Summoned by the CEO

by Annabelle Winters

  I roar with surprised laughter, and when I feel Angie’s body shake with laughter too, I know she’s opening up to herself, accepting that maybe she isn’t the person she thought she was when she walked into this office.

  Nah, she isn’t that woman.

  Not anymore.

  She’s my woman now.

  My queen.

  Yeah, she’s my queen . . .

  But I’m still the king.

  And I still need to conquer and claim.

  So I drop to my knees and slap both palms on her ass, spanking her good and tight until she’s red and raw, until her big rear globes shake and shudder in the most beautiful way. Then I spread her buttocks wide and spit on her shining dark pucker, lick her until she’s wet and wild. Finally I stand and press my oozing cockhead to the final frontier, the forbidden gates, the ultimate conquest of my goddamn life.

  And with a groan I drive my way home, take my queen the way a king does, claim her totally and completely, deep and hard, forcing her through the discomfort that I know will take her to a new frontier of pleasure, a new kingdom of arousal.

  The kingdom of always.

  The kingdom of forever.

  5

  ANGIE

  I feel like a new woman as Archer opens me up from behind, sliding his thick cock into my asshole and going so deep I almost pass out from being stretched like that. I can barely even think, and I’m snorting and gasping as he begins to move inside me. My asscheeks are still stinging from the way he spanked me, and I think I’m still coming all over the walnut floorboards from the way he fingered me.

  Through my hazy vision I look down at the city laid out at my feet, and I feel a sense of power flow through me as Archer fucks me harder, penetrates me deeper, stretches me wider. I think of what he said about me being a queen, this being our kingdom, that I was born for more. I think of what he said about me perhaps selling myself short, settling for less. Then I think of what he said about accepting who I was, that maybe I’m not quite the woman I thought I was when I walked into this dark office.

  I smile in the most filthy way as Archer’s comment about the cameras reminds me of the dark, perverse arousal I felt when I knew we were being recorded. I close my eyes and imagine what we'd look like on screen from above, my curves naked and glistening, Archer’s muscular ass flexing as he takes me over his desk, fucks me in the mouth, claims me in the ass while holding me upright against the window. I’m confident that the cameras in his office are for his eyes only, that there aren’t some security dudes watching us in a different room and jerking off to the sight of my jiggling boobs and big bum, my slit spread wide, my asshole round and gaping. The idea is so sick I almost choke, but even that deeply disturbing thought makes me wet, and I gurgle and gasp when I get a glimpse of the places my sexuality could go, where this dark, dangerous man could take me, where he could lead me, where I’d willingly go.

  Archer explodes with a thrust and a roar just as the thought unleashes a panic in me, and I scream as my own orgasm roars in with a violence that makes my knees buckle. In fact I almost do collapse against the cool glass, but Archer holds me up as he empties his balls into me, ramming me hard and deep as he shouts and howls, pinches my nipples, pulls my hair, grips my throat and squeezes just enough to make me gasp.

  I’m a wreck, but somehow I’m still coming, coming like I’ve never come before, the discomfort and panic overflowing to a place of ecstasy that’s so raw, so wild, so dark and beautiful that before I know it I’m crying, sobbing like a little girl, whimpering like a lost kitten.

  “Fuck, did I hurt you, baby?” comes Archer’s voice through heavy breaths. “I was outside myself, Angie. Totally lost in the moment. Lost in you. If I hurt you, I swear I’ll fucking kill myself.”

  “You didn’t hurt me,” I whisper as Archer turns me around and pulls me into his warm, hard body, showering me with kisses, stroking my hair, rubbing my back, massaging my ass and thighs. My body is shaking, the vibrations of being taken so hard still rocking me from inside. But Archer is rocking me too, slowly and gently, like we’re dancing to a lullaby, a sweet melody only we can hear.

  We move together in silence for a long time, just holding one another, our bodies pressed together. And then I look into his eyes and smile.

  “Slug to butterfly?” I say with a shy smile that’s tinged with the recognition that what just happened was dark and dangerous, on the edge of sex and violence, perhaps even over the edge. But it was also exhilarating, enlightening, awakening. Transforming. “Flap flap?”

  I see the relief wash over him as he breaks into a big grin and smothers me with so many kisses I giggle and turn my face away.

  “Spread your wings, little butterfly,” he says. “Because you’re going to need them when we run this company together.”

  “Um, run what together now?” I say, blinking as a wave of nervousness and self-doubt washes over me. Run a company? Yeah, I’m smart and responsible and could easily be a good manager. But running a multi-billion dollar corporation?!

  Archer shrugs, narrowing his eyes like he’s challenging me. “You could always just sit at home and raise our kids. No shame in that. In fact, I’d almost rather you did that. Of course, if I ordered you to do that, you’d probably call me a sexist asshole or something.”

  I blink as I wonder if he’s serious or playing. And then a chill passes through me when I remember that I know nothing about Aran Archer other than the rumors.

  Rumors that he’s a mad recluse.

  Rumors of his temper.

  Rumors that he’s a megalomaniac, a narcissist, a brilliant CEO but domineering and arrogant.

  And you know what, I think as I take a step away from him and cock my head, everything I’ve seen from him thus far has only confirmed those rumors!

  “I think we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves,” I say as I take another step back and touch my chest. My breaths are coming in short gasps, and it feels like I’m suffocating. “Aran, we don’t even know each other. It’s too—”

  “I told you not to call me Aran. Ever,” he snaps, clenching his jaw and his fists at the same time. “And I thought you fucking understood what was happening here, Angie. I thought you understood that I’m not playing around, that this isn’t a one-and-done deal for me, that I don’t just stick my cock into every floozy who waltzes her ass into my office and bends over to pick up a pencil.”

  I burst into shocked laughter as I listen to Archer talk like some dinosaur from the 1950s. “So I’m a floozy now?!”

  Archer grimaces and rubs his forehead. “You’re putting words in my mouth, Angie,” he growls. “I didn’t call you a floozy. Fuck, why do I need to explain myself again and again? How can you possibly deny that what just happened is the real thing? It’s love, Angie. Love. I love you, Angie. I fucking love you! You’re mine, and we’re going to be married. End of story. End of drama. End of this bullshit back-and-forth.”

  “Back and forth?” I say, shaking my head as I look for my clothes. “We met an hour ago. Now you’re saying you love me and I’m yours and you want to marry me. It’s a little quick, don’t you think?”

  Archer shouts in anguish, turning on his heels and swiping at his computer monitor with unbridled fury. The heavy screen goes flying off the table, shattering against the wall as I gasp at his outburst, wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, wonder if there’s any way out.

  And now my brain kicks back in, pushing away that certainty that bubbled up from the raw desire that Archer brought out in me. Suddenly I’m doubting it all, wondering if my body betrayed me, wondering if maybe I am a floozy, I am a whore, I am a slut who bent over for the boss. What kind of a woman gives in so easily, submits like I did, submits to . . . to . . .

  Submits to him, or to herself, comes the silent question, and I gasp when I remember Archer saying that to me when we were joking
about romance novels or something.

  Submits to his dominance or to her own desire?

  Submits to his will or to her own fate?

  I’m beside myself with conflict, and it’s conflict that’s coming from the simple fact that a part of me is so sure this is real, that this is love, that I’m his, just his, only his. But although at a deep, instinctual level I’m as certain as Archer is that we’re meant to be together, at another level I’m just not ready to make the leap, to just walk away from my life and into his life, into his world.

  “Maybe I’m not ready to flap my wings just yet,” I whisper, hugging myself and shaking my head as I feel tears well in my eyes, roll down my cheeks. “I can’t just switch my brain off and go with pure instinct, no matter how strong that instinct is, Archer. I need time. Please give me some time. Please.”

  Archer’s entire body stiffens, and I see the muscles on his broad back ripple like a pit of snakes. When he turns to me those green eyes are narrowed and intense, focused but somehow also unfocused, like he’s not just staring at me but into me, right into me, into my soul.

  “I don’t wait for people to make a decision,” he growls. Then he closes his eyes and grinds his teeth like he’s forcing himself to calm down. When he opens those eyes I can see that something’s changed, that he’s made a decision, just like I sensed he’d made a decision when he stepped up and kissed me.

  That decision was to claim me as his.

  But this decision, I realize as a chill goes through me . . .

  This decision is to let me go.

  6

  ARCHER

  “Go,” I say, almost biting my tongue off as I force the word out. “You need time to realize you love me, that I love you, that we’re together whether it makes sense or not? All right, Angie. Then fucking go! I don’t wait on people to make up their minds. But I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you because I have faith in this. I have faith in us. I have faith in you.” I pause and swallow hard, knowing that my next words are going to hurt her but need to be said. “Even if you don’t have faith in yourself.”

  She flinches like she’s been stung, but I hold my gaze. Every muscle in my body is tight and tensed, and I’m fighting a part of me that just wants to explode, grab her by the hair, spank her stubborn ass into submission. Fuck, there’s a part of me that wants to lock her up in my chambers until she figures out that love is a strange thing, that every couple comes together in their own way, that this is our way.

  But I hold back.

  I hold back because in some way I understand that she needs this.

  And it’s not just that she needs time to think or whatever.

  She needs to know that even though I’m the alpha, I’m the man, I’m the fucking king, I’m also willing to bow my head and yield when she needs it.

  I’ve showed her I can dominate.

  Now I need to show her I can submit.

  “Go,” I say again, but this time my voice is soft, steady, gentle, full of understanding, full of love. “Go, little butterfly. Even though I want to tie you down until you see what’s so fucking clear to me, I’m willing to let you go because I know you’ll fly back to me. So go on. Go find your wings. I’ll be here, Angie. I’ll always be here. Always and forever.”

  7

  ONE MONTH LATER

  ANGIE

  It feels like forever since I ate breakfast, but it’s just eleven in the morning. Too early for lunch. But I’m hungry. I’m getting cravings that are unusual even for me. Salt and sugar. Sweet and sour. Spicy and strong. All of it. It’s like my body is going nuts.

  “Maybe I’m pregnant,” I say with a nervous laugh as I glance over at my phone. My phone which has been disturbingly silent for the past month. So silent that I wonder if what happened with Archer was a dream.

  Or maybe he’s just forgotten about me.

  I sigh and hug myself as I realize that a part of me is hoping he’ll call, he’ll send me gifts, he’ll come bursting through the door, green eyes ablaze, muscles rippling like a romance hero of myth.

  “He’d seize me in his strong arms,” I say as my smile broadens with the silly fantasy. “Kiss me hard and with authority. Toss me over his shoulder and take me to his castle. Then he’d lock me in a tower and get me pregnant year after year. The end.”

  I laugh and shake my head. I took four weeks of paid vacation that I’d been saving for years. I needed to get away from the office, from that environment, from Archer. I needed to know if what I felt was just lust or something more. And I suppose I needed to know if what he felt was real or just words that a horny alpha beast mutters when his cock is hard and his balls are full.

  “Clearly he doesn’t,” I say out loud, glancing at my phone again even though I know it’s lame that I’m sitting at home waiting for Archer to call when I walked out on him! No shit he almost went nuts with rage! Am I really that insecure that I need him to call and beg and plead and declare his undying love again and again until I sigh and clutch my heart and say “Yes!”?

  But it’s not just that. It’s much more than that. This month alone at home has confirmed what I suspected: That I need to work. I need to be productive. I love my job, but I know that if Archer and I were publicly together there’d be no way I could keep that job at Archer Industries. It would just be too weird. It would change the way my peers would treat me. It might even change the entire culture of the company. Besides, Archer is right: There is a clear policy against people with reporting relationships being romantically involved. And it’s a policy that most companies have. It makes sense, of course.

  I sigh again as I pull up the calendar on my phone. Tomorrow is the last day of my paid vacation. I’m due back at work after this coming weekend.

  “Moment of truth, girl,” I whisper out loud, absentmindedly staring at my phone. “You asked him for time, and now you’re out of time. What’s the answer? What’s the decision? What do you feel? Is this real or a mistake? Are you a woman in love or just a floozy bending over to pick up a pencil? Are you ready to be a butterfly or do you want to crawl through the mud forever? What do you want, Angie? What do you want?”

  A shiver passes through me as I think about what Archer said about him having more faith in me than I have in myself. I was kinda insulted by that, but I see the uncomfortable truth in it now. Maybe I saw the truth back then too. Maybe I just wasn’t ready to face it. Was too scared to face it. Too scared to face . . . myself? Who I was born to be?

  And who was I born to be?

  His.

  Plain and simple.

  His.

  And now I leap to my feet as a bolt of energy jars me from my melancholic stupor. It’s the electricity of insight, an acceptance that of course saying yes to Archer will change every damned thing in my life, that of course that’s scary as hell, terrifying beyond belief, earth-shattering and nerve-wracking!

  “After all,” I say out loud, smiling and shaking my head like a madwoman as I feel something open up in me as the words gush out. I know I’m talking to myself, but I don’t care. I need to hear myself. I need to reconcile this, merge the two parts of myself that are in conflict, win that fight with myself before I’m ready to truly be with Archer.

  “After all,” I say again, “things wouldn’t change that dramatically for Archer, would it? He’d still be a billionaire CEO, ruler of his corporate kingdom, lord of all he surveys. But my life would be flipped on its head. No shit that’s uncomfortable. No shit people will whisper that I’m a gold-digger, that I’m a whore, that I’m that proverbial floozy who walked into the lonely boss’s office and bent over and spread for him, snagged her man using her honeytrap of a pussy. I’m going to be forced out of the background and into the spotlight. I’m going to have to smile for the cameras and laugh at the rumors. I’m going to have to be Archer’s partner, his equal, his queen. I’m going to have to transform myself, p
ush through the discomfort of personal growth. I’m going to have to find my wings.”

  “Flap flap,” I squeal, flapping my arms and running around my little apartment like a lunatic. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure this shit out, but I’m ready now. I’m so ready it hurts!

  And now suddenly I’m panicking as I wonder if I waited too long, if all this time apart has just made Archer realize that the whole thing was a mistake, that it really was a one-and-done!

  “So what do I do?! Do I call him? Do I show up at his office and shrug and smile and tell him we’re together now? What if he laughs and tells me to get the hell out of his sight?! Can I blame him after that nonsense I pulled a month ago?!” I shriek, clutching my head as I feel like I’m going insane. I don’t know why my emotions are all over the place. This isn’t like me. No, it isn’t like me at all. The food cravings that are unusual even though I have a long list of foods I crave in general. These back-and-forth mood swings that feel borderline psychotic, on the edge of hysteria, almost like my hormones are all messed up.

  “OK, that would just be too much, wouldn't it?” I mutter as I pull up my calendar again. I know I'm late. I knew it when my day came and went a week ago. Of course, I'd dismissed the thought. Archer and I had sex during the worst time in my cycle. The chances of getting pregnant--especially given my age and my endometriosis--was almost nonexistent. It would be close to a miracle. Fantasy. Fairy-tale. “There's no way, right? This can't really be happening like it's meant to be or something, like Aran Archer's unwavering faith really is justified, that this really is . . . is . . . real!”

  It feels like my world is either exploding or crashing down on me, and I’m a nervous wreck by the time I find the old pregnancy kit that’s been in my medicine cabinet for what must be like a year. I hurriedly check the expiry date, and then I somehow control myself enough to pee on the damned thing.