Falling Under You

by Laurelin Paige

  I threw my head back, pissed at myself for the eruption of emotion, willing my assistant to ignore what I’d said and go away instead of attempting to console me.

  He didn’t try to console me. Instead, without missing a beat, he answered my hypothetical question earnestly. “Yes, actually, I do know what that’s like.”

  My breath caught, understanding instantly whom he was talking about. There was only one person he worked alongside, and before his current position, he’d been in graduate school.

  For the second time that night, my knees felt ready to give out. Something fluttered in my belly that I wanted to dismiss but couldn’t.

  Carefully—cautiously—I twisted my head back toward Boyd. I had no comeback. No words as I studied the strong sweep of his jaw, the intent tilt of his chin. Boyd had feelings for me? It wasn’t something I’d ever seriously considered. Sure I liked to imagine what he looked like naked, but that was feelings-free. I was eight years his senior. I was his boss. It wasn’t smart to fancy a coworker, especially when the company emphatically disallowed fraternization between management and subordinates.

  Oh. Wait.

  Hudson could very well have had similar thoughts about me.

  And I’d been hurt by his brush-off, which was reason enough for me to hear Boyd out.

  But also, more enticing even, I wanted to hear more because of how his revelation made me feel. Unsteady and nervous and turned on.

  It was a bad idea, though. A wickedly delicious bad idea.

  Boyd interrupted my internal debate. “You’re thinking too much.”

  My lungs felt pressed as I tried to keep an even tone to my response. “That’s what I do.”

  “Right now you need to stop thinking and listen.” Again, his voice was weighted with a dominance that I had to obey.

  “Okay.”

  He bored his gaze further into me. “Hudson Pierce is not the man for you.”

  My mouth gaped. I’d never said I was talking about Hudson. I worked with a predominately male staff—had I been more obvious than I’d thought?

  Boyd didn’t give me time to dwell. “You’re attracted to him because there’s a part of your life that needs a strong, controlling man, but a man like him would never let you be the equally strong, independent woman that you are. He would always try to top you in your career and your relationships with others and you would always be unfulfilled.”

  His words were tiny pins, their truth pricking at the bubble of a fantasy I’d created about my employer and myself. I tried to hold the air in, covering the holes. “But maybe that’s what I need.”

  “It is what you need.” His raw conviction made me dizzy. “But only in well-defined areas.”

  “Such as?”

  “The bedroom.” He hadn’t moved closer, yet there suddenly seemed to be no space between us, and the air crackled with an energy that shot hot lasers to the skin inside my thighs. “There you need a man who will bring you to your knees.”

  “That’s very”—accurate—“vague.” My heart thudded like a drum in my ears, a thousand beats seeming to fill each second of time.

  He chuckled, a sound that itched at my desire like sandpaper. “Imagine this then. Imagine a man who never interferes with your business decisions. He stands by them. He takes your advice and direction readily. He admires the way that you take care of your siblings and everyone else around you. The way you keep everything in order and structured.

  “Then you bring him here, to this company party. After you’ve fulfilled your obligations and you’re ready, when you give the signal, he takes over.”

  “Takes over how?” My voice was so breathy that my words came out as no more than a whisper.

  He lifted a finger up to shush me, landing millimeters in front of my mouth without actually touching it. “I’m getting there.”

  It took every ounce of strength not to press closer, not to let my lips brush across his skin.

  His eyes twinkled as though recognizing and delighting in my struggle. He dropped his hand—I swear it was meant to torture me—and leaned against the railing with the panache of a man twice his age. “He tells you to make your way to conference room B. You’ll leave the light off, but the blinds will stay open so that you can see well enough from the moon. There you’ll take off your panties and your stockings and lay them neatly over the chair. You’ll put your shoes back on and roll the chair out of the way. Then you’ll bend over the table, your arms stretched out in front of you, palms facedown, your ass up in the air. And you’ll wait.”

  Each word scraped at my decorum, perking my lust like the ears of a dog when he sees the chains of his leash and knows he’s about to be walked.

  “What if someone came in?” But my subtext was, what do I have to do to get on the other end of that leash?

  “That wouldn’t be your concern.” Boyd practically tsked in his chiding. “You’d let him worry about that. You wouldn’t question him either. Once you gave the signal, you’d give him the power. He’d give the orders, no arguments, no hesitation.”

  I’d never had a lover that took charge. As in every other area of my life, I gravitated toward the alpha role and the men I’d dated fell contently into the opposing position. It wasn’t what I’d wanted—it was just how it was. It was just what men did.

  But what if one man didn’t? I wondered if the lilt in my voice betrayed how often I daydreamed about exactly this type of scenario when I asked, “What would happen then?”

  Boyd’s eyes narrowed, studying me, his gaze lingering so long on my lips I thought he might be considering kissing me.

  Finally he said, “What happens next would be better shown than told.”

  I straightened, putting distance between us. We’d suddenly moved from fantasy to possibility and were quickly skating toward probability. I was clearheaded enough to recognize that as inappropriate. This entire conversation was inappropriate. And dangerous.

  It was also intoxicating. Boyd seemed to know things about me that I’d only just begun to realize about myself. Things I needed desperately to explore.

  Still, I could be responsible. I had to be. “There are too many reasons why that would be a bad idea.” Enough said. Case closed.

  “Yes, there are,” he agreed. “Forget them.” The last sentence was a command.

  I fought against the order, wanting what he was suggesting with acute desire. “I’m not sure I’m the kind of person who can.”

  “You can.” He leaned in over my shoulder, his breath skating across the skin of my neck. “You just haven’t encountered the kind of guy who can help you do it.”

  I shivered from the heat of his insinuation. “And you think you’re that guy?”

  “I know that I am.” He moved his mouth along my jawline, never touching me with anything but the hot air that passed between his lips. “Let me show you who I am. Let me show you who you are.”

  Chapter Two

  The latest glance at my wristwatch said I’d been waiting for Boyd for twelve minutes. Stretching my arms out on the conference table in front of me had felt good at first, but it was unnatural, and holding the position was becoming difficult mentally, if not actually physically. Twelve minutes was a lot of time to think through the situation. The list of pros and cons had been thoroughly culled, and it was more accurate to call it simply a list of cons.

  Against company policy to mix management levels

  An eight-year age gap between us

  Nearly impossible to continue working with someone you’d screwed

  This was Boyd! The sweet kid who filtered through my calls and e-mails and got me coffee! How good could the sex be?

  Fooling around on office premises was a horrible idea

  The last item on the list had its own sub-list:

  It was irresponsible

  We could be caught

  There might even be security cameras

  It would be harder to forget it happened when I was in that same room for meetings at
least twice a week

  If I were looking at any other dilemma with as many red flags, I’d say that proceeding shouldn’t even be considered. But the one thing that kept me pinned to the table, the pro that outweighed all the resistance combined, was actually a question that contained only two words—what if?

  What if this was my only opportunity to explore this side of myself?

  What if I never met anyone willing to try to dominate a dominant?

  What if Boyd wasn’t a boy at all when it came to the bedroom?

  What if he was exactly the person I was looking for?

  And so I stayed put and waited for him. Even as the tick-tick of my watch indicated I’d now been waiting for sixteen minutes. With each second that passed, more doubt crept in, but so did the excitement for the possibilities. So did my arousal.

  It didn’t hurt that my undergarments were laid across Hudson’s chair. Passive-aggressive, yes, but a big fat screw you to his company policies and personal rejection all the same.

  After twenty minutes had passed, though, I had to face the reality that I’d been stood up. With a soft groan in my throat and a bowling ball of disappointment in my gut, I began to push myself to a stand.

  “Face on the table.” Boyd’s voice came from behind me, more authoritative than ever.

  It sent a delicious buzz down my spine and sent my body back into place. “I was beginning to think you’d had second thoughts,” I said, my heart racing furiously.

  “If this demonstration is going to be a success,” he said, his words deep and measured, “there will be some rules you must follow. First, no more thinking. Second, no more talking.”

  He was still in the shadows behind me where I couldn’t see him. I wondered how long he’d been standing there, watching, waiting for me to tire of waiting. It unnerved me enough to let his commands prickle. “Those are pretty big—”

  He cut me off. “I’m standing in the doorway, Norma. Say another word and I’ll turn around and leave.”

  My jaw clamped shut.

  Several silent seconds passed before he said, “That’s better. Now, if you absolutely need to say something—that you need me to stop, for example, or that you’re in some sort of pain—then you will knock against the table three times in rapid succession. Knock once now if you understand.”

  I hesitated, pulled in separate directions by the urge to tell him off and the need to get off. The increasingly itchy spot between my thighs kept me silent. I knocked once.

  “Good girl.” His praise kindled an old familiar fire. The one that flamed and licked with each A I’d gotten in school. With each promotion at work. With each acknowledgment of success.

  Yes, I was a sucker for approval. I rarely got that anymore. I was the oldest sibling, the head of my department, the lead in everything. My life lacked recognition, and the intensity of my craving for it had gone unrealized until now.

  And like a moth seeking light, I wanted more.

  My mouth wet with anticipation, I tucked my chin into my chest in an attempt to see the man who was affecting me so completely.

  He’d dropped his jacket on the seat of Hudson’s chair and was now almost finished rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. When he’d completed his task, he dropped his hand to my panties, lightly sweeping his fingers over the crotch. The gesture made my eyes widen and my pussy throb. I gasped softly, capturing his attention, and he turned to see me watching.

  With his expression tight, he moved around the table until he was at my side. Then he reached out and lifted my chin from its cocooned position, bending so we were eye to eye.

  “This is how you are to stay, your body still. If I catch you watching me again, there will be consequences. Understood?”

  I’d never seen him so determined, so in control. My lungs constricted with the weight of his threat. Consequences. Consequences were for people in positions beneath me. Consequences were what my father had threatened me with in his drunken rages. Consequences were not fun or sexy or something that should ever sound enticing.

  And yet it did.

  When Boyd said the word, and with that glint in his eye, it was as if he were talking about candy, a delicious chocolate truffle that I shouldn’t have, but maybe just one. If I were brave enough, I would have challenged him. Would have forced him to show me what he meant by consequences.

  But I wasn’t—yet.

  So I knocked once.

  “I knew you’d learn quickly.” The pride in his tone did something strange to my insides, made me feel squirmy, yet I wanted to be perfect for this. I wanted to be perfect for him.

  He moved out of my line of vision, and my desire to please warred with my curiosity. Damn, I wanted to know what he was doing. I strained my ears, listening, and every hair on my body stood up in anticipation. I heard the roll of a chair on the carpet, followed by the fall of his footsteps, and a moment later I sensed him behind me. The warmth of him radiating up the back of my legs to my center. My very naked—very wet—center.

  After what felt like an eternity, his hand circled around my calf. With a firm tug, he nudged my leg until my shin bumped against the wood of the table. I bit my lip so as not to make a sound, but my inner sex kitten let out a surprised little squeal as Boyd wrapped a thin familiar material around my limb and secured me to the furniture, pulling my torso forward as he did. Surprised, I sat up without thinking and peered over my shoulder.

  Or maybe I was thinking and I just couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t help sneaking a peek. Boyd was still bent at my foot, tightening the knot in the unknown fabric. A glance at the chair where I’d left my stockings solved the mystery—they were missing. Clever boy.

  I wondered if he’d realized that this particular table had legs or if he’d just gotten lucky. He’d been specific about using conference room B—how observant was Boyd, anyway?

  And why did I even care about that when the man was now pulling my other calf toward the opposite leg of the table?

  I let out a squeak as Boyd delivered a sharp smack on the outside of my thigh. “Head down, Norma.”

  That sharp, no-argument tone combined with the sting of his slap made me even wetter. Soon I’d be dripping, which wouldn’t be as big of a deal if I weren’t now in such an exposed position. My dress still covered my ass, but spread like this—my legs wide and stretched, tied to the table legs, no panties on—I’d never felt more vulnerable. Or aroused.

  Or this out of control. It was an unusual feeling, though not entirely uncomfortable. I just didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know how to give into it. Didn’t know how to let myself relax.

  Boyd seemed to sense my anxiety. He circled a hand around each of my ankles, his grip firm and hot.

  “Take a deep breath in and out.” He waited as I did. Then ordered me to do it again. “You remember your signal for if you need me to stop?”

  My heart skipped with trepidation as I tried to imagine what he might do to me that would require me to have a safe word—er, safe knock. For whatever reason, maybe because I relied on him so thoroughly in the office, I trusted him. I rapped once in the affirmative.

  “Good girl.” Again, his praise shot a thrill through me. “Three times, and I’ll immediately take my hands off of you. No questions asked.”

  He’d take his hands off of me? Well, fuck if I’d use that signal then. In fact, I was wondering what I’d have to do to get him to spank me again…

  “Stop thinking, Norma.” Seriously, how did he know? “Just concentrate on what I’m doing. Let go of everything else.”

  I tried to push all thought aside as his fingers began skating along the insides of my legs, so soft that it almost tickled, so slow that I could pour ketchup faster. Up, up, up, his hands danced along my skin, stirring my blood as they climbed past my knees, over the curve of my thighs and toward my center. When he reached the creases where my limbs turned into pelvis, I held my breath and waited for his touch to land in that spot—the spot where I wanted him most.
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  He didn’t land there.

  Instead, his hands flew off of me, returning to my ankles. I let the air out of my lungs in a disappointed sigh. But then he started a new trail up my legs. Slower this time. Lighter. So very deliberate and titillating. My skin had tingled on his first journey—now it was on fire. Every part of me felt hot and needy. By the time he reached the top, I was fighting not to squirm, biting my lip to keep from making any noise. It was torture.

  The worst part, though, was when he skirted the lips of my pussy, his fingertips nearing my clit, closer, closer—

  Then, for the second time, his hands were gone.

  I whimpered and immediately tensed, afraid my outburst would invoke a consequence. But if his next torturous voyage up my skin was meant as punishment, he didn’t say. It was agony either way. His hands moved so feather-light that sometimes I couldn’t tell if he was actually touching me. My nerves buzzed, my muscles ached from the wide stance, and my pussy did, in fact, drip—a detail not missed by my tormentor when he finally, finally reached the inside of my thighs.

  “I like that,” he said, the rasp of his voice increasing the itch of my desire. As he slid up the slick skin of my slit, I began a silent prayer that he’d reach the prized spot this time.

  Because if he didn’t, I was absolutely positive that I would die.

  What I didn’t realize was that he’d wound me up so tightly that I nearly died when he did reach my clit. Just one brush of his fingers against the swollen nub, and I couldn’t help myself—I moaned.

  “Sorry,” I said breathily, and then I almost said sorry again for saying sorry, but managed to catch myself, biting the inside of my cheek.

  Boyd’s hand stilled, but he didn’t remove it—thank god. “You can make sounds,” he informed me. “As much as you want. I like hearing you. Just no words.”

  I moaned again in relief and then in ecstasy as one of his fingers began moving again, sweeping circles over my clit with the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to send me toward orgasm, but not enough to let me release. I wanted him to push harder. I wanted him to slide his hand lower. I wanted him to finger-fuck me like he meant it. I didn’t just want that, I needed it. I began to writhe and buck, urging him to move there.