When he had first brushed his hand against Charlotte’s bare ass, she jumped. Nerves. That had made two of them. It had been a while since he had pursued a relationship with a submissive. There hadn’t been time in London, and there hadn’t been anyone who could even begin to please him in that manner—until now. He recalled how he explained the different types of spankings to her, but she seemed nonplussed about it. Declan had caressed her bare skin, gently at first, but then more roughly, watching for any change of color. He had pinched her, to see how red her skin would become. Of course, he had gone easy on her, only using a light erotic spanking and not the chastisement spanking reserved for more serious infractions. Also, he wanted to judge how turned on she would become by the punishment. Declan loosened his tie as he thought of how his fingers probed her easily. The flesh on flesh spanking aroused her, and he was greatly pleased that she seemed to learn from her mistake so quickly.
He couldn’t take not knowing any longer. He texted Natalie briefly during the meeting.
Declan: Ms. Ward. I am delayed at the breakfast meeting with Eric and Nathan. Will you please survey my desk and see if there is a journal on it. I have misplaced it and am wondering if I left it there. Please respond immediately.
He tapped the edge of the white china breakfast plate with his fork, impatiently awaiting Ms. Ward’s response. Why can’t you find good help these days? She’s moving at a snail’s pace for Christ’s sake!
Eric noticed Declan’s distracted behavior. “Are you unsure of branching out into the New adult market?” He folded his napkin and rested it on the table.
“No. It’s not that. I am debating whom I should move over for research. I’m thinking it’s a new genre for us, and we need some fresh perspectives.” Declan stopped fidgeting with the knife and looked at Eric expectantly.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Pearse. I will compile a list of competent candidates from our current research department.”
“That’s not necessary. I have a few candidates already in mind.” Declan checked his phone for the fifth time. Still nothing. “I would like you to start interviewing them by mid-next week.”
Just then, he felt the vibration in his pocket.
Natalie: Mr. Pearse. Your journal is sitting on your desk, right in the middle. You must have forgotten it there when you left last evening.
He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he didn’t want to have to punish Charlotte so soon.
Declan: Thank you Ms. Ward. We will be finishing here shortly.
Back at his office, Declan carefully closed and locked the door and reclined in his leather desk chair. The journal was sitting there, begging to be fondled. Its supple leather skin reminded him of Ms. Flynn’s soft, buttery flesh. He opened the journal, taking in the smell of the paper and ink mingling. He brushed his hand over the script of her words. Her handwriting was lovely, and it looked as though she had tattooed the page with precision. He read the words she inscribed on the first page.
If my Master is lost, I’ll find him. I’ll lead him back to himself, because to serve does not always mean to follow. – Joey Hill.
He gently closed the journal, returning it to its exact position on his desk, and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes. He thought again of last night. He began so softly, making sure his hand landed in a different place, but not too high, focusing more on her sweet spot—that delectable spot where her thighs met her butt. He could tell when the strokes moved from pleasurable to painful because she sucked in a breath and cringed before he delivered each one. When Charlotte’s ass blushed pink, Declan began to spank her harder. After a few minutes, he ran his hands over her skin, feeling the warmth and admiring the deep shade of red her ass had turned.
Declan allowed his mind to wander a path he’d closed off for years. He unlocked the gates of his imagination and let the images of her flood him. Charlotte naked and bound to his bed. Charlotte on her knees before him. Charlotte begging for another spanking by his hand. He ached to train her in how to please him, to show her the pleasure she’d never known. He craved running his hands along the curves and contours of her body, memorizing each beautiful inch of her. He wanted to watch her bloom as she surrendered to her true submissive nature. He hungered to be Charlotte’s Master.
He composed himself and called for his assistant. “Ms. Ward, could you please contact Ms. Flynn in Research. I need a meeting right away.”
“Yes, Mr. Pearse. Your schedule is clear at five thirty this evening. Would you like me to schedule the meeting for then?”
“Please do, Ms. Ward, and make it a dinner meeting. Have dinner brought in from Cure. You know what I prefer.”
“Right away, Mr. Pearse.”
***
Friday morning found Charlie at her desk, knee deep in Internet research about the proper usage of C-clamps. When she was in college, dreaming of a career in the publishing world, she fancied herself editing beautiful prose, wonderful literary fiction, and poignant women’s fiction. Instead, here she sat researching different types of nipple clamps to illicit both pain and pleasure. She bit down on the end of her pen, a nasty habit from high school she never quite broke, and blushed, feeling thankful for the privacy of a new office space. Luckily, no one would sneak up surreptitiously as she perused the different styles of nipple clamps. The author had the book’s Master use gator clips to bring his submissive to new pleasurable heights, but Charlie felt they were too pedestrian. They reminded her of stoners and seemed like they would fit better in a pot-hazed plot than in the toy box of a tenured college professor and his eager, but novitiate servant. The tweezers didn’t seem to be a match either. Decidedly, the goldilocks of nipple clamps, she felt the C-clamps would be the best choice. The online catalog described them as “providing the perfect pinch.” The metal chain would swing providing just the right pull. Charlie felt her cheeks grow warm and decided if she were going to continue researching this particular work of fiction, she would need to keep the door open to get some air. She padded in stocking feet, to the door and opened it gently.
Glancing at the clock and realizing it was almost four thirty, she figured it might be wise to do another email check. Charlie relaxed back into her chair, happy for the distraction from the manuscript for the time being. Clicking on her little mail icon, she discovered five new messages. Two from the Research Department, one from Mr. Eric Wheldon, and one from Natalie Ward. The one from Natalie was in view in the preview pane, so she read it first.
Ms. Flynn –
Mr. Pearse requests your presence in his office at 5:30 PM for a working dinner. He would like to discuss your research progress on the current manuscript.
N. Ward
Executive Assistant to Declan Pearse
Charlie blushed instantly. How was she going to handle this? How were they going to maintain a professional working relationship while their private relationship would most likely make Rhianna’s song about S&M sound vanilla? Her embarrassment quickly morphed to peevishness. She had placed the journal on his desk just before seven Monday morning. She knew him to be an early riser, so to ensure she placed there before his workday began; she rose at zero-dark thirty to travel to the office and sneak in. What the hell took him so long? Was he going to bring it up during the meeting or ignore it completely? Of course, he made her wait not hours but days. It was the delicate duel between them that had to occur for her to give over more than just her body to him, but also her soul and mind. She remembered her first training, and how she cherished the back and forth, the give and take to achieve submission. Would it be different with Declan? Would he push her too far or worse, not far enough? She swallowed hard at the thought.
Charlie arrived in front of Declan’s office at 5:28 p.m. She fussed with her skirt and blouse before knocking. It was open slightly, and she could see candles flickering. Candles? What kind of meeting was this going to be? He didn’t answer, so she crept in quietly as if she were a church mouse or perhaps a cat burglar. Her movements lithe an
d nimble until she tripped over something in the middle of the floor. Son of a sugar … Damn. She bent down and picked up something silver. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a fork. She could imagine Declan cursing out the unfortunate soul who had to bring him the utensils. The office was devoid of Declan’s presence but filled with something else. The burning candles, wine chilling, and a beautifully catered dinner set out on the low table in the corner of the room created a strange, seductive ambience. She stepped closer to the table, examining the dishes. It looked like some sort of delicious pasta in a beautiful sauce, and it smelled heavenly. Unsure where to wait, she turned around to move closer to the desk area when she ran smack into a wall of hard chest. A suited wall. A wall of delicious Declan Pearse.
“Ms. Flynn, thank you for being so punctual.” He breathed in deeply. “I’m sorry I was a bit delayed for our meeting.”
“I … I was a bit early, Mr. Pearse,” she apologized for being prompt. What was it about Declan that drove her to the point of complete nonsensical behavior?
She knew suddenly that the original agenda of the meeting would have to wait. Charlie felt his heat, and she tensed as she waited for his touch. It didn’t come. Instead, Declan brushed his mouth against the shell of her ear.
“Make yourself comfortable, Charlotte,” Declan growled as his words enticed. “Take something off.”
Charlie burned to say something sharp-tongued in response, but she was speechless. All of her vocabulary suddenly replaced with a fevered anticipation of what was to come.
“Your shoes, Charlotte.” Declan smiled teasingly. “Take off your shoes.”
Charlie exhaled and kept her gaze on Declan as she sat on the end of the suede couch. Declan knelt before her, his long fingers brushing against her ankles as he undid the delicate straps of her heels. She couldn’t help but squeeze her thighs together, not quite ready to reveal herself to him again, at least not in this setting. As her shoes slipped off, Declan’s hands moved slowly up her stocking clad calves, to her knees, and to the outsides of her thighs. He tugged gently on the garters attached to her stockings. As he pushed her skirt higher, Charlie held on to her breath, as though setting it free would break her out of the fantasy she found herself in. His hands kept exploring, and then suddenly stopped. She waited expectantly for him to go farther, but his hands fell away.
“I’m going to pour you a glass of wine,” he said. And there it was again, Declan’s devious grin, that careful balance between urgency and patience.
Declan rose, and Charlotte closed her eyes to try and find some balance. The sound of ice shifting in the wine bucket echoed through the office. She felt frozen in place, paralyzed with lust.
When she opened her eyes, she found Declan kneeling before her once again, extending a glass of red wine. “You’re not going to join me, Mr. Pearse?” she whispered.
Declan’s grin widened as he placed the glass into Charlie’s hand. “Oh, I’ll be joining you. But there is something I want to do first.” Charlotte sipped the Malbec, her favorite, and then she sipped again, savoring the aromatic spiciness and the rich fruity intensity.
Declan removed the glass from her hands and set it on the table next to their untouched meal. He slowly, deliberately, extracted an ice cube from the confines of the bucket, and used it to trace a path along the neckline of Charlie’s blouse and down over her body. As the melting, frozen surface scraped across her nipples, they hardened like they were reaching out for him, challenging him to go farther. Declan placed light kisses on her bare skin, filled with heat. Charlie’s breath grew shallow as she struggled to remain still.
Declan lifted the glass again, bringing it to her lips, tipping it back slightly so the smoky taste only trickled over her tongue. And then he did something she had never experienced before. He reached for the plate of food, grabbing one of the tender pasta pillows, and he traveled it up her thighs. It was still warm and the sauce it was bathed in left a delicate golden sheen along the upward path. Charlie felt like she was outside her body watching the events unfold. Her mind and body were no longer connected. He lowered his mouth to the glistening sauce tracks left on her skin. Charlie watched as his mouth moved up her legs. Swiftly, Declan pulled her skirt up to her waist, which he held firmly in both of his hands, as his mouth moved higher and higher. He stopped, remembering the pasta in his hand, and placed it to Charlie’s mouth. She hesitated for a moment, wondering what he was possibly feeding her. “Charlotte, don’t be afraid to try new things. It’s quite lovely. Please try it.” Charlie opened her mouth, and he fed her tenderly. As she swallowed the last bits of delicious pasta, Declan set back to work forging ahead on his balsamic infused trail.
Charlie released a small whimper of pleasure as Declan stroked the fabric of her panties. She watched through lowered lids as he smiled when he discovered how wet she had become.
“Ask,” he ordered, his fingers hooking under the waistband of her panties. “Ask, Charlotte.”
“Please, Mr. Pearse,” she murmured, her cheeks aflame.
“Not good enough.” His voice was still soft, but she could hear the edginess in his tone. “Ask.”
“Please take them off, Mr. Pearse.”
Declan raised himself so he was leaning over her, his finger still hooked around the thin strap of her thong. “What exactly would you like me to take off?” The briefest hint of a smile didn’t do anything to lessen his intensity.
“Please,” Charlie responded in such a quiet tone, she struggled to hear herself. “Please, Mr. Pearse, take off my panties.”
“Louder, please.”
Hesitantly, Charlie raised her gaze to meet Declan’s. She saw the spark of mischief dancing there, and she couldn’t resist releasing some of her untamed spirit. She reached forward and grabbed one of the lapels of Declan’s suit coat, bunching up the material in her fist. “Please.” She pulled him closer. “Please take off my panties, Mr. Pearse.”
He ripped Charlie’s thong from her body, and before she fully comprehended what was going on, she felt the shocking warmth of Declan’s mouth against her clit. His mouth tickled and teased her, as did his stubble. Charlie moaned and grasped at the cushion beneath her. She felt his finger gently touch her as he continued to lick and taste her; softly at first, then with more pressure and increased pace. Declan’s tongue danced over every nerve ending, his solicitations unrelenting. Charlie whimpered, threw her head back, and reached her climax hard and fast.
“Charlotte, you are such a good girl. That was your reward for leaving the journal where I asked. The quote you selected seems to fit your personality quite well.” He helped her smooth her skirt back down as her breathing returned to normal. “I think we should leave for the evening. I have more plans for you, and they don’t involve any sort of fucking on that abysmal sofa.”
***
Declan’s drive to the hotel was an exercise in both restraint and control. He tried desperately to keep his hands and mouth off Charlotte, and his gaze on the road in an effort to prevent them from causing a traffic accident. It was a losing battle. She sat in the seat next to him, her skin giving off a luminous glow, her clothing gloriously disheveled, and her hair a fabulous mess. God if she didn’t look entirely fuckable. He pulled up to the hotel entrance, handed the keys to the valet, and gave Charlotte his hand to help her out of the car. He stood next to her, patiently waiting for the elevator doors to close, and pushed the button for his floor. Restraint and control dissolved as soon as the elevator car began to transport them upward. He slammed Charlotte back against the wall and thrust against her like he had been dying to do. “Charlotte,” his voice was breathy. “I don’t know what you do to me.”
Declan reached up with his left hand and grabbed Charlotte by the hair. He roughly pushed his lips down on to hers, kissing her with a raw, hungry violence. Inexplicably, she kissed him back with a ferocity matching his. Her tongue timidly explored his at first, and then dueled more boldly with such desperation it shocked Declan. She f
lung her arms around him, pressing her chest into his stomach, and he felt her pelvis grind into his leg.
Grasping Charlotte’s shoulders, Declan pushed her back harder against the wall, noticing her white, lacy bra through the sheer material of her blouse. His hands went for the burgundy pencil skirt, looking for the fastener. Sue me. I don’t know how these damn things are designed. I don’t wear women’s clothing. “Charlotte, some assistance please.” She found it for him and was about to unzip it as the elevator doors opened. He broke their embrace and led her out of the elevator to his suite. At the door, he groped for his key card, holding Charlotte against him. He slid the key and the door opened as they fell into the room, their mouths joined.
“Charlotte, you need to know this is the point of no return.” Declan grew solemn. “What happens here, in this room, binds you to me. I will own you.”
He noticed she gazed demurely at the floor instead of looking him in his eyes. Such a good girl. “Please look at me when I am speaking to you.”
“Yes, Mr. Pearse.”
Charlie lifted her gaze from the floor and stared intently into Declan’s eyes. Her demure nature unchanging with the stare. Her eyes filled with lust, her chest was heaving, and Declan could hear her heart beating rapidly. His feelings overwhelmed him, and he crushed his mouth onto hers once more. As he did, his hands moved down toward her stomach, crumpling her skirt into a pile in one hand. He slid his hand down, his fingers searching for her warmth, her wetness.
Push (Bound #1) Page 6