by Chloe Lane
“Say it.”
“I think you've been a lot less reckless these past couple of weeks. Nobody's talking about Maxwell Kane's latest trip to what's probably a brothel. Not even a murmur on social media.”
“There have been...other things occupying my attention.”
Emma looks at me, caution in the set of her lips. “Is that—a good thing?”
“For my career?”
“For you.”
“For me, it's a good thing. I'm not spending nearly as much money on drinks.”
“Just fancy dates.”
“That's worth it.”
“What about your career, though?”
I give a little shrug. The more I talk to Emma, the clearer the future is becoming. I just don't know how to get there. Not quite yet. “I can find other ways to maintain my connections.”
She gives me a quizzical look. “That's what you're doing when you're gallivanting around town at all hours of the night and becoming the latest headline on gossip websites? Maintaining connections?”
Her tone is light, but my answer is serious. “Pierce & Harwood gave me a job right out of law school, and they've let me climb the ranks. Harwood isn't always fond of my tactics—that's where you come in—but I've been doing everything possible to make sure I'm the best I can be at my job. And if that means meeting with slightly unsavory people...”
“You're good enough without them, Maxwell.”
“Says our newest junior associate,” I tease.
Emma shakes her head, smiling. “This is all something we can talk about later. When we're at home.”
23
Emma
Maxwell doesn't take me home at the end of our first date, even though I'm craving more of him by the time our plates are cleared. Instead, he takes me right to my doorstep, kisses me gently on the lips, and wishes me sweet dreams, leaving me with a soaking pussy and a heart on fire for him.
For the next two weeks at Pierce & Harwood, we're absolutely strict about keeping our hands off each other in the office. When he drives us both to the courthouse, we keep our conversations in the parking ramp purely professional. I play my part with total immersion, dressing every day like modesty is my top priority in life.
Still, I see Mrs. Johnson looking at me with narrowed eyes when I come into the office each morning, and my heart beats a little faster.
During the day we're nothing but colleagues.
During the night, he can't get enough of me, and I can't get enough of him.
It's on a Wednesday that he opens the door and there's a new light in his eyes, a new intensity, a new focus that makes goosebumps race down the back of my neck. Lately, our alone time begins as soon as he opens the door, and by the time I fall asleep at night—either in his bed or mine—my body is completely spent.
At the sight of him, I fall into submission as easily as if I'd been doing it my whole life. “Hello, Mr. Kane.”
“Come in, kitten.”
I keep my eyes on the floor and step into his condo. One week ago, he told me never to come here wearing panties again, and my thighs are already slick with my juices. I'm dressed in the same modest outfit I wore to the office. When it's time to relax and eat—after we've had our fill of each other for the beginning of the evening—I'll change into some of the clothes I've started keeping in one of his drawers.
It's a breath away from being moved in, and every morning when I leave—early so I have time to stop at my apartment before heading into the office—I wish I could just get ready with him.
All these thoughts barely make an impact as I kneel on the carpet in the entryway, the deadbolt flipping in its lock behind me.
Then Maxwell's hands are wrapping around the front of my neck, one cupping my chin, pulling my head back as his other hand wraps its way through my ponytail.
“How are you feeling tonight, kitten?”
“Ready, Mr. Kane.” God, I love this. The moment I kneel on the floor, he takes charge—and he plays me like a violin, making my body scream for him and melt into shuddering release.
“Is your pussy soaking wet?”
“Yes, Mr. Kane.”
“How much do you trust me, kitten?”
He releases my hair, coming around to the front of me. The bulge in the front of his pants tells me just how eager he is to claim me, to fuck me, and my mouth waters. “I trust you more than anyone, Mr. Kane.”
Still with one hand under my chin, eyes locked on mine, he searches the depths of my answer with his gaze. When he speaks again, his voice is husky. “You belong to me.”
I take in a breath as my nipples harden against the fabric of my bra. “I do, Mr. Kane.”
“I need more from you. I need you tonight, kitten. I need all of you.”
My entire body buzzes with anticipation. I don't know what he means exactly, but I have an idea. A delicious kind of tingling fear rises in my gut. “I'm all yours, Mr. Kane.”
“Good.” He takes a step back. “Strip, and meet me in the den.” Then he disappears down the hall, a door closing softly behind him.
I leave my clothes in a folded pile and make my way to the den, where we've been spending many evenings lately. There's a low ottoman in front of the fireplace, and this is where I'm supposed to go. I climb on, going to my hands and knees, and lower my head to the leather surface in the position that Mr. Kane prefers. It makes me wetter just getting into this pose in an empty room, waiting—my pussy is exposed, and so is everything else.
He comes in a few minutes later, still fully dressed, and crosses the room. The instant his hands touch my skin, I'm burning up.
“Do you know what you did to me today, kitten?”
A shiver of anticipation runs over my shoulders. This is a signal that he might spank me, something we've tried a few times, and—it embarrasses me to say it—I love it. “I tempted you, Mr. Kane.”
“You wore that little skirt, and you paraded around in front of me all day, knowing I couldn't take you.”
“I did, Mr. Kane. I'm sorry.”
“You need to be punished. Ten strokes.”
I brace myself, holding tight to the edges of the ottoman, and hold my breath. Maxwell doesn't wait. He brings his hand back in one smooth motion and crack—
“One.” I count out loud. My voice is getting steadier with every one of these delicious punishments. His hand comes down again. “Two. Three...”
My ass is on fire by the time he's finished, and I'm trembling, I want him so much. He runs a hand down my spine. “Good girl.” Then he slips his hand between my spread legs, and I can hear his wicked smile in his voice when he speaks. “You like to be punished.”
“I do, Mr. Kane.” My voice hitches, his hand working between my legs, but I do my best to hold my position.
“I'm going to do more than that tonight. You need to learn, kitten. You need to learn that you're mine in every way.”
I bite my lip. I want to ask him how I'm going to learn that, but that's not part of this game of control that we play.
“We're going to begin now. Reach back.”
24
Maxwell
Emma hesitates for only the barest instant, then reaches back, tentatively. With her head turned to the side, I see the little furrow in her forehead and a hot spike of anticipation pierces through me. It's clear that she's never done this before.
I take her hands in my firm grip and press her palms against the creamy, firm flesh of her ass, watching her mouth move into a round O of realization.
“Spread for me, kitten.”
She does, revealing a perfectly pink crinkled hole. Her breasts are pressed against the surface of the ottoman, and the pose arches her back so perfectly that it's all I can do not to fuck her right this moment.
I reach between her legs again to find her pussy even wetter than it was before.
“What do you think it is that I'm going to do to you?” I can't disguise the growing excitement in my voice.
Her hands t
ighten on her ass, and she takes a big breath before she answers. “I think—I think you're going to fuck my asshole, Mr. Kane.”
She sounds breathless with a combination of excitement and nervousness, and I move around the side of the ottoman, stroking my hand down the back of her neck, dropping my voice. “If you want to say no, say it now.”
Emma presses her lips together, not releasing her grip on her ass, and gives me a wicked little smile. “I'm not going to say no, Mr. Kane. I want to be yours. In every way.”
I move behind her and stroke the pad of one finger down the cleft between her cheeks, settling it firmly on her hole. She tenses underneath my touch, but holds her position. “You submit to me so sweetly, kitten. But it will be easier if you relax.” I rub her rosebud in little circles until she settles down. Then I reach between her legs with my other hand and toy with her clit. This really relaxes her, drawing a little moan from her lips.
Underneath the ottoman, I've stored a small bottle of lube, and I reach for it and flip the top open while I rub circles around her clit. She gasps when I pour some of the cold cream directly on her hole, but gives herself over when I start working it in with my thumb.
She's so ready that it takes hardly any time at all before she's gritting her teeth, breathing hard. “Mr. Kane--”
“Yes, kitten mine?”
“Please—”
This is too much. Emma is too much. She's perfection in human form.
“Please what?”
I keep my tone even and low, drawing it out of her word by word.
“Please...take me.” Color floods her cheeks, like she can hardly bring herself to say the words. I wait, knowing she won't be able to stay silent for long. “Please take my asshole. I want to be yours. All yours. I can't wait much longer...”
In response, I push my thumb inside of her, up to the first knuckle. She might be desperate to be claimed, but her body betrays her, her muscles clenching tight around my thumb. “Relax, kitten,” I command her in a tone that straddles the line between firm and gentle, and in my hands she relaxes again, my thumb swallowed up by her hole.
“Oh, it feels—it feels—”
“Tell me.”
“It feels so big.”
“That's just my thumb...”
I let the suggestion linger in the air, then pull it out and replace it with two fingers. Emma is already responding, already learning to relax and let me be in total control of her, and though she sucks in a breath at the thicker span, she doesn't complain, just rocks her hips back toward me, taking my fingers in. She's breathing faster, harder, with every moment that goes by, and she lets out a muffled, “Please, please...”
Emma is dripping wet. My other hand is coated with her juices, and she's slick and hot to the touch.
I unzip my pants and let my cock spring free.
It's much larger than my fingers, but she can take it—I'm absolutely confident.
I withdraw my fingers and press the head of my cock to her hole, and finally she can't hold on any longer, letting her grip on her cheeks release and bracing herself against the ottoman.
“Push back against me, kitten. Push back...”
She obeys instantly, and her hole expands around the head of my cock. Emma groans as her body begins to accommodate my thickness, and she sways her hips from side to side, working herself backward. My hands on her hips, I press her back.
The head of my cock pops in, and she jerks her head up, breathing hard. I knead her lower back, murmuring sweet nothings until she relaxes again.
She’s so tight, so ready, that the only thing I pause to do before I press more of myself into her bottom is to pour some more lube over my shaft.
Emma gasps when another inch of me slides into her breaching the tight ring of muscle, but then she's rocking her hips again, more and more of me disappearing into her as she lets out little moans. I'm shocked that her petite frame can take me in like this, but I'm relentless—it feels so damn good that I'm not going to stop for anything.
And she doesn't want me to stop, either. Her moans turn into begging, then back into moans, until her ass is pressed firmly against my hips.
“Oh, my God.” I say the words through gritted teeth, because her muscles are like a vise, massaging my shaft while I pulse inside of her.
“Fuck me, Mr. Kane,” she cries. “Fuck me!”
I don't disappoint her.
With one hand on her clit, I draw my hips back out a few inches and then slam back into her, her body rocking forward with the force of it. It's such unbelievable pleasure that I don't last long, twenty strokes at most, and my fingers have worked their magic—Emma comes hard, muscles gripping my cock, and it pushes me over the edge, tumbling into ecstasy.
25
Emma
Every time I wake up that night, turning over in Maxwell's bed, against silken sheets and pillows that make me feel intoxicated by his scent, the tenderness of my ass reminds me that I belong to him now. He's claimed every part of me, and I'm his. I'm his in a way that I've never been for any other man, and I never want this to end.
It takes a while for the waves of giddiness to settle, for me to fall back to sleep each time. I keep pressing my face, cheeks hot from my excitement, into the cool side of the pillow. It takes all of my strength not to get up and dance around the bedroom while Maxwell breathes easily on the other side of the bed, his chiseled face relaxed in sleep.
I'm on cloud nine.
Part of me is a little embarrassed. I let Maxwell Kane punish me. I let him fuck me in the ass, and I liked it. No, I loved it. I never expected to feel that way about such a dirty act. It was never the kind of thing I'd have considered doing with any of my college boyfriends, few that there were. But to be taken by a man like Maxwell...
It was like nothing I've ever experienced before.
The spanking we've gotten into over the last couple of weeks was new, too, but in the back of my mind, ever since I started to be with men as an adult, I've wondered what it would be like to be in the hands of someone so dominant. Turns out, I like the sensation of my bottom cheeks stinging. It makes me wet, wetter than anything else ever has.
But to have him inside me in such a hidden place, untouched by anyone else...
It's never going to be over between us. I know it now, with a kind of unshakeable certainty. Even if we're forced apart—and I don't know what could do that, other than—
That's a thought that keeps me awake for at least an hour, and again the next night.
There's nothing that could tear us apart except a problem at Pierce & Harwood. Now that I know how important his job is to Maxwell, I can't take it lightly. The force of my love for him might not be enough to help him heal from the wound of letting himself down. And, in a way, I'm sure he'd see it as letting his mother down, too. I can't let that happen.
For the rest of the week, I'm absolutely dutiful about keeping things coolly professional. I save all of my flirtation, all of my lust, for the evenings and nights at his condo. I stay all weekend, never going home for anything. On Sunday afternoon, I mention missing my favorite lounge shorts, and rather than going back to my apartment, he goes out and buys three of the same pair, tucking them into the drawer I've claimed as mine, with a satisfied smile.
It's hard to keep the flirting in check at Pierce & Harwood, though, and on Wednesday afternoon, as we're preparing for an appearance in court, Maxwell sighs and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. He looks across the desk at me with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.
“This is torture.” His voice is low and measured, as if he's just commenting on something in the case files. I keep my face carefully neutral, even though the hum of his voice through the air makes me wet. I can't help it. I want him that much. So much that even when I'm doing my best not to show it, my body betrays me. “It's absolute torture, Emma.”
I could waste time by asking him what he means, but I know. I raise my eyebrows a fraction of an inch, letting the hint of a smi
le come across my lips. “But after we leave work, we can make up for it.”
He frowns for a moment, then lets the smile creep back onto his face. “You're not wrong about that. But the days are getting longer and longer.”
I flip over the paper on top of the stack in my lap for the benefit of anyone who might be walking by. “What is there for us to do about it?”
“I don't know.” Maxwell's gaze is locked on mine, and a shiver of fear runs down my spine. Is this it? Is this the point where I'm finally becoming less of a novelty, just another co-ed fresh out of law school and ready to be discarded? Is Maxwell going to tell me that we should just end this now, and that this isn't worth risking his senior partnership over?
The silence hangs between us, and I swallow down the lump rising in my throat. “It's not easy for me, either.”
Instantly, his eyes are filled with concern, and he leans forward, lowering his voice even more. “Kitten—Emma, I don't want you to be worried. We're going to figure this out. I was only acknowledging that being with you—” A smoldering grin lights up his face. “Being this close to you and having to pretend that nothing is going on between us is getting harder by the day.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against my cheek, then settles his hand back onto the surface of the desk. His touch has left a burning trail against my skin, but my heart feels more at ease.
“All right,” I say, my voice small and quiet, and then I clear my throat. “This witness statement is missing a few details, but I think we can address those in—”
I force myself to focus on the papers in front of me, and we go back and forth on the answers until it's time to leave for the courthouse. Every time I look at Maxwell, he gives me a reassuring smile, but as we step out of the building and head for the parking ramp, I can't deny the cold pit of anxiety sitting deep in my gut.
26
