Three Dark Hours

by Maggie Carpenter

  “Brad,” she interrupted, “I have a friend who wrote something this weekend, something along those lines,” and I would love to know what you think of my writing.

  “That’s a coincidence,” he remarked. “Is your friend published?”

  “No, she’d like to be but no. She often gives me her stories to read. I thought it was really weird that it was so much like the chapter you gave me,” she lied.

  “Can you bring it in tomorrow?”

  His interest was clearly piqued, and feeling quite wicked she stood up from her chair.

  “I can do better than that,” she declared. “It’s in my satchel. I can give it to you right away.”

  Moving quickly to her desk, her heart in her mouth, she retrieved the anonymous copy of her short story and hurried back.

  “Here you go,” she exclaimed dropping the envelope in front of him. “She’ll be so excited when she hears her work is being read by an acquisitions editor. Any comments you can offer I know she’d be just be thrilled to get.”

  Brad picked up the envelope and seemed to weigh it in his hand, then nodded his head.

  “Tell your friend I’ll read it tonight and give you my thoughts in the morning. This is kismet,” he smiled. “If she’s any good maybe I can do some kind of double release thing. A man’s story and a woman’s.”

  “Seriously?” Isobel frowned her pulse unexpectedly zipping into overdrive. “I mean, you don’t even know her, she may be a terrible writer.”

  “Do you think she’s good?” he asked. “I didn’t think you’d want me to read it if she sucked.”

  Isobel felt her face turn beet red, and staring past him out the window she thought frantically, trying to come up with something to say.

  “Noooo,” she began, “I wouldn’t say she’s bad...”

  “How long is this? Is it a synopsis, or...?” he queried as he opened the envelope.

  “It’s a short story,” she answered quickly, “around 2500 words I think.”

  “Let me read the first page,” he remarked.

  Isobel’s temples were thumping on either side of her head, and she could feel her mouth turn suddenly dry. As his eyes scanned her words she wanted to run from the room.

  “Coffee,” she stammered, “I’m getting some.”

  “Yep, sure,” he said with a dismissive wave.

  Rising unsteadily from her chair she moved from his office and walked slowly into the small kitchen.

  Shit, this is so intense. What was I thinking? He’ll probably think it’s terrible. Thank God he doesn’t know I wrote it. At least I’ll have some idea of where I’ve gone wrong, and maybe I’ll have time to correct everything before class tonight. Yes, this is a good thing...it’s a good thing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When she returned to her desk she was surprised to find Brad’s door closed; the only time he locked himself away was when he was on an important call or facing a deadline. As she settled in behind her desk she glanced at the phone, and noticing it wasn’t lit up she moved her gaze back towards his office.

  He must be on his cellphone. I guess I’ll just have to sit here and wait. I’m so nervous. I wish I didn’t feel so freaked out. Maybe I shouldn’t have given it to him.

  Just calm down. Whatever he says will be useful.

  You’re right. Okay, deep breaths. I’ll get to work.

  Powering up her computer she started perusing the many emails waiting in her mailbox, attempting to put Brad and his reading of Three Dark Hours out of her mind, but when his door finally opened she felt a sharp knot in the pit of her stomach, and swallowing she waited for the verdict.

  “I have to meet your friend,” he declared.

  “Wh-what? M-meet my friend?” she stammered, what the hell?

  “Yes, can she come in today?” he asked.

  “Uh, no, she’s, I think she might, uh, have gone out of town,”

  “Call her, get her on the phone,” he said urgently, “I have to speak to her.”

  “I don’t understand,” Isobel frowned, her pulse quickening.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Kate,” she hastily replied.

  She had always fancied herself as a Kate. She loved Kate in The Taming of the Shrew, and adored Katherine Hepburn, the golden-era shining star.

  “Kate is an extremely talented writer,” he declared, “and I want her to expand what she’s written into a full-length novel. I want to meet her and maybe offer her a deal.”

  Isobel felt the blood drain from her face.

  This is impossible, he must have read the wrong story. He can’t possibly be talking about what I wrote.

  “You mean Three Dark Hours, right?” Isobel asked haltingly. “The short story.”

  “Of course, what did you think? Why are you so surprised?”

  Not having an answer she simply stared back at him as she tried to contain her bubbling excitement.

  “I love the title,” Brad remarked, “and she had me hooked from the first few lines. It’s almost as if she was responding to that chapter I gave you to read.”

  “I know, right,” Isobel said quickly, then nervously laughed out loud.

  “She needs a bit of guidance,” Brad continued ignoring her momentary hysteria, “and some polishing, but nothing we can’t fix. How soon can you reach her?”

  “I’m, uh, not sure,” she managed.

  “Please get hold of her, and Isobel, thank you for sharing this with me. I think you may have brought me my next new talent.”

  Absolutely aghast she watched him walk back into his office, then clasped her hand across her mouth to stop from squealing.

  Count to ten...take a deep breath...this is...whoa...! I can’t believe it! I absolutely can’t believe it!

  Rising unsteadily she made her way into the kitchen. She didn’t want another cup of coffee, she just needed to move, to be away from her desk and away from him before he threw her anymore questions she couldn't answer.

  Shit. This is incredible. How the hell can I tell him it was me? It’ll be totally embarrassing but, wow, how great is this? Oh, my, gosh, he liked it, he really liked it. Okay, here goes. I just hope I don’t blush too horribly.

  Still in shock but feeling somewhat more composed she hurried back to her desk and poked her head into his office.

  “Brad, I need to talk to you,” she said softly.

  “Sure, come on in. Did you reach Kate?”

  “Uh, no, the thing is...”

  He’d removed his glasses and was staring at her, and though desperate to tell him she was the author of Three Dark Hours she couldn’t find the words.

  “Yes,” he pressed.

  “Um, I left her a voice mail,” she lied nervously. “I think she may be out of town, probably out of cell range.”

  “Ah, darn it,” he muttered. “Do you have anything else she’s written?”

  “Uh-huh, she, uh, always gives me her stuff because she knows I work for a publisher," Isobel replied.

  “Anything else similar to Three Dark Hours?”

  “A few things,” she said hesitantly.

  “Like what? Sit down,” he invited, "you don’t need to stand in the doorway.”

  “Oh, right,” she mumbled, tell him, tell him it’s you!

  “So, what else do you have?” he repeated as she dropped into the chair in front of his desk.

  “Some story outlines, a couple of other erotic things. Should I bring them in tomorrow?”

  “Yes, definitely,” he nodded, then grinning he added, “and if you forget I’ll spank you.”

  She felt her face blush a thousand shades of red, and dropping her eyes she squirmed in her seat.

  “Did I make you uncomfortable? Sorry, it was just...with the story and everything, but that was completely inappropriate,” he frowned. “I apologize.”

  “No, yes, no, that’s fine,” she stammered, “it was funny,” and I would love to be bent over your desk and spanked, and why are you suddenly so flipping at
tractive?

  His milk chocolate eyes were shining across at her, filled with a promise she couldn’t quite define; out of the blue he’d become incredibly sexy.

  Okay, this is just weird. Maybe it’s because he said he’d spank me, or maybe because he read what I wrote and he loves it.

  Stop, he’s your boss, you’ve known him for ages and there’s nothing there.

  You’re right. Of course you’re right.

  “Bring me whatever you have. I need to read more of her stuff, and Isobel, thanks again, though I must admit I’m a bit confused.”

  “Confused. Why?”

  “You have such a great eye, and your comments are usually spot on. I’m surprised you didn’t see her talent and bring it to me sooner.”

  He was scrutinizing her, and shifting awkwardly in her chair she searched for an excuse.

  “I guess, I felt weird because she’s a friend of mine,” she mumbled, and I still can’t believe you like it so much.

  “I can understand that,” he nodded. “I have to say this has been a great way to start the week. Can’t wait to see what you bring in tomorrow. Sure as hell hope you reach her soon.”

  “Uh-huh,” Isobel smiled, then taking a deep breath she added, “what if you don’t like her other stuff?”

  “I’m not worried about that,” he grinned. “Subject matter aside, writing is writing, and she can write.”

  Tell him!

  I want to, I don’t know what’s stopping me. I’ll tell him tomorrow, after he reads my other things.

  “Isobel, are you all right?”

  “What? Yes, sure, just processing all this,” she smiled. “It’s thrilling. I’m so, uh, excited for her.”

  “For me too,” he declared. “It’s hard to find writers who really know how to tell a story, and your friend can. Shoot, is that the time? I have to move on with all this other crap sitting here. Let me know right away when you reach her.”

  “I will, of course,” she nodded as she stood up, “and, uh, thanks.”

  Walking back to her desk she dropped into her chair and stared blankly at her computer screen.

  Tomorrow, I’ll tell him tomorrow when I hand him my other short stories. I’ll give him the one about the Dungeon Master. That’s my favorite.

  The phone rang, startling her, and fighting the desire to burst into laughter from sheer joy she returned to her work, but as the day continued and her night class loomed ahead, her thoughts returned to Patrick Doyle.

  Filled with a new found confidence she was eager for him to read her salacious story. If Brad had been so taken with it she was sure Patrick would have the same reaction and maybe, just maybe, her fantasy would become a reality.

  Later that evening, too excited to eat any dinner, she headed off to class convinced Patrick would know she was reaching out to him and would surely respond; this would be the beginning of their beginning.

  Bouncing into the classroom she proudly placed the envelope marked Confidential on his desk. He glanced up, his sky blue eyes capturing hers, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

  "I hope you enjoy it," she twinkled at him.

  "I'm looking forward to it," he casually replied, and began greeting the other students as they filed in and deposited their short stories on top of hers.

  Sighing happily she took her seat and settled in to stare at her dreamboat, barely able to contain herself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Patrick began the class, but in spite of her best efforts to focus her mind strayed constantly, her thoughts wrapped around the manila envelope that contained her lascivious story. When the two hours finally ended and the students headed from the room, Isobel remained seated at her desk, and Patrick, waiting patiently, leaned against the blackboard with his arms crossed.

  “Yes, Isobel?” he frowned as she rose from her desk and walked casually towards him.

  His firm demeanor sent a shiver down her spine, but doing her best to ignore it she forced herself to look directly into his heart-stopping eyes.

  “It’s my short story,” she managed.

  “What about it?”

  “Well, it’s not the normal kind of...I mean it’s probably not what you’re used to,” she stammered.

  “How would you know what I’m used to?” he asked moving the few steps to his desk and pulling the envelope from under the others piled on top of it.

  “You’re not going to-”

  “What?” he interrupted, “read it now? You seem anxious for me to look at it. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, it’s just...” shit, I didn’t think he’d want to read it in front of me?

  “It’s just...?” he pressed, opening it up and pulling the pages out.

  “I have to go,” she said hastily grabbing her bag.

  “No, I don’t think so, you stay right where you are,” he directed. “I’m sure it’s very good. There’s no need for you to be embarrassed.”

  “It’s really personal,” she said quietly.

  “Even better,” he replied raising an eyebrow. “Now sit down. I don’t make a habit of this, be grateful.”

  “Sorry, I am, it’s just...”

  “You keep saying, it’s just. Relax. Please sit down,” he repeated.

  Heart pumping and face reddening she returned to her desk, then nervously watched his eyes scan the pages. Never had she heard such silence; it was broken only by the turning of each piece of paper, the sound echoing through the empty room. Watching his face, looking for any signs of approval, his deadpan expression gave nothing away.

  You'd be a great poker player. Why don't you just stop and swoop down on me? You're more than halfway through. Surely you want me by now. Maybe you're not kinky after all. Maybe you think my fantasies are crazy...I'm crazy. Shit, maybe you're not as attracted to me as I thought.

  She could not have been more wrong.

  Not only was Patrick captivated by her salacious story, his member was pressing urgently in his trousers, and any doubt he had about taking Isobel to his bed had been vanquished. As he finished the last page he took a deep breath, exhaled dramatically, looked across at her and shook his head.

  "You didn't like it?" she asked fearfully.

  "Oh, yes, I definitely liked it, very much. I can honestly say it held my attention to the very last word. As I told you last time we talked you are a talented writer, but Isobel, you are also a very naughty girl."

  The butterflies that had been fluttering around her stomach suddenly burst forth and tripled in number.

  "I am?" she squeaked.

  "You certainly are," he smiled, "and you know it. The question is, what am I going to do about it?"

  Isobel was not the first student to have reached out to him through their work, but she was certainly the most brazen, and she'd made her dark desires shockingly clear.

  "Give me an A?" she giggled, then blushed furiously at the facetious remark that had spilled from her lips. “Sorry,” she added quickly, “sometimes things come out of me before I have time to stop them.”

  Rising from his chair he walked slowly towards her. Her eyes were full of expectation, and as he neared he had to fight the desire to yank her to her feet, throw her across his desk, spank her soundly, and devour her body.

  "You were right," he said softly.

  "What about?" she breathed, knowing he was about to say something that would completely take her breath way.

  "Me," he said simply.

  Gulping, she stared up at him as he perched on the edge of her desk.

  "I would love to indulge us both," he began, "but you need to know the ground rules."

  Rules already? Oh, my gosh, how great is this?

  "Sure, of course," she nodded, and if I break them will I be spanked?

  "I'm a single guy and I like it that way. Whatever we do there can be no strings. No unannounced dropping by, or tearful goodbyes when things have run their course. I don't do drama, Isobel. Can you live with that?"

  Though his radi
ant blue eyes were compelling, and his manicured hands promised hours of prurient pleasure, she felt a distant, but distinct recoil.

  He will absolutely break your heart. You don't know how to do casual, you never have.

  "So, Isobel, can you?"

  "Sure!" she declared. Shit. Did I just say that?

  "In that case..." he breathed.

  As he rose to his feet he reached down, grabbed her arm and pulled her from her seat.

  "You really are a very bad girl for handing in such a licentious piece of work. If I'd decided to read that during class I would have had a very hard time."

  "That was kind of the point," she giggled, "making things hard for you. I'm surprised you're not grateful!"

  "You really want to be spanked, don't you?" he wickedly grinned.

  "Kind of," she squeaked.

  His firm grip on her arm was sending a hot wave of need through her sex, and as he led her to his desk a quiver bristled down her spine.

  "Elbows down," he said firmly, "and arch your back."

  Grateful she'd decided to wear a skirt rather than slacks, tremulously she bent forward, closing her eyes as the exquisite feelings began to sweep over her.

  God I love this, I love this so much. There must be something seriously wrong with me! I can’t believe this is happening. Oh, my, God, I’m about to be spanked.

  Patrick wasted no time, dropping his hand in a flurry of quick sharp smacks, eliciting just as many gasps of surprise, then flipping up her skirt up he stared for a moment at her cute, French-cut black panties before dispatching them down her legs.

  "Lovely," he murmured smiling at the slightly pink, round backside waiting for more.

  “Th-thank you," she managed.

  Breathless and overcome Isobel was lost in the moment. She had just been spanked for the very first time by her handsome teacher, the hero of her fantasies, and she was convinced she would faint from the sheer excitement of it all.

  “Patrick, this is amazing,” she whimpered dropping her head into her hands.

  Without responding he traced his fingertips lightly across the width of her bottom, drawing forth a wriggle, then flattening his palm he began to deliver slow, sound smacks. It didn't take long for the squirming to start, and as he increased the zing her gyrations were joined by utterances of pain.