by Amelia Wilde
The car is stopping at the curb, and, dazed, I realize we’re in front of my apartment building.
Dominic gives me a wicked smile. “Only not quite yet.”
16
Dominic
Of course I want to take her to my penthouse and take her until she’s senseless with pleasure. Of course I forced myself not to react when she begged me to punish her—but it was those words that told me we’re on another level.
Vivienne Davis can’t resist me, and my hands on her body unlock something within her I can guarantee she hasn’t surrendered to anyone else. That was one of her deepest fantasies, one she would never admit out loud, and I heard it directly from her lips.
Deep down inside, Vivienne Davis—despite what she might say in the light of day, despite how confident and independent she is, despite everything—is desperate for someone to take control, at least in the bedroom. She needs it so badly, I can taste it in the air stirring around her. And now that I know it for sure…
It’s time to play.
She’s bewildered when I get out of the car and help her out, her face red and hot, her body trembling, and her breath coming fast in her throat.
“Not now?”
Her deep green eyes are wide, her lips puffy from my attention, and her face is a picture of disbelief. I lean down and kiss her cheek, the way I did in the restaurant, then I put my hand under her arm and steer her toward the entrance to her building. “Not now.”
“But—” I stop, face her, and put my finger over her mouth.
“No, no,” I murmur, leaning to speak directly into her ear, feeling her body shiver underneath my touch. “Not yet, sweet thing.” Another shiver. “Do you think I’m going to rush through the anticipation? No—I wouldn’t do that.”
She groans softly. “Dominic, I—”
“Be a good girl,” I say softly into her ear. I’m taking a chance on this—for some women, it’s a turnoff, but for others—
Vivienne trembles, harder than before. That’s the reaction I was hoping for. She leans into me a little bit more, and I can feel the hope pulsing underneath the surface of her skin.
“Be a good girl, and I’ll make it so worth it.”
She opens her mouth one more time to argue, and then thinks better of it, a little frown playing over her face. I put a finger underneath her chin and lift it until she’s looking directly into my eyes.
“I promise.”
“Okay.” The word is a whisper that’s almost swallowed up in the July breeze.
“I’ll see you soon.”
I act like it’s nothing to stop touching her, like it’s nothing to walk away from her, and I don’t look back.
She stands frozen on the sidewalk until the Audi disappears from sight. I lean back against the headrest and try to ignore the painful erection that’s about to burst out of my pants, letting myself dissolve into the delicious anticipation that I’ve set in motion.
For the first time in weeks, the world seems brighter, seems suffused with a new energy, and it’s all because of Vivienne. I don’t see her on Tuesday morning, and still, the knowledge that she’s down on the eighth floor, walking and breathing, wearing the glittering diamond I sent to her around her neck, is putting me in a fantastic mood.
The one thing I didn’t ask for was her phone number, and that will come with time. I’m not going to look it up—I’ll wait until we’re at that special point—because the fact that we have to use other means of contacting each other makes this even sexier.
Judging by the expression on her face when I drove away last night, I’m going to be on her mind—probably about as much as she’s been on my mind, which is nonstop and can’t even be cured by four rounds of jacking off in the shower between last night and this morning and a mind-numbing, hour-long workout at the gym.
Exchanging phone numbers comes sooner than I thought, however. Around lunch time, my private cell buzzes in my pocket, and I slide it out before I’ve put the next bite of steak into my mouth. The message is from an unfamiliar number, but as soon as I read the text, I know it’s from her.
I wanted to call you last night, but I didn’t have your number.
I can almost hear her saying it in the same low voice that she adopts when she’s very, very turned on.
How did you get it this morning, sweet thing?
She’d never be able to send this from any kind of work phone, so I know it’s relatively secure.
My new boss gave me a list of essentials in case of emergency…
Overhiser. He’s never been one of my favorites, but he does his job well enough that firing him would be more of a hassle than it’s worth. He’ll age out sooner or later and retire to the Bahamas, and that will be the end of that.
This is an emergency, is it? :)
Some parts of me think so.
Which parts?
There’s a long pause, and I decide to end it before she loses her nerve.
Be a good girl and tell me what has you so bothered.
Those are the magic words, and I know it’s only for times like these—times when we’re “alone,” when we’re in that sphere where the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I know it instinctively. Vivienne has her sights set on a thriving career, but she has a dirty little fantasy that can play out in the secret spaces.
My pussy aches for you.
My cock is already rock-hard, but it gets impossibly harder. I adjust it in my pants and glance out the door to Emily’s desk. Still empty.
Is the waiting too much for you?
No. I can handle it!
I think you’re lying to me, sweet thing.
I would never lie to you.
She doesn’t hesitate to send that message, which makes me think it’s absolutely true.
Be patient.
It’s hard.
So am I.
I want you…
I want you, Vivienne.
Have me.
Not now…
Cruel.
I’m not cruel. I’ll prove it to you.
How?
There’s a gift coming to your desk in the next two hours. Don’t open it at the office. Take it home and follow the instructions.
The entire plan comes to me as I write out the text, a grin spreading across my face. Then I send a second follow-up text on its heels.
Will you be a good girl?
Yes…
Tell me.
I’ll be a good girl.
Get back to work and wait for your gift.
She doesn’t answer.
She’s gone back to work.
I click out of the text messaging app and dial a number, my heart pumping in my chest. I’ve got her all wound up.
She’s going to love the release.
And I’m going to love imagining what she looks like as she does.
17
Vivienne
The white box that arrives on my desk is about the size of a doughnut box, and it’s tied with a ribbon that walks the line between subtle discretion and understated decoration. At a glance the package looks fairly unassuming, but if I still worked in the cubicle next to Marie, she’d be all over it in less than half a second.
Even sitting alone in the reception area outside Mr. Overhiser’s office, I can’t convince myself that the color rising to my cheeks isn’t incriminating. I only allow myself a couple of minutes to look over the box before opening the lowest drawer of my desk and depositing it carefully inside away from prying eyes.
I’m not supposed to open it at work. Naturally, that makes me even more anxious to open it.
Instead, I focus my attention—drag it, kicking and screaming—on my newly assigned duties.
Scheduling for Mr. Overhiser turns out to be far less complex than what I had been doing for the Executive Support team. It turns out that my main priorities include ensuring that Mr. Overhiser’s favorite lunch—a specific BLT with a few finicky add-ons from the restaurant down the street—is on his desk at twelv
e-fifteen every day, that his meetings don’t run past schedule, and that I can provide excuses if he wants to duck out for the day early.
At least that’s the vibe I get in the first few hours, and my gut instincts are usually spot-on.
The entire set-up is more perfect than I could have dreamed, because while I’m making myself look busier than I really am—ordering lunch isn’t rocket science, and making up excuses is simple—I’m also finally getting a crack at tackling the job I’m really here to do.
Namely, finding out if Mr. Overhiser is the inside man for the Chinese government.
I find my mind continuing to stray, though. Do your job, I remind myself sternly every time I start thinking about the box.
When I take my afternoon break at three o’clock, it’s all I can do not to give in to temptation, to lift that simple white box out of its hiding place in the drawer, untie the ribbon, and take a peek inside. One look. One look can’t hurt…
But he told me – insisted – that I not open it here, and that’s the game we’re playing. The game that sets my core ablaze and makes me want to play for the rest of my life.
I put a hand to my forehead and my heart jumps. That’s a long time, the rest of my life—but my nerves pulse with excitement when I think about the box and what might be in it, when I think about Dominic, and in this moment, yeah, I’d love for this to go on for the rest of my life.
Mr. Overhiser is a Grade A creep and doesn’t even pretend to hide it, but he also likes to be out of the office right at five, which is perhaps his single redeeming quality. Today, I can’t wait to leave the office. The moment he steps out the office door and into the elevator, I leap from my seat, wrench open the desk drawer, and grab the box.
I’m going to have to carry it home with me—it won’t quite fit in my purse, at least not well enough for it not to be awkward—and a little thrill of nervousness streaks down my spine. People sometimes snatch things from passengers on the subway. I’m not letting this baby—whatever it is—out of my grip, so that could turn into…a situation…if anyone even looks at it funny.
I walk the three blocks to the subway station as fast as I can in my three-inch black heels. The train is crowded with the rush of people heading home after work, but nobody tries to screw with me, and I’m so preoccupied about this gift that it makes the time fly. I’m breathing hard by the time I rush to my apartment. Slamming the door shut behind me, I drop my purse to the floor and carry the box to the coffee table in my living room, handling it like it’s a priceless treasure.
The ribbon slips off like a dream. It would only have taken a feather-light touch to do this in the office, and it brings a smile to my face. No doubt Dominic knew that.
Now that it’s time to open the box, I hesitate.
He’s right—the anticipation is worth it. I give myself a moment to linger in it, imagining what I’m going to find inside. Some kind of dress I could never afford even if I saved up for it the rest of my life? An invitation to another exclusive restaurant? Will a driver be pulling up outside my building any moment to pick me up? Is Dominic waiting by his phone right now for me to call?
That’s what does me in. I tear the lid off the box and look down to find something wrapped delicately in tissue paper. I toss all of it aside to reveal two objects.
One is a vibrator, but it reminds me of Dominic’s car—sleek and designed within an inch of its life, probably something you can’t get unless you’re someone like him.
The second—I gasp out loud when I register what it is—is a butt plug.
There’s no mistaking the tapered shape, the smooth silicone surface, and even though I’ve never seen one before, I know what it is, and there is no way I’m going to—
My heart pounds against my rib cage, and I scrape through the last few sheets of tissue paper. There’s a card at the very bottom of the box, the envelope thick and heavy. My name is written across the front of it in Dominic’s steady handwriting. With trembling hands, I tear open the envelope and slip out the card. Only a few words are printed on the thick and smooth stock:
V—
Call me when you get this. I’ll be waiting.
—D
I rise from the couch and race back to where I dropped my purse on the floor, fumbling with it until my phone slips out and into my hands. I dial Dominic’s number. He picks up on the first ring.
“You got my gift.”
“Dominic—what—I—”
He laughs, the sound rich and deep, settling me in spite of myself. “Do you like it?”
“Half of it, at least! The other part—”
“I’m assuming you’re talking about the plug.”
“Yes, the plug.” Color surges into my cheeks, even though he can’t see me. “That’s not the kind of thing I’ve—I’m not going to—what—”
“Don’t fret so much, sweet thing.” There’s still a layer of laughter under the baritone timbre of his voice. “I gave that to you for an added layer of anticipation, a taste of what’s to come—if you decide that you want it.”
“Why would I—?” I snap my lips closed, flashing back to the car ride, to the words that tumbled unbidden out of my mouth—punish me—and I can feel my entire body blushing at the memory. Oh, God, is this what he has in mind?
And why is it making me so wet to imagine it?
“I don’t know, Dominic…” But I do know. I do.
“You don’t need to decide right now.” Then his tone shifts gears. “Are you still dressed?”
“Yes. I’m home from the office.”
“Let’s start with taking off your clothes. Are you ready to follow instructions?”
My shoulders relax. “Yes,” I breathe into the phone, finally seeing the game Dominic has set up for us tonight.
“Take them all off, one piece at a time. I’ll wait.”
18
Dominic
Her voice, even over the phone, has me rock hard and ready.
Anticipation? Yes. A full communication blackout? No. That would have the exact opposite effect of what I’m hoping for.
I can hear fabric dropping to the floor, and then there’s a muffled static as Vivienne picks up the phone again.
“Are you naked, sweet thing?”
“I have nothing on.”
“Do you have your gifts?”
“No…”
“Get them, and go to your bedroom.”
“Okay.”
I sense soft footsteps, and then a shifting that tells me she’s put the phone between her ear and her shoulder. “I’m going there now.”
“How does it feel in your apartment?”
“Empty.”
“Temperature-wise.”
She laughs a little, low and throaty. “Warm, but not too warm.”
“Good.”
“I’m in my bedroom.”
“Lie down on your bed.”
A hushed sound. “I’m lying down.”
“Put the plug where you can see it.”
“I put it on my bedside table.”
“That’s perfect.”
“Now lay back and close your eyes.”
I’ve locked myself in the penthouse apartment on the twentieth floor of the Wilder Building. I couldn’t bear to be on the drive home when she called, because I knew she would call. I knew she couldn’t stand to wait very long to open the box once she got home. I also know she didn’t open it early, because my note would have drawn the truth out of her, driven her to call me even if the workday wasn’t over. I know it in my bones without even having to ask her.
“Dominic?”
I’ve been lost in images of her for too long—the sweet curves of her hips, her soft skin, her full lips on mine—but her voice brings me back. “Are you ready, sweet thing?”
A little laugh. “I don’t know what I’m getting ready for.”
“Pleasure.”
She sucks in a little breath. “I thought we were waiting.”
“We’re wai
ting for me to make you mine. We don’t have to wait for other things.” I shift in the leather chair in front of the fireplace, unlit, waiting for the summer to be over, for the bitter winter to come back again. I’ve taken off my suit jacket and tie, but I wish I could take it all off and stretch out next to Vivienne on her bed. “Are your eyes closed?”
“Yes.”
“Touch your collarbone for me. I wish I had my hands on you right now.”
She lets out a little sigh. “I wish you did, too.”
“Move your hands a little lower. Circle your nipples—use one finger, sweet thing.” Another little breath, a little gasp. “They’re hard, aren’t they?”
“Oh… yes.”
“Sensitive?”
She gulps. “Very.”
“Squeeze one of them. Let me hear you feel it.” There’s a more audible gasp this time. I bet she’s soaking wet already, if she wasn’t the moment she opened the box and saw what was inside. My cock twitches against the fabric of my pants, but I’m not going to react to it yet. Anticipation.
“I—”
“Don’t think about it, Vivienne. Listen to my voice.”
This time, her sigh is a satisfied one. This game is one she likes. This game is one I like, even if I prefer to play it in-person.
“Slide your hand down your belly.”
“How—how far?”
“How far do you think?”
“Should I—?” Her swallow is audible and her voice almost desperate. “Should I touch myself?”
“Should you touch yourself?” I repeat, as if I’m actually considering the words and weighing each one. “Should you slide your hands below your belly button to—oh…” I let my voice trail off.