by Maria Monroe
Huh, she thought. I guess he’d not allowed in there either.
When she turned the knob, Bella was surprised that the door wasn’t locked. For all he warnings she’d been given about not going in here, it seemed odd that it was so easy to enter. Of course, that must mean that Charles and Kane had trusted her. A moment of guilt almost stopped Bella, but then she shrugged and pushed the door inward.
The smell of rich leather greeted her. “Whoa,” she whispered. Kane’s office was huge, probably the size of her entire apartment, she thought, as she slowly made her way inside the room. The dark, rich wood of an imposing desk shone as she switched on the light. A warm glow filled the room now, and she continued in, her feet sliding over the smooth marble floor. She walked to the desk, idly running her fingers over the shiny surface, then continued investigating. Books filled a gorgeous wooden bookcase, and she scanned the titles. There were some on finance, a few on whiskey (she couldn’t help rolling her eyes at how pretentious that was), and some classic novels. To Kill a Mockingbird. One Hundred Years of Solitude. A book of poetry by T. S. Eliot.
Nice, she thought, touching the spine of the Eliot book. She liked poetry, though it seemed to be a fading art. She pulled the book out, surprised to see how old it was, and when she opened the front cover delicately she was even more shocked to see it was signed. Maybe valuable. Bella began to put it back, but she wanted to look at it. Read it. Carefully, of course.
Tucking the book under her arm, she continued exploring the room. There was a gorgeous brown leather couch, worn in that way that looked intentional rather than old, and she sat down, luxuriating in how good it felt. She got back up, though, to examine the walls. One had shelves built into it and, in the middle, what looked like the handle to a pull-down Murphy bed. Which was weird. Why would someone have a bed in his office, in his own home where, she supposed, he already had a bedroom? Probably multiple bedrooms. Maybe this served as a guest room? She shrugged, not giving in to her curiosity because it would be horrible if she pulled the bed down and couldn’t figure out how to get it back up again. On the shelves were some relics: an ancient-looking pocket watch; a framed old photo—maybe from the 1940s—of a couple holding hands outdoors; a bottle of liquor in a gorgeous teardrop-shaped bottle. Mortlach, it read. Under that was the number 70. She looked closer and read on the bottle: Distilled in 1938.
“Gross,” whispered Bella to herself. How could something that old taste good anymore? What would it be like, though, to have this much money that your home was decorated with exquisite old things that probably cost a fortune? And gorgeous modern things that were equally expensive, no doubt?
For just a few minutes, Bella wanted to feel rich so, with only a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the bottle of Mortlach and, with the poetry book still under her other arm, she headed to the desk. She was going to sit there, like Kane probably did, and pretend this room was hers. This desk was hers. This first edition book of poetry too. And she was going to taste the scotch, which was probably disgusting but undoubtedly worth more money than she owned. Just one taste.
Even the desk chair felt rich as she settled down into it, pushing the laptop on the desk away so she had room. A glass, she thought. I need a glass. On the shelf by the scotch, a crystal decanter and set of gorgeously etched glasses shone, and she retrieved one of them quickly.
The bottle of scotch wasn’t full—it was obvious someone had drunk some already—but the liquid was fairly close to the top, so Bella was careful to pour only a small amount into her glass. Not enough so someone would notice. Kane seemed like he was probably meticulously anal, but even he wouldn’t be so bad that he actually measured the level of liquid in the bottle, would he? Sitting down once more, she sniffed the drink and wrinkled her nose. It didn’t smell bad, but it did smell strong. Still, she tilted the glass back and downed the liquid.
It was warm when it hit her throat, but she coughed from the taste, much, much stronger than the usual wine or cheap beer she drank. “Ew,” she whispered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There was something beautiful too, though, about the flavor. Maybe it was the power of persuasion, but it tasted expensive, like liquid gold. One more shot, she thought, aware that it was probably a drink to be sipped, with which you’d take your time, so this time she did sip, grimacing a little less each time.
She picked up the T. S. Eliot book and opened to a random page. She liked poetry. But right now she felt too on edge to focus. It felt like she was missing something, like this room—and Kane—held untold secrets and this was her chance to discover them. Which obviously she shouldn’t do. But he’d never find out. And it wasn’t like she was going to steal anything. She just wanted to look around a little more.
Body warm from the scotch, she decided to have one more drink. A tiny one. And then she’d put the bottle away, back on the shelf where she’d found it. Carefully she opened the bottle and tilted it, watching as the honey-colored liquid fell into her glass.
Max barked in the hallway, a loud snarly sound, and Bella jumped. She was aware, in the next split second, of her hand involuntarily opening its clutch on the bottle of scotch, but she was unable to stop it, and the bottle slid from her grasp, falling down to the marble floor. Midair her hands fumbled to catch it, and she almost did. At least she stopped its rapid descent. But still it fell to the floor, the gorgeous amber liquid trailing out of its mouth rapidly.
“Fuck! Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Bella’s heart was pounding, her stomach rolling. What the fuck had just happened? What had she done? She took a deep breath, trying not to be sick, because that would just make a bigger mess, and she was in enough trouble right now as it was. Max had settled down again in the hallway; apparently it was just a false alarm. And meanwhile, although the bottle was still, miraculously, intact, she’d spilled almost the entire bottle of Kane’s expensive liquor.
On the desk, the scotch from her overturned glass ran in rivulets toward Kane’s laptop, and Bella snatched the computer and moved it to a chair. She did not need to ruin his laptop in addition to everything else!
She ran into the kitchen, where she found a roll of paper towels and returned to the office, tossing thick handfuls of the towels down to soak up the scotch.
What was she going to do? Her heart was pounding so loud she swore she could hear it, and her body was shaky with the horror of what she’d just done.
As she wiped up the floor, she considered her options and figured out a plan. Tomorrow she’d go to the liquor store and buy a new identical bottle. For now, just in case Kane came back early, she’d refill the bottle with the cheap whiskey her roommate had at their apartment.
Having a plan made her feel a tiny bit better. Not much better. But the terror she’d felt a few moments ago was dissipating. Everything would be fine. She would take care of it.
“I’ll be back, Max,” she said to the dog, who followed her to the door, wagging his tail. Then she dashed down the block to get the bottle from her apartment.
* * *
The Mortlach bottle was refilled with Claire’s liquor. The floor was cleaned up and as shiny as it had been when she arrived. She’d put the book of poetry back on the shelf. What else? She scanned the room, making sure it was perfect.
Kane’s computer. It sat on the chair, where she’d moved it, saving it from destruction by scotch. She’d put it back on the desk and go home. And tomorrow she’d buy a replacement of his stupid expensive scotch. And everything would be fine.
Bella set the laptop back onto the shiny surface, and as she did, the screen came alive. He must not have turned it off, she thought. That was fine. She’d just let it sit there until it went into sleep mode again. She scanned the room once more, making sure everything was in place so she could get out of here. But then she glanced at his screen.
She was looking at a directory of video files. They all had Sarah in their names. Sarah1. Sarah2. And so on.
“Just get out of here,”
she whispered to herself, but curiosity kept her eyes glued to the screen. What kind of videos were they? And who was Sarah? And how wrong would it be, really, to just kind of sort of accidentally double-click on one of the videos?
Bella glanced around the room, because even though she knew both Charles and Kane were out of town, she felt nervous, like she was doing something wrong. OK, so she was. She’d done lots of things wrong already, starting with the fact that she’d entered Kane’s office when he’d strictly forbidden her to. And spilled his scotch, then filled the bottle with cheap liquor. And read his book of poetry. And snooped. Clicking on one of these videos, even though the computer was right there and she hadn’t turned it on herself, would be crossing an even more intimate line. She should just go. She’d done enough damage already.
Max lay in the hallway, and the house was silent. Nobody was here.
Almost without thought she clicked on one of the files, raptly staring at the screen while the video player loaded and the movie began. Staring into the camera was a beautiful woman’s face, and in the shot Bella could see also the woman’s arms, spread out to the sides. She was leaning the top of her body on a surface. A desk. This desk, it suddenly occurred to Bella, and, in the background, she saw the wall that was actually in front of her right now.
The woman appeared to have no clothes on, at least not on her top half, and Bella felt a pulse of heat run through her body. She should shut this video off. Right now. She should go home this instant. This video was private and personal, and Bella had no right to watch it.
But she couldn’t stop herself. She had to see this. Behind the woman she saw a man, and though the camera wasn’t focused on him it only took her a few seconds to realize it was Kane. Shirtless, his chest was ripped and firm, and, as he moved closer, she could see the button on the top of his jeans was undone, could see he was thick and hard beneath the denim. So not gay, then. Well, that was settled. In his hand was a leather paddle, and Bella gasped out loud.
He was going to spank this woman. “Oh, my god,” she whispered, barely able to believe what she was seeing.
For years, Bella had been secretly obsessed with the idea of spankings. When she watched porn on the Internet, that was what she searched for. But in her entire life, she’d never experienced it. Once, she’d mentioned it to a boyfriend, just to feel out his interest. “Would you ever spank a girl?” she’d asked. He’d been horrified, stating he’d never do something like that. A few times after that he’d smacked her ass in a rather lackluster way once or twice during sex. But that wasn’t what she wanted. Not even close. And most of the time when she was having sex, she imagined being spanked, imagined the pleasure that would come from submitting to a man, to accepting pain and pleasure and whatever else he offered. The fantasy of being dominated was what drove her to orgasm.
Now, seeing a guy she actually knew—or sort of knew, at least—spanking someone made it feel so much more real to her. Like something that actually happened as opposed to something she saw in videos on the Internet.
On the screen before her Kane spoke, and Bella felt chills from his low, stern voice. “Sarah. You are to keep your eyes on the camera. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” whispered the woman, staring into the camera, her eyes filled with fear, Bella noticed, but desire too. The passion was unmistakable.
“When we watch this later, if your eyes look away, you will receive another spanking.”
“I understand,” Sarah said quietly.
“Let’s begin.”
Bella could only see the motion of Kane’s arm because the focus of the camera was Sarah’s upper body. A crack sounded, and Sarah’s eyes and lips opened wide. “Oh,” she murmured into the camera, the erotic mix of distress and desire setting Bella’s clit on edge.
Kane spanked the woman again, and again, and she stared straight ahead the whole time, crying out with each strike. It sounded like she was in pain, for sure, but there was an undeniable note of passion in each moan she emitted. She was enjoying this.
“Holy shit,” whispered Bella. She was wet. Soaking wet. She shifted her body in Kane’s chair as she grew more and more aroused. This was what she wanted. What she fantasized about. What she’d been pretty sure would never actually happen to her in real life.
Imagining she was the one bent over the desk while Kane spanked her, Bella slipped a hand into her panties. Her pussy was already drenched, and she rubbed her throbbing clit as she watched the spanking continue. When it stopped, Bella kept touching herself.
“You’re so fucking wet,” growled Kane to Sarah on the laptop screen. “What do you want me to do now?”
“Fuck me. Please,” Sarah pleaded. Now her eyes were half-shut in anticipation and desire.
Without a word, Kane released his cock, and Bella gasped at the size of it. Even though the camera wasn’t focused on Kane, she could see, for a second, how big and thick it was. And then one of Kane’s hands gripped Sarah’s hip, and he began to thrust inside her. Sarah’s body jerked, her eyes shut in passion, her hands balled up in pleasure.
Bella’s fingers were moving more quickly, her breathing becoming erratic, just like Sarah’s in the video. The fact that this—what she was doing here—was wrong had exited her mind at the first spank, and all she cared about right now was coming while she watched her arrogant neighbor Kane fuck some stranger.
She was so close, her fingers dancing over her clit, her head arched back in the chair.
“What are you doing?” Kane’s voice slammed into her head.
Bella jumped, pulling her hand out of her panties and sitting up straight. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. She’d heard his voice in the video, right? Because there was no way he could be here in this room in real life. No. Fucking. Way.
But as she slowly looked up she saw him, standing in the doorway, a look of sheer anger on his face. The night-black suit he wore was fitted and well-tailored, showing off his lean physique. His dark brown hair was thick and had that slightly messy look that Bella usually liked on guys. But right now, she didn’t like anything about seeing Kane. He strode toward the desk, his long legs covering the distance quickly. Turning the laptop toward him, he watched it for a few seconds before snapping the lid closed. A muscle in his jaw tensed, and his dark brown eyes were nothing but pissed as they met Bella’s.
“I asked you a question,” he said. His voice was low but even.
Bella stared into his face, unable to speak. What could she say? He’d just caught her masturbating to his own homemade porn. What was there to say?
“I can explain,” she finally managed, her cheeks burning. But really, there was no explanation.
“Please.”
“I just wanted to… the computer was on, and then the screen came up and…” Her voice trailed off.
“You decided to look at my personal files?”
“I didn’t decide to, not really. I just sort of, I don’t know, clicked on one of the files. I’m sorry.”
“We did have a discussion, didn’t we, before I left? When I specifically instructed you not to enter this room?”
“We did.” Bella’s voice was small, the horror of the situation rendering her practically speechless.
“Was I unclear in my desire for you to stay out?”
“You weren’t.”
“Then why have I come home early from my trip to find you sitting at my desk and using my computer?”
“I said I’m sorry,” muttered Bella.
He was being so quiet and rational, his voice not raised even a touch. Instead, he spoke with quiet sternness, which was actually much, much worse than if he were yelling and swearing. And she felt ashamed to have been caught like this, watching a video of him spanking a girl, then fucking her from behind. Worse? She’d been touching herself. Surely he’d seen, hadn’t he? Or was there a chance she’d be saved at least that humiliation?
“I want you to leave, Bella. You are
, obviously, fired. I’ll drop off a check for the days you’ve worked at your apartment.”
“Of course.” On shaking legs, she arose from his chair, head down. She couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t stand the way his dark eyes shot anger at her while his voice stayed so calm. The barely restrained wrath in his voice was too much, too. Her intention was to walk past him and out the door as quickly as possible.
Just as she was about to pass him, though, he gripped her wrist. Bella stopped cold, unsure what he was doing, why he was touching her. She turned to look at him, and one corner of his mouth twitched into what was almost—almost—a smile. A cruel one, she thought distractedly. And then, to her dismay, he raised her hand to his face, inhaling the scent of her fingers. The fingers she had just used to touch herself.
“I thought so,” he said, dropping her hand and turning away, heading to his desk.
Kill me now, thought Bella as, her face burning, she rushed out of Kane’s office and house and into the night.
* * *
“I used your bottle of whiskey last night. I’ll get you some more today,” said Bella, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting cross-legged on a kitchen chair. Claire was eating a bowl of cereal.
“What do you mean you used it?” Claire stretched languidly, like a cat, and looked at Bella inquisitively.
“Oh, god. It’s kind of a long story. I was dog-sitting last night—you know, at The Castle—and I spilled some expensive scotch? So I poured the cheap stuff into the bottle. I’m going to get a new bottle, but I had to do something until I got a chance to replace it.”
Claire shook her head and laughed. “Only you, Bella! You’re such a spaz! You better hope he doesn’t decide to have a drink before you get a new bottle, because I’m positive he’d be able to tell the difference.”
