His Captive: A Revenge Marriage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  And without a backwards glance, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving me gasping, panting, oh-so-turned on … and desperate for more.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tammy

  I didn’t know what to think. I’d had a career high and a career low in the space of half an hour, the events so incredible that I couldn’t wrap my head around them.

  “Oh my god, are you serious?” breathed Marie into the phone. I’d gotten to know the sales clerk at the Pink Cherry so well that we were bona fide friends now, calling each other and gossiping on a rainy night.

  “Yeah,” I said, my cheeks flushing as I thought back to the events of the day. “Nick caught me red-handed and I dunno, it was so …”

  My sentence trailed off but Marie interrupted.

  “Super hot? Super steamy? Like you wanted to lick him all over, devour that big cock?” she asked, giggling.

  And I laughed breathlessly too, my cheeks flushing again. Because it’d been the greatest sexual experience of my life, in fact the only sexual experience I’d ever had and I was so turned on that I wanted to see Nick again … to my utter shame. But before I could process my feelings, Marie barreled on ahead.

  “So what happens next?” she asked breathlessly. “Do you fuck him now? Does he come hard into your pussy? Oh my god, please say you’ll use one of the toys from the Pink Cherry with him,” she gushed.

  “Marie, I- I think we’ll be using more than one,” I said, stuttering a little. “Because he caught me with a drawer full of your inventory, I’ve been diddling myself at work in my free time.”

  “Oh my gawwwd, are you serious?” my friend screamed into my ear. “You dirty, dirty slut! You wicked, nasty, evil girl! You’ve been boning yourself at work? You go, girl!”

  I didn’t correct her and say that I hadn’t actually used all of my Pink Cherry toys. Instead, I’d stuck with the vanilla ones, the massagers, the clamps, flicking them on my clit, playing with my nips, making me moan and sigh. I dunno, the dildos were still too scary for me. After all, I’m a virgin down there and the thought of popping my own cherry? Hell no. It was too much, my thighs automatically tensing, my pelvis tightening at the thought of a massive penis on me.

  But somehow with Nick it was completely different. The thought of his cock buried in my pussy made me feel melty and warm, a little tingle starting down below, growing breathless, my lungs tightening with anticipation and arousal. It was weird, Nick’s cock just had that effect on me, the ten inch erection making me tremble and shiver, my insides growing warm. But Marie didn’t have to know about this, so I hedged.

  “I dunno,” I said into the phone cautiously, “Mr. Martin implied he wanted more but didn’t exactly stay around to make plans.”

  “Of course not!” squealed the blonde. “This isn’t a guy who carries his calendar around with him. He has people who do that for him, his people will call your people and then you’ll set up a date, and then he’ll put his dick in your pussy, and then you’ll have to tell me all about it.”

  I just rolled my eyes. Marie was so over-the-top with this sex stuff, in her mind sharing was truly caring. But I was a little more circumspect.

  “Marie, I don’t have any people, I answer my own phones and do everything myself,” I reminded her gently. “If Nick Martin wants to send his people over, then they’ll just be dealing with yours truly.”

  And the blonde giggled again into the phone.

  “I bet he will,” she said wickedly. “He’s gonna do something, an alpha male like that doesn’t just walk away without touching your pussy.”

  And I smiled again to myself, huffing a sigh.

  “Okay girl, I’ll let you know,” I promised, feigning a yawn. “Now I’ve got to get to bed, it’s almost midnight. Why aren’t you in bed too? Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Not until the night shift,” she said smugly. “The Pink Cherry is open until 4 a.m., you know, for folks who want to get it on late.”

  And I laughed again. Oh right, horizontal shenanigans often happened in the wee hours of the night, I was just so beat by the time I got home that I’d forgotten that people actually had active sex lives after they hit the sheets.

  “Okay, gotta go girlie, talk to you later,” I replied and hung up.

  But once I was alone, I let out a saucy smile in the quiet of my room, my body tingling once more. I was dying to see Nick again, dying to touch that hard body, see him without any clothes on in his full manly glory. I wanted to see his cock again, touch it, taste it, maybe rub it against myself, let it rub my pussy, and was that so wrong? After all, a gorgeous, powerful man had just landed on my doorstep and seemed more than a little interested. I gushed again, my panties soaked as my pussy clenched with anticipation. Oh yeah, I was eager, willing, shit, dying for him.

  But that was all tomorrow. In the meantime, I needed to get a good night’s rest for my commute at the crack of dawn again tomorrow. Fall asleep, I commanded myself. Fall asleep, you’ve got a lot on your plate.

  And after counting about a million sheep, restlessly tossing and turning, finally I fell into a shallow slumber, my face hot on my pillow as my curvy body relaxed, my breathing still.

  When the alarm buzzed the next morning, I was up in a flash, jumping off my mattress. Instead of sleepily pulling on my usual uniform of a skirt and blouse, I carefully squeezed myself in a sheath dress, a body-skimming purple outfit that hugged my curves without being over the top. It was snug at my bust and bottom, but with a modest neckline and knee-length. Pairing the dress with violet pumps was the perfect match and I tried to blow dry my hair a bit, carefully aiming the diffuser at my curls so that they hung just so, a gleaming mass down my back.

  And fortunately I didn’t see that disgusting middle-aged guy again on my morning ride. Heaving a sigh of relief I sank into a seat by the window, dreamily looking out the window, thinking of Nick as the wheels started to turn.

  But after I let myself in Luxor Corp., I was in for a shock. Because there was nothing in my office, it was a small, windowless space without a scrap of furniture inside.

  “What the?” I gasped. “What’s going on here? Where’s all my stuff? Where’s my spare jacket?” I always left a nice blazer on the back of the door in case I was called into a business meeting but my real worry was my drawer of sex toys. Oh god, I’d left that locked last night, right? Hopefully it hadn’t come spilling open when they manhandled the desk out the door. Or worse, taken pliers to the lock and busted it open.

  But the movers were unhelpful, shrugging at my question.

  “We were told to move everything in here to another location. Didn’t someone tell you?” a scraggly looking guy answered, picking at his teeth with a finger.

  “No, no one told me anything. When I left yesterday at 5 p.m. I thought everything was fine!” I choked. “I never expected to come in and find … this,” I said helplessly, gesturing at the empty space. Now that my metal desk and chair were gone, the windowless office looked even smaller and sadder, the walls a pale yellow, the floor a shiny institutional grey.

  “I dunno,” shrugged the scraggly guy again. “Ask up top.”

  “Fine. I’m getting on the phone with HR,” I said tightly. “They can’t just do this to me,” I huffed.

  But evidently they could. When I finally got through to HR, the woman was just as dismissive.

  “What was your name?” the woman drawled.

  “Jones,” I replied tightly. “Tammy Jones.”

  “Jones … Jones … Jones, there are so many Joneses at Luxor. Did you say you were Tabitha? Teresa? Tamara?”

  And I interrupted there.

  “Yes, Tamara is my full name, I go by Tammy,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Tammy is short for Tamara.”

  “Right, right,” said the woman disinterestedly. “Hmm, let’s see what it says here. What’s your social security number?”

  “My social?” I choked. “I’m just trying to figure out where my stuff is, can’t you do
that with just my badge number?” I pleaded. This was entering the seventh circle of hell and I was desperate to locate my missing drawer. “Please,” I added, a choked tone in my voice. “I don’t know my social off the top of my head.”

  And the woman seemed to take pity on me.

  “Okay, yeah says here that you’ve been transferred to headquarters.”

  “Headquarters?” I sputtered. “Why? Where is that?”

  “I dunno, you’ll have to ask your boss,” replied the woman again, clearly bored. “We just process paperwork. Your new office will be at 1 Time Warner Center.”

  And I gasped then. The Time Warner Center was probably the most expensive piece of real estate in Manhattan, prized for the building’s unobstructed view of both the Hudson River and Central Park.

  “You mean at Columbus Circle?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Of course at Columbus Circle,” snapped the woman. “What other Time Warner Center is there?”

  And slowly, I put the receiver down. I’d certainly moved up in life if my new offices were going to be in such a shi-shi location. I only prayed that my desk was still there, intact with the drawer locked.

  Slowly, I put on my coat and walked the few blocks to the new place, breathing in the air, letting my lungs expand and deflate slowly, taking deep breaths. The good thing about the Time Warner Center is that to get there from 666 Madison, I could walk along Central Park South and breathe in the scents of autumn, the unmistakable fiery smell of crackling leaves, the beautiful fall foliage turning the sky red and yellow.

  “You got this,” I told myself silently. “Just march in there like you belong and no one’s going to say a word.”

  So when I stepped into the lobby of the Time Warner office building, I flashed my badge with a confident smile and was immediately treated like a VIP.

  “Ms. Jones is here,” said the security guard, calling upstairs. He added, “They’re expecting you on the thirtieth floor.”

  “Thank you,” I said graciously, “Where are the elevators please?”

  And the guard gestured to a pair of doors that opened magically, not a whisper of sound despite their construction from heavy metal. I was whisked upstairs, the elevator so fast, so luxurious that within seconds the doors were flying open again to reveal an elegant foyer.

  I stepped in confidently and went straight up to the receptionist.

  “Hi, I’m Tammy Jones,” I said, business-like. “I’m not sure …”

  But the elderly woman gave me a kind smile.

  “Yes, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Norma,” she said, extending her hand. “We’ve desperately needed a new addition to the typing pool, so your arrival is much anticipated. Let me show you around.”

  A typist? My heart sank. This was definitely old-school, I hadn’t even realized that typists still existed in the modern era. But it wasn’t for me to say. I was lucky to not be fired and I wasn’t about to complain about a demotion from my marketing position.

  So I followed Norma around obediently, greeting various staff members including the guys who operated the copy machines to the in-house caterers who were whisking away a late breakfast of some type.

  “Oh wow, the view here is beautiful,” I said, pausing at a floor-length window in the conference room.

  “It is, isn’t it?” commented Norma. “Mr. Martin commissioned these windows because he wanted everyone to enjoy our location. He could have done tiny windows or no windows at all for a fraction of the cost, but he decided to go floor-to-ceiling instead,” she said.

  That was the first mention of Nick and I pounced.

  “Oh does Mr. Martin work on this floor?” I asked, as casually as possible. Inside my heart was thumping, my pussy automatically moistening at even the thought of the big man.

  “Oh yes,” said Norma. “Luxor is headquartered here and Mr. Martin has his office just around the corner. He’s not here that often,” she confided, lowering her voice, “busy with meetings and such, but yes, this is his home base.”

  And immediately my pulse began racing. I’d be working within spitting distance of Nick Martin? Seeing him every morning as he strode into the office, powerful and handsome in a dark suit? My heart began jackhammering at the opportunity, the chance to be around Nick.

  But as we rounded the corner to Mr. Martin’s suite, my heart dropped. Because the most beautiful woman was sitting at a desk right outside the massive double doors, a woman with gleaming blonde hair effortlessly swept into an elegant updo, wearing a chic black dress that highlighted her slender figure, her long arms and legs.

  Norma smiled.

  “Hi Jeanette, this is Tammy our new typist,” she said by way of introduction. “Jeanette is Mr. Martin’s personal secretary, she handles all of his appointments, his bookings, his everything. If you need to get to Mr. Martin, you’ve got to go through Jeanette first,” she said with a wink.

  And my heart dropped even further at that. Everyone knew that some secretaries were more like wives than employees and it certainly seemed like Jeanette fell into that category. The blonde was elegant, beautiful, with a charming smile and an air of sophistication. I felt dumpy and plain next to her, my curls a mess, my dress suddenly tight in all the wrong places, hopelessly frumpy and outdated.

  “Hi,” said the blonde, extending a hand. Oh god, even her hand was perfect. Long, lean fingers surrounded mine, cool, almost cold, whereas my hand was fleshy and warm, my nails slightly bitten.

  “Hi,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Nice meeting you.”

  “If you need anything just let me know,” Jeanette said, her red lips curling into a fake smile. “I’ve been here two years already.”

  And Norma nodded approvingly.

  “Mr. Martin goes through secretaries like crazy, he’s very particular about who works for him. For Jeanette to be here two years means that you’re doing a very good job,” the old lady praised.

  And Jeanette preened at the compliment.

  “Thank you, I do my best,” she said with a smirk. “I’m organized, efficient, and I know just how Mr. Martin likes it. Exactly how,” she said with a wink.

  That got Norma laughing.

  “Young ladies these days!” she clucked, winking at the double meaning. As we moved away, she leaned in, whispering confidentially.

  “If you ask me, Jeanette’s got her eye on the boss and if Nick Martin’s a real man, he’ll put a ring on her finger. After all, he couldn’t do better than her. Beautiful, efficient, sleek, sophisticated, who could ask for more?”

  I nodded although my mind was whirring. Norma had just described what to me sounded like a computer or some kind of high-end iPad. Couldn’t Siri do all that with more feeling?

  But I shook my head. I was a lowly typist, part of a pool of secretaries available to transcribe notes, type up labels, and file documents. I was lucky just to have a job, much less at a place like Luxor.

  So my heart heavy with disappointment, I followed Norma down a hall, then down another hall and to the right. Before me was a sea of cubes, the walls about chin-high, a maze of repeating grey nylon. She led me to a cube on the far side and it was with a sigh of relief that I saw my old desk. The shabby metal frame was banged up and scratched, but everything else was intact, all the drawers closed.

  I sat down in my chair and swiveled happily.

  “Yep, this is my stuff,” I said gratefully.

  The old lady smiled gently back.

  “Well I’ll let you get settled then. It’s your first day, help yourself to supplies from the supply closet, and Tammy, the women’s restroom is right over there,” she gestured. Sure enough, the door was about ten feet from my cube. “You’re lucky and unlucky,” confided Norma. “This cube is so out of the way that hardly anyone uses that restroom, but on the other hand, yes, you can hear the toilets flush,” she added wryly.

  I colored. Oh god, I had such a tangled past with the women’s restroom, did Norma know? But I scolded myself. There wa
s no way the old lady could know, my masturbation incident had happened only yesterday and Mr. Martin wouldn’t confide in a receptionist.

  So I pasted a bright smile on my face.

  “Thanks, I’ll look you up if I have any more questions. And thank you again for the tour!” I chirped.

  The elderly lady just smiled back and slowly scuffled off, her bent form disappearing as she rounded the corner.

  Taking a deep breath I turned back to my cube. It was tiny and Spartan, to say the least. Grey cloth walls surrounded a desk and chair, with my old computer already plugged in. There was a banker’s box on the desk with a few of my belongings, my paper weight and some binders, as well as a photo of my mom and dad from long ago.

  Slowly reaching a hand forward, I tested the handle to my desk drawer. Oh thank god. It was locked. Taking a deep breath, I shook myself, determined to start fresh, give myself an opportunity to succeed.

  And flicking on the computer, I was able to log in, relieved to find that all my old passwords worked. I kept myself busy for a while, arranging my stuff in the new cube, re-reading the Employee Handbook, settling in when suddenly a new message flashed onto my screen. Clicking the icon, an email from Nick Smith popped up.

  Come to my office, it said.

  I frowned. Who the hell was Nick Smith?

  But another email appeared right after it.

  I’m waiting.

  And I immediately blushed. Of course. Nick Smith was actually Nick Martin, Mr. CEO. He had more than one email account because it was very likely that his official account was handled and monitored by the beautiful and efficient Jeanette.

  So I got up and straightened my dress, heart pumping. Slowly, I slipped my feet back into the violet pumps and made my way to Nick’s office, already feeling oddly warm and liquidy inside. Of course, his pretty secretary was waiting, staring at me like I was an alien and not a new employee who’d been introduced just an hour ago.