Nervous

by SM Johnson

  Yeah, good idea.

  I scooted into the bathroom and peed, then washed my hands and dared one peek to see my flushed cheeks in the mirror. Then I went back into the office and took my place at my desk.

  Avery came over and checked the knots where each tie was fastened to the desk. Then he tied my wrists.

  The inside of my head chanted kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

  “Your eyes are so bright,” Avery commented. “Something about this excites you, and I’m not sure you want me to figure it out.”

  I shook my head. No, I didn’t want him to figure it out, but it was probably inevitable.

  “What do you want?”

  I shrugged.

  “Jules? We’re adults. Adults don’t get what they want unless they ask for it. Or work for it.”

  I nodded. I was starting to understand this truth. He was making me understand it. But I wasn’t brave enough to ask for what I wanted. I didn’t think I’d ever be brave enough for that.

  I didn’t have to be.

  He stared down at me for some of the longest seconds of my life, and then he leaned down, rested the fingers of one hand beneath my chin, and tilted my face up. He moved so slowly, so deliberately, I thought his lips would never touch mine.

  But then they did. They did.

  And there was that feeling of soft demand, all over again, as his mouth claimed mine. He nibbled at my closed lips, and then his tongue urged me to part them. Oh! The feeling of this small part of him invading my mouth was… was like all the rest of me disappeared.

  He tasted like coffee and power and… Avery. His tongue tangled with mine, fucking my mouth, exploring. Butterflies rioted in my stomach, and the ache of arousal spread through my limbs and up my spine. Oh, and straight into my dick. Let’s not forget that important detail.

  I was hard. Possibly harder than I’d ever been in my life.

  Just from his kiss.

  He ended the kiss almost as slowly as he’d begun it, and still held my chin, my face tilted up.

  “You don’t dislike when I do that, but… there’s something else. You don’t want to like it? You don’t think you should?”

  His brow furrowed a little, like he was trying to puzzle me out. His eyes were such a deep blue. I kept staring into them.

  “I wish you’d answer me, Jules.”

  I nodded. “I know.” And then I turned my head with a quick jerk that made some of my hair fall over my my face, and I stared at the floor.

  “Do you even know the answer?” he asked.

  Of course I knew the answer. I was strange and awkward, and why would a man like Avery Phoenix be remotely interested in me? And if he was at the moment, he wouldn’t be when he got to know me and realized how boring I am. But I wasn’t going to tell him any of that, so I just shrugged and let him think I wasn’t sure, or I didn’t have the words, or whatever he might make of the gesture.

  “Okay, how about this for a question: did you want me to kiss you, just then?”

  I nodded.

  “Not good enough. Give me some words, Jules. Surely you can find some, considering you find ways to politely tell complete strangers that their novel submissions suck ass.”

  “But that’s easy,” I said. “They’re strangers, and I’m writing an email. I can pause and consider and edit my words.

  He studied me, with the oddest, considering look on his face. Again like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Or a problem? Was this whole arrangement, having me in his office, tying me to my desk, kissing me – was it strange to him, too?

  His face cleared and he smiled. “All right. I’ll expect an email in a minute or two.”

  Well. I didn’t expect him to say that.

  Avery returned to his desk.

  My browser was already open to the company email program.

  It took all of one second to compose a new email addressed to Avery. Avery dot Phoenix at Phoenix underscore Phoenix dot org.

  “I feel stupid,” I said out loud.

  “Type, Jules. And hurry.”

  Or what, he’d take away my coffee?

  I sighed. Fine. I wrote Dear Avery Phoenix. Yes. The end. I hit the send button, and waited.

  He moved in his chair. Clicked something with the mouse. And laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want to edit that, maybe add more words?”

  I clicked “compose”, typed his email address again, and typed No.

  This time he laughed so loud that it startled me into looking at him. His head was tipped back, his mouth open, and he seemed to be laughing with his whole body. It made me smile. And when he didn’t stop, I found myself laughing, too.

  We were both still giggling when someone knocked on the door.

  Avery got up to open it, and I turned back to the email program. Dear Avery Phoenix, I typed. Yes, I wanted you to kiss me, and for some weird reason I wanted you to kiss me while my hands were tied to my desk. I do not understand this at all. Yours truly, Julian Sparks.

  Stephanie had come into Avery’s office, so I clicked the send button before she could get a chance to glance at my screen. And before I could chicken out and decide not to send it at all.

  It turned out Stephanie had a small platter of finger sandwiches and tiny, fancy desserts. “E had a meeting with someone from a marketing company and they tried to bribe him with goodies. I brought you two enough for a light but satisfying lunch.”

  “What do you think Jules? Should we go out for lunch or eat finger sandwiches?”

  I shook my head, helplessly. I had no opinion about this. “Whatever you want, Mr. Phoenix.”

  “This will be fine.”

  Oh God, he was looking at his computer screen. He clucked his tongue and started typing. “Thank you, Stephanie. This will make a fine lunch. Poor, nervous Julian would probably much rather stay here than try to choke something down in public.”

  Stephanie left.

  My incoming email alert started blinking.

  Dear Jules. That’s ‘sir’ to you. I am intrigued by your confession, and also your bravery in offering me whatever I want. We shall have to explore both of those ideas later. Would you like me to untie you for lunch? Sincerely, Avery-Fucking-Phoenix, The Dragon.

  I choked a little. He knew what the employees called him behind his back.

  Enough with the silly emails. I cleared my throat. “Yes, I would like you to untie me. Please. Sir.”

  I suppose the lunch should have been uncomfortable after the email silliness, but somehow Avery refused to entertain discomfort. He untied my hands and told me to sit in the visitor’s chair opposite his own chair, with that great expanse of desk in between us. I picked at a couple of sandwiches, but the flavored paste inside them was not to my taste. One of them nearly caused me to gag, and I absolutely could not swallow it.

  There must have been a look on my face, because Avery’s eyebrows went up. “Crab paté is not your favorite?”

  I spit the mouthful into a napkin and shuddered. “I guess not.”

  “Try this one,” he said, pointing. “I think it’s cucumber.”

  That one was tolerable, but I didn’t want to try any more. I focused on the little desserts instead, tiny eclairs and cream puffs, and itty-bitty delicately decorated square cakes. I’d eaten at least half of them when I heard Avery’s soft laugh.

  “Are you going to save me some petit fours?”

  I looked across the desk at him. “Maybe. If you hurry.”

  “You’ll be sleeping at your desk after all that sugar. I’d better send for more coffee.”

  He was right. A short time after I returned to my own desk, I got drowsy. So drowsy, in fact, that I forgot Avery was watching me, and I started stripping the inside of my lip with my teeth, using the small pains to keep me awake.

  Avery’s appearance at my left shoulder, taking my coffee, startled me. He set my coffee on his own desk, then sat down to work again.

  Five minutes later he said, “Jules. Stop.” He sounded exasperated, and when I
dared to glance at him, he was already around his desk, his hands reaching for me. He took my head in his hands, and used his thumbs to expose the inside of my lip. “You’re bleeding in at least three places.”

  I didn’t, couldn’t, say anything, even in my own defense.

  I’ll think of something worse.

  He said that. If I chewed my lip after he took my coffee way, he’d think of something worse.

  I stared at his face, my eyes wide, my heart thundering with panic.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, or tried to say, but my voice came out choked and weak. I sucked in air, and the struggle for words made my next ones sound breathy. “Are you going to punish me?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  Oh gods. Did I want him to punish me? What would that be like? How would he punish me, anyway? What if I liked it? What if I didn’t?

  I didn’t know if I wanted him to or not, so I just stared into his eyes, hoping he’d find the answer in mine.

  After what felt like at least a week, he nodded. “Yes. I am.”

  He untied my hands. “Roll your chair to the middle of the room.”

  I did so, my gut tight and twisted, wrenching in dread.

  “Stand up.”

  I stood up, and Avery sat down on my chair. He said, “Drop your pants and underwear to your ankles.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He looked up at me, and I tried to see if he was hiding laughter in his eyes. But he looked serious. And calm. How could he tell me to drop my drawers and then just sit there, calm?

  “Jules. I’m waiting.”

  My hands went to my waist, but I hesitated. He was scaring me. His being so calm, emotionless, was terrifying. My fingers slid under the edge of my hoodie, and trembled against my skin.

  He wasn’t kidding. Just waiting for me to obey him.

  My eyes found the bathroom door. I could make a run for it, lock myself in. But Avery had the key. The office door? I could run down that long hallway until I found Stephanie or Evan. But what then, go back to my lonely rented room and pretend I’d never been here? Run away and never see Avery Phoenix again? Would I lose my job? Would I even want to keep my job, having been such a coward?

  He’d already seen my private parts, in the bathroom, so what difference would it make if he saw them again? It wasn’t like I had anything to hide.

  I pushed at the waistband of my pants. They were loose, and that’s really all it took to drop them past my hips, where they continued to fall into a rumple around my feet.

  Avery stared at my face, still waiting.

  Fine. I dropped my boxer shorts, as well.

  His hands shot out, caught me at the waist, then pulled me forward and down, bending me over his lap.

  Jesus. He was going to spank me!

  As soon as I realized what was about to happen, I let out a scared whimper.

  The flat of his hand struck my butt cheek. Hard.

  I shrieked a little.

  “Be quiet and settle. We don’t want to bring the whole office in here, thinking I’m beating you.”

  But he was beating me, wasn’t he? Well. Sort of.

  The second slap was just as hard, and my buttocks flexed in startled response.

  I tried to focus on being quiet without biting my lip. My arms were flailing on either side of my head, and I didn’t know what to do with them. Avery solved that problem by catching my hands, holding both my wrists in one hand at the back of my neck, my elbows sticking out like chicken wings.

  I don’t even know how many spanks there were after that. There seemed to be a rhythm to it, two swats to one cheek, two swats to the other. I found myself reacting to the rhythm: shock of pain that made me tighten my ass muscles, another shock of pain, relax for maybe five seconds, repeat on the other cheek.

  “Stop tensing, you’ll have bruises.”

  “I can’t. It hurts.”

  Did he laugh, then? Was that the sound he made?

  “I’m going to keep doing this until you figure it out.”

  He did, too. He kept on, but changed the rhythm to four and four, and somewhere in there my body gave up any kind of resistance and I went limp in his lap.

  “That’s it,” he said, and the crash of his hand on my ass slowed, back to two and two, and then turned into a firm massage, as if to rub the stinging hurt away.

  I wasn’t crying, but my face was hot, and probably red from my head hanging toward the floor.

  “On your feet now,” Avery said, and let go of my hands so he could slide one arm beneath my chest, to help me find my way upright. My knees buckled, and he caught me as he stood up, then held me tight against his side, pivoting to set me on the chair.

  My pants and boxers were still tangled around my feet, and my cock was engorged.

  “Very nice,” Avery said. He ran one slow finger from the head of my cock to the root.

  Fuuuuck.

  No. This wasn’t happening.

  I did not get a raging hard-on from being spanked. No.

  My blood settled back in my body, and I pushed Avery’s hand away from my dick so I could stand up and put myself back together, tucking the ‘penis of betrayal’ away from his intense stare. For the first time ever, I wished I was a smoker so I’d have an excuse to escape.

  I escaped into the bathroom instead. I stared at my face in the mirror, my eyes round and shocked, my mouth fighting a smile for some reason I couldn’t even fathom. I wanted to stay in there, hiding, dreaded facing Avery – would he smile at me with arrogance, would he look pointedly at my crotch, would he make me blush… again?

  Well, it wouldn’t kill me, would it? I had plenty of experiences with awkwardness and embarrassment, and so far I’d lived through all of them.

  I opened the bathroom door. Avery was at his desk and looked like he was preoccupied with work, so I scurried to my own desk and slid onto my chair, trying to be unobtrusive.

  “There, do you feel better now?” Avery asked.

  I glanced over at him, but he was still looking at his computer screen, not at me. “I’m not sure,” I hedged.

  “Perhaps you’ll at least remember not to destroy your lip.”

  I wiggled my tender ass against the seat of my chair. Perhaps I would. Or not. Perhaps I would destroy my lip on purpose.

  But not today. Today was already going to be stressful. I had forgotten that I was checked out of my hotel, and was going to be staying at Avery’s apartment. I didn’t do well with change. I did well with routine, with boring, with knowing exactly what to expect. This past almost-two-weeks had already wreaked havoc with my internal stasis. Only Avery’s calm, Avery’s uncanny ability to simply tell me what to do, stopped me from decompensating into nervous wrecks-ville. I wondered if Avery’s magic would continue throughout the evening, or if he would get impatient with my nerves.

  “It’s four-thirty. We should wrap up.”

  It was early. Well, compared to most of the days we’d spent together it was early. “Don’t we work until six?” I asked.

  “You need only work a forty-hour week, Julian. You don’t need to stay as late as I do. Once I’m convinced you can find the apartment on your own, I’ll be sending you home at four-thirty.”

  I didn’t mind the long days. I routinely worked ten or more hours a day at home, and several hours on weekends, too. I liked my work. And when I picked awe-inspiring chapters out of the slush pile and fought for more eyes to see them, I loved my work. It made me feel like God, I think, or at least the answer to an author’s prayer.

  Oh, and also. It wasn’t like I ever had any plans or anything better to do. I loved reading. I’d do this job for free. It was pure pleasure.

  “But…” I was stymied. “What will we do for the rest of the day? And all evening?”

  “Let me worry about that, Jules. Trust me.”

  How could I not? Or rather – did I have much of a choice? I forgot my coping skills more often than I remembered, so the only way I was surviving all thes
e changes was because of Avery Phoenix.

  I packed up my laptop.

  “You could leave it here,” Avery suggested. “It would be perfectly safe locked in my office.”

  There must have been a look of horror on my face, because he let out that soft laugh of his, the one that said he was merely enjoying me, not laughing at me. “Or never mind,” he corrected himself. “Bring it with.”

  I followed him through the building, down the elevator to the lobby, and into a cab. He gave the cab driver an address, and we drove away.

  I was going to the den of the dragon. Or perhaps more fitting, the House of Phoenix.

  My stomach was a bunch of complicated knots. I should have been freaking out, nervous and afraid. I should be having the kind of extreme anxiety that leads to the kind of full-fledged panic attack that makes me vomit. But the knots in my stomach were none of these. It was the same scary-exciting stomach upset I felt when he kissed me.

  Something good was happening between myself and Avery, something that I wanted to keep happening. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and I’d had to search an emotion thesaurus to come anywhere close to figuring out that it was anticipation.

  I wanted this to continue. I would be sad if it stopped. I would miss interacting with Avery if we didn’t see each other anymore. Like if I went home.

  I wasn’t going home.

  I was going to Avery’s home.

  chapter six

  use the big five

  My room was nice. Simple, elegant furnishings. My own bathroom. A bigger bed than I’d ever slept in, if I didn’t count hotel beds, and those had been few and far between.

  It took me approximately thirty seconds to unpack my ridiculously meager suitcase. I stuffed my clothes into the dresser, put my toothbrush next to the bathroom sink. I had no idea what to do after that, so I sat on the bed and let the anxiety wash over me. I’d been holding on to control for so long, it was a relief to sit and quiver.

  I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t. I didn’t want Avery to find me in a full-blown panic attack.

  Take a breath. Five things I can see: curtains that look like birch trees, a matching pattern on the bedspread. A wooden dresser. The bathroom door, half-open, a reddish-brown throw pillow beside me, with a large button in the center. Four things I can touch: my jeans, the bedspread, my own collarbone. My lips, which were slightly chapped. Three things I can hear: Avery moving around the apartment, a car alarm somewhere on the street outside. Me, snapping my fingers. Two things I can smell: Avery, except I might be imagining that. The inside of my shirt, which smells like me. One thing I can taste: I nipped the inside of my lip and tasted blood.