Take the Heat

by Skye Warren

  “Look, Rick, I need those reports. Without that data we’ve got no chance at figuring out if we can get the account.” Will’s finger pointed at her, then jabbed down at the small gray chair before his desk.

  Swallowing a frightened whimper, she took the seat, the fabric rough against her thin skirt. Her hands shook more than ever, and she clasped them in her lap, afraid to look at him as his conversation continued.

  “I have to go, Rick. I don’t care how you do it, but I want them by tomorrow. I pay you well for this, and I want something for my money. That’s all.”

  Dropping the handset into its cradle, Will’s intent gaze locked upon her. With his jet-black hair and the square jaw darkened by five o’clock shadow, he’d have seemed handsome in any other situation.

  Here he seemed nothing so much as judge, jury and executioner.

  “Do I not pay you well for the work you do, Ms. Hart?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Are you hard of hearing along with being a criminal?” He pulled open a drawer and placed a white business card on the varnished cherry wood, the gold filigree of his fountain pen glinting in the light. “I said, do I not pay you well?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then why embezzle from the company? From me?”

  “Sir, my son and I…” She swallowed hard, knowing it was hopeless. “Since the divorce, we’re barely making it, and—”

  “Why didn’t you ask for a raise?”

  What? “I don’t— What do you mean?”

  “If you were hurting for money, why didn’t you ask for more?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It never is, is it?” His grin was devoid of warmth, more a grimace than an expression of humor. “So you steal from me instead. Much easier, isn’t that right?”

  “No—”

  “You saw the evidence, Ms. Hart. It’s all there—and more.” He stood, the movement of his body as fluid and deliberate as a leopard. He crossed his arms, the dark fitted button-down shirt outlining his muscled chest. “I need only make a single phone call, and you’ll go away for five years. Maybe ten?”

  “Please, Mr. Ellsworth. Please don’t.” Her heart felt like a wild animal frantic to beat its way out of her chest. “I’ll pay it back. I’ll do…anything.”

  The glacial blue of his eyes glinted. “About that, Ms. Hart. What are you prepared to do to…resolve this?”

  “I’ll work overtime, weekends. I’ll pay it all back, with interest.” Her mind whirled, panicked. “Anything you need, I’ll do it. Please, sir. Just give me a chance.”

  He walked around the end of his desk and leaned against its edge, crossing his ankles, glancing down with a shake of his head.

  Please God. Please get me out of this!

  Will looked upon her then, and the iciness of his gaze made tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She was doomed. What about Noah? Who would take care of him? A five-year-old with a jailbird mother, alone, the one constant in his young life locked behind bars.

  “You don’t deserve a second chance, Ms. Hart. And you’re not getting one from me.”

  “Oh please,” she said, her voice breaking, the tears welling now. Her legs shook, strength draining from her. “I can’t go to jail. I’ll— He needs me. My Noah—”

  Will’s jaw clenched so hard she was sure it would break. “Quiet, Ms. Hart. I don’t want to hear it.”

  The first tear tracked down her cheek, and she wiped it away with the back of a trembling hand.

  Will stood once more, moving close, looming over her. His shirt, his slacks, all of it—fine, pressed. Perfect. The white blouse she wore had a yellow stain that refused to come out in the wash, so she’d covered it up with her black suit jacket. At least the jacket hadn’t been too wrinkled. She felt like a slob next to this man.

  “There may be one way you can avoid prison, Ms. Hart.” His finger poked the lapel of her jacket, his gaze darkening. “I should have your ass hauled out of here in cuffs, but against my better judgment, I’m thinking of…an alternative.”

  “Oh thank you, Mr. Ellsworth!”

  “I liked ‘sir’ better.”

  “Sorry. Sir.”

  She clung to that tiny bit of hope like a drowning woman, every second an eternity. Maybe she did have a chance after all?

  Will drew in a breath, watching her silently a moment. “We’ll see just how much you want to avoid prison, Ms. Hart.”

  “I’ll do anything, sir,” she whispered, looking down with a shaky breath. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll be obligated to me. In all things, Ms. Hart. Do you understand what that means?”

  “I—think so, sir.” She didn’t really, but the thought of being penned in like a trapped rat in some godforsaken cell was much, much worse than the unknown of Will Ellsworth’s offer though.

  “Take off your jacket.”

  Her eyes shot up. “Take off…?”

  “Do it, or I call the cops.”

  “Sir, I—”

  This cannot be happening. This is a dream, some kind of surreal nightmare.

  “You have five seconds. Take off that fucking jacket, or we’re done here.”

  Numb, her fingers worked at the buttons, the jacket falling to the floor. The quick beat of her heart thumped loud in her ears.

  His hands took hold of her blouse, and automatically she grasped his forearms, pushing at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Hands at your sides, Ms. Hart.” His perfect smile flashed, the strong, white canines gleaming. “You’re doing whatever the fuck you’re told to do from here on out. It’s that or prison. Your choice.”

  With a frustrated little sound, she dropped her hands, feeling the pulse pounding at her throat.

  Buttons flew in all directions as he ripped the blouse open. He yanked down on each side, exposing her further, and she cried out.

  His glittering gaze dropped to the white lace of her bra, her breasts heaving as she sucked in a great breath. She’d gained a couple more pounds since the divorce, the bra now not quite up to the task of containing her breasts.

  “You can’t—”

  “Oh yes, I can, Ms. Hart.”

  Yanking the torn blouse from the clutch of her skirt, he ripped it down each arm in turn, pulling it from her and tossing it on his desk. He pointed down.

  “Pull the skirt up and hold it at your waist.”

  “Wh— Right here?”

  “Right here. And I’d better hear some respect in your tone, Ms. Hart. I might think better of this and call the whole thing off.”

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.

  “I’m waiting.”

  She pulled her skirt up, clutching it in her fists at her hips, her cheeks heating.

  “At least those panties match the bra.”

  “Why are you doing this?” She cleared her throat, her voice breaking. “Sir.”

  “Because I want to see if you’ll do as you’re told.”

  Will walked back to his chair and sat down once more, his legs extended, feet crossed. His ease galled her almost as much as her exposure.

  “Drop that skirt, pick up your jacket and leave.”

  “What about…my blouse?”

  “What about it, Ms. Hart? You’ve got your jacket.”

  Another tear rolled down her cheek as she smoothed her skirt down her thighs, stooping to snatch up her jacket. She buttoned it up quickly, then looked up at her tormentor.

  “It’s—it’s showing too much. I can’t leave here like this, sir.”

  The jacket was low cut, intended to be worn with a blouse or sweater. Her jiggling cleavage was entirely exposed, the bra itself barely hidden by the open neckline.

  You look like a whore, Alyson.

  “Not my problem.” He spun in his chair, his back to her as he picked up his phone. “Get out.”

  “I’ll pack my things, sir,” she murmured, eying the ruin of her blouse lying on his desk.
How was she going to walk back out there like this? At least she could pack up fast and run out.

  “You aren’t packing a thing. Get back to work—but not on your usual accounts.” He looked back at her, his eyes blazing. “I’ll have Karen send over your new assignments.”

  “Sir? You’re not…firing me?”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Ms. Hart. How would I keep an eye on you if I canned you? Stop stalling and go.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Time seemed to have slowed, the strange morning getting stranger by the second. She hurried for the exit.

  “Ms. Hart?”

  She looked back, her hand on the silver door handle.

  The gold pen flashed in the light as he wrote something on the back of the business card, then slid it across the desk toward her.

  “Take it.”

  The card shook as she read it. It was an address, somewhere over in the Ravenna area. Affluent, exclusive.

  “What’s this, sir?”

  “The first day of your obligation. Tomorrow afternoon. One o’clock.”

  * * *

  Standing on his front steps, two huge evergreen trees soaring above her, she felt as if the entire city watched her, knew what she was up to. Which was ironic because she didn’t even know what she was up to.

  A car pulled to the curb behind her, the engine shutting off. Heavy steps sounded on the wooden stairs behind her; then she caught the faint, familiar sandalwood scent of Will’s cologne. She dared not look at him.

  His hand extended around her to the door, unlocking it and pushing it open.

  “Inside. Don’t touch anything.”

  Nodding, she stepped into the house, the interior all dark woodwork, immaculate.

  The door closed behind her, the dead bolt thrown. Final.

  “Down the hall. My office. First door on the right.”

  She felt him following close behind, her heart jackhammering faster with each step into the house.

  Turn around and leave, Alyson. Go to the goddamned police. This is blackmail. This is illegal.

  But so was embezzling. She’d see this through—it was her only choice, and they both knew it.

  The office was small, intimate, the stout oak desk filling most of the space, three of the walls dominated by floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with books.

  “Drop your jeans, and bend over the desk,” he said, depositing his keys on the desktop and pulling open a long drawer. The pale length of cane he drew out made her heart leap into her throat.

  “You’re not going to…?”

  “Oh yes, I am—unless you’re backing out.” His hand rested on the phone next to the computer monitor on the desk.

  “No. No, I’m sorry.”

  “Good. Now stop stalling and do it.”

  Oh dear God.

  Fumbling with the buttons of her jeans, she pushed them down, stooping to try to work them off over her shoes.

  “No,” he said. “Leave them there. I want those panties down too, then over the desk. Quickly.”

  Alyson chanced a glance at him. He wore one of the slim charcoal suits he favored for work, which was strange considering it was Saturday. The coat showed off the breadth of his shoulders, the fit emphasizing the way his body tapered to a slim waist.

  She gulped, noting the prominent bulge at the front of his slacks. Was this retribution turning him on?

  “Ms. Hart.” His voice growled. “I won’t ask again. Panties down and over that fucking desk.”

  With a whimper, she hooked her thumbs inside her panties and whisked them down, feeling as if her face might catch fire with the fierceness of her blush.

  You’re doing this for your son. Don’t think about it. Just get it over with.

  She lay over the cold desktop, burying her face in her arms. The rattan pressed to her buttocks, and she yelped.

  “This is step one in satisfying your obligation to me, Ms. Hart. Do you agree to continue?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Is this really happening?

  The cane snapped down, and she froze with the searing sting, then groaned as the ache sank into her flesh.

  The second stroke landed, and she blew out a frantic breath, the hurt clawing into her bottom.

  “How many, sir?”

  “As many as I want to give you, Ms. Hart.” His voice thickened. “But we’ll start with ten today, since your lily-white bottom is so tender. It’s about to be a lot less white and lot more tender.”

  The third strike made her cry out, fire lancing low across the base of her buttocks. Her knees failed her, her hips dropping as she tried to cope with the pain.

  “Get that ass back up, Ms. Hart. We’re not done.”

  The hard tip of the cane tapped at her as he waited. Finally, she managed to lock her knees again, her fingernails digging into her forearm.

  Three more strokes followed in quick succession, and this time, she screamed through clenched teeth, pain spiraling higher.

  “Just a few more, then we’re done, Ms. Hart.”

  Done? Already?

  The prospect that this might be all he wanted buoyed her, even though she knew it was too good to be true.

  Another cut burned across her ass, even lower, right at the join between buttock and thigh. She sprang up, clutching her swollen, weal-striped cheeks.

  “I can’t! God, you’re killing me!” Tears streamed down her cheeks now.

  “You’re doing just fine.” The cane tapped the desktop next to her. “Two more. Obey and I’ll make them quick.”

  “I can’t, Sir.” She wiped tears from cheeks sticky with running mascara.

  “Either you can, or you’re backing out on the deal, Ms. Hart.”

  Just fucking do this, Alyson. You’ve got no choice.

  She lowered herself once more, grasping the far edge of the desktop in a death grip, holding her breath.

  “Good,” he said, pleasure in his voice.

  With two snaps, the last strokes whipped in, every bit as painful as the previous eight. She tensed against the desk, grunting as the pain bloomed, white-hot, then fading to a dull, persistent burning suffusing every inch of her ass. The heat had spread to more than just her buttocks, though, the realization a shock to her.

  Yes, she’d fantasized about being spanked, whipped, dominated.

  But that’s all they were—fantasies.

  The reality was much more painful than she’d imagined…though to a certain part of her body, that pain didn’t seem to matter. She tightened her thighs together, clenching her stinging buttocks. With luck he wouldn’t be able to see the evidence of her body’s betrayal.

  His low laughter made her want to turn around and slap him.

  “You did well, Ms. Hart.” A hand rucked up the thin fabric of her shirt, the warm palm stroking her bare skin. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually go through with it. A thief you may be, but you’re a courageous one too.”

  That big hand moved lower, stroking over the inflamed, throbbing weals, and she yelped, clenching her teeth. Fingers whispered at the lips of her sex.

  She whimpered, pressing her face deeper into her arms as his fingers splayed her labia apart, exposing the sticky wetness within to the cool air.

  “I thought so,” he murmured.

  Why was this happening? How was it even possible her body had betrayed her like this?

  His palm patted her swollen pussy with surprising gentleness, and his hands moved back up to her buttocks, caressing the curves of her hips.

  “You need something for these. Stay there.”

  Moving around the desk once more, he slipped the cane back into its drawer. Incredibly, he began a soft whistling as he searched another drawer. The man was perfectly at ease! As if this were a mere afternoon’s diversion.

  “There we are,” he said, pulling a round, silver tin from a drawer, then moving back behind her.

  “Oh God,” she gasped as the freezing cream was spread over her welts, his strong
fingers kneading it into her aching buttocks, awakening yet more throbbing. “That hurts! Stop, please!”

  “You’re going to thank me for this later on tonight.” He sat down on the desk next to her, his hand giving her ass a gentle pat. She moved to rise, but his hand fisted in her hair, pushing her head back down, her tear-soaked cheek pressed to her arms. “Stay where you are; the cream needs time to absorb. And there’s something you need to hear.”

  Alyson tried not to think about how she must look, bent over a desk as if she were inviting him to fuck her, bare ass crisscrossed with swollen, aching weals.

  Better this than a prison jumpsuit.

  “Are you listening to me, Ms. Hart?” His hand clasped her hip, squeezing.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “This isn’t over. You did well today, but you haven’t satisfied your obligation to me. You owe me a month for what? Every thousand dollars you stole?”

  Seven months of this? Oh God…

  He continued, his thumb stroking possessive circles on her hip. “As of today, I own this very pretty ass of yours—and I intend to enjoy it. Whenever I call for you, you’ll come to me. Whatever you’re told to do, you’ll do. Very simple, yet so very hard for a girl like you. Remember this, and you’ll avoid a jail cell.”

  “Sir, I…”

  “I’ll allow you one question, Ms. Hart; then I want you to get your things and go home.”

  “What happens, at the end of this?”

  “Your obligation will be fulfilled.” He gave a harsh slap to her inflamed buttocks, making her grunt. “Now go home. Karen will have new job duties for you on Monday. Don’t be late.”

  “Yes, sir.” She’d rather die than be late and risk more of what had her ass throbbing angrily.

  As she opened the front door, he stopped her.

  “Ms. Hart. One more thing.”

  “Sir?” She lowered her head, not even looking back at him.

  “What’s your son’s name?”

  * * *

  He wasted no time.

  From a new desk—one he could easily walk past, to and from his office—to a new job description, to new demands for her to start dressing to his specifications, he began tightening the noose immediately.

  She’d wondered why he hadn’t touched her sexually since that first caning—and she didn’t want to contemplate why the thought seemed to haunt her every waking moment. Then came her second summons to his office for a lunch “meeting”—exactly two months since she’d agreed to his little…arrangement. But rather than another one of his searing punishments, he had other ideas.