by Ivy Carter
Caitlyn places a hand on the desk and leans over conspiratorially. “How’s the beast?” she asks, her eyes flicking up to his closed door. “Does he need a tamer today?”
“No,” I snap, then realize I need to pull it together before I become the source of office gossip. “I haven’t seen him, actually.”
I sit there long enough that Caitlyn arches an eyebrow at me, and I realize that I’m treading dangerously close to gossip territory.
“The desk’s all yours,” I say to her as I gather up my bag. “Thank god. He’s a real treat.” I roll my eyes in what I hope gives a realistic air of sarcasm to the whole thing.
“Yeah, but he sure is nice to look at,” she says with a wink, and I feel my smile waver.
“Totally,” I say, the smile fading as I turn away and try not to let her see the tears just behind the surface of my eyes.
I head for elevator to go back to my lonely, dull cubicle.
As soon as the doors slide shut, I close my eyes tightly shut and let the tears roll silently down my cheeks. I want desperately to sob but force myself to pull it together.
That jackass. What in the hell was all that?
Was the whole encounter yesterday just punishment for the email? He really seemed into it, into me last night, but sending me away from his desk permanently doesn’t seem like a good sign. He dismissed me, and I don’t think it was just from covering his desk.
By the time the doors open on my floor, I feel completely deflated. I was a total idiot for letting it go that far, and a total idiot for getting invested at all. I got exactly what I deserved, and now I’ll carry that particular lesson with me for the rest of my career.
The rest of the day passes in a haze of misery. I take a few extended strolls past the executive conference room hoping to catch a glimpse of him through the glass windowed walls, but apparently the meetings being held there are beneath him, because he doesn’t make an appearance. And it only serves to make me feel more pathetic, like a high school girl who drives by her crush’s house after dark.
When the clock hits five, I pack up my things, feeling an extra weight hanging on my shoulders, and trudge through the warm spring evening to take the train home. Alone.
Chapter 3
My alarm goes off at six-thirty, just like it does every morning. But today, I don’t spring out of bed. Instead I groan, hit snooze, and roll over.
I’ve been plagued with dreams of Jared all night. In the most vivid one, it was him sitting in his desk chair while I ride his nine-inch cock, him bringing me all the way to the toe-curling, screaming, moaning edge of orgasm, before telling me to get off him and leave the room, without ever saying what I’ve done wrong.
The strange dreams have left me limp and depressed
As much as I’d like to say fuck it and blow off a day of work, I know I can’t. I’m only three weeks in, just a junior copywriter. Taking a day off now would only move me to the bottom of the promotion list when the time comes, and after what’s happened with Jared, hard work is all I have left.
At least hard work I can control, unlike whatever mind games Jared King is playing with me.
I climb out of bed, waiting for the crush of embarrassment to hit me again, but as I trudge into the bathroom to shower, I find a different emotion simmering to the surface.
Anger.
If something happened between the restaurant and his apartment to make him change his mind about me, he owed it to me to at least tell me. Preferably to my face, but I would have taken an email. Even a text. I know he has my number, thanks to our lingerie conversation. But to brush me off and then replace me at his desk without a single word, leaving the dirty work to human resources, is just about the lowest thing you could do to someone you’d seen mostly naked.
I’m not pathetic.
He’s an asshole, and he doesn’t deserve me.
I march into the office at eight sharp, my heels practically driving divots into the marble floor of the lobby. I’m wearing a slim, charcoal gray pencil skirt with seaming over the back that hugs my ass like a dangerous curves sign.
I’m also wearing the bra Jared had paid for, topping it with a thin, tailored button-up that is as close to Naughty Secretary as I can get without being unprofessional. I finished off the look with the red lipstick I’d bought at Sephora, that I’ve never worn until today, because it always feels like a costume to me.
But right now I need armor, and this red lipstick feels like just the thing.
I try to lose myself in work, in the endless spreadsheets and copyediting and budget lines. But with each page turned, each mark made, each column totaled, I feel myself igniting.
I need to do something about this.
I’ve worked myself up to a pretty decent boil by the time Robert, one of the other office drones, swings by the cubicle. He waves a red file folder at me, a thick sheaf of documents clipped inside.
“This needs to go to the King,” Robert says. “You mind handing it off for me?”
The King. One of the many ridiculous nicknames they’ve given to Jared, and I make a face as Robert says it. I know that many of the men are afraid of Jared and try to avoid interacting with him.
Whereas the women usually look for any chance to have a reason to speak to him, our male counterparts often seem to genuinely squirm in his presence.
Now it’s my turn to squirm, though.
I’ve been building myself up to this point, waiting for an excuse to see Jared King and show him what he’s missing, to act as if I don’t care about him and make him regret the way he’s treated me.
But now that I’m getting a chance to do it, to actually enact my little plan, I start to fall apart.
“I’m kind of busy,” I lie. I’m losing my nerve. It’s like I’m new all over again, terrified of having to speak to the boss—although in reality, my boss is a man who’s actually had his mouth on my pussy and made me come.
Robert rolls his eyes. “Please,” he says. “He likes you, and he can’t fucking stand me.”
“What do you mean, he likes me?” I ask, on edge now.
But Robert just shrugs. “I don’t want to get the look,” he says, narrowing his eyes and staring at me in a remarkably authentic impression of Jared’s cold, forbidding stare.
I sigh and grab the folder. “Fine, I’ll take it to him.”
“I owe you one, kid,” he says, grinning, and then walks off, his shoulders seeming to broaden as if a weight’s been lifted off him.
I mutter what an idiot I am under my breath and then decide to get it over with.
As I ride the elevator up to his floor, I begin giving myself a pep talk like an Olympic athlete. I give my arms and legs a little shake like I’m standing at the starting line of a race. In and out. Drop the folder, turn, grab the elevator before it can close, jump in, gone. It’s that easy.
As soon as the doors begin to slide open, I burst out, crossing the outer office in just a few steps. Alec is away from his desk, which means no chit chat to slow me down.
Yes.
I’ll just leave it on his desk and never have to so much as see Jared.
I reach out to drop the folder onto the leather desktop mat and grab a sticky note to let him know that it came from Robert.
As I’m bent over the desk, writing quickly, I hear a door open behind me and my mouth goes dry.
A throat clears.
I whirl around just in time to make direct eye contact with The King himself. If he’s surprised to see me, he betrays it not at all. It’s like there’s a glass wall between us, and nothing can penetrate.
He glances around the outer office quickly, and when he sees I’m the only one there, he huffs out a little sigh, then turns back to me.
“I need coffee,” he says, his face completely blank. At this moment he’s acting as if he couldn’t pick me out of a lineup, like I might as well be a temp sent over from some anonymous agency. “Three Splendas.”
And then he steps back into his of
fice and his door slams shut. No please. No thank you. Not even a question mark. An order.
That’s all I get. A coffee order like I was working at a drive thru window.
I’m shaking as I rise from my desk and make my way to the break room, a journey barely a hundred steps down the hall. I clench my fists as I wait for the coffee machine to fill the paper cup, then reach into the cabinet for the Splenda. But there are only two yellow packets anywhere in the break room. I give myself a few minutes to search, but when I come up empty, I take the cup of coffee and head back.
I’m shaking with equal parts anxiety and rage as I head toward his office.
When I get to his door, I take a deep breath to try and simmer down to at least the temperature of the hot coffee in my hand, then I give his door a cursory knock as I enter.
He’s behind his desk flipping through a stack of files. His jacket is off, the sleeves of his tailored dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. I try not to look at the tanned skin, the dark hair on his arms making him look even more manly and powerful. I quickly flick my eyes to the wall of windows behind him, where I have a perfect view of the Charles River and Cambridge beyond.
“Coffee,” I say, holding out the cup in one hand, the Splenda in the other. He looks at it like I’ve just tried to offer him a cup full of toilet water. He appears to have no idea how angry I am, or that his decision to dismiss me had any affect at all. And he doesn’t appear to care. The silence hangs heavy between us, and I know what’s coming, because I know how Jared King operates.
“I said three Splenda,” he says, his voice a cold, sharp steel knife cutting through the silence. “It was a simple task.”
The words hit me like a slap, my veins pulsing ice cold. I go rigid for a moment, a thousand options running through my brain. How dare he act as if I’m incapable.
The rage bursts out of me like a geyser. I slam the cup down onto the center of his desk with so much force that half the coffee overflows onto his desk, sending a tiny waterfall of coffee down into his lap. He jumps back, his chair rolling across the rug, his hands raised as he avoids the hot liquid.
“What the hell are you doing?” he says, his voice surprisingly controlled. But his eyes are burning with anger.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking!” I snap. “What the hell am I doing taking this shit from you?”
His face jerks towards mine, and I see something on his face I’ve never seen before.
Surprise. I’ve managed to surprise Jared King.
Oh, but I’m not even close to done.
“Last I checked, both your legs were in proper working order, so why don’t you get your own goddamn coffee?” I say, remaining rooted to the floor in front of him. I cross my hands over my chest.
His eyes flicker to my cleavage and then back to meet my gaze once more.
He opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
“You know why? Because you’re so used to treating everyone like they’re beneath you that it’s practically second nature. You bark orders like we’re all mindless drones, like we don’t deserve respect,” I say, matching his cold, cutting way of speaking. It feels good to channel him in this way, throwing it right back in his face. And now that I’m warmed up, I can’t stop. “You know what? I was absolutely right when I said you were coldhearted and cruel. In fact, I was holding back in that email. You’re also a selfish, entitled man whore with no respect for anyone around you, and frankly I don’t give half a damn if you want to fire me for saying so.”
When I finish, my heart is racing and my chest heaving. At this point I’m just waiting for him to throw me out. I’ll be lucky if I get to leave without security escorting me, but at this second I don’t care. It feels so good to yell at him, to tell him exactly what I’m thinking.
The silence between us is as vast as an ocean.
After what seems like an eternity, his entire body relaxes, actually physically uncoils. That detached cool comes over him once again, and he sits back in his chair.
“Close the door,” he says.
I don’t know if that means I’m fired now or will be fired later, but I don’t want to stay to have the conversation. I don’t even care that he’s going to get the last word, because I got the best words, so fuck him. I whirl around on my heel and stomp out of the office. I’m halfway through the door when he stops me.
“No,” he says, his voice dropping into that animalistic growl I remember from the other night. “Close the door. But you stay in here with me.”
Another order. I will myself to ignore him, to walk out of the office and don’t look back, but my traitorous body has other ideas. I feel heat rushing down into my abdomen, blooming outward as a chill runs up my spine.
I shut the door with a soft click and turn, but he’s across the floor in three long strides of his muscular legs. In one fluid motion he has a hand around my waist and another fisting my hair as he pulls me roughly to his mouth. His kiss is hard and punishing, paying me back for all I’ve just said to him. It’s pain and pleasure in one moment. He pushes my lips apart with his tongue, then nips at my lower lip with enough force to make me yelp. The instinct to slap him comes over me, but he grips me tight enough that I can’t move, except to move into him.
Which I do. Despite my anger, my fear, my fury—this is what I’ve been wanting, so badly that I almost cry with relief.
This is what I need, and I’m shaking now, because I didn’t think I could have it again. And like a junkie, once the needle is in my vein, I’m just so grateful that all of my other thoughts and plans go out the window, forgotten.
Jared keeps his lips pressed to mine, working over my mouth as I try to keep up. His grip tightens, and I find myself pulled across the floor, directed around behind his desk.
He pulls me away from him by my hair, and I hiss in a breath. He leans close to my ear and whispers in a deep growl, “Should we finish what we started?”
My mouth drops open and I heave out a sigh. He pulls back and looks into my eyes, his now lit with a fiery passion.
“Jared…” I find my voice is thick.
He looks at me. “Just nod or shake your head.”
I find myself nodding, as my heart pounds even faster.
He tugs slightly on my hair, but he doesn’t have to exert much force. I drop to my knees in front of him, thankful for the plush, expensive rug beneath me. I make quick work of his belt. His pants are tented from his erection, which is growing larger by the minute. I slide his zipper down like I’m opening a gift.
“I want to see that red lipstick on my cock,” he says, and I bite my lip with anticipation.
His pants drop to the floor revealing a pair of black boxer briefs straining against his growing cock. My mouth waters as I look up at him, and I try to exude the confidence I felt moments ago, despite now treading into unfamiliar waters. I reach up with the tips of my fingers and pull at the waistband, and he takes my tentativeness for teasing. He drops his head back and sighs, and when I wrap my hand around him, he lets out a low moan.
“Goddammit, Quinn,” he says, now gazing back down at me, a hand brushing against my cheek. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
His dick is a work of art, carved out of warm marble and at least nine inches long. If I had any time to think, or let myself be guided by anything other than sheer lust, I’d be terrified. But at this moment all I can think of is how badly I want to taste it. To taste him. I bring my lips slowly to the head and kiss him, leaving a cherry red lipstick kiss on his olive skin. I gaze up at him from beneath my lashes to see him staring down at me. He’s not going to miss a second of this.
Something about him watching me emboldens me. I want him to see this. I flick my tongue over the red imprint of my lips and hear him hiss, then part my lips and take him into my mouth. I let my tongue trail along the ridged underside of him, listening for him to respond to me, which he does in groans and moans and ragged breaths. I have no idea what I’m doing, but from the
way his hand goes to the back of my head, the hiss of air as he sucks in a breath, I know it’s right.
I tease him a little, planting tiny kisses connected by the tip of my tongue up and down the length of him, enjoying the way my lipstick leaves marks all over him, claiming him. I gaze up through hooded eyes as he watches me with an animal fascination. When I see the muscles in his jaw clench and know he can’t take another second, I take him in as deep as I can, leaving a red ring right at the base of him.
It’s shocking to me, but I don’t have that much difficulty with his enormity. It’s like he was meant for me, meant to slide tightly in, and I was meant to open wide and take him.
The feeling of him, the weight in my mouth, makes me moan, which sends him into a spasm of pleasure. I lick and suck and find myself loving it as much as he is. Even from my knees, I am in control of him. I have him, and the thought has me absolutely dripping wet.
I grip him with one hand, moving it in rhythm with my mouth, and after a few minutes he joins in. He starts fucking my mouth with more fervor, and I start wonder what I should do next when he suddenly stills. He pulls back, then beckons me up with the crook of a finger and a devious arched eyebrow.
“Come here,” he says.
I rise, expecting his lips on mine, but instead he lifts a thumb to my bottom lip, swiping at a smudge of red lipstick, all that remains.
“I knew you were a wild one,” he says, that cocky tone back again. The he grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around. A firm hand on the flat of my back bends me over, and my palms fall onto the glass top of his desk. A hand goes to either thigh, and he lifts my skirt slowly, inch by inch, until it’s up around my hips. I feel the hardness of him press against my ass and return the pressure.
“Look at that lovely lace,” he whispers in my ear, and I thank god that the first pair of panties I grabbed this morning were a pair of black lace boy shorts. “Pity what happened to them.”
I start to turn my head, curious about his comment, but then the grip of his hands and the rip of fabric tells me what he means. He tosses the wreckage of lace onto the desk in front of me so that I have to stare at them, a reminder of who’s really in charge.