HARDER: An Erotic Romance

by Jorja Tabu

  “What did you do?” Lisa had to know he hadn’t hurt anyone. She took another step back, and he seemed to notice he was frightening her, and the edge in his voice grew sharper.

  “We were working on a collaborative marketing proposal,” Mr. Yamamoto said, taking a step away from her. “She stayed late with me, one night, and to my surprise, she kissed me.” Lisa watched him as he walked back to his windows. “She kissed me, and then...She told me to bite her tongue next time. So I did. And the next night, she told me to pull her hair. So I did. The night after that, she pulled her dress down and told me to spank her until she...Until she had an orgasm.” He turned again to face Lisa, and the shame was deep on his face. “So I did.”

  “What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Yamamoto?” This was hardly appropriate office talk, but then, if she’d already quit...

  “I also had an orgasm,” he said softly, “when I spanked her.”

  “I...” Lisa was so taken aback by his honesty, so saddened by the shame in his voice, she didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know what this has to do with me quitting...If you hadn’t told me, I would never have even known--”

  “--We were found, by my father’s men,” Yamamoto continued. “I was told I was the bane of his life, his greatest shame. What kind of wife could I hope to find, if this was the type of man I would be? A monster who derives his pleasures from domination... I could not bear it. So I have taken no wife, and I have no companions but my work. And all the passion and power I would otherwise willingly pour into my dark obsessions remains here. I am, by nature, detail oriented. Intensive. Exact. But I am afraid I... I tend to treat those who work for me, both men and women... My perversion leaks out, into small things, my day to day conversations, if you could call them that--my desire to control your clothing, for example. It may not be natural. But because it is often impossible for me to know which impulse is guided by my desire for perfect work, and which is manipulated by my fearsome perversions... I apologize for my lack of professionalism, Ms. Tyrell.” He met her eyes once more. “With all of the women and men who have come before you, it was easy to focus on the pursuit of flawless work--their incompetence, for example, brought it into high definition. I was never inappropriate with them... The way that I occasionally find I am with you.”

  Lisa didn’t know how to take that--was he expecting her to be flattered? And truth be told...Lisa felt a flash of long-suppressed heat in her belly; then she remembered who she was talking to, and why. “This is not exactly appropriate either, Mr. Yamamoto.”

  “No,” he said, the sadness on his face brutally clear. “But with this information, you can now counter my demands, and couch my decisions, much more clearly than I can.” He took a deep breath, and met her eyes. “If you choose to continue working for me, I would request that you move your desk in here, with mine. I apologize, but I cannot have our conversations discussed or overheard by our...colleagues. Additionally, I will triple your salary.”

  “Triple?” Lisa was sure she hadn’t heard him right.

  “Yes,” he said, clearly indifferent, as if the money were nothing. And to him, it could be that such an amount really was nothing. “Half of the raise would be covered as part of your promotion, and half of it would come directly from me.”

  “Why?” Lisa stared at him.

  “Because...” He momentarily looked down at his desk, then met her eyes once more. “Because you will be working with me as a personal consultant, on a personal problem.” Yamamoto wiped his forehead elegantly with a silk kerchief and stood upright. “The company need not pay for that service, as it will benefit solely myself. Our Human Relations department will negotiate it all, if you wish them to create a new contract.”

  Triple the salary. Triple. Just for getting to be honest with her boss. Holy shit. “If I’m understanding you correctly, you want me to parse your work-centric idiosyncrasies from your personal ones, with regard to your conduct towards me? And tell you when you’re...inappropriate?”

  “Well said.” Mr. Yamamoto allowed himself a small smile, but it faded. “I understand why this could hardly be appealing for you.”

  “I’m going to be direct with you, sir,” Lisa said. Her hands were shaking, she was so excited. “I can tell you have a lot of shame regarding your sexuality,” she told him bluntly, “but I’m not going to put your feelings ahead of my comfort. Is that clear?”

  “A given,” he said, and she saw his shoulders visibly relax. “Does this mean that you accept my proposal?”

  She did. Lisa had Chatty Kathy and her merry band of gossips help her bring her things into the vast office within the hour, and had her paperwork strait with HR by the end of the day.

  The list looked like it might get a bit longer.

  -----

  “You’re late,” Mr. Yamamoto said as Lisa walked into the office the next morning. His tone was familiar--gruff, sharp. She relaxed. After their long conversation yesterday, she’d been afraid he would treat her differently, somehow, and not in the way she’d requested. She didn’t like surprises, and she didn’t want her job to suddenly shift entirely into some kind of unwelcome babysitting gig. A very well paid babysitting gig, but none the less. She thought she’d known Yamamoto well--as well as anybody can know their uptight, super-model, half Japanese BDSM loving boss, anyway--and his gruff tone told her things should stay the same.

  After Lisa relaxed, though, something else unexpected happened: she was disappointed.

  She hadn’t felt it coming, that twist in her guts; it flew out of nowhere and made her helpless, and even worse, incredibly lonely. Was she actually attracted to Yamamoto?

  Especially after knowing what he liked?

  All those times he’d criticized her shoes, or her hair, or said something about the way she bent down to pick up a pencil, or opened the drapes, or arranged her desk... Each of those moments, in her mind, had been a small plague of nonsense that her anal retentive boss paid too much attention to, and nothing more. Now, she looked back over them with new eyes. Had he been hitting on her, in his own way?

  Chatty Kathy certainly thought so. She’d said as much the first time Lisa had complained about Yamamoto’s bizarre commentary on her fashion choices, hoping it would ingratiate her to the merry gossips. Instead, they’d simpered at one another, and Kathy looked her over from head to toe and muttered something about how she hoped Lisa got tipped. Lisa’d shrugged it off, at the time. She didn’t want to think about it too much, because it involved Kathy, but...

  Yamamoto. He was hunched over a portfolio on his desk, absently swirling a glass of water with lime in it as he perused the files; the morning light made him seem ethereal, like a stern angel carefully regarding the records of some penitent sinners. Lisa felt another wave of embarrassment when she realized she’d been staring at him, and yet another when she remembered why. Did she want all of his petty antagonisms to mean more than they had at the time? Did she want him to hit on her?

  Ridiculous. Stop thinking about this, she told herself. Only a dumbass sleeps with their boss, let alone Ken Yamamoto. She reached over and turned on her radio before bending over the day’s tasks spread over her desk.

  “No,” he said quietly, and Lisa snapped her head up to look at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said no.” Yamamoto continued to go over the thick binder in front of him, the lime making a slow circle in his glass.

  “Would you be more specific, sir?”

  “No noise. No rustling, no music.”

  Lisa was at a loss. She always worked with music--she needed music. How could he bear the silence in this room? It would make each minute here crawl by. “Sir, I like to work with music, is there any way--”

  “--No. No headphones, either, I can still hear it even with them on.”

  “They seem like a reasonable compromise, sir.” She kept her voice even.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, finally looking up at her. The amber color of his eyes made it seem like he
was burning inside, but his voice was stiff and cold. “No.”

  Lisa took a deep, frustrated breath.

  It got worse as the day wore on. She’d been glad to leave the other women behind, but by three o’clock she was beginning to regret her decision. He’d asked her to take her shoes off, as the clatter they made on the marble was too distracting. When the afternoon sun beat down on her desk through the window, he’d refused to pull the blinds. He said she chewed too loudly during lunch.

  She was ready to quit all over again.

  But as Lisa stewed in her thoughts, thinking of myriad clever and witty ways to wound him as she waltzed out the door, she realized something: dealing with his constant critiques and redirecting them productively was part of her new job. He was paying her a lot of money to tell him when he was crossing the invisible line between them, and she wasn’t doing it.

  She didn’t know how to do it.

  Yamamoto had carefully explained that he treated her differently than he did other employees; he’d said that he couldn’t tell himself which requests and demands were borne from actual need and which were part of his...other need. She felt a flush creep up her neck as she saw how completely they were intertwined, his desire for control and submission looping together infinitely--and there she was, caught in the middle. How was Lisa supposed to know when he was pushing the envelope not because of a deadline, but because of his desire to dominate? Lisa couldn’t tell. She just knew when he pissed her off.

  An idea seized her. It was reckless, and unorthodox. It might end up costing her this job.

  On the other hand... She noticed a flutter of heat between her thighs, something she hadn’t felt in years, and decided she didn’t care about the risks. She’d been ready to walk yesterday; if this didn’t pan out, she was still ready to go, Lisa decided. Better with a bang, right?

  No pun intended... The wave of heat lapped her belly again, and she took a minute to steady herself. “Sir,” Lisa said, carefully putting her heels back on and standing up, “I have an idea.”

  He didn’t look at her. Lisa quietly walked towards him, using the soft click of her pointed heels on the marble that accompanied each step to get his attention. It worked almost immediately. “I thought I told you--oh.” He blinked up at her; Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and wore the same expression she had yesterday. In a flash, he was too. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” His eyes fluttered over her for the briefest second, and then he covered his mouth with his hand, regrouping. She realized her close physical presence unnerved him, and it gave her some strength. She could handle this situation. This was nothing, compared to Southside. He wouldn’t be this nervous if she had no power.

  “Sir, I have an idea,” Lisa began, and then she told him about her research on BDSM from the night before, and that she felt things weren’t quite going as either of them planned. “I do not do shoddy work,” Lisa finished, arching her eyebrow, “as you know. I’m not planning to start now.”

  “What do you suggest, Ms. Tyrell?” Mr. Yamamoto leaned back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head; his long torso stretched out and she could see the muscles in his chest roll as he lifted his arms. He didn’t seem to notice her looking--thank God--but she wondered at the change in body language. He must want to fix this, she thought. He’s asking me for help.

  Too bad the only real solution was so inelegant. “I need to get a sense of what provokes you.” She waited for him to understand, and watched the expression on his face change from curiosity to wariness.

  “I don’t think I get what you mean,” he said, but from the way his lip trembled, she knew he had.

  “I need to know what turns you on,” Lisa said softly, allowing herself a small smile, “and more importantly, what turns you off. Right? So for the next three days, I’m going to wear what I want, eat how I like, and do whatever feels right for me. And sir, I want you to do the same.”

  “No,” he said immediately.

  “Yes,” she said, and felt herself growing moist at the look of mingled fear and desire on his face; she had him. She needed to make sure he didn’t have her, though. What was going on with her body? “What are you so scared of? I’m not the lady who told you to bite her, sir.”

  “No...” He said softly, his eyes mellowing. “No, you’re not.” Lisa couldn’t say if that was a compliment, lament, warning, or prayer. It didn’t matter.

  “We’re not going to go crazy. This isn’t a brothel,” she said, lightening the words with a smile. “There’s next to no chance of an...incident, right? I’m here to help you, and I think you know that. That door over there is locked all day, the only window facing the corridor is smoked glass. And we don’t have anything to hide anyway. We’re just going to get to know each other, okay?”

  It took him a moment to respond, and when he did, his eyes were once again the color of fire. “That’s not part of your contract, Lisa,” he said softly.

  “That’s what’s necessary for me to fulfill it, sir,” she answered.

  -----

  It had seemed simple enough yesterday, but as Lisa rifled through her closet the next morning she felt pangs of fear. What was she thinking? That she’d dress up like a strumpet, strut into his office, and... And what? The pictures she’d seen while researching online had been provocative, some of them even frightening; was that what she wanted?

  You’re just bored, she told herself. You haven’t had sex with someone in fifteen years, and he’s handsome, and respects you... And he’s your boss. So just pick out some clothes that won’t make the biddies gossip too much, pack a salad for lunch, and get it over with.

  Fifteen years. Lisa was stunned into stillness for a moment, the black silk sheath in her hand forgotten. Fifteen years.

  It was true. She’d never thought it--never allowed herself to think it, but Jarris’s father was the last man she’d been with. When that ended, Lisa decided to focus on her children and getting out of Southside. She’d worked diligently, relentlessly, and devoted whatever she had left to giving her loved ones the best life she possibly could. Lisa’s life was nothing but family and work.

  Fifteen years.

  No wonder she was getting all hot and bothered. It would pass, she told herself, smoothing her skirt in the mirror. This was just new and exciting now; in a week it would be old hat. Lisa picked at some imaginary lint on her shoulder. She’d allowed herself a pair of black satin pumps, a red calf-length skirt, and a form fitting black knit shirt. Underneath, just to amuse herself, she supposed, she wore sheer black lace-top thigh-highs and a black satin bra and panty set. Lisa bought them four years ago, when she’d been picking out a new outfit for her interview with Mr. Yamamoto. It seemed appropriate, in a way, and she hoped it would give her some confidence.

  Lisa gave herself one last look and headed out the door. It was going to be a long day.

  When she got to the office, coffees in hand, the merry band of gossips oohed and awed over her outfit; she knew it was just the color of her skirt. Lisa never wore anything but black, white or grey. Anything else felt dangerous; it might draw attention to some unnoticed flaw that Mr. Yamamoto would immediately latch on to--a wrinkle, a richer texture than he liked, a glare. Lisa smoothed her skirt nervously with her palm as she tried to concentrate on the ridiculous nonsense Chatty Kathy babbled about between gulps of coffee, but it didn’t help. She should just go in there and get it over with.

  The list was different today. It was a series of questions, and none of them had answers.

  What if he fires me?

  What if he doesn’t fire me, but threatens to give me a miserable reference if I leave, so I’m trapped here?

  What if he made the whole thing up to keep me from leaving?

  What if I go in there, thinking I’m running the show because I get to wear my own clothes, and he still treats me like shit?

  What if he doesn’t even notice I look different? Somehow, this thought horrified her even more than the others; when Lisa r
ealized this, she felt that same flush of embarrassment that had accompanied her arousal the day before. It was getting to be a familiar sensation. Too familiar, in fact.

  If I can be so accepting of his sexual desires, Lisa suddenly thought, why can’t I accept mine? She realized the others were laughing and made herself smile so it seemed like she’d been listening. Because I’m still his employee. Because he’s paying me to help him, not the other way around.

  But isn’t that part of the problem? Maybe the kind of help he needed wasn’t all about changing his work demeanor... Maybe if he had the kind of acceptance they were both apparently denying themselves... He’d stop being such a bully. He’d have an outlet that wasn’t inappropriate.

  That’s not part of your contract, Lisa, she heard him say in her head; it took her a second to realize he’d never said her first name before. She remembered the sight of him as he’d leaned back, taking her in with his fire-lit eyes, long elegant muscles pulled taut under his fitted shirt.

  There it was again--that wave of heat.

  She did want him. And if not him, something. Lisa decided right then that to do her job, she had to take this experiment as far as it could go. They’d already blurred the lines between personal and professional as far as they could, conversationally... And again, what did she have to lose? Hadn’t she been about to walk out the door anyway?

  A new question occurred to her, and Lisa was surprised she hadn’t asked it of herself when she’d carefully chosen her clothes, or looked at those pictures on the internet, or felt the heat Yamamoto’s eyes planted in her belly: what did she have to gain? The only answer was an ache too deep to acknowledge. Not here, in front of Chatty Kathy. Not in front of the band of merry gossips. Lisa put the thought away, but she knew it was going to gnaw on her from the inside if she didn’t deal with it, and soon. She gave them all an apologetic smile and looked up at the clock before waving goodbye and walking down the long corridor that lead to the office. If she was lucky, Mr. Yamamoto would have a morning meeting and she could have a private one with herself. She needed to close this wound a little bit before she saw his face. His eyes. His sleek, black hair, his smooth, flawless skin, tan and perfect along his muscular arms. The ache united with the heat in her belly to give her a moment of exquisite pain, rocketing from the folds of her pussy to her chest; what was happening to her?