by Mia Madison
“Good.” He doesn’t smile. “This is not the place to discuss it. Do you have plans this evening?”
“No, sir.” If I had, I would have canceled them.
“I want you to come to my house after you get home.”
“Yes, sir.” His house. I’m going to be in his house. I can scarcely believe this is happening.
“Give me your number.” I do, and he gives me his, and I manage with hands that will barely work right to program it into my phone. “Text me when you’re on your way.”
It’s a command, not a request, and a shiver chases down my spine. “Yes, sir.”
“Hold on a moment.” He moves to his desk and locks the folder away. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
It’s a proclamation, not an offer, but I wouldn’t argue with it anyway. What Mr. Drake wants, Mr. Drake gets.
When we go out, Miss Collins is still at her desk. She watches us move to the elevator together, but only says, “Good night, Mr. Drake. Miss Whitaker.”
“Good night.” We both say it at the same time, and for some reason it strikes me funny. I bite my lip to keep from laughing as the elevator doors slide open and we get in.
As the doors slide shut, we’re side by side, facing forward, and Miss Collins is still watching us.
11
Go Straight Home
Hunter
I will not fuck my intern in the elevator.
The temptation is strong, but this building has full security, as I know better than anyone since I had a hand in designing every element of it. There are cameras in all the elevators, including my personal one. Anyway, I’ll be fucking her soon, the gods willing. I can wait a little longer.
Lily and I don’t even look at each other as the car glides smoothly down to the parking garage. We get out and I follow her to her car. It’s an older compact, too old for her to be driving.
I stifle the immediate impulse to buy her a new ride, but my lips tighten in disapproval. Fortunately, she’s busy beeping the car open, not looking at me. She has the door open before I can do it – which is good, for the cameras’ sake, but it irks me.
I put a hand on the top to hold it open as she turns to me. “Thank you for the escort.” She says it very formally, aware, like me, of the show we’re putting on.
“You’re welcome. I want you to go straight home, Lily.”
A little smile plays around the corners of her mouth. It’s not quite defiance, not quite coquettishness, her delayed response, but it whispers along the contours of both. “Yes, sir,” she says at last.
I give her a look that’s too subtle to register on the security cameras. It’s the fondly reproving look that accompanies the thought, You just earned yourself a spanking. As attuned to me as she already is, I think she’ll get the gist even without the words.
Her pupils dilate. My cock jerks to life. Then she turns and slides into the car, so she can get on with going straight home, as ordered.
My good girl.
12
Come On In
Lily
When I get home, dinner’s on the table. My parents are excited about the internship, but I haven’t told them everything. I’m sure they know who’s living down the street from them, and therefore that I’m working for our neighbor, but they’re not aware that I’m actually spending my days in Mr. Drake’s office, under his direct supervision.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I call, and escape upstairs to text my forbidden boss. Hi, it’s Lily.
No, that’s dumb. He has my number; he’ll know it’s me. I erase that and start over. Hi. My parents want me to have dinner with them.
I hesitate. My impulse is to add, Is that okay? but it feels really weird to be asking permission to eat. On the other hand, Mr. Drake is very bossy. And he didn’t mention food either way, so I’m not sure what I should do.
Finally, I opt for honesty. You didn’t say anything about food so I wasn’t sure if I should eat first. I hit Send and hold my breath.
A minute later, my phone pings and the answering message says, Go ahead and eat. I’ll see you when you’re done.
It feels exactly as though he is, in fact, giving me permission. Funny how he can be bossy even in a text. Okay, I send back, and hurry downstairs.
I’m so distracted during dinner that my mom says, “Is everything all right, honey?”
I smile – unconvincingly, it seems, because now both my parents look concerned. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just thinking about … work.”
“What’s wrong at work?” my dad wants to know.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just … complicated.”
“You haven’t actually told us what you’re doing,” Mom says pointedly.
“That’s because I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” Dad again. I swear, the two of them could go into business as interrogators.
“I mean it’s whatever the civilian version of classified is.” They stare at me. “And I’m not sure I even should have told you that much, so please don’t mention it to your friends.”
“They have an intern working on a classified project?” From the look on Mom’s face, you’d think I told her that the local women’s service club is staging a ballet set to AC/DC’s greatest hits.
“I told you it was complicated.”
My parents exchange glances. “You know, the CEO lives right down the street,” Dad says. “Moved in a few weeks ago. If you run into any problems with your internship, let me know and I’ll have a word with him.”
“Dad.”
Dad forks up some salad, not quite meeting my eyes. “I’m just looking out for my little girl.”
He means it, which is both sweet and aggravating. The problem with being an only child is that I don’t have any younger siblings for them to shift their focus to now that I’m grown up. “I can handle it, Dad, but thanks.”
I bring up the news out of Washington, DC. That does the trick. For the rest of the meal I have to listen to them talking politics, but at least they’re not talking about me.
As soon as I’m done, I take my plate to the sink and get it loaded in the washer, along with all the other dishes except for my parents’ stuff. Then I run back upstairs and have a quiet panic attack.
What do you take over to your boss/would-be-lover’s house for an assignation? Anything? Maybe he just wants to talk. And I can’t spend the night anyway.
I need my own place if I’m going to have an affair with my Mr. Drake (just the thought gives me butterflies in my stomach). But this town is expensive. I can’t really afford to move out on my own until I’m done with school and have an actual job.
Finally, I stick my toothbrush in my purse just in case. Now, how do I leave the house? If I say I’m going out, my parents will wonder why my car is still here. If I say I’m going for a walk, they’ll wonder why I have my purse.
I pull the toothbrush back out of my purse, with the idea of putting on a jacket. But then it hits me that if I go for a walk, they’ll expect me back in a few minutes’ time. Damn, how do people do this stuff? I haven’t even started and it’s exhausting.
Finally, I put on the jacket but also bring my purse, with the toothbrush stowed inside again. “I’m meeting some friends,” I tell my parents, and it’s the first time since I was about six that I’ve lied to them about anything. It feels awful. “Be back later.”
I don’t think they believe me, but they don’t call me on it. “Have fun,” Mom says. “Be safe.” Dad just looks at me like he’s trying to use x-ray vision on my skull and see what’s going on in my head.
Thankful that my parents don’t have superpowers, I escape to my car and text Mr. Drake. Be there in a few. Then I pull out and drive in the opposite direction from his house, just in case Mom and Dad are watching.
Circling back around, I park on the side street nearest his house and approach on foot. My phone pings with a text. The door’s unlocked. Come on in.
13
Well, Yeah
I’m in the kitchen when the front door opens. “Hello?” Lily calls.
I walk down the long central hallway to the front of the house, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Hi. Have a seat.” I gesture with my head toward the room to her left, and she perches nervously on one end of a loveseat.
Taking the other half, I pour a glass and hand it to her, then fill my own. “To new discoveries.”
“To new discoveries,” she echoes, and clinks her glass against mine. I study her as she sips, the silence lengthening. She’s very nervous, which I expected.
What’s startling is the tension in my own body. The outcome tonight is uncertain, and it’s dawning on me that it matters more than I’m comfortable with. I don’t want to hurt Lily, but if I’m honest, she could hurt me too.
Her gasps and moans from the bathroom earlier today are still looping through my memory, a relentless, alluring soundtrack. I’m too far gone to back down, but if this doesn’t work out things could go very badly. For both of us.
“So,” she says, eyes on me. I admire her taking the initiative, even though I know it’s because she’s so on edge she can’t stand it anymore.
Time to take the plunge.
I take a final sip and set my glass aside. “As I said in the office, I want to throw the rulebook out the window and explore things with you.”
Her eyes are enormous in the dim light. “Yes?”
“But before we do that, you need to know what you’d be getting into.”
Her brow furrows. “In what sense?”
“Sexually.”
She gives me wide eyes. “Are you saying … do you mean you’re--”
“The shorthand term is kinky.”
Lily swallows. “What does that mean, specifically? With you.”
“You already know I like to be in charge.” At her nod, I continue. “That includes the bedroom.”
When I don’t say anything more, she arches one elegant brow at me. “Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound very kinky.”
“I also like pain.”
Her body goes rigid. “Since you like control, I assume that means dishing it out rather than taking it.”
“I’m not fond of your phrasing, but yes.” Before she can respond, I go on. “For this to work, Lily, you have to like it too.”
She’s silent, her big blue eyes radiating distress. The whole idea is obviously freaking her out. “Have you ever been spanked?”
“No …”
I tilt my head. “At all? Even growing up, I mean.”
A blush is spreading across her face. “My parents are great. They never really gave me anything to rebel against.”
“So you’ve always been a good girl.”
Her blush deepens. “I guess so.”
Reaching out, I take her glass and set it beside my own, then shift closer to her. “Here’s what I suggest. We give it tonight, and play a little.”
“Play?” she says, startled.
I trail my fingers along her hair. “Yes. From the outside it might sound rather grim, but at its base it’s a game. One where everyone knows the rules in advance. And the primary rule is that I have to take care of you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s easier if I show you.” She blushes again. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to pry, but I have to ask, because it’s important. How many relationships have you had?”
Her eyes skitter away. She bites her lip. “I haven’t … really … had any.”
“Come here.” I pull her gently into my lap, then turn in the loveseat to face forward and prop my feet on the ottoman. Holding her close, I ask, “Is there a reason for that?”
She sighs. “I’m just a dork.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “What does that mean?”
“I was so awkward growing up, klutzy and shy and insecure. And a bookworm. Plus, I guess I’m sort of a perfectionist. It’s not that I wasn’t interested in sex, but I wasn’t really interested in guys my age. I wanted the first time to be special, not some horny teenager who’d spread it all over school the next day.”
She snuggles closer. “I came out of my shell in college, but I still never met a guy who seemed worth giving it up for. I wouldn’t have said I had a thing for older guys, though. Not until you moved in.”
My ego has no problem with any of this. “You said, earlier today, that you wanted to break the rules with me. Does that mean you’re interested in giving it up, as you say, for me?”
“Well, yeah.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay. Wanna go fool around?”
“Okay.” She says it shyly, and sweetly, and I know I’m going to have to go slower with her than I was planning. Then her head comes up and almost crashes into my chin. “Are we – I mean –”
“No kinky stuff tonight,” I promise, and she relaxes again. Standing with her in my arms, I carry her to my bedroom.
14
Frustration
Lily
I’m worried about the kinky stuff, as Mr. Drake called it. I guess if I’m going to sleep with him, I should really start thinking of him as Hunter.
But as he carries me in his strong arms, so easily, as if my curves were nothing, I’m not worried at all about giving him my virginity. In fact, I’m pretty darn thrilled about it. Hunter just plain does it for me, and I have no doubt he knows exactly what he’s doing in bed.
Even if some of the things he wants to do scare me.
He sets me gently on my feet, but I don’t get the chance to look around because his arm hooks around my waist and he pulls me in until I’m flush against him. My whole body tingles, even with all our clothes on, and my hands come up to rest on his chest.
His other hand curls around my neck, and then his fingers cradle the back of my head and tilt it to one side. My eyes drift close as his head lowers. His lips brush mine, and then we’re kissing.
I’ve kissed guys before, but it was never like this. The slightest pressure of his mouth, and I want to climb up his body. My arms wind around his neck and I mold myself against him like I’m trying to merge our bodies.
When his tongue touches my lips, I open to him and he deepens the kiss, holding me even tighter. The arm around my waist becomes a hand cupping my ass, and when he squeezes I moan into his mouth.
The kiss goes on and on until finally he breaks off, his forehead touching mine, both of us breathing harder than normal. “Well,” he says, “you’re definitely not repressed.”
I’m surprised to find myself laughing. “Glad to hear it.”
I’m still in my work clothes, and now he starts undressing me. It’s a lot like my fantasy, only better. As my clothes come off, he strokes and kisses, licks and nibbles. When my legs go weak, he lifts me onto the bed and keeps going.
Every now and then, there are tiny flashes of pain, like when he nips my earlobe or bites down gently on the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Every time, the small hurt is actually pleasurable, or it quickly fades to something that is. It seems pain is not exactly pain, sometimes.
When I’m naked from the waist up, Hunter kisses his way down my torso to my breasts, exploring them until I squirm. He’s lying partly on top of me, one thigh between my legs, pinning me to the bed, and his shirt is rubbing against my bare skin. “You still have all your clothes on,” I protest in a voice I scarcely recognize, it’s so husky.
In answer, he sucks a nipple into his mouth and tugs hard. My back arches and my fingers dive into his hair, holding him to me. He suckles me as if his life depended on it, until I’m writhing, his fingers all the while teasing my other nipple, circling and tugging and pinching lightly.
He switches breasts and gives the other one the same treatment, his mouth driving me to the brink of madness. My panties are soaked. “Hunter,” I beg, and a thrill shudders through me at using his name for the first time. “Please.”
Releasing my breast, his licks his way back up my body and kisses m
e again. I try to unbutton his shirt, but he laces his fingers through mine and holds my hands up by my head, pinned against the bed. Frantic, I try to flip us over.
The next instant, Hunter is fully on top of me.
“A note of caution,” he says, and while there’s humor in his gaze, that’s not all he’s feeling. “Try not to get too vigorous with your knee when it’s between a man’s leg.”
“Oh no. I am so sorry! Are you all right?”
“You missed.”
“I wasn’t–” He settles himself more fully against me, and I break off because suddenly I feel him. All of him. “Um. Mr. Drake?”
His answering grin is hot and wicked and makes him look at least ten years younger. My heart lurches in my chest.
“Yes, Miss Whitaker?”
“How much longer are the, um, preliminaries going to take?”
Hunter laughs. “Eager for the main event, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, and my heart does that funny little sideways hop again. “The more I frustrate you now, the more you’ll thank me later.”
“No, sir. I really think I’ve been frustrated enough.”
“Hmm. Well, let’s see.” Rolling us onto our sides, he undoes the zipper of my skirt. I curve my body up off the bed so he can pull it down over my hips, and then all I have left are my panties.
Instead of taking them off too, Hunter traces his finger along the lace at the top. I’ve been buying pretty underthings for years, even though no one ever saw them. I just liked them. Sometimes it felt frivolous, but right now I’m glad I’m not wearing granny panties.
When he follows the border back again, I point out, “This would be part of the frustration.” He’s propped up on one elbow and now he looks down at me, his smile indulgent, but with a hidden meaning I can’t decipher. “What?”
