HostileTakeover

by Joey W. Hill

  Rachel nodded, left them with another smile at Marcie, her lips moist and somewhat swollen from the demand of that kiss. While it had aroused her, Marcie found it had done something less pleasant to her emotionally. The desire for physical demand and intimacy together was overwhelming, and came with a quiet sense of despair. She’d started the ball rolling, and though she had no idea if it would get to its destination, if it did, that would bring a whole set of problems, problems that might prevent her from ever being on Jon and Rachel’s kind of stage.

  Jon sat back down, pushed her plate closer to her. “Eat and keep talking,” he said. “Tell me what’s bugging you.”

  There was a different tone to his voice now, reminding her Jon was a good listener. It probably seemed odd that she’d gravitated toward Ben as her confidante as a teen, but once she’d understood why, it hadn’t been much of a surprise to her. Still, Jon provided perspective, a calm she needed desperately right now. She was going on gut feeling, recklessly daring the fates to strike her down, and Jon had prompted her to rein it back a notch, think about it. Which was exactly why she preferred the steamroller approach. She had to have superhero confidence to do this. Pausing for reflection invited doubts, and a whole wealth of them crowded forward into this moment.

  “I went to watch him…at Surreal. He didn’t know I was there, watching.”

  “Does he know now?”

  “Probably.” She remembered how he’d kept looking toward her that night, noting the mask she’d later used on his car.

  “I expect he wasn’t entirely pleased to know he was being stalked.”

  “It wasn’t stalking.” She wrinkled her nose at him, reassured when he gave her a smile. “He was with three women, Jon. I don’t like seeing him with others, but in some weird way, I guess that made me feel better about it, because it’s so…impersonal. I don’t know if I can keep up with him though. The stamina he showed, how much each of them took…” Last night, when he pulled out of her, he was still hard. She’d seen it when he’d adjusted his clothing. “If I can’t be all he needs in that department, no matter how much I want him, I don’t know how I’ll feel if he wants me to be one of many, versus just…the one.”

  She was smart enough to know last night was his relatively gentle side, yet it had pushed her to her limits, physically and emotionally. Of course, it was the first time she’d actually experienced something like that. She could learn, get better, get stronger. “Is that what he wants, Jon?”

  “Hmm.” Jon slathered more jelly on another piece of toast, handed it to her. “The word want is a tricky thing. It’s far more subjective and unstable than need. Nature aligns us, Marcie. We may differ in our physical capabilities, but nothing overrides what our hearts really desire. Think about extreme adrenaline junkies, the things they do that can get them killed. What are your thoughts about that?”

  “They’re running. Trying to outrun death or fear, or something else. They push their limits so they don’t have to stop, be still and face that.”

  “Exactly.” He chewed on his own toast, studied her.

  “Okay, you’re going all Yoda on me. Giving me the ‘Luke, you dumbass—figure it out’ look.”

  He grinned, appreciating her, but then he sobered. “Ben is a very demanding Master. However, if you’re right, if you are what his heart truly desires, you won’t have to worry about keeping up with him, or being one of many women. When each of us found the woman we knew was the one for us forever, that was it. She could have been an invalid, and she’d have been plenty for us physically. You’ve said you believe Ben is no different from the rest of us in that regard, so that’s your answer.”

  She frowned, looking down at her plate. “Finding that one person,” he added, touching her hand to bring her gaze back to him, “it’s a shift of paradigm that changes everything. What we always thought we wanted, what we know, what we don’t. But when it clicks into place, that’s also when everything makes sense, often for the very first time in our lives.”

  “You’re scary,” she decided. Picking up the toast, she took a bite. “This is fabulous.”

  “Just think how it will taste on Rachel’s skin.” Those blue eyes gave a wicked flash that made her toes curl.

  “Another important point.” He pointed at her with his piece of bread. “You have to be who you are, Marcie. If you believe deeply you belong together, then you must do it on your own terms, as who you are, because you can’t pretend to be someone else. Not for a lifetime. Don’t sell yourself short. He’d know anyway. There’s a reason he’s a very good lawyer. He can scent a lie like a bloodhound.”

  He rose. “I’m going to finish getting dressed. You can stay here or I can take you into the office. The choice is yours. But remember this. You’re pushing a Master pretty hard. For everything he’s done so far, I can tell you that Ben has showed a great deal of restraint, given what he’s capable of doing.”

  There went that shiver again, part fear, part…longing. She wasn’t brave enough to share with Jon some of the things she’d imagined Ben doing to her. She would stand in a stock like those women, her neck and wrists bound, body bent over in servitude. Ben could put her on display in the center of his living room and she’d stay that way all day while he went about his routine, enjoying his Sunday coffee, reading his paper, working out, whatever.

  He’d gag her of course, so she’d be unable to do anything but await his pleasure. Whether it was fucking her in that helpless position, smacking her ass, clamping and weighting her nipples, whatever. He could punish her endlessly for her defiance, because she knew he wanted to be pushed. He wanted someone who wasn’t afraid of his form of Mastery. At least not in the wrong kind of way.

  As much as she craved that, she also hungered for the other side of that mountain. Him removing the restraints, bathing her, brushing her hair, holding her against his body at night. Laughing with her, dancing with her. Sharing everything with her. He was the two sides of that coin, and she just wanted to spin with him, taking either side, whenever, however she could get them.

  “Marcie? One more thing.” Jon stepped closer, tipped up her chin with two fingers. He held her in place with a firm, unexpected touch, pulling her out of her reverie. “Hugging my wife, affection, is one thing. But you want to touch her other ways, you need my permission. She’s mine. You understand?”

  Wow. His unyielding tone was in direct contrast to the mild conversational attitude from before. It was potent, seeing the Master inside him up close and personal.

  “Yes sir.”

  He nodded, stepped back. When he retrieved his plate, took it to the sink, other things rose inside her, demanding to be said. “I know I’m out of control, irrational about some of this. I’ve planned this for a while, Jon, and now that the reality has kicked in, I’m following this feeling inside me. The more he tries to push me away, the more it tells me to push back. I know a lot of what I’m doing is wrong, but I can’t seem to calm myself down, make myself take it slower, especially now that I’ve opened the door.”

  She’d raised a forkful of eggs, but the more she talked, the more her fingers shook, such that she put it back down, uneaten. That raw feeling was back.

  Jon’s brow creased in concern. Coming back around the counter, he slid his stool closer. Picking up her fork, he nodded. “Open up.”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “I can—”

  “No arguments. Open up.”

  She nodded, opened her mouth. As she chewed the first mouthful, he scooped up another, patiently waiting on her. “Breathe, and eat. No talking.”

  She obeyed, because his calm command steadied her nerves. It was odd to have Jon feeding her, his thigh pressed alongside hers on the outside of the stool. As she ate, the knot in her stomach loosened. She realized suddenly, with mortification, that tears were trickling down her face. Putting aside the fork, Jon patted at them with the napkin, and then slid his arms around her. Before she realized it, he was lifting her, taking her to the couch to sit h
er down in his lap.

  “Cry now,” he murmured. “Just cry.”

  As if a dam broke loose, she did. Nerves and stress, pleasure and pain, all the memories of the previous night, good and bad, were rolled up into her sobs. She buried her face in Jon’s bare chest, held onto his dress shirt and wept. She wasn’t a crier. She really wasn’t. It astounded her, even as she couldn’t stop it.

  Jon stroked her hair, her back, the line of her hip. He wasn’t infringing on what was Ben’s, but they all understood this. Ben should be sitting where he was sitting. When a Dom broke a submissive wide open for her very first time, it made her impossibly vulnerable. For a short period, she would be overcome by vacillating emotions, her body hot and cold, aroused and calm, completely unpredictable. The wilder and stronger the sub, the wider that pendulum could swing.

  Her Master was the touchstone for keeping a handle on that, helping her find the center, calm down again. Since her Master wasn’t here, Jon would take care of it, at least in this moment. But he thought Ben was going to regret not doing it himself, because Marcie was as wild and strong as they came, fueled by the idealism of youth and the determination of an old soul, a lethal combination.

  Faced with the choice of leaving her alone here, waiting for Ben to never show, or taking her to the office and letting her throw the gauntlet down, Jon decided he was taking her to the office. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

  I’m going to fail sociology. The professor blames everything from cockroach infestation to pimples on corporate greed. I’ve explained to him that corporations are run by people, which means they’re as diverse and generous as whoever is managing them. I also pointed out that since individuals are the largest source of donations in the country, if they don’t have jobs, which corporations provide, they can’t donate. He said I was a corporate drone. He was probably sitting on his ass in his office when you guys were trucking in supplies to Gulfport, MS, after Katrina. Do you still make that industrial spray foam at the Costa Rican plant? I want to fill up his Prius like a cream horn.

  Letter from Marcie, sophomore year

  I’ll ship you a case of it. Remember to wear gloves and don’t leave fingerprints. And burn this letter. Morons like that don’t realize a good teacher teaches you how to think for yourself. Their job isn’t to impose their own agenda.

  Ben’s reply

  Chapter Seven

  When Marcie walked past Janet’s desk, she could tell from her expression that the admin was surprised to see her. So he’d told Janet she wasn’t coming in.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” she said. “I’m just checking on a few things.”

  Janet gave her a handful of pink message slips. “He’s on a conference call right now in Matt’s office. They’ll probably be in there for an hour or so.”

  Good. Maybe her stomach would move down from her throat and back into its proper area by then. All she’d been able to handle were those eggs. Jon had packed up the leftover toast, tucking it into a sandwich bag with a small jar of the jam. He’d suggested she eat some of that later. A nurturing Dom. He and Rachel were perfect for one another.

  Marcie pulled out the document she’d been unable to finish yesterday and got to work. Her concentration was for shit, though, so she stopped to return some of the messages. She answered the calls on her feet because her ass still hurt enough to make sitting uncomfortable. But other symptoms concerned her more. Remembering the concern in Jon’s eyes as he held her, she wondered at it herself, how shaky she felt today. Her nerves were on high alert, her body vibrating like a hummingbird. She did carry a personal massager in her purse. Maybe she should take the edge off?

  That vibrator stays in the nightstand drawer until I say otherwise. She shivered deliciously at the memory, the look on his face as he issued the order. He kept switching between taking over all her decisions, and wanting to cut her loose. It gave her hope and drove her crazy at once.

  Her intercom buzzed. Janet. “Yes?” Marcie asked.

  “Mr. O’Callahan says to use the pillow on the top shelf of his closet.”

  “Did you tell him I was here?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Jon told him?”

  “Mr. Forte isn’t in the meeting.” Janet’s tone suggested she would very quickly tire of twenty questions. Truth, the woman was kind of scary, so Marcie thanked her and clicked off. How had he known? Was he pissed? Had she messed things up?

  “Stop it, Marcie,” she muttered. “Get a grip.”

  Going into his office, she found the pillow on the top shelf. When she brought it down, she couldn’t help herself. She pressed it to her face, inhaling his scent. She imagined him using it, the long, powerful body stretched out on the office couch. He’d kick off his shoes, probably shrug out of his shirt, and then flop down, one arm casually hooked over his head, studying the ceiling as he ran through the details of whatever had kept him late enough to decide to sleep here.

  Now she visualized herself curled against his body, her head propped into the valley created by that raised arm. Her fingers would play with the light mat of hair across his chest as she gazed up into that strong face. Those beautiful green eyes would shift to her, studying her from such a relaxed position. She imagined waking up together. They could pull all-nighters together, because of course she’d love to work as part of his staff, his investigator.

  She wrapped her arms around the pillow, hugging it to her. Folding herself down on the couch, she rested on her hip so she didn’t aggravate her abused buttocks. Just a quick second to lie here, where he had been. He didn’t sleep long hours, she was sure. There was such incredible energy to him.

  She remembered the way he’d played with the younger kids on the evenings or weekends when they all got together. He was tireless, wrestling with Nate, racing the girls on their bikes, hauling the younger ones around on his shoulders in the pool. Some of her most intense early masturbating fantasies had to do with the way his broad chest and shoulders looked with beads of water rolling down them. The way the sun played across the dark silken hair that arrowed down to his waist.

  He wore those modest oversized shorts that most guys did for a swimsuit, but she preferred to imagine him in far more fitted swim trunks. Ones that would cling to his ass and groin like a second skin when he hefted himself easily out of the pool on strong arms, one of her siblings clinging to his back.

  If he was lying behind her now, she’d feel the hard planes of his body, that impressive groin pressed up against her ass. He’d cup her breast, play with the piercing jewelry as he dozed and she got more aroused, until she was squirming against him, rubbing against his cock, waking him up on several levels. Of course he’d probably grumble at her for disturbing his rest, threaten to punish her. Push her down under the blanket so she had to service his morning erection. Maybe he’d let her use her hands, to cup his muscular ass, stroke the taut lines of his thighs.

  Her lids were drooping. She really had slept poorly last night. She needed to get up, finish that work. Hold it all together, even though she was afraid everything was falling apart. She was just so tired… If she had a nap, she’d be better off. She wasn’t going to give up, even if she had to go through a hundred days like the last two. Which would technically be two hundred days…

  * * * * *

  “It’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah, yeah, bitch, bitch. Stop being such a little girl about it. Think how much better production will be after the turnover.”

  “We’ll lose about a million during the outage.”

  “You could pull a million out of your ass right now. This will triple our investment in two years.”

  Slowly, she surfaced. Where was… Oh holy hell, she’d fallen asleep on the couch, apparently some time ago, because Ben was back in his office. With at least Peter and Matt, the two who’d been arguing with him. Was Lucas in here? She froze, wondering if she should just keep her eyes shut and hope they hadn’t noticed her. Yeah,
that was likely. From the direction of Peter’s voice, he was in the chair that faced the couch.

  She’d fallen asleep like a sleepy, trusting child, her nose nestled in his pillow, arms wrapped around it like she’d wrap them around him, never wanting to let him go. God, she was like a Taylor Swift song, probably not the picture of mature woman at the moment. If they were looking at her, they’d know she was awake, because she was turning the color of a tomato.

  The hell with it. She opened her eyes. Peter was actually standing, leaning on the wall behind the chair, all that restless energy too out front to be contained for long in a chair. Though he’d retired from the National Guard to be here for Dana, he still looked like he should be carrying an assault rifle, ready to lead a unit into a firefight. He was built like a muscular tank, and to the delight of every woman who met him, he was the one K&A man who usually wore khakis or dress jeans and form-fitting heavy weight tees that emphasized that physique. Since he oversaw a lot of the plant operations, the casual look was more appropriate for him.

  Matt was as intimidating and riveting as ever in his dark suit, polished shoes. He was in what Marcie privately called his raptor pose. Though he appeared relaxed, ankle on the opposite knee, hands loose on the chair arms, there was something about the position of his head, the focus of the dark eyes, that suggested he was about to swoop down five hundred feet and pluck a hapless field mouse out of a dense meadow.

  Ben had his chair pushed back with one foot against the edge of the desk. He was tapping a pen against the arm. None of them were looking toward her, but they all realized she was here. They hadn’t woken her. It was as if her being in Ben’s office made her part of his other belongings. She wondered how Lucas would feel about that. Had he already been here? Seen her?