Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  “Oh, Mr. Masters, you would love this, wouldn’t you?”

  She flipped the switch to high speed for both vibrate and rotate and sucked a breath deep into her lungs, exhaling in a sigh.

  Holding the base, her hand tingled with the vibrations, but inside, oh my. Liquid heat shot out to her fingers and toes and shuddered up her torso to the tips of her breasts.

  “Fuck it, Miss Beaumonde, fuck it now for me.”

  She’d never have said things like that. But mimicking his voice, watching herself in the mirror, it made it all so real. This sexy, hot woman was the one Mr. Masters would see.

  Leaning back on one hand, she rocked, penetrating deep, biting down on her lip. Her cheeks flushed, and the silk of her blouse stroked her like a human touch. The little swan swept over her clitoris with each bounce of her body. She rode faster, sliding over a spot inside that grew harder and more sensitive with each thrust and rumble of the vibrator. She’d never come from the inside. She hadn’t been sure she had a G-spot, but, oh God, yes, it was definitely there, along with the insistent rub of the swan on her clitoris. Amazing. Incendiary. Cataclysmic.

  “Oh, Mr. Masters.” Her breath puffed, her thighs strained, and watching herself in the mirror was the hottest thing she’d ever done except letting Mr. Masters spank her.

  “That’s it, Miss Beaumonde, I’m fucking you. It’s my cock in you.” She needed his voice, needed his words, just the way he’d talked to her in his office. Dirty, naughty, commanding.

  The orgasm built deep, shooting out in short bursts, growing, consuming, turning her mindless, until she could almost believe Mr. Masters was right there in the room with her.

  Climax hit so hard, so intensely, burning her before exploding. And Natalie screamed. Tears leaked from her eyes. Yet she couldn’t stop until the last tremors shuddered away.

  She lay at an awkward angle, her legs still bent at the knees, the vibrator humming inside her.

  When she rose to look at herself in the mirror, she found her hair a big, frothy mess around her face and shoulders. Her skin was pink, her eyes wide, cheeks red, nipples starkly outlined beneath the white blouse, the vibrator nestled against the folds of her sex.

  She looked thoroughly wanton.

  “Perfect,” she whispered in Mr. Masters’ voice.

  And take that, Van.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  The next morning, looking sexy in his crisp white shirt and red tie, Mr. Masters passed her desk on the way to the eleven o’clock audit meeting. “Please have the Montgomery file on my desk when I return. I’ve got a conference call with them at twelve-fifteen. You’ll find the individuals participating in my calendar.”

  “Yes, sir.” Natalie had truly been unable to look him in the eye all morning. Every time she tried, her skin flushed. Especially after what she’d done with the vibrator, mimicking his voice to make herself hotter and wetter.

  She experienced the naughtiest dreams last night, from spanking to toys to threesomes to foursomes. Sexually, she was a very vanilla person. This wasn’t like her, but between Mr. Masters and Van, her dreams had been one sexcapade after another. By morning, Natalie hadn’t made up her mind about Van. The dreams and her vibrator episode just made it all more confusing.

  The warmth of her face deepened as she watched Mr. Masters leave. What would it be like to do those things with him?

  The man was the stuff of fantasies.

  He hadn’t given her one untoward look this morning. Unless she made another terrible mistake, yesterday was the only time she’d ever have his undivided attention in that manner.

  After checking his calendar for the names, she pulled open the second drawer of the metal filing cabinet and flipped through to the Montgomery file. Opening it, she wrote down the phone numbers in order to set up the conference call. It was her job to get all parties on the line before buzzing in Mr. Masters. Closing the drawer once again, she stopped with her fingertips on the cool metal.

  What would he do if he found the wrong file on his desk?

  Natalie shivered, feeling a phantom swat on her butt. It was crazy. Over the top. Irresistible.

  Reopening the same drawer, she laid the Montgomery file on the left side, easily accessible, and pulled out the file in the slot right behind its placeholder. Hugging it to her chest, Natalie carried the incorrect folder into Mr. Masters’ office, laying it in the center of his desk.

  Then she strolled to the ladies’ room to remove her panties.

  *

  Lincoln stared at the folder on his desk. The label did not read Montgomery but Murchison. His lips creased in a slow smile. Whether she’d done it on purpose or through the power of suggestion, Natalie had made another error. Not one as egregious as yesterday’s, but a punishable error nonetheless.

  He paced to the door and stood in front of her desk, slapping the folder on his hand. His heart beat faster with the thrill of anticipation as he held up his prize for her to read. “What does that say, Miss Beaumonde?”

  “Murchison,” she whispered, her lips a deep Bing cherry red today. A lively pulse beat at her throat.

  “And what was the file I asked for?”

  “I—” She gulped. “Montgomery.”

  “Please bring the correct folder into my office, Miss Beaumonde.” He had plenty of time before the conference call to familiarize himself with the contents.

  “Yes, sir.” Her breasts rose against her blouse with a shaky breath. He felt a corresponding twitch in his cock.

  Three seconds after he sat in his chair, she was sliding the folder across his desk, the slightest of coy smiles curving her lips. He allowed himself to be hypnotized by the sashay of her shapely bottom as she exited his office.

  The woman knew what she was doing, probably had the right file handy with all the numbers already written down. She deserved a good fucking for trying to manipulate him. Yet he wasn’t ready to push the game that far. He wanted to savor each step to her utter capitulation.

  The next half hour was interminable. He wanted her so badly he felt lightheaded, and for the first time that he could remember in his adult life, he didn’t care a flying fuck about business or his conference call or this new customer. If they signed, fine, if not, he didn’t give a damn. The thought of Natalie’s ass reddened with the imprint of his hand, her moans, her sighs, took precedence over everything.

  He realized that could lead to a dangerous state of affairs, but sometimes a man enjoyed the risk.

  His conference call completed, he came to rest in the doorway of his office, gazing at her without a word, until she was forced to say, “I’m sorry, Mr. Masters.”

  “In my office. Now.”

  She jumped to her feet, her enthusiasm exciting him to no end. With her following, he stopped at the side of his desk and turned.

  “Close the door,” he ordered.

  She obeyed, and he heard the soft snick of the lock. Good girl. He had no illusions that he was dealing out real punishment, indeed, her eagerness signified her desire.

  She rocked back on her heels in front of his desk, hands clasped behind her back. The stance brought to mind another delicious element to add to the play. A little restraint device might be in order.

  “For this second transgression, Miss Beaumonde, there will be no choice. You will accept the punishment I see fit”—he glared at her—“and you will tell me what’s going on in your personal life that is interfering with your work.”

  Her eyes widened, her lips parted. She hadn’t expected that. He detected her mind working, pondering how she could get out of the latter while indulging in the former.

  “Your punishment first.” Simply because he couldn’t wait.

  With a shuddering breath, beneath her blouse, her nipples peaked, hard beads speaking to her desires.

  “You know the position,” he murmured.

  Oh indeed she did, going immediately to her forearms over his desk, her pert ass beckoning.

  “Raise your
skirt,” he demanded.

  This time she wore a longer, flared little number, the material silky as it fell in folds to her calves. Her legs were bare, her skin smooth, and as she lifted the skirt to her waist, she revealed the plump, aroused lips of her pussy framed by her buttocks and thighs.

  “Well, well, well, naughty Natalie, where are your panties?”

  “I removed them in the ladies’ room earlier, sir,” she answered, keeping her eyes on her hands clasped in front of her.

  “When?” he queried.

  “After you left for your meeting, sir.”

  “You dirty slut,” he said, a trace of humor slipping through. Christ, she truly wanted this, planned it, set him up for it. The certainty sent his blood shooting through his veins.

  For being such a good girl and anticipating his needs, she deserved a delicious punishment. “Put your hands behind your back,” he directed.

  She slid her head slightly to look at him. He waited. Slowly she extended her arms behind her, crossing her wrists, her breasts squashed against his desk, her cheek resting on the mahogany.

  Lincoln reached for one of several cable zip ties he kept in his pencil holder. There was always some electronic cable or other thing that needed securing with the zip ties, not just a woman’s wrists. Slipping the plastic tie beneath her hands, he slid the end home, leaving enough room for her blood to flow.

  Breath puffed between her parted lips, her gaze following him as best she could. Her ass was right where he wanted it, high in the air.

  “Is that comfortable, Miss Beaumonde?” He had no wish to frighten or hurt her. If she asked, he would slice through the zip tie, freeing her.

  He counted two beats before she answered. “I’m comfortable, sir.”

  Ah. She couldn’t imagine what that did to his nerve endings. He was on edge, every sound more distinct, the tick of the wall clock, the hum of his computer, the insistent low-level buzz of traffic noise from below, her breath, the beat of his pulse, the rush of his blood.

  He laid the flat of his hand against her ass, her skin tantalizingly smooth, her sex fragrant with arousal. “You know what this means, Miss Beaumonde.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me,” he insisted. He wanted the words from her lips.

  “You’re going to spank me, sir.”

  He reached down and pulled her hair from the knot secured at her nape, spreading it over his desk, her shoulders. The texture was like raw silk. For the moment, she was his, all tied up, her pussy wet and ready for him. “How am I going to spank you?”

  “Very hard,” she whispered.

  His heart bumped against the wall of his chest, not faster, but harder. “Are you going to like it, my dear?” He waited, his breath trapped somewhere between his lips and his lungs.

  “No, sir.”

  He slapped her sharply on the rump. She squeaked, dragged in a breath, let it out with a long sigh.

  “Are you going to deny you will enjoy this?”

  With her face planted against his desk, she closed the one eye he could see. And moaned. He was so hard he could have pulled his cock out then and had her.

  “Oh no, sir, this is terrible.” Then the slightest giggle escaped her. “Please don’t do it again, sir. It hurts.” She waggled her fingers as if she were trying to free herself from the restraint.

  Why had it taken him so long to give in to his urge to enjoy her? It didn’t matter that she worked for him. They were a man and a woman wanting the same thing.

  “I’m going to make you cry, my dear Miss Beaumonde. It’s the only way to make sure you never make another mistake.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll take my punishment any way you want to give it to me.”

  Christ, the ways he wanted to give it to her.

  He cupped his hand and swatted her soundly, then eased his fingers down to test the wetness of her pussy.

  Holy hell, she was drenched. He couldn’t resist raising his hand, rubbing her moisture over his lips, then licking it away. She was sweet and perfumed, and her taste brought a weakness to his knees.

  Lincoln slapped her ass again, harder, then slipped down to caress, tantalize, seduce, and buried his finger deeper between her thighs, grazing the tight bud of her clitoris.

  *

  Natalie’s body quivered. Her legs trembled all the way down to her high-heeled shoes. The desk was bruising against her breasts and belly, her bottom stinging, her clitoris aching. She was completely at his mercy, and Natalie had never been more turned on, more ready to do anything a man told her to. He whacked her bottom again, and there was such a rush of heat through her, she felt faint. His hand connected again and again, the slap of flesh against flesh filling the office, her gasps and moans and sighs accompanying like music.

  He swatted her hard, her flesh rippling, then he slid down the center of her sex, between her legs, rubbing her throbbing clit, and out again. Her body seemed to follow his movements, rising to entice him. His hand came down, smarting, then soothed, heading straight down her cleft, and this time he entered her, pumping her with a blunt finger. He shifted behind her, slapping her butt and working two fingers inside her.

  She lost her mind, it was so extraordinary. The sting, the stroke, she moaned and writhed as if he’d buried himself to the hilt inside her. Her pussy ground against the desk, agitating her clitoris, and that’s all there was, just sensation and sound. His harsh breath. The slap of his hand. The hungry, wet feel of her pussy. The heat. And she exploded, tendrils of sensation shooting to all her extremities and back to every point he touched her. Her pussy milked his fingers, squeezing, taking.

  When she came to herself, she felt tears on her cheek. The desk was wet. Her pussy throbbed.

  Mr. Masters leaned over her, whispered in her ear, “My dear Miss Beaumonde, that was too fucking hot for words.”

  No man had ever said things like that to her, words that made her feel special, desirable. She wanted to curl up and rub herself all over him like a favorite pet. But her shoulders began to hurt. Just as she had the thought, she felt cool metal against her wrists as he cut through the zip tie with a pair of scissors. He soothed each wrist with a kiss that stole her breath. Then he leaned down to kiss each buttock before he pulled her skirt over her bottom. With steadying hands, he raised her from the desk.

  She felt cared for, desired, and deliciously wicked, a combination she’d never known before and one she could easily start to crave. Mr. Masters was addicting.

  “Sit, Miss Beaumonde.”

  She didn’t know why she thrilled to her surname on his lips. She never had before. He’d never said it so many times so close together, and usually he called her Natalie. Miss Beaumonde was someone else. Someone special.

  Her bottom stung slightly as she sat in the chair before him. He hitched a hip on the desk. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” he said. “Tell me why you’ve been so distracted lately that you’ve made two mistakes in as many days.”

  Her heart dropped to her stomach. She’d played, now she had to pay.

  “Is it a man?” he asked.

  Natalie nodded.

  “Did you catch him cheating?”

  She nodded again.

  “We’re not playing twenty questions, Miss Beaumonde. Tell me everything.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  He wasn’t even breathing hard, but then she’d been the one going off like a bottle rocket.

  “I can’t,” she said. It was cruel and unusual to expect her to bare her soul. The spanking was one thing, telling him about Van was total intimacy. Okay, okay, maybe that was skewed logic, but she was not telling him.

  He simply stared at her, and she grew restless and fidgety. He was too much, too male, especially compared to Van. His skin was dark and sexy against the white shirt, his black hair clipped neatly without looking preppy. And he smelled nice, some expensive cologne that lingered on her skin as if they’d made love for hours.

  He waited her out without a word, as if he were
an interrogator who knew his continued silence would break her will.

  “I walked into his apartment,” she finally said, then paused, trying to determine how explicit to get. Until, suddenly, just thinking about Van and that woman angered her. Why not say it? Damn Van anyway. “He was letting some woman use a toy on him while he was sucking a bigger toy stuck to the headboard.”

  Why had it been so hard to say to Van but so much easier to reveal to Mr. Masters in this moment? She didn’t know. Perhaps it was pain versus anger, yet once said, she ached all over again. Mr. Masters had made her forget. Now his questions brought it all back.

  Tears pricked her eyes, and the words just fell from her lips before she could manage to stop them. “He never wanted me that way. He never moaned or groaned for me like that, never made all those sounds. He never begged or got all crazy-wild for me…” She trailed off, bit her lip, feeling pathetic for letting all that out. “I’m sorry. That was TMI.” Way too much information to tell her boss, even after letting him spank her.

  There was something dark and brooding in his gaze as he asked, “How important was this man to you?”

  Natalie swallowed. “Very.”

  He cocked his head.

  She recognized the question in his gesture. “I thought he was very important.” She lowered her gaze to stare at her clasped hands. “Until I let you spank me, and”—she dragged in a long breath—“I liked it so much. If he was that important, how could I have liked it?”

  “There’s a difference between hot sex and being in love with someone. Just because you enjoyed what I did doesn’t mean you cared for him any less.”

  She felt very young compared to his worldliness, plus fickle and shallow in the aftermath of what she’d just allowed him to do to her. Good Lord, she’d actually left the wrong file so that Mr. Masters would have to punish her.

  “Do you want him back?”

  “He came to my house last night and asked me to forgive him.” Another bite of anger nipped at her tangle of emotions, lending harshness to her tone. “He said he’s been afraid to tell me he has needs.” She narrowed her eyes, focusing on the images in her head. “He never asked me; he just assumed I couldn’t handle it.”