by Hannah Ford
“Send her in,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the uncomfortable feeling inside of me, this foreign feeling of wanting something that’s just out of reach.
A moment later, she appears, walking through the door.
Her hair is swept back from her face in a bun, and she’s wearing a black pencil skirt and a black blouse. Her eyelashes are full, her mouth pouty and lined with red lipstick. Jesus Christ.
“Ms. Cavanaugh.”
“Mr. Stratford.” She crosses the room purposefully on black high heels, and I can’t help but imagine them slung over my shoulders as I pump deep into that virgin pussy of hers.
She sets a piece of paper down on my desk in front of me. I glance at it in irritation.
“What is this?”
“My resignation.” She frowns. “Or… I don’t know if you call it a resignation if it’s an internship. But it’s my notice. Of leaving.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Ms. Cavanaugh.” I pick up the sheet of paper and drop it into the wastebasket.
Her mouth forms an “O.” I shift as my cock presses painfully against the front of my trousers, imagining her on her knees, my cock pushing into her mouth. She bends down and fishes the paper out of the bin, which does nothing to ease my erection.
“You want to know what’s dramatic, Mr. Stratford? What’s dramatic is your stepfather coming out of the house and pointing a gun at me after you left me outside in his driveway.”
“He did what?” Rage pounds through my veins, scorching and fierce “Why didn’t you tell me that?” I’ll kill him.
“When was I supposed to tell you? You left me in the car all alone.”
“And now you see why.” At the time, it seemed like an impossible choice – I didn’t want her anywhere near my stepfather, John, or near River. But I’d also finally had her, alone, in my car, and I didn’t want to give that up, didn’t want to cut my time with her short.
It was frustrating, this hold she had on me.
She throws her hands up in the air. “No, I don’t see why you left me in the car. You… you just…” She sighs. “I don’t understand you.”
“There’s nothing to understand, Ms. Cavanaugh. And if you spend your time trying, you are setting yourself up for certain failure.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and for a second, I feel my heart crack a tiny bit, feel like I want to be the kind of man who promises her roses and rings.
But she shakes her head and then turns. “I’ll let my advisor know that I’ve resigned.”
She turns toward the door.
“Stop, Ms. Cavanaugh.”
She stops.
“You will do no such thing.”
She turns around, and now her eyes are blazing. “You aren’t in charge of me, Mr. Stratford. I don’t know how or why you got that idea, but …”
I cross the room to her, my steps controlled – no, not controlled, but I’m trying to force myself to keep them controlled, because this woman is dangerously close to cracking me open in ways I’m not sure I’ll survive.
“Where I got that idea, Ms. Cavanaugh? I got that idea last night, when you told me you were, what was it, open to having the kind of relationship I require? Or perhaps it was the other night, in the back of my car, when you were naked, confessing that you safe-worded only because you liked what I was doing to you too much.”
I’m reached her now, and I skim my knuckle down the front of her blouse, between her breasts.
She slaps it away. “I changed my mind.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.” She bites her lip. “At least… I have if this is what it’s going to be like.”
“Ah.” I smirk. “You want to negotiate, Ms. Cavanaugh?”
She thinks about it.
“What are your demands?” I ask, before she has a chance to say no.
“I want to know what happened between you and Willow, why she has a tattoo on her wrist that matches your scar. I want to know how you got that scar. I want to know why you didn’t want me to talk to River, why you act like you hate him and yet you seem like you’re considering investing in his company. I want to know why your stepfather came outside with a gun and your half sister and your stepbrother acted like it was just another night at home. I want to –”
I hold my hand up, cutting her off. “That is quite the plethora of questions.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, stopping me from touching her, and pushing her breasts together. The buttons on her shirt gap just a tiny bit from the pressure, and I catch a glimpse of a lacey black bra. Fucking Christ.
“The fact that I have multiple questions for you makes it all the more imperative that I get answers,” she says.
I shake my head. “Me answering any of those questions isn’t going to happen.”
“Then we’re done here.”
She turns to walk out the door, and this time, when I tell her to stop, she keeps going. Panic burns through me, hard and strong, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m brushing past her, stepping in front of her, stopping her from leaving.
I take her arms and push her backwards toward my desk.
“What are you doing?” she squeals.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll answer one of your questions.” Of course, I know it won’t be that easy. To answer one of her questions will only lead to other questions, and those questions will lead to other questions, which will lead to other questions.
But I’m out of my mind right now, and I feel as if I might literally die if she’s out of my sight.
She turns around, her ass now pushed up against the side of my desk, her skirt riding high on her thighs. I grab the bottom of the fabric and shove it up, exposing an expanse of creamy thigh.
“What do you want in return?” She’s trembling as she talks, her voice innocent and breathy.
I smile and trace the outline of her bottom lip with my thumb. “Your virgin pussy, of course.”
Will Chloe agree to Gage’s demands? What kind of secrets are Gage and his family hiding?And what is Grace’s real reason for being in New York?
Find out more in Strict (Part Four) coming soon!
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