her husband again, it’s over. He’ll kill her rather than let her go.”

  The door opened and Raphael entered, carrying an elegant briefcase. At that moment, he looked like a model-wannabe-actor trying out for the role of hotshot young attorney. Maisie snickered.

  All three men looked at her.

  “No offense, Maisie, but…” Raphael turned toward Ethan. “I don’t think she should be here.”

  “Lock the door,” Ethan said.

  He walked toward Maisie, his gaze intense. She realized that she hadn’t thought about his scars for the last fifteen minutes, but now there was no avoiding them, not when he was so close and facing her. His hand gently touched her cheek. “You’ve signed papers that legally bind you to silence.”

  “I have,” she said. She glanced at Raphael, who seemed uncomfortable. “And I understand why you’re hesitant. In fact… I think… Honestly, I think it’s better if I leave. You don’t know me, and you don’t know if I’m trustworthy.”

  And if something bad happened, she didn’t want to get blamed.

  “Actually, we do know you,” Ethan said. “Trent had one of our investigators dig into your past. We had to be sure you weren’t sent here by another firm, to spy.”

  “People do that?” she asked.

  “Some do,” Raphael said. The way his grip tightened on his briefcase, Maisie wondered if he meant Mr. Ballystock’s lawyer, the one who’d tricked them into poring over the transcripts.

  “Maisie.” Ethan stroked one of her curls, then dipped his fingers into her hair. He held her face in both hands and stared into her eyes.

  Her bound forearms brushed against his body, and she could feel his erection on the back of her hand—just for a moment, but it inflamed her need.

  “What were you looking at this morning?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I was trying to see the top of the building.”

  “Why?”

  “Because… I wondered if it was possible to see the office from the street, and I was running early.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  She nodded. “I guess I was savoring the moment. You know by now that my last job wasn’t very glamorous. Even though I’m just one of several executive assistants here, this is still a step up for me.” She stopped short of mentioning Heather.

  “Ok,” he said. “It’s just that I’d never seen anyone so interested in a skyscraper before. You were oblivious. I knew you were going to fall.”

  And then he kissed her.

  He tasted faintly of coffee, and his lips, at first gentle, became insistent as the attraction between them turned electric.

  Maisie heard a click, someone locking the door.

  She wanted to bring her hands up, to throw her arms around Mr. Brennbach—Ethan. His cock having been inside her meant he was Ethan, and his kiss especially meant it.

  She was aware of the right side of his face. His lips were a little firmer on that side, and maybe the skin was a touch cooler.

  He ended the kiss, then turned away from her. “I trust her,” he said.

  “I do, too,” Trent said. He winked at Maisie. “Our investigators are very good at what they do.”

  Raphael shrugged. “I had to bring it up,” he said apologetically. “Mrs. Ballystock’s situation is sensitive, and her husband is playing dirty.”

  God, it was impossible to reconcile this guarded man with the wild guitar player in the photo.

  She nodded and tried to act like she didn’t care if they sent her away or not, but she was starting to become curious. These men didn’t seem like much fazed them, but they were on edge.

  So was she; the shoes were killing her.

  With a little moan, she shifted her weight to her left foot and raised the right one, giving it a respite. Oooh, that felt so much better. She switched up.

  “Stop that,” Trent said. “You’re too damned fidgety. You can move once every sixty seconds.” He pointed at the clock, then turned to the desk, where Raphael was unloading the contents of his briefcase.

  “What’s this?” Ethan growled.

  He ripped an 8x10 photo from Raphael’s hand.

  “What it looks like.” Raphael finished transferring out what he needed, and he closed the briefcase and set it on the floor.
“Norm is still stalking her.”

  “Davina Ballystock gave this to you?” Ethan asked.

  Raphael shook his head. “No, Norm did. He claims someone mailed it anonymously to his house, but come on. He’s only been living there for a few weeks. Look at it. The angles, the framing, it’s all identical to the earlier photos. He’s still stalking her, and he wants her to know it. He thinks his money will protect him.”

  “How is Davina taking it?” Ethan asked, studying the picture, and Raphael shrugged in lieu of an answer.

  “We knew she’d never press charges or take out a restraining order.” Trent had leaned against the desk. His shoulders hunched forward as he frowned at the floor. “Maybe we should have handled this through—”

  “No,” Ethan said sharply. He and Trent immediately looked at Maisie.

  She jerked her eyes away, but the men weren’t stupid; they had to know she’d been paying attention.

  She cleared her throat. She was aware that she was half-naked and might as well have been chained to her spot near the credenza. “I heard the deposition, and I know the housekeeper is afraid for her life. There must have been fifteen different incidents that she was asked about. Detailed incidents. And she couldn’t remember a single one.”

  When she stopped speaking, the room was completely silent.

  “You can trust me,” she said. “That’s all I meant.”

  They didn’t say a word.

  She should have kept her damned mouth shut. She found herself shifting her weight from side to side.

  Trent crossed the room. He gathered up a handful of her curls and pulled her head back. “I told you once per minute,” he said, “and you’re dancing around like you’re at a club. On your knees.”

  He didn’t push her, but he certainly helped her into position. He was a little rough. It hurt a bit.

  She didn’t mind at all.

  His cock hadn’t still been hard, but within seconds it was pushing at the front of his pants. “I need someone’s tie,” he said. When he got one—blue, Ethan’s—he wadded it up and shoved it in her mouth. “Quiet,” he said. “Stay quiet.”

  The tie smelled of Ethan. She wanted to work her fingers free and soothe her neglected pussy, but that would count as movement; she didn’t dare.

  Her bosses were crowded together, talking in hushed tones. In less than a minute, they’d reached some kind of agreement.

  Maisie didn’t know what it was, but clearly they’d discussed this before and had a contingency plan in place.

  Ethan looked over at her. “Maisie,” he said with a smile. “How would you like to stay at the Beaumont tonight?”

  Gagged and unable to speak, she nodded enthusiastically.

  A night in an expensive hotel with her three bosses? What could be better?

  10

  Maisie finished blow-drying her hair, then padded into the ornate and unfamiliar bedroom, where yesterday’s clothes hung in the closet. It was a luxurious three-room suite, and she had the smaller of the two bedrooms.

  Mrs. Davina Ballystock had the other room.

  Knocking came from the main door.

  “Great,” Maisie muttered. Davina had probably woken up and immediately ordered room service again. Last night, the feisty woman had kept a steady procession of champagne flowing.

  At first Maisie had been happy to get buzzed; going to the Beaumont to babysit a client was not what she’d thought she was signing up for.

  But Davina had kept drinking. And drinking. She had a frat boy’s tolerance. Eventually she’d fallen asleep, and Maisie had roused her long enough to drag her to bed.

  The knocking came again.

  “Who is it?” Maisie called out as she started across the room.

  “Trent.”

  She smiled at the sound of his deep voice. Regretting the big fluffy robe that protected her modesty a little too well, she practically skipped over to let him in.

  “Good morning,” she said. She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop remembering him forcing her to her knees, his hands stuffing the tie into her mouth. “Are the others coming?”

  He shook his head. “They’re at the office, but I thought I’d bring by a few things to make your stay more comfortable.”

  He stepped aside, and a porter bearing three overflowing bags came into view. The porter briskly entered the suite and went to her bedroom, where he began arranging the clothes on hangers.

  “Whatever doesn’t fit, put to the side, and we’ll see that it goes back to the store,” Trent said.

  She frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Think of it as a little extra payment for your trouble.”

  Smiling, Maisie made a point of looking around the lavish suite. “This is no trouble, Trent. Really. If anything, I should be paying you.”

  He shook his head. “No. And you won’t be in the office today. Whatever Davina wants, you agree to, but you’re not to let her out of your sight. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, but her smile faded.

  “It’s just for today. Her niece is flying into town this evening, and she’ll take over.”

  Maisie nodded. They’d explained it all to her the night before. She’d been disappointed, to say the least. Ethan had sternly reminded her that taking care of clients was part of her job, and at the moment, Davina needed a little extra help.

  But now Maisie was banned from the office? It didn’t seem fair.

  Before actually meeting Davina, Maisie had imagined her as a frail thing. The Ballystock’s former housekeeper had sounded so small, so fragile, and Maisie had assumed Davina was also easily cowed.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth. Davina was several inches taller than Maisie, and about forty pounds heavier.

  There was nothing about her that shouted victim, which Maisie supposed she might want to take as a life lesson. Never assume.

  By noon, Davina still hadn’t gotten up, so Maisie cautiously knocked on her door.

  “Come in,” Davina said.

  Maisie opened the door and found her sitting up in bed, a rumple of expensive sheets and pillows around her and a sleep mask pushed high on her forehead. Her eyes were swollen, the whites almost as red as her frizzy hair.

  “What’s wrong?” Maisie asked as she entered.

  “I miss him.” In the light of day, Davina looked every one of her forty-four years. “I know I shouldn’t. He’s a jerk, and he cheated on me, but…”

  Oh, no. She’d known Davina was repressing her true feelings last night, but she’d assumed it was anger, not sadness.

  “One second.” Maisie darted into the bathroom to snatch handfuls of tissues from the ceramic dispenser.

  Davina loudly blew her nose, and Maisie took a fresh bottle of water from the minibar, unscrewed the top, and handed it to the distraught client.

  With a body-wracking sob, Davina shook her head. “It’s so dumb, but I want him back. I want my old life back. At the beginning, he was so sweet, Maisie. Everyone thought he was charming.”

  “I’ve heard that controlling men are like that at the beginning, but they can’t keep up the charade.”

  Davina shook her head harder. “Norman was a sweetheart the first year. It wasn’t a charade. But after his partner defrauded the company and left him to deal with the fallout, he changed. He said such awful things. I never cared about the money, you know.”

  She buried her face in the tissue and blew her nose again. Maisie wasn’t sure what to say or do, so she just waited.

  Davina’s phone vibrated. She didn’t seem inclined to answer it.

  Then Maisie’s phone rang in the other room.

  It was Raphael. “Hi,” he said. He sounded a little out of breath, like he’d been running. “Bring Mrs. Ballystock to the courthouse immediately.”

  “Ok,” she said. “Where, exactly?”

  “It’s ten minutes from the hotel. I’ll text the address. Actually, I’ll have a taxi waiting. Make sure yo
u wear something conservative.”

  Maisie looked down at the short-sleeved floral dress she’d chosen. The skirt was joyfully puffy and barely reached her knees. “I will,” she said.

  “Be there in fifteen minutes or less.”

  11

  Getting Davina out the door in under five minutes was almost impossible, but Maisie somehow managed, and she’d pulled a tailored black jacket on over the dress and fastened the single oversized button in the middle. Now it was office appropriate, though not exactly conservative.

  If Raphael complained, she would point out that she’d figured making the deadline was the most important of his orders.

  Davina had pulled her hair up into a bun and wrapped a green silk scarf around it. She’d painted her lips crimson red, and she slid dark sunglasses over her eyes while they climbed into the taxi. If Maisie had tried that combo, she’d have been laughed off the street. Some things only rich women could pull off.

  Trent and Raphael were waiting on the steps of the courthouse, an austere grayish building that was nevertheless stately. Pigeons strutted around, pecking at the stained concrete. A parade of well-dressed people was entering and exiting, the women stylish, the men impeccably groomed.

  “Hold my hand,” Davina said, pulling Maisie’s arm through hers as they began climbing the steps. Maisie didn’t mind. She needed something to distract her from the flutter of nervousness in her stomach.

  She’d never been to court, but she was willing to bet Heather hadn’t, either. She also knew Heather couldn’t possibly have such handsome bosses. Trent and Raphael were freshly shaved, dressed for court in dark suits. Maisie had to keep stealing glances because it was too overwhelming.

  “Where’s Ethan?” she asked as she reached them.

  “At the office,” Trent said, distracted. “Sorry to do this, Maisie, but that particular dress won’t work. Not for this judge. She’s extremely conservative.” He headed into the building, his hand on Davina’s shoulder.

  Maisie looked at Raphael for instructions. His hair was neat and combed away from his face; she never would have known it was a little on the long side. He still looked hot, though.