by Hamel, B. B.
Waiting for whatever new thing he’s going to make me do.
The thought of yesterday sends chills down my spine, my heart racing faster. I’m afraid I’m getting wet again and I take deep breaths to calm myself. I don’t want to have to change panties already. I only brought one backup pair.
After a few minutes, I hear him in the hall. He’s early today. I lift the tray and turn, casting my eyes down at the carpet as he steps into the office. He walks over to his desk and sits down. I can feel his eyes on me, and I get that thrill again.
“Good morning, Hazel,” he says.
“Good morning, sir.”
“You may put the tray down.”
I walk to his desk and place it down at the corner like usual. He pours himself a cup of coffee, but he doesn’t take the paper.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing at the chair.
I hesitate then sit, like he told me to.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
I hesitate a second. “Uh, Philadelphia.”
“You’re local?”
I nod. “Born in a suburb north of here.”
“Which one?”
“Landsdale.”
He nods. “I’ve heard of it. What were your parents like?”
My mind briefly flashes back to my childhood. “Normal,” I say finally.
He raises an eyebrow. “Just normal?”
“Pretty much.”
He watches me for a moment. “Did they pay for your college?”
I glance away. “No. I did that myself.”
“Really?” he asks softly.
I shrug. “Student loans.”
“Did they refuse to pay or could they just not afford it?”
“Refused,” I admit, although I’m not sure why. “Didn’t approve of my painting.”
“Ah,” he says softly. “I see. I can understand that.”
I glare at him. “You understand parents not supporting their kid?”
“I don’t believe parents should support their kid in every single thing, especially when they’re making a mistake.”
I take a sharp breath and let it out. “Getting my degree wasn’t a mistake.”
He doesn’t argue the point. “Did you play sports as a child?”
I clench my jaw for a second. I want to keep arguing about the painting thing, but I know it’s useless. “Softball. Soccer.”
“Were you any good?”
I laugh and shake my head, relaxing a bit. “Not at all.”
“What about now? Do you exercise?”
“Not really. Not enough at least.”
“Start running,” he says.
I frown at him. “Is that part of my job now?”
“If you want it to be. How about I pay you one hundred dollars for every mile you run?”
My eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”
“Very serious. I’ll draw up a contract and we’ll make it official, if you want.”
“Uh, no, we don’t have to do that. I just mean, that’s a lot of money.”
He smiles a bit. “Start running and we’ll see.”
“Fine.” I cross my legs and smirk at him. “You’re about to lose a lot of cash.”
“We’ll see.” He smiles right back. “It’ll be worth it to see you come in sweating and out of breath.”
I laugh and look away. He has no clue how unsexy I am when exercising. It’s an understatement to say that I wasn’t good at sports, and there’s a reason I’m more into art than athletics. I honestly hate running and working out drives me nuts.
But I have wanted to get more exercise lately. It’s one of those things that I’ve gotten away with because I’m young, but I won’t be young forever. Getting into a running habit is probably a really good idea.
Besides, one hundred bucks for every mile sounds pretty worth it. I think I can gut through a few miles every day after work.
“I’ll make sure to shower first,” I tell him.
He laughs but I suspect he wasn’t joking about wanting to see me sweaty and tired.
“Music?” he asks.
“All of it.”
“Movies?”
“Sometimes.”
“Favorite place to eat?”
“Mexican place near my apartment. Super authentic, super cheap. I love it.”
He nods, almost like he approves. “Good. That’ll be all, Hazel.”
I sit there a second, surprised, before standing. “So, uh, was that some kind of job interview or something?”
“Or something,” he says.
“Do I get to ask you all those questions one day?”
“We’ll see,” he says. “Depends on how much reward you deserve, and how much punishment.”
I flush a little at the thought. “Yes, sir,” I say, before turning away.
I can feel his eyes on my body as I hurry to the door. I want to turn back and beg him to reward me, hell, I want to beg him to punish me, but I keep myself under control. He told me that will be all, so that will be all.
Still, I steal a glance back at him. Intense eyes, staring right back at me. I blush again and leave his office, pretty sure I’m going to have to change my panties after all.
I need to bring a few extra pairs, apparently.
8
Mason
I’m running as hard as I can, my chest burning, my legs screaming in protest, but it’s not fast enough.
Ahead, there’s nothing. No plane, no runway. I’m just running along blackness, my feet echoing like I’m stomping in water.
I keep moving, not sure why I can’t stop or what I’m running from. It doesn’t matter. I just keep running.
My legs scream, my stomach drops. I think I might puke, but I push on. I can feel the lactic acid building, the weight in my limbs, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Doesn’t matter. I keep going, running hard, running harder.
It hurts so fucking much. Running always hurts, but it hurts the most when you push yourself past the point of no return. I’m exhausted, in pain, everything’s telling me to slow down, but I don’t.
I can’t slow down. That’s the only thing I know. I can’t stop running.
If I stop running, something bad might happen.
I keep going, keep pushing. I can feel it coming now, the pure exhaustion. I can barely move. I’m crawling along, but I’m not stopping.
Eventually I stumble, my legs giving out. I plummet forward, ground screaming up toward my face.
I wake with a start. I stare up at the ceiling, blinking for a second.
A new bad dream.
I frown a little bit. I’m not covered in sweat. My heart isn’t racing.
But a nightmare. Definitely a nightmare.
Still, no plane, no screaming. It wasn’t that bad. I climb out of bed and flex my muscles, moving my fingers, stretching my neck. It takes a minute before I’m fully awake. I glance down at the clock.
Just before five, enough time to work out.
I get up and throw some clothes on, trying not to think about what that dream meant, trying not to think about why I can’t stop running.
* * *
I dress slowly in front of the mirror, looking at myself carefully. I wonder what other people see when they look at me, but I know it’s impossible to tell.
I see a man that used to be young, but isn’t anymore. I’ve taken good care of myself, so I don’t look my forty years, but still. I see a man that’s past his prime.
I see a man that can still break the fucking world if he wants to.
I sigh and slip on my jacket. I decide against a tie today for some reason.
My shoes make a sound as I walk down the hall and toward my office. I’m guessing that’s how Hazel knows when I’m coming. I make sure to walk extra hard for her, just to give her a little more warning than usual.
I open the door and step into my office. She’s there like always, holding the tray, averting her eyes.
I smile and walk over to he
r. She looks surprised when I take the tray from her hands and place it down on the desk.
“Come with me,” I say, turning away.
She obeys silently. I lead her back down my hall and turn toward the stairwell. We walk together up the steps, not saying a word.
I take her to the top and out onto the roof. It’s a beautiful morning, just a very gentle breeze. She blinks at the sunlight, and my suit jacket ripples around me in the wind.
I take her hand and lead her over toward the edge. She puts her hand on the safety railing and looks out at the city.
We don’t speak. We stand there together, taking in the view.
“This is amazing,” she says finally.
“I come up here a lot,” I tell her, not sure why I’m even doing this. “When I need to get away.”
She looks at me, a little playful smile on her lips. “When you need to escape that crowded office?”
I laugh and shrug. “It doesn’t seem crowded, but it is.”
She looks back out over the city. I’m struck for a second at how gorgeous she is, especially with the soft light glinting off her dark hair.
“I asked you questions yesterday,” I say softly. “And you wanted to know when you’d get to ask me some in return.”
She looks back at me. “I’m curious if you’d tell me.”
“I would,” I say softly. “Do you really want to know me?”
She nods. I look at her body, at the modest light gray dress she’s wearing overtop of some dark leggings. I can already taste her, but I keep myself under control.
“Are you sure?” I step closer to her. “There’s a reason I don’t leave this place, Hazel.”
She bites her lip. “It’s only fair. You got to ask me and now I want to ask you.”
I laugh softly. “Okay then. This is your chance.” I get close to her, running my hand through her hair. “Turn around and place your hands on the railing.”
She hesitates but does as I asked. I love making her turn around and bend over. I push her legs wider and kneel behind her. I slowly pull her dress up over her hips, exposing the top of her tights.
I pull them down over her ass, and nice slow. Undressing her like this is like opening a present or peeling a ripe piece of fruit. She’s so fucking ripe for me, dripping for me, always ready for me. I pull her tights down around her knees, followed by her panties. No sense in getting those soaked through.
She looks over her shoulder at me. We’re on the roof of my building, out in the open air, overlooking the city. We’re along in the clouds together, and her pretty little pussy is glistening bright for me, begging me to touch it.
“Ask away,” I say to her.
She blinks a little as I tease her with my fingers. I slide them in and out and up to her clit, rubbing it softly. She groans and bites her lip.
“I, shit. I can’t think.”
“This is your only chance, Hazel.”
“Fuck, okay. Okay. Where did you grow up?”
Her words are strangled, tumbling from her lips. “In the city,” I say. “Most of the time at least. We had a house in New York and a place up in the Hamptons, but mainly here.”
“Fuck,” she whispers. “You were rich, right?”
“That’s right. Born into privilege and wealth.” My fingers continue sliding in and out of her, teasing her, going nice and slow.
“What were you like—ahh, shit —as a kid?”
“Like most kids,” I say, shrugging. “I liked football, but I had to play tennis. My older brother was the real athlete, though.”
“Siblings?” she manages.
“One older brother, one younger sister. He died years ago, and I don’t see her much these days.”
“I’m sorry,” she groans. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I slide my fingers deep and slap her ass. She gasps. “Better keep asking while I’m in the mood to talk.”
“Music?” she groans.
“Always.”
“Work out?”
“Every day.”
“First kiss?”
I chuckle a little, leaving my fingers inside her, curling back and forth against her spot. “Sixth grade. Her name was Amanda. Turned out to be a vicious bitch but I liked her back then.”
“Oh, fuck,” she says, panting. “It’s really hard to think right now.”
“Good,” I whisper. “I want it to be hard. You think anything should be easy for you?”
“Why do you—oh, god damnit—have to make things hard?”
“You need to earn it,” I whisper as I bite her ass, tasting her skin. I kiss her, moving closer to my fingers rubbing along her clit. “Nothing should be free, you know.”
“What about you? Do you earn it?”
My eyes flash at her, but I grin. “Every day,” I say before pulling my fingers from inside of her and pressing my mouth against her pussy.
She groans as I eat her from behind. I run my tongue into her tight little cunt and lick her all over, tasting every inch of her body. I lick her clit, running my tongue the whole length of her, lapping her tip. I suck and lick her, tongue inside, tongue along her clit, tongue around her ass. I love it, the way she moans and arches her back and pushes against me.
I grip her hips and keep sucking, licking. I know she’s getting close. I reach up with one hand and find her clit, rubbing it with my middle finger as my tongue laps at her pussy and ass. She gasps, groaning, rolling her hips with this, her questions completely forgotten.
This is what I really wanted, to make her feel like she had control, when really I was driving everything all along.
I keep going, rubbing and sucking and licking, tasting her perfect body, pushing her buttons, making her moan and sweat and gasp. I go faster, faster, moving with her moans, reading her body, the trembling in her knees, everything.
She comes against my mouth and I don’t stop. I keep rubbing her clit, keep licking her pussy. I love it so much I can barely control myself. Her whole body contorts as she bends forward, moaning into the open air, at the city spread below us.
Slowly she comes down. I let her slide onto her ass, sitting there with her back to the little wall. I step back and smile at her, wiping my mouth casually with a handkerchief before sliding it back into my pocket.
She glares at me, panting. “I want more questions.”
“You got what you got,” I say. “Be happy for it.”
“You asshole.”
I smile. “You’re getting very fresh with your new boss.”
She glares at me but stays silent. I laugh and wait for her to gather herself. She pulls her panties back up, followed by her tights. Finally, she stands and straightens out her skirt.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods. I lead her back inside and into my office where she resumes her position over near the wall.
I sit at my desk and watch her for a moment. “You’re dismissed,” I say. “Go home and think about what we just did.”
She hesitates. “Go home?”
“Yes, go home. Leave the office. Take the day off.” I grin at her. “Run a few miles.”
Her face brightens. “You owe me three hundred dollars, by the way.”
“Good. Don’t go easy on me.”
She hesitates. “Okay then, sir. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll be expecting you.”
She nods once, bites her lip, and leaves. I watch her go, annoyed with myself.
I couldn’t keep her here today. If I did, I’d do something bad. I just know I would. I’m not even sure I won’t do it tomorrow.
I want her. I want her so fucking badly. I can feel myself willing to open up to her, to tell her about myself in a way that I haven’t in years. It’s not just her body but the way she laughs, her bravery, her strength.
Fucking hell. I can’t lose control.
I lean back and sigh, trying to concentrate on anything but her, and finding it almost impossible.
9
His hands on my body. His tongue between my legs.
It’s all I can think about as I head to the office. The sun hasn’t risen yet and my feet hurt from running another four miles yesterday, but I’m happy.
I’m really happy.
I didn’t think I’d be this happy going into work at the ass-crack of dawn. I thought I’d be angry or annoyed or frustrated that I’m stuck working for some rich guy while all I want to do is paint.
Instead, I go home feeling so inspired it’s crazy. These last couple of days I’ve gone for a run right away followed by a few hours of painting followed by bed. That’s been my life, work, bed, and painting, although the time off yesterday afternoon gave me some time to sit around and relax.
Today though, today I feel energized. I’m going to see him again, and I can’t wait. I keep seeing him in my mind, feeling him against my body. I hurry into the building and ride the elevator up to the top floor.
As soon as I get to the usual waiting room, I know something’s off. Rogers isn’t there, and he’s always there. Every morning he’s waiting to greet me with his usual stony silence, but not today.
I look around the room slowly, and spot the reason why.
Declan is sitting in a chair nearby, legs crossed, staring at me silently.
I smile at him sweetly, heart jumping into my throat. “Good morning, Mr. Gray.”
He smiles. “Call me Declan.” His voice is flat.
“Okay,” I say, hesitating. “Can I do something for you, Declan?”
“No, you can’t.” He slowly stands up with a sigh. “But I am here to speak with you.”
I frown a little, glancing around. I wish Rogers were here, heck, I wish anyone were here. It’s so early that most people aren’t in the building yet and I feel suddenly very alone.
Declan walks toward me and stops a few feet away. “Do you think you’re valuable?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I’m just Mr. Ward’s assistant.”
“Good. And what’s your role?”
“To assist him.”
