by Stasia Black
I put the cup back down on a coaster that says: There are 10 types of people: those who understand binary and those who don't.
Normally I’d crack a smile at a good programmer joke, but right now, not even a smirk.
Jackson and I work through dinner and long past the sun going down. Finally, my fingers feel like they’re going to fall off, I’m getting a headache from the long hours staring at the monitor, and my stomach is growling with hunger.
Jackson finally looks over and takes notice of me. His eyebrows drop as shame covers his features. “I’m so sorry.”
He pushes away from his desk. “This isn’t what this weekend was supposed to be about at all. I swear I didn’t bring you here to work you to death. We weren’t supposed to be doing any work at all. It’s just—” he cuts himself off mid-sentence and runs a hand through the back of his hair. His hair is already mussed from him doing this all afternoon. He has no idea he’s even more attractive when it’s sexily messed up like it is now. Too much like bed head.
I put on a smile and shush him. “It’s fine. We both know how important this project is.” Just for different reasons to each of us. I cringe internally. “You keep at it and I’ll go make us some sandwiches.”
“Really?” Jackson’s eyebrows rise. “You aren’t mad?”
“No.” I look at him like he’s crazy. Even if I wasn’t awash in guilt, I wouldn’t be mad that the weekend was turning out this way. I know how important his work is to him. He’s having a major breakthrough.
“Have previous girlfriends been upset when you worked too much?” Then I realize how that sounded. Previous girlfriends. Like I’m counting myself as his current girlfriend.
“Don’t answer that,” I cut him off before he can say anything and turn for the door. “Sandwiches. I’ll be back in a bit.”
His kitchen is well stocked and I come back with ham and provolone sandwiches, filled with all the good stuff—lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, and avocados. It’s all I can do not to groan in satisfaction when I bite into mine.
Jackson murmurs his thanks and sets it to the side, continuing to code instead of eating. I shake my head at him.
“Stopping for fuel is a necessity.”
“When I finish this bit,” he murmurs, eyes glued to the screen. Or screens, I should say, as his eyes flick back and forth between three screens. One has the active code he’s writing for the new algorithm, the second has the log output and memory stack, and the third has a super zoomed in 3D wire frame of the drone itself rotating on the screen, certain sections highlighted.
It’s pretty insane to watch this level of genius at work. I shake my head at him and take another glorious bite of my own sandwich. I’ll bother him again if he hasn’t eaten it in an hour. I finish my sandwich and wash it down with water.
No more Mountain Dew for me. I lace my fingers behind my head and stretch my arms, neck, and back, then return to my own work.
I stay at it for as long as I can, but when two a.m. rolls around, I have to call it quits. I’m fighting sleep and keep catching myself as my head is dropping, then jerk back up right before I face-plant into my keyboard.
Finally, I admit defeat. When I look over at Jackson, though, he doesn’t look like he’s running out of steam anytime soon. Which really ought to put me to shame. He’s a decade older than me but he barely looks like he’s flagging at all.
“I’m just going to go catch a quick catnap on the couch, then I’ll be back.”
Jackson jerks like he’s startled by my voice. He probably is, he’s so deep in it. Again that guilty expression comes over his face. He glances down at the bottom of the screen, no doubt taking note of the time. “Shit. Callie, I’m so sor—”
“Don’t.” I smile at him gently as I raise two fingers to his lips to cover his mouth. This man. My chest aches with things I can’t name. Things I don’t want to name.
I take a step backward. “You kick that code’s ass. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“There are bedrooms upstairs. Just go to sleep for the night. I’ll—”
“I’ll be back in a little while,” I say more firmly.
This time it’s him who shakes his head, a smile cracking the edge of his lips. “I’ll be here.”
I laugh. “Oh, I doubt wild horses could drag you away from that keyboard right now.”
His face goes apologetic. “I’m sor—” he tries again.
I’m out the door before he can finish. “I expect to hear about some impressive ass-kickage when I get back!” I yell over my shoulder.
Out in the living room, there’s a large sectional couch that, while expensive looking, also seems like it was chosen for comfort more than appearance. I grab the throw blanket draped over the back and lay down. My entire body sinks into the form-shaping couch cushions.
I let out another low moan of pleased relief. My arms feel like jelly as I struggle to get the blanket to cover my body, but I finally manage it. I pull it up around my shoulders and tuck it into my face.
I’ll sleep for a tiny bit and then get back to helping Jackson. Just a quick nap.
Sixteen
JACKSON
What did I do to deserve this gorgeous goddess of a woman?
I stare down at her where she’s curled up on my couch, fast asleep. Fuck but she’s beautiful. It’s rare to see her like this—her face free of worry lines.
I frown and drop down to the floor, taking one of her feet in my hands and starting a slow massage. I’m not an idiot. I know there are things she’s not telling me. I keep hoping that with time, she’ll open up. That maybe this weekend…
Yeah well then you started coding and completely ignored her.
I duck my head and wince.
All I can do is try to make up for it now. I move to the other foot and rub my thumbs into her arches, kissing up her ankles.
She gives a little moan and shifts on the couch.
Maybe I should let her sleep. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.
But no, that couch is lumpy and uncomfortable. The least I can do is take her upstairs to the bed where she’ll be more comfortable.
To sleep.
Just to sleep.
I continue my massage and she blinks slowly, waking a few minutes later.
“What are you doing?” she mumbles, glancing down at me.
I smile. “I finished the code.”
“But my part—” she scrambles to sit up but I urge her back down and then continue my massage, moving back to her other foot.
“You were almost there. I took what you had then finished it to put in the last piece of the puzzle.”
“Did it work?” She sits up abruptly in spite of my ministrations. “Did it fix the problem?”
“It’s compiling overnight.” Then I look up at the skylight at the grayish sky, much lighter than the pitch black of night. “Well, over the morning anyway.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after 5:30. I’ll do the preliminary testing tomorrow. But the simulation results were promising. Callie,” I grin, “you did it.”
She scoffs and looks uneasy. “You were the one who coded everything.”
“Which I couldn’t have done without your idea.”
She puts a hand to her forehead. Why doesn’t she look more excited? I thought she’d want to celebrate with me?
Uh, maybe because she’s running on two hours of sleep and your supposedly romantic getaway turned into an all-day workathon? I cringe.
“You’ve been up all night,” she says, trying to tug her foot away from my hands. She’s not looking at me anymore. Her eyes are fixed firmly on the wall as she says, “You should go get some sleep.”
I should go get some sleep. Not we.
No. Fuck that. I’m not letting her pull away again. Not after how far we’ve come. I might have been an ass yesterday, ignoring her in favor of work, but I’ll show her just how important she is to me.
“I think it’s time for
me to make up for neglecting what this weekend was supposed to be all about—you. Besides, you know what they say about all work and no play.”
I let go of her foot but only to crawl up over her, skimming my body over hers the whole way. I’m not playing fair and I don’t give a fuck. My next question comes out as a growl: “Does Mistress want to play?”
Her eyes snap to mine and within seconds, her breaths start to come in shorter, more heavily. She wants this. Wants me.
But then something else clouds over her eyes. Some conflict I don’t understand. I don’t think it’s about me neglecting her for work, either.
It’s something else. Even as her body relaxes into me, her nipples hardening into ripe little buds, the furrow between her eyebrows gets deeper. Goddammit, what is it?
“What’s wrong?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and she presses her head back hard into the couch cushion. Enough. It’s time to get to the bottom of this.
“Callie,” I demand. “What’s going on? Tell me.”
She swallows and at the same time, she shifts beneath me, one of her legs falling open and wrapping around to pull me into her.
I hiss at the feel of her pulling me into her warmth and her eyes pop open. No doubt at feeling my hard length. What does she expect? Even touching her ankles had me hard as stone. This is what she does to me. I’m barely able to keep myself from popping wood at work. Does she know how embarrassing it is to be the CEO of a billion dollar company and having to scurry off to my private bathroom because I have a stiffy from walking by her cubicle? Jesus.
And that’s nothing to having her hot and heaving beneath me. Still, nothing could prepare me for her next words.
“Is there a way to stay the Domme, but…” she trails off like she doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants.
I put a knuckle under her chin to lift her face so she looks at me. “Hey. Never be afraid to ask anything. Not with me.”
“Well,” she tries again, swallowing. “Where I’m the Domme officially but you’re the one doing some of the…” Her eyes drop. “…dominating?”
Jesus is she asking what I think she is?
It’s a fight to keep my voice even. “We can do anything you want and you still stay the top. Even if it doesn’t fall into the traditional roles. My job as your sub is to please and worship you in whatever way you want or need.”
A shudder runs down her body at my words and I’ve never felt a more caveman desire to drag her up to my room and chain her to my bed. The things I would do to her if she’d let me—
“Then it would please your Mistress for you to spank her and get her off like you did the first time in the limo.” Her eyes drop to the floor like she’s already embodying taking on the role of submissive.
And my cock could officially break brick, I’m so fucking hard. Still, I don’t want to scare her. So I take a breath and manage to get out, “Whatever Mistress wants.” I even bow my head.
“Don’t bullshit me,” she laughs. “I know you’re chomping at the bit.” Then she wraps an arm around my back, locks it with the other she slipped around my chest, and uses the leverage to lift me up slightly. Then she wedges her knee between us and shoves me off of her.
Before I know it I’m toppling off the couch head-first.
Jesus! I barely manage to catch myself and somewhat direct my tumble to the floor. She’s become positively dangerous after that self-defense class of hers.
“Just don’t forget who’s ultimately in charge.” Her eyes are narrowed as she glares down at me.
I grin. “No, ma’am. Wouldn’t think of it.”
“Good,” she says haughtily, sounding every inch the Mistress for a moment. “Then take me to a room where we can play.”
But if she’s letting me be dom for once, then my beast isn’t going to pass up a moment of it.
Especially when a second later, I see the conflict enter her eyes again. She’s not just asking me to top her on a whim. For some reason, she doesn’t feel like she can be a good domme to me right now.
I think back to our very first lesson, that day I took her to the club. The dominant/submissive relationship is about trust.
I already know she’s not willing to trust me with all her problems. But every opportunity I can take to demonstrate that I won’t be like every other man in her life—that I’ll stay, that I’ll be someone she can actually count on, goddammit but I’m going to fight to prove myself to her.
So I don’t wait for her to second guess her impulse. No, I grab her and throw her over my shoulder. When she shrieks, I smack her ass and the beast roars with approval.
I carry her up to my playroom, shoving open the door so hard it bangs into the wall. I don’t care. I’m here to take what’s mine.
I set her on her feet beside the large four poster bed the dominates the middle of the room. There’s some of the other usual equipment around the room but all I care about is the bed. The frame is solid oak and connected to each bedpost is a short coil of chain and a padded cuff.
I’m about to order her on the bed when she snaps, “Strip and get on the bed.”
My head snaps her direction but she’s only glaring me down.
“You said I’m still the top,” she reminds me darkly.
Yes. Fuck. It’s a line I’ve never straddled before. In this power exchange, I have to remember that she ultimately needs to feel safe. So I’ll do it her way.
For now.
Still, I can’t help my jaw tightening as I bow my head and tug off my shirt, pants, and boxers and climb up on the bed.
Her eyes brighten. I think she likes the fact that submission is so difficult for me. I swear she revels in it.
And somehow that thought makes me harder. Jesus, being with her is a mind-fuck sometimes. One I wouldn’t give up for the world.
She comes to where I sit on the bed and grabs my left ankle. She’s sure to look me in the eye as she secures the cuff around it.
What will she do next? I never know. I just know I want to be with her for it, every step of the damn way.
She moves to my other ankle and secures the cuff around it as well. There’s only a tiny bit of slack in the chains. She’s got my legs forced open in an unnatural spread-eagled position and I have to force my breathing even.
Do I love being tied to the bed in this position, my cock completely vulnerable?
I can’t imagine any guy would.
Still, I lean back on my elbows and meet Callie’s gaze. I won’t flinch or try to cover up. She’ll only know she can trust me if she sees I’m willing to afford her the same.
She quickly averts her eyes though, dropping them to the floor as she yanks her sweater off, revealing a hot as fuck black lace bra. She shimmies out of her legging next and Jesus—she’s got a matching barely there lace thong that’s little more than a triangle of fabric covering her.
My cock strains toward her and my legs flex uselessly. Obviously I can’t get to her, strapped down like I am. Well, she hasn’t restrained my wrists yet, but I force myself not to reach for her. No need to remind her of that fact.
And thank Jesus, the next second she comes towards me, climbing up on the bed and then—
Jesus fuck—
She climbs up over my lap, bending over and arranging herself in spanking position. Her belly brushes the tip of my cock and I suck in a lungful of air at the contact.
Yes. Jesus. Yes.
I run a hand down her flank, stretching my jaw and reveling in the soft warmth of her skin. And then I swat her ass. Hard.
She lets out a little yelp and I wait. Will she retreat? What’s it gonna be, baby?
Is she going to keep trying to top from the bottom or will she really let me take the lead? I’ll do whatever she wants.
Her body goes tense and for a second I think she’s going to run.
But then she relaxes, forehead dropping to the bed, arching her back so that her ass rises up in the air toward my hand.
That�
��s right, baby. That’s right.
She arches her back so that her ass rises up in the air, taunting me.
Oh baby. I don’t need an invitation. My hand falls again on that sweet, sweet ass. She grunts but keeps wiggling her backside at me.
Is this a test of wills? Or is it like her fake smiles? Even here does she think she can put me in my place? Keep me behind glass so I can only look but not touch? Never really touch her? Never get to the real Calliope behind those walls she keeps so high around herself?
Because she’s wrong. She’s dead wrong.
She doesn’t know it, but she’s opened the gates the smallest bit and I’m going to do my damndest to ram my way in and bring light to the places she tries to keep hidden in darkness.
I continue the spanking, concentrating harder than even when I was coding earlier. Not every blow is hard. Some are light smacks that end in caresses between her legs.
Her attempts to excite and distract me by writhing in my lap aren’t going to work. Doesn’t she know by now how single-minded I can be when I have a goal?
I rain down more punishing blows and finally, finally, she starts to go pliant under my hands. Her eyes flutter closed and her features go lax.
I barely keep back the growl of satisfaction at the sight. Yes. Fuck yes. We’re getting somewhere now. Peeling back the layers of bullshit and digging down to her truths.
Come on, Callie, baby. Give me your truth.
I tease between her thighs after landing another smack but pull back just as quickly. She moans in denied satisfaction and I grip both her pink ass cheeks in my hands before landing another spanking.
She’s doing so good. I can feel her letting go. Giving into me.
And then all the sudden, it’s like a switch flips.
She goes tense again beneath me. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve lost her. “Harder,” she says through a huffing breath. “And tell me what a bad girl I am. What a filthy, disgusting slut.”
I recoil from her words. And then set about correcting her.