by Remy Landon
He closed his lips around her clit, holding this position, loving the feel of her inside his mouth. It was killing him not to fuck her, but he needed a bit more compliance from her, and then it would be time.
He resumed his slow, delicate licking, and then he felt Cassandra push herself against him, arching her back as a moan escaped her.
Another transgression. Carlo sat back on the bed. She had bunched the comforter into her hands and was looking at him anxiously.
“I'm sorry, Carlo.” She was trembling as she pulled herself to a sitting position. “I couldn't stand it anymore. It's just—it's so intense. I'm sorry.”
He sighed. He did not want to punish her again, but if she handled it well, he could still meet the goal. The way she was looking at him—flustered, distraught, pleading—it was making him feel weak, and he could not have it.
“You'll need another consequence before we continue.” His words were measured, even.
Her lips parted slightly, her eyes large as she nodded.
“This will be a bit more involved than before. I'm going to tie your hands behind you.”
Carlo got off the bed and went to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and taking out a long silk scarf and a condom. Cassandra had put her hands behind her back, crossed at the wrist, even before he had asked. She was looking at him imploringly. This was a good sign.
He swiftly wrapped the scarf around her wrists, pulling it snugly, and made a double knot. “Lay on the bed face down, but up on your knees. I want your ass in the air.”
She quickly followed his instructions. He stepped out of his boxers, tore open the condom packet and rolled it onto his cock so that he was ready when the time was right.
He continued talking to her as he went to his closet. “Do you remember the safe word?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Enough.”
He stood over her with the short leather riding crop, dragging it lightly over her bare buttocks and watching her skin prickle with goosebumps. “Are you ready?”A whisper. “Yes.”
He had yet to use the crop full-strength and had never left a mark. He would gauge the woman's reaction in between each strike, wielding it with a bit more power the next time if he thought the woman was receptive. The last woman he'd used it on had gotten angry after the first sting. She'd grabbed the whip from him, flung it across the room, eyes blazing, then had climbed on top of him and they'd fucked for an hour. Needless to say, he'd lost that contest, but the sex had been compensation.
He wasn't sure how Cassandra would take this, but from the way she had quickly gotten into position, it was clear she was trying hard. Standing at the edge of the bed behind her, he told her to close her eyes. He paused for a few seconds to let the anticipation build, raised the crop above her and brought it down swiftly across her ass.
She did not move. Good, sweetheart, he praised her wordlessly. After a few more chastisements with the crop, he would enter her, finally, and take her repeatedly throughout the night. Then within the next several days, even though it would be painful, he'd end it, and move on. Catch and release.
Again, the crop, making a soft whistle through the air as it struck her. Carlo paused to stare at the round shape of her buttocks, the tiny tremors rippling through her skin with the effort of holding herself completely still as he had asked. He had a sudden urge to know what she was feeling and took a step to the left to view her expression. Her eyes were still closed, and her cheek was streaked with tears. She was crying. Silently.
His heart seized. He had wanted to control Cassandra, yes—just like the others. But what he hadn't been prepared for was this overwhelming urge to comfort her. To protect her. And more.
She was submitting to him, but it was about more than just lust for her, as was evident by the tears. He hadn't counted on her tears.
And he hadn't counted on feeling this way about her.
Continue, he told himself savagely. Continue, so that you know you can, and then let her go. You are in control.
He raised the crop again.
And then, the thought came. She deserves more than this façade.
Poised over her, with his erection rapidly waning, Carlo let the crop fall to the floor and uttered one word.
“Enough.”
chapter thirty-three ~ Cassandra
Driving home, Cassandra found herself trying to untangle the twisted feelings inside her. There was shock, obviously—she hadn't known how the evening would unfold, but the night had ended in a way she never would have expected. There was extreme guilt at the thought of having disappointed him. She hadn't meant to cry, but she hadn't been prepared for the thoughts and emotions that had accompanied what he did to her physically: the desperate want for him, the struggle to make sense of his obvious need to dominate her, the uneasiness (at times, fear) wondering what would come next, and the almost frantic need to please him, which superseded her own desire.
And her desire had been unbelievable. Never had she wanted anyone so much; she had been burning for him, with every atom of her on fire. As things had gotten progressively more intense, she began to feel as though she would fall apart—like the only thing that could keep her together was Carlo's arms around her. If she had been allowed to speak, she would have asked him to please just hold her, just once, so that she could feel the tenderness he usually kept hidden. Maybe if he'd done that, she would have been better able to accept all the rest and performed to his satisfaction—and she wouldn't be in this position now, driving home alone, with tears streaming down her face.
There was also worry—worry about him and if he was okay. Worry about what he was feeling right now, and what the future would hold for them. He had very quietly asked her to leave and then sat on the bed in silence, staring straight ahead while she gathered her clothes and got dressed, her mind and body numb. She had said his name once, but he hadn't looked at her—just kept staring down at his hands, his naked body looking like a beautiful sculpture in the low light of the room. She'd had the urge to go to him, put her arms around his neck and kiss his face, comfort him somehow, even in her state of stunned confusion.
The two words he had said as she left the room had startled her. I'm sorry. What did this mean, exactly? What was he sorry for? For punishing her? That she had cried? Maybe he was sorry that they didn't actually have sex. Or he was sorry that she had failed him. Or—and this frightened her the most—he was sorry that it was over.
He hadn't said anything more, and she hadn't asked him to clarify. On her way out, she had stepped over the crop lying on the floor and hadn't looked back.
Mostly, now, she felt a tremendous ache. Quite simply, her heart hurt.
It began to rain. She flicked on the windshield wipers, suddenly feeling exhausted. She would go right to bed for what would hopefully be a dreamless sleep. In the morning, she would text Teal and say it hadn't gone well, but that she didn't want to talk about it just yet. There was no way she could discuss this with Teal when she didn't even understand what had happened.
She didn't want to talk to anyone. Except Carlo. She would keep her phone on her pillow, hoping that a text or call would come from him in the middle of the night. As much as she wanted to contact him, she would leave it up to him. He was the one in charge—of the next move, of the relationship. Of her heart.
chapter thirty-four ~ Carlo
Carlo's headache was relentless, and nothing had helped. He'd tried eating something, since his appetite had been lousy for the past several days, and he tried drinking extra water in case the headache stemmed from dehydration. He'd taken aspirin, ibuprofen and had even tried to meditate it away, but closing his eyes brought forth images he didn't want to see. And the pain raged on. He supposed it was partly due to the fact that he'd barely slept the past few nights. As much as he hated the idea, he would call his doctor for a refill on his sleep aid prescription if the insomnia persisted.
In addition to his headache, he was dealing with a pain in the ass—a six foot-four, b
lond one. Brock had been sulking like a toddler when Carlo had told him that the contest was over—that Brock had won this round by default, and he'd order him the goddamned watch for his prize, but that the video was off limits. Carlo had also made it clear that he was done with the game, for good. When Brock whined about wanting to at least see what had transpired that night, Carlo had snarled, enough. The word had jarred him, pulling him back to that night he had been trying so desperately to shove out of his memory.
Brock had stared defiantly at him, and then his green eyes glimmered in surprise as a look of sudden comprehension brightened his face. I get it, friend, he'd said, laughing softly. She became more than just a plaything, didn't she?
Carlo had ordered Brock to leave and made himself a Scotch with a splash of water as the emotions roiled within him: anger for succumbing to a drink at work, bitterness toward his smug colleague for concocting the fucking contest in the first place, fury toward himself for going along with it...and guilt that he had hurt Cassandra.
Although he had made the gut-wrenching decision not to contact her, the desire to know how she was doing and what she was feeling seeped into every moment of every day and crept into the few hours of fragmented sleep he'd managed to get. It was proving nearly impossible to immerse himself in work, but he was going to try like hell and hope the feelings would fade—for both him and for Cassandra.
He was perusing the New England sales figures when Estelle opened the door. He hadn't seen much of her this week; she must have sensed his mood. He looked up from his desk and tried to arrange his face to look pleasant as his head continued to pound.
“Carlo...Richard Foster's on the phone and wants to talk to you. Are you available now?”
Carlo grimaced. Foster was the owner of one of their biggest distributors—nice guy, but he'd keep you on the phone forever. And Carlo was not in the mood for talk.
“Tell him I'll call him back.”
Estelle looked at him sharply from behind her glasses. “He said it's very important.”
Carlo sighed in annoyance. “All right.Put him through.”
She turned to leave and flashed him a small, anxious smile. “I'm sorry you've been having a bad time of it. I'm here, you know, if you ever need me.”
“I always need you.”
Her eyes were bright. “I'll transfer the call.”
Watching her leave, he sighed heavily and rubbed his right temple. This headache was brutal, and Foster would most likely make it worse.
His desk phone rang and he answered. “Richard...how are things in the Pacific Northwest? I've only got a couple minutes—I'm heading into a meeting, but what can I do for you?”
“It's more about what I can do for you, Carlo.” Foster's usual jovial tone was missing. “One of your competitors was in just a little while ago. They have a prototype of a new e-valve, which sounded very similar to the one we were talking about at the trade show in Nashville.”
Immediately, Carlo's interest was piqued. “Really. Which competitor?”
“Columbia. They've developed this valve to sell to the Navy, and it works exactly like the one you described to me. Is yours ready for market yet?”
“No, but hopefully soon—we're shooting for the end of this month. We're still doing performance tests.” He paused. “Did they leave you any technical information on it?”
“Yeah. They left me a data sheet.”
“Can you scan it and email it to me? I'd be interested to see it.”
Foster chuckled. “I took the liberty. It should already in your inbox.”
“I'll take a look. Thanks very much...I'll get back to you. Next time I'm in your area, dinner and drinks are on me.”
This struck Carlo as odd. The Gatekeeper was a secret project that very few people knew about. He'd discussed it in Nashville under the condition that Foster wouldn't reveal its existence to anyone. And he trusted Foster; the guy may have liked to talk, but his integrity was unquestionable.
Carlo turned his attention to his computer and opened up his email, finding the message from Foster. He clicked on the attached PDF file and waited as it downloaded, his temple faintly throbbing. Skimming its contents, he felt bile rising in his throat. It was clear from what he was seeing that the company's secret project had been compromised.
He punched in the extension for Chris Butler, the engineering manager. He would start with him.
“Chris. I need you in my office immediately. And grab Rodney in IT on your way.” Carlo ended the call and dialed Estelle's extension.
“Yes, Carlo?”
“I need you. Actually, I need Tums. Do you have any?”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Yes. I'll get you some.”
“Rodney and Chris are heading to my office. You can show them right in.”
Estelle returned with a small paper cup. She set it on his desk and pursed her lips in concern. “Upset stomach?”
“Yes, to go along with my headache.”
“I brought you four. You can take more in an hour. Have you eaten anything today?”
“Not unless you count the Scotch.”
She frowned at him. “Are you all right?”
“Dealing with a bit of stress. I'll handle it, just like I always do.”
Rodney and Chris arrived just as Estelle was leaving his office. Instructing them to close the door, he quickly chewed the tablets and turned his computer monitor so the two men could see the PDF file. “Gentlemen...we have a problem. Chris, does this look familiar to you?”
Chris leaned closer, his eyes growing large as he read. “Damn. How did that happen?”
Rodney squinted behind his glasses, puzzled. “I—I don't understand what's going on.”
Carlo explained. “We've been working in secret on an e-valve for the Navy, but our competition apparently trumped us with one that looks and works exactly like it. I want to know how they found out about this.”
“I can assure you none of my project engineers would have leaked it, Carlo.” Chris was looking at him in earnest.
Carlo nodded and addressed Rodney. “It looks like we've got a mole somewhere. I need you to find it. Check emails, check IP addresses, check who had access to project files.” Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, remembering what Estelle had told him about Brock's supposed conversation with the Columbia CEO about a month ago. “Pay particular attention to Brockton Dall's activity. Look for any correspondence between Brock and Ned Hodgins. I want the information today, if at all possible.”
Rodney nodded. “I'll get on it now.”
“And I'm sure I don't need to tell you that this information can't leave this office.”
The two men exited, leaving Carlo with his head and heart pounding. Brock was an asshole, but was he capable of committing what amounted to corporate espionage? He did cut his teeth working for Columbia, and if Estelle had heard correctly that he had been talking with Ned...
But there was no point in speculating. He would have to wait and see what Rodney uncovered.
~*~*~*~*
It was late afternoon when the knock came on his door. Rodney, his usually boyish face looking intense.
“Sorry it took me a while, but I think I figured it out.”
“Lay it on me.”
“There was an email from Brockton Dall to the address hodgin30, with the subject line Requested info. There was also a reply from the hodgin30 address with the subject Payment. I found multiple emails from Brock to his personal email address, and some of them had encrypted attachments.”
“Do you have any idea what the encrypted files were?”
“I traced them through our server.” Rodney paused. “They originated from the Gatekeeper folder.”
Brock.
Fucking son of a bitch. Betraying him, betraying the company and Carlo's stepfather, after Scott had made him vice-president and treated him like another son.
Carlo could feel his face flaming. “I'll need a full written report on what you found out.
I appreciate your work, Rodney.”
First Cassandra, and now this fucking mess. Carlo sat down in his chair and leaned back, running his hands through his hair and clasping them on top of his head as he willed his heartbeat to slow.
Deep breaths. He would have to view both situations calmly and rationally. It struck him that as bizarre as it sounded, and as much as he loathed the idea of comparing Cassandra and Brock, there was one similarity: both would be cut out of his life.
A twisting in his gut. Gritting his teeth, he left his office and went to Estelle's desk. Regarding him somberly, she reached for her purse beneath the desk and handed him the bottle of antacid tablets without a word. Carlo managed a terse nod, grateful that she didn't engage him in conversation, and headed down the hallway to the catalog room.
He scanned the shelves for an open box. Finding one, he removed the remaining few catalogs and continued down the hall to the next office, the box tucked under his arm. He stopped at the door, his jaw clenching as he glanced at the brass nameplate: Brockton Dall, President, Miller Valve. He couldn't wait to take that down...to take Brock down.
The door was closed, but Carlo wouldn't knock. He turned the knob and stepped inside. Brock was standing behind his desk putting on his coat, his face shifting from irritated to surprised when he saw Carlo.
“Carlo. What's up? I've got an appointment...I was just leaving.”
“And I'm here to help with that. You can use this box to collect your personal belongings.” He threw it toward Brock, the box skidding across the smooth surface of the desk and onto the floor. “I have reason to believe you compromised our project. You're suspended without pay until further notice as I continue the investigation.”
Brock's expression was smooth, bland. “I don't know what you're talking about, friend.”
Carlo had to hand it to him—the asshole was cool under pressure. “You can dispense with the 'friend,' you smug son of a bitch. It's going to be my pleasure to terminate you and have you prosecuted for corporate espionage.”