by Selena Kitt
“Excuse me,” she murmured, edging around the desk, giving it a wide berth, and going out into the vestibule to answer the phone.
By the time Heidi had cleared up the order for white silk scarves—three hundred, not three thousand, and oh her bottom tingled just at the thought of what the mistake of an extra zero might have cost her—Roberto Carvel was shaking Kaiser’s hand at the elevator and they were talking about dinner plans.
“Bring Eve,” Kaiser insisted, smiling. “If she’s managed to forgive you your trespasses.”
“I’m out of hot water for the moment.” Carvel chuckled, looking sheepish. “I named a line of sunglasses after her. And I’m letting her run her own pet fashion line.”
“Now that’s what I call contrition!” Kaiser laughed. “I’m sure you’ll make a mint.”
Heidi, who had stood, Pavlovian, as soon as Kaiser’s office door had swung open, waited for the elevator doors to close, her heart hammering in her chest.
“Poor woman. He’s been fucking around on her for years,” Kaiser remarked as he turned and pinned her with his gaze. When he looked at her like that, she found her breath simply gone. “Infidelity is a clear sign of weakness.”
It made her wonder about his life—not that she hadn’t spent her time since meeting him pouring over the society pages trying to find out. He wasn’t married, everyone knew that, never had been. But he was clearly not gay, as so many in the field were, especially the designers. So where was the woman in his life, if he didn’t believe in playing the field? And where did his…secretary…fit into that picture?
I’m invisible, she thought. I don’t count.
“Of course, poor Eve found solace with a young paramour pretty quickly, I hear,” Kaiser mused and shrugged, walking back toward his office. “Tit for tat.”
For a moment, Heidi thought he was going to simply go in and shut the door behind him, and she wasn’t sure if what she felt was disappointment or relief. Then he stopped, tilted his head in her direction, and slanted his eyes.
“Come into my office.”
She followed him meekly, standing beside his desk and watching him peer out the window. He looked pensive, his mouth drawn into a tight line, his eyes veiled. It felt like a long time and she tried not to fidget, finding herself swallowing reflexively, blinking too often, eager for some movement, a break in the tension.
“Carvel didn’t notice anything I haven’t already made note of.” Kaiser turned from the window and she straightened slightly at the motion. “I’ve been quite impressed by your knowledge of fashion.” His praise made her want to wiggle like a puppy and she struggled to keep herself still, to breathe, calm deep breaths.
His approach was enormous, his presence huge, leaving her in shadow as he stood in front of her. In spite of her efforts, her breath quickened, her heart raced.
“Tell me why I hired you.” He lifted her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. He was close, very close, and she was all too aware of his heat. It was hard to think, let alone speak, but she wanted, as ever, to please him.
“Because I’ll do anything.” She spoke the words in a near-whisper, ashamed of them, and herself. But she knew they were true, even as she hated herself for it.
“No.” Kaiser’s thumb moved along her jaw, over the swell of her lips. He seemed to be considering something as he rubbed her mouth and she felt desperate for him but didn’t dare ask for what she wanted. “Because you’re willing.”
His head dipped toward hers, his mouth disappointing her and moving past hers, past her cheek, to rest against her ear. “Pull your skirt up.”
Heidi did as she was told, willing, as ever. She didn’t bend over—he hadn’t asked her that much—just gathered the black pleats in her hands until her hemline inched up over her bottom, which was bare, of course. No panties, just garters and stockings, black, with a hint of lace.
“You see?” Her bare skin touched the cold edge of the desk as he pressed against her, his knee moving between hers, his lips hot against the shell of her ear, making her shiver as he spoke. “Willing. Obedient.”
Heidi gasped when he turned her around, using his hands on her hips to complete the motion. She nearly lost her grip on her skirt, but managed to hang on as he then bent her head with the palm of his hand until her cheek rested against the desk blotter.
“I lived on a farm when I was a child, you know.” Kaiser’s hand moved along the back of her sweater, over her spine. Heidi wanted to turn and look at him, her face showing her surprise, but she didn’t move. He chuckled, using his knee between hers to force her thighs further apart and she obliged. “Surprised? It was a long time ago. My father was a rancher. A real Texas rancher.” His voice dipped quickly into a rich Texan accent and Heidi blinked, shocked, but remained both unmoving and silent.
“We had horses. My father caught wild Mustangs, broke them and then sold them. Have you ever seen someone break a horse?” Kaiser’s voice had moved further away and she wanted to look, to see what the noise was, but she remained as he’d left her, cheek-against-blotter, her arms trembling as she held her skirt up for him.
“No, sir,” she replied, realizing that he’d asked her a question.
“It’s brutal.” Kaiser was close again and took her hands in his, moving her skirt higher up over her hips so it would stay by itself. “Savage. Horses that have lived in the wild their whole lives know nothing of bits and bridles and saddles. My father called it ‘learnin.’ As in—‘We’re learnin’ these here horses to be right.’ He was definitely no horse-whisperer.” The Texas accent was back, briefly, and Kaiser laughed, but it was a humorless thing, and Heidi found herself blinking back tears.
“Some horses break easy.” Kaiser stretched one of her arms out with his as he pressed against her from behind. “Some don’t.” He did the same with her other arm, and she spread her fingers out on the blotter, her hands disappearing under his. “When a horse has too much spirit, breaking it turns quite cruel. It’s a horrible struggle between human and beast.”
His cheek found hers, resting there as he spoke. She was transfixed, trembling beneath him.
“I don’t want a woman I have to break.” His voice was soft, urgent, and she wished she could see his face. “I want a woman who’s willing to bend.”
His words thrilled her even as he stood up and stepped back, bringing a hand down hard against the swell of her behind. She didn’t do it, but she wanted to arch her back like a cat, begging for more. This is what she wanted, had always wanted, would forever want.
He might have been right about breaking horses, she mused, biting her lip to keep from crying out as his hand came down again, but there was something she thought he didn’t know. That kind of surrender of the spirit required trust—a great deal of trust. Perhaps some horses refused to submit because they were worldly cynics, too cautious and suspicious to give in. To them, man was just another dangerously cruel faction of an already dangerous universe. Those horses that were easier to break—she wondered if their spirits were just as strong as the others. Maybe even stronger.
“Eeee!” she squealed as his hand found the sweet spot again, again, picking up rhythm. She breathed a sigh of relief when he switched cheeks, but she knew that one would soon be red and stinging, too.
Heidi closed her eyes and thought about horses, wild-eyed ones running free, and tame ones, sweet as the sugar-cubes they nuzzled from your hand. Were those captive horses broken, then? Was it so wrong to trust? To want someone to guide you, shape you, give you exactly what you needed?
A tame horse adored its master, and wanted nothing more than to please him. An obedient horse was loved—and it loved.
His punishment was the sweetest thing she’d ever known and she took it with a grateful sort of grace, her little body twisting, not sure if she was trying to wriggle away or arching to beg for more. He was focused completely on the task at hand, warming her bottom to a steady, red heat and then, abruptly, he stopped, making her moan out loud.
/> “I don’t have a limp.” He was slightly breathless—just slightly. “But I use a cane. Have you ever wondered why?”
Fashion statement? She thought, but bit her tongue. There was no good answer to that question and she was glad it was rhetorical, because he continued talking, moving around the desk so she could see him holding it. He began to unscrew the handle, which was probably ivory, she mused, carved long before it was politically incorrect.
“My father used this to break horses.” Kaiser tipped the cane forward and something fell out of its hollow recesses. Heidi recognized it immediately—a riding crop. “He was cruel and everything he accomplished was done by force.”
Kaiser picked up the crop. “I will never force you, Heidi.”
She shivered as the leather end of the crop met her behind—just a tickle. Kaiser was stroking the reddened skin of her bottom with it.
“I don’t want to break you.” His words were hypnotic and she closed her eyes again in anticipation as he moved fully behind her. “I want to guide you…”
His voice was soft, almost a murmur, and she felt it like velvet over her burning skin. “Everything we do is a communication. Everything we say. Everything we don’t say.”
The crop caught her off-guard, the sharpness of it like a bite across the back of her thigh and she yelped, wincing.
“That,” he said firmly, “is communication. Hands and legs apart, Heidi.”
She whimpered and complied, realizing she had forgotten her form. She splayed her fingers again, and spread her thighs further.
“Have I been fair to you, Heidi?” The crop teased her, moving down the bare crack of her ass. It made her blush.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have I corrected you when you didn’t deserve it?”
“No, sir.”
“This won’t ever be about violence.” The crop met her behind, quickly but without malice. She gasped, winced and spread her fingers again on the desk. She had curled them reflexively into fists at the tender, probing touch of the crop to her asshole. “It’s about control. I can’t allow the balance of power to be tipped. Someone must lead and someone must follow. I will lead.” Kaiser pressed against her from behind and she stifled a moan when she felt him, thick and hard through his trousers. “You will follow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My father knew how to break horses.” He put the crop down on the desk and held her hips still in his hands when she began to rock back against him. “But he never did learn how to train them. It takes a great deal of knowledge and skill to do so effectively.”
Heidi’s eyes flew wide when he slid an arm across her front, bringing her up against him in one swift motion, her back to his front, their bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces.
“You’d snap like a twig,” he whispered into her ear, holding her writhing body still with his. “But I don’t want to break you.”
“You want me to bend,” Heidi agreed, molding herself to him like liquid, tilting her head back so she could see his face, meet his eyes.
“Yes.” He sat back in his chair, pulling her with him, cradling her now, and she blinked in surprise but settled her head comfortably and happily against his chest, wondering if that was it, if her punishment was over. “You don’t just need a firm hand, you need a steady one, don’t you? You want someone to guide you… give you direction...” he mused, pulling the hem of her skirt down primly to her knees. “You crave it.”
Covered now, she had never felt more naked.
“I’m always listening.” His whispered words made her shiver. “I’m always paying attention.”
She couldn’t help the slight, slow grind she was doing in his lap—it was nothing compared to what she really wanted to do. The hardness of his cock against her behind even through his trousers made her crazy—she wanted to get down on her knees and worship it, she wanted him to bend her over the desk and fuck her, she wanted him to use her, take her, fill her, push her, pull her…
But Kaiser was the picture of self-restraint. He held her still until she finally submitted to his will, relaxing against him, sighing deeply as he cradled her in his arms. If someone had told her a month ago that she would be sitting in Warren Kaiser’s lap, in Warren Kaiser’s office, after having been spanked by that same man, she would have told them they were a few stitches short of a seam, but here she was.
Here she was. And there was nowhere else she would rather be.
Chapter Five
Heidi had never felt more glamorous, thanks to a twenty-two-hundred dollar Versace black sleeveless corset-back dress, her hair newly cut, highlighted and styled, and her makeup professionally applied for the first time in her life. Aside from the outfit—something a little more day-to-evening than usual that she’d picked from the closet that morning in anticipation of her afternoon appointment—it was an incredible lunch-time transformation, and she couldn’t wait for Kaiser to see it when she swept off the elevator with her bag full of creams and lipsticks and hair conditioners and styling products.
The bubble of her enthusiasm popped almost immediately when she saw Kaiser’s door open and heard the high, light laugh of a woman coming from his office. Heidi’s knees felt suddenly weak and she stopped, heart hammering, face flushed, blinking in the direction of the sound—a low murmur now, and yes, again, the laugh. It was an intimate laugh, a sexy laugh, intentionally so, Heidi mused. She continued to her desk, her wobbly legs just barely getting her to her chair, and she stashed her shopping bag underneath.
“Oh Warren, don’t be such a boy scout!” the woman pouted, and Heidi moved her computer mouse, ending the screen saver—Kaiser’s 2008 runway show in Paris, a breathtaking loop she watched daily as they were now heavily preparing for the 2009 version which she hoped to see “live” in just a few weeks—and peeking around the monitor in an attempt to see without being too obvious.
“Can we focus here, Andrea?”
Andrea. She knew immediately, before she ever saw her, that it was Andrea Paxton’s arm she glimpsed snaking around Kaiser’s neck from behind, her blonde head dipping down to murmur into his ear.
“I am focused, Warren darling.” Andrea tugged gently at his tie before her fingers followed it like an arrow down his chest, heading for his lap. Heidi sat frozen, furious, sure she was about to witness an afternoon quickie she didn’t want to know about, let alone see.
“Your dresses will be completed this week.” Kaiser stood, moving away from the table where Andrea’s designs—not hers, mine! Heidi fumed—were spread out. “We’ll meet downtown this weekend for the pre-show. I think we’re almost done here for the day.”
Surprised by his obvious rebuff, Heidi watched, unnoticed, as he moved to his desk to pick up the phone. Andrea stood near the window, her back turned, a woman clearly unaccustomed to not getting what she wanted.
Heidi decided she didn’t want to see any more, getting up quietly from her desk and heading down the hall to the kitchen. It would be best not to have any confrontations, she thought, pouring a cup of coffee—exactly why, she didn’t know, since she didn’t drink it—and standing there with the warm mug cupped in her hands. All the mugs were the same, with the Kaiser logo and his signature curlicue K.
She stood there, how long she didn’t know, wondering what to do. Was she going to hide in the kitchen all afternoon? It was already five minutes past the time she should have been sitting at her desk, waiting to do Kaiser’s bidding and if he discovered this fact, she knew she was going to be in trouble. Why was she risking it? Because she didn’t want to see Andrea Paxton again, after all this time?
Because she stole my designs!
But, while that was true, Heidi knew she couldn’t prove it. Her sketchbook was long gone, and how could she possibly convince Kaiser that she, a lowly secretary, had designed something that Andrea Paxton—the Andrea Paxton—claimed was her own creation? It was an impossible situation, and Heidi had already decided, without really deciding anything at all, to do what she
always did. She followed the path of least resistance.
I bend, she thought, looking at her distorted reflection on the dark, rippled surface of the rich, aromatic coffee, the cup shaking in her hand.
“Oh my god! Heidi Bauer!” Andrea gasped, looking truly surprised and, Heidi noted with some satisfaction, actually a little frightened. It was an expression she probably wasn’t used to conveying, but Andrea looked as if someone had just walked in on her while she was going to the bathroom. She also looked unbelievably beautiful—her dress was short and stylish, a sexy green velour just low-cut enough to avoid being inappropriate. She was perfectly made up and coiffed, her honey-blonde hair like spun gold falling around her shoulders.
Heidi remembered her own afternoon in the salon, touching her usually-mousy locks with a smoothing hand, and was glad she looked at least a little more presentable than usual.
“Hi, Andrea.”
“What are you doing here?” Andrea looked terrified, and she also looked like she was trying to cover that fact. The irony of their meeting here, now, obviously wasn’t lost on her.
“I work here,” Heidi replied simply.
“With Kaiser?”
With Kaiser. For Kaiser. Was there a difference? Heidi just nodded.
“Are you part of the show?”
Was she part of the show? She had helped plan it down to the last button and bow. Did that make her part of it? Sadly, she knew it didn’t, and for the first time, she felt a deep, sharp pain in her side when she drew a shaky breath. She wasn’t part of the show, not really. She would be on the sidelines, watching models flaunt other designers’ clothing. She would be in Paris in a few weeks, watching Andrea Paxton receiving accolades for designs that she, Heidi, had created.
Just how many designs had she dared to copy, Heidi wondered, giving Andrea a long, cool look. She had seen at least four on Kaiser’s desk that belonged to her that day. Her sketchbook had been full of them. Something felt lodged in her throat, burning there, something old and stuck and impossibly huge.