by Penny Wylder
I hope he isn’t going to show me a dungeon, although I could totally see him rocking a pair of leather pants. Kodiche is gorgeous, and being alone with him is making me fantasize all sorts of things I probably shouldn’t.
“This is the den, my favorite room here at LaManse.”
Looking around, it’s easy to see why. The dark wood paneling sets off the rich purple velvet couch and black leather chaise. The décor borders on being gothic, but it’s altogether too warm and lived in to be grim. A fireplace dominates one wall with a huge flat screen television hung above the mantle. The floor here is marble as well, but a deep, carpeted rug covers the space near the seating; it’s there to keep the occupants’ feet warm, I guess.
Mr. Lamant sits down in front of the fireplace in a plush chair that seems more throne than living room furniture. As he sinks into it, his eyes flash to me. I lock up on the spot, my heart thudding. “Kneel.” His extended finger at least offers some semblance of courtesy in offering me the option to kneel on his rug instead of the hard floor, but still . . .
“Why?” I ask. There’s a perfectly good chair opposite his. Why would I kneel when I can sit?
Narrowed eyes warn me I’ve misstepped. “Your memory is awful. Has it always been this way?” Somewhere between chiding and droll at first, Kodiche’s tone soon turns icy. “Do you not remember yesterday, Miss Robbins? How you ruined everything? You risked my company and the livelihood of your fellow employees. Every client our company loses hurts everyone.” The disappointment from yesterday is back, visible in his eyes and the slight hunch to his shoulders. I hate seeing it there.
“I still don’t get why I should kneel.” My whisper is so soft I can hardly hear it over the crackle of the wood in the fireplace.
He hears me, though. One moment he’s seated, the next he’s right in front of me. The musky scent of him, some combination of cologne and just him makes my heart race. I’m affected elsewhere, too. When Kodiche bends so that his lips are at my ear, the sudden wetness between my thighs is surprising. It’s not like I’m a virgin, but I’ve never had the time for dates.
My whole body throbs in time with his bone-rattling low whisper. “You have to kneel because you don’t know your place.” The heat of his breath fans out over my cheek. “But, Vivian,” he promises, “in seven days of my training, you’ll know it well.”
What I know already is that in seven days I’m going to need several new pairs of panties if just being in the same room is enough to get me horny like this. There isn’t much I can do but play along, not if I want to keep my job. And it’s not like kneeling costs me much more of my dignity. Watching everyone file out of our office yesterday was worse.
I kneel on the rug, my fingers curling into the plush carpet’s strands. A sound from above me could almost be—No, it couldn’t have been a groan. Looking up at him, the way he’s breathing fast and staring at me is almost unmistakable. Is he as turned on as I am? Maybe he is, judging by the bulge I can see pushing at his pants. It’s my reaction that’s more concerning. I didn’t know that submitting myself to a man was a turn on for me.
“This is how it’s going to work, Vivian.” He’s circling me, almost stalking me. He’s gone from bear to lion in the rolling way he walks. “I am going to put you through a very unique work retreat . . .” He pauses and waits for me to meet his eyes.
“This training session will last seven days. You will do everything I say. You will listen and obey.” I can almost picture a riding crop or stick in his hands, snapping down with each statement. That’s what the leading guy did in that naughty film my friends dragged me to years ago. Just thinking of it brings a blush to my cheeks.
“This is the only way you can make me believe that you will change your sloppy, unprofessional ways at work, Vivian. If you can do every last thing I ask, no matter what it is, I’ll let you keep your job. Fail . . .” He trails off with a wicked grin. “Fail and I will make it clear to everyone in town and any future job references that you are worthless to hire. It’s your fault I lost a huge client, and you’ll never find decent work in this city ever again if you can’t prove yourself for these seven days.”
I’m stunned. He’s blackmailing me? This is way more serious—way more dark—than anything I had ever expected or even thought possible. My head spins with the uncertainty of it all. Can I do this? Can I agree to do anything . . . everything . . . he’ll ask of me? Is that worth a job? I could move away, start over somewhere else, couldn’t I? That’d be safer.
It's also impossible. I'd never be able to move my dad out of the hospital and elsewhere, especially with no money.
The room spins with me, and even though I can see that everything is holding still, I feel as if I’ve been plunged under water and being twirled by the back of my neck. Each nerve twitches along my arms and legs, fighting an invisible battle with my brain as I try to find my balance. The panic attack comes on suddenly, knocking me for a loop. If I can just focus on something, anything. I try to count backwards, to find five things that I can see, four I can hear . . .
“Vivian?” I know he’s calling me, but it’s as if the fuzzy water between us is drowning me, pulling me down even harder as punishment for listening to him and not letting the panic attack win. I can almost hear the words, but the waves in my ears—the static—is louder and crashes over me. Sudden vertigo tips me over, and I’m glad I was kneeling. The fall will hurt less.
I tense, ready for the crash, but heat envelopes me before I can hit the floor. My shoulders jolt out of the fall, and somewhere beyond the weight tugging me flat and forward, I feel arms around me holding me gently until I’m laying on the rug.
Finally holding still, the attack recedes, leaving me to stare up at Kodiche who is kneeling over me, one hand on my cheek as he looks at me with this odd, worried expression. It’s out of place on his face. He doesn’t look like the cold boss who would ask me to be his robot for a week, and the heat of his hand is making my nipples tighten and letting me know that oh, hell yes, I would like to do anything he asks of me . . . Any last thing.
Blushing, I push my boss off me and scoot back on the rug.
Kodiche stands, all semblance of the worried human version of himself gone beyond the icy mask. He really is the Kodiak bear my coworkers call him.
“Your answer, Vivian?”
I try to give him a much braver smile than I’m feeling. “I’ll do it, Mr. Lamant. I’ll do anything.”
3
“This will be your room for the week, unless I choose differently.” He could just as easily be ordering takeout for a lunch meeting. Mr. Lamant opens the door to one of the bedrooms, and points out a door to a bathroom. “My room is through this adjoining bathroom, through my closet. I want you close by this entire week of training should I need you.” A hint of fire smolders in his eyes, giving me no questions what he means by “needing me.”
I have to stay the night? That is way outside my comfort zone.
“Seven days is seven full days of twenty-four hours each,” he tells me as if he read my mind. I hope he hasn’t seen all the dirty thoughts I’ve had about him.
The bed is not as luxurious as the one from the princess room I saw on my tour, but the mattress springs back when I push on it. It will be very comfortable—if he allows me to sleep on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to further humiliate me by making me sleep on the floor. “Thank you, Mr. Lamant,” I say in dismissal, hoping to have just a few minutes to compose myself.
Warmth blossoms on the back of my neck, a teasing breath exhaled across my skin. “You are welcome.” He’s so close behind me I can’t even jump at the surprise. I can smell him; I’m going to smell like him. And the heat . . . I can feel all his body heat through his shirt, and I can’t help but picture his muscles. Having had his strong hands on me, brief though it was, it’s impossible to stop the wave of desire blooming in my traitorous body.
“I picked up some items you’ll need for your first task. There are b
oxes on the desk for you. Open them.” He lets me go, stepping back just enough that I don’t have to brush against his crotch or climb across the bed to get away.
Boxes are fairly harmless, right? The white lid lifts away easily, but what’s inside makes me blush. Heels higher than I’ve ever worn, a skirt that will barely cover my ass, a tight blouse that is almost too sheer to wear out of the bedroom, and very sexy lingerie. I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything this risqué. The black lace won’t hide anything, but that’s probably the point.
My mouth goes dry, and I must be beet red as I look up at Mr. Lamant. I’m gawking, not an attractive expression, but I can’t help it. These are scandalous!
“Your first task is to learn to do what I say, when I say it. You will follow my guidelines . . . and my tastes,” he adds after a heavy pause.
I want to tell him that his tastes are really fucking dirty. Instead, I hold my tongue and debate again if this is worth my job. Not even when I was in a long-term relationship would I have worn things such as he bought for me. But, I can dress up like a slutty Barbie if that’s what he wants. It’s not like anyone else will see; we are the only ones here after all.
Sensing my acquiescence to this first task, he tells me to strip.
Strip? In front of him? “I can’t.” That’s just too much. I tell him as such, voice shaking as I tell him that stripping for him is too much.
Mr. Lamant steps aside, his muscles clenching as he points to the door. “You’re free to leave then, Vivian. If you can’t do this much, this little task, you cannot handle what I have in store for you.” He’s so calm that it’s frightening. I’d expected anger at my refusal, not indifference.
I mean, I know that he could replace me in the time it takes to pick up the phone, but to be that unwanted? It hurts.
“I’m not that type of woman,” I say. I’ve always been shy about being exposed, and even just one on one with him, this is beyond what I think I can do. Looking at the clothes, I long to be that sort of woman. Just thinking of being dressed like that for him . . . My entire body aches with desire. Confused with the lust and what he wants from me, I pick up one of the scraps of lace and drop it onto the desk. “These have nothing to do with my job.” Repeating the motion with the shoe, I don’t have the chance to drop it when a hard body pushes me into the desk.
He’s huge, dwarfing me, and he’s so close that I can feel everything: his hard body, his breath, even the thudding of his heart. Kodiche meets my eyes and somehow gets even closer without moving, like he fills up all the gaps between us. It’s overwhelming . . . and hot. It’s hard to remember why stripping for him is a bad idea. Getting naked sounds so much better, both of us naked.
“Everything I tell you to do is your job.” His voice is sweet, a sing-song tone that worries me more than the icy anger. I can’t anticipate what he wants when he speaks like this. “If you’re scared, I will help get you started.” Those hands I’d felt steadying me before unbutton the top of my shirt, and I freeze. Without even trying, he could cup my breasts. Only one person has ever done that, and it’s been longer than I care to think about. I’m so turned on that I can’t stop shaking, and I really wish he didn’t affect me like this. It’s unfair.
He undresses me slowly, admiring me with raking eyes that appreciate the lean lines and soft curves he reveals with each button. “So innocent,” he whispers as one finger accidentally brushes my nipple, making it harden.
My body jerks in response, the sharp pleasure twingeing all the way down to where I’m still covered. Being topless I feel so exposed—laid bare to him, as if he’s seeing more than my skin. He’s standing before me in his vest, shirt, and slacks, while I tremble in my underwear and unbuttoned pants. It’s unfair. Maybe if he even had an idea of what it feels like to be in my position . . .
Feigning boldness, I toss my hair back out of my face and pretend I’m not horribly mortified at what I’ve gotten myself into. “It’d help me adjust to being naked in front of you if you took off your clothes, too.” I make a small smile, the coy kind I’ve seen other women use around him during meetings when they try to flirt.
Eyeing me, he smirks but stays silent. My blush heats my face and neck, and it must be spreading down my chest as I watch Kodiche pull free his tie and then drop his hands to his belt. In a matter of seconds his shirt is undone and pulled free, the vest draped over my desk. Tattoos decorate his skin in a myriad of languages and black lines. Tribal art mixed with images, and a broken heart—the kind a teenage girl would draw on notebook paper—on his ribs. The writing there is faded and barely visible, unreadable from my position. It looks like it could be initials or a name.
His muscles are even more impressive. How can he be so fit for a guy who sits behind a desk all day? He has a six pack, maybe an eight pack, and his stomach is so flat that the veins are visible where they trail under the waistband of his slacks. Hairless, I can’t tell if he is naturally that way or waxes, and I’m disappointed when he stops his striptease.
I’ve been caught ogling him, and he is amused if anything, and arches one eyebrow as I try to lean back. He’s right there though, only an inch or two from me the entire time, and all I can think about is having that hard body pressing down onto me in bed, what it would be like to have his hands lifting me to him, and then that mouth . . . His lips are full and lush, a deep rosy shade that draws my eyes. They always have. I wonder what he kisses like? Would it be a gentle kiss, a tease, or would it be hard and demanding, making my own lips swell? What would it be like to have that mouth on my body?
I look away, blushing, not wanting him to even guess what I’m thinking about. He won’t let me live it down.
“What were you thinking?” he asks. When I refuse to answer, he grabs me by the jaw and forces me to meet his eyes. “Tell me.”
“I can’t. I don’t remember,” I lie.
He licks his lips, a hint of moisture left behind, and he smiles at me. “I think I can guess, since you are having some sort of memory problem. You want me to kiss you. No, not just kiss you. You want me bury my hands in your hair and have my way with your mouth, kissing you until you’re ready to pass out from how bad you want me to fuck you. Is that what you want?” He leans in, hovering. I could stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. I could, but if we’re going to kiss, I need him to do it. That way I can tell myself after that I was going along with what he wanted.
Kodiche’s lips are almost touching me, his nose brushing against the bridge of mine, and I part my mouth slightly in anticipation. Waiting . . . waiting . . . Silently begging him to kiss me, I know that I need to know what it’s like. I need at least that much.
He’s gone, backing off, and I’m cold as the air rushes over me in the wake of his absence. Strong hands twirl me around in a practiced motion that I won’t let make me jealous for whomever he’s done this to before. My pants are on the floor before I can catch my balance. “Stay there, hands on the desk.” Kodiche hovers behind me, and even though I’m facing away from him, I can sense when he kneels.
I’m shaking as I stand there, body held in a position that is mortifying. My ass is right there in his face as he reaches for my feet, helping me out of my flats and pants. “You have a very nice ass, Vivian.” Teasing fingers slide along the edge of my panties, barely touching me. “These panties need to go. They do not match your new outfit, and I can’t wait to see you in something more suited for your job training.”
I glance at the wetness on my panties as he whisks them down my legs. Can he see what he’s doing to me? With his forehead on my lower back, I don’t know if he can. Maybe his eyes are shut. Naked in front of him, I want him to just finish this and fucking take me. Maybe then we can just go back to the office and pretend like yesterday and today never happened.
“You’re wet, Vivian.” I hear him take a deep breath, and look down to see him holding my panties up to his face. “You smell so delicious.” Kodiche smells my underwear again. “I wonder if you taste that good,
too?” He hums, and I glance again to see him licking at the wet spot I’d made. I wish he’d go straight for the source and stop this ache I have for him.
I can’t help but want him. He’s gorgeous. He is my boss, though. This morning I thought I’d just be doing crap copies and research on new clients to replace the one I screwed up for us. I never thought I’d be kneeling, begging, and then dressing like a prostitute to keep a job that just barely makes ends meet.
He taps my foot, and I look down to see that he’s holding out the new panties for me to step into. No sex right now, I guess. That’s . . . good? I stifle my disappointment as he pulls the lace up my thighs and onto my hips, tugging until the thin band slips into my slit. He continues tugging in rhythmic pulls, making the lace strip push on my clit and tease me. It’s like pulsing touches squeezing me.
I hear the moan before I realize I’m making it. I’ve never been teased like this. Pushing my hips back for more, I try to use my body to ask for what I can’t find words to do—won’t find words to do. Faster, he uses the panties to bring me just to the edge, and then laughs, his hands moving on to their next task, dressing me in the skirt and heels, and then reaching around to settle the lace bra cups over my breasts.
He does kiss me this time, on my shoulder, an open-mouthed promise of what he won’t give me. “You have to earn it, and you’ve not been a very good listener so far. Show me you can do better, and maybe I’ll let you have this.” His cock, even harder than the muscles in his forearms, pushes against my ass as he stands. I don’t know if I have room inside me for something that size. It’s massive like the rest of him. I want to try, though, as much as it mortifies me to think of him that way. Of myself wanting someone—anyone—that way.
I barely register him turning me around. “Button yourself.” He doesn’t move away, not even as my fingers have to squeeze between his chest and mine to work the buttons through their holes. The shirt is such a sheer white that I can see the shadow of the black bra through it. He backs off, adjusting his hard-on as he does, and looks me over slowly, a head to toe look that brands me at a soul level with desire. His eyes are dark and dancing as he smiles. “There. That’s better. You look perfect.” The smirk, a cocky twist of his lips, says he knows exactly what I wanted from him and that he can manipulate me. I long to walk away, but I need this job, and my body says I need him. I need to come. Why didn’t he take me?
