by Ava Claire
I hadn’t touched her or told her my dark needs and already I craved her. I was about to put the final nail in the coffin and take what I wanted.
I powered forward, protests, common sense, my company, all fading to black. I was just a man. A Dom. And I couldn’t explain it, but I knew she would be mine. It was confirmed when I heard her gasp. It wasn’t a sound filled with fear. It was the sound of surprise. Of being overcome with arousal.
“Mr. Whitmore, I can’t,” she whispered.
Can't? Oh, but she could. My fingers shot to her waist, need electrifying my fingertips. I let desire take the wheel. The clasp was unhooked first and the zipper was next. I needed to unwrap her; see the beauty that lied underneath.
In my haste, I realized that I hadn't prepared myself for just how breathtaking she would look because when her skirt fell away, exposing the unchartered territory of her skin, the warm tones contrasting with the scarlet richness of the lace panties she wore, I had no breath at all. No words. Nothing but a moan that clawed its way from the depths of me and wanted to pour from my lips. I got ahold of myself before it got much further than my throat. She looked good enough to eat, and I could picture her splayed on the bed, spread eagled and bound, dripping wet with excitement for what was to come. Waiting for me to dive my tongue inside.
I had a flash of pause, forcing my gaze from those delicious panties and back to her haunting eyes. I still couldn't put my finger on why I knew this woman was meant to be mine, but it had something to do with her eyes. One look and I would know if this was my dick doing the talking, or if there was truly something here worth exploring.
I looked...and I saw it all in her brown eyes. Excitement: blistering hot and setting her gaze on fire. Want: brazen and commanding. Fear: embarking on something erotic with a total stranger.
It was all I needed to cut the last string of doubt and I finished the job of removing all obstacles to her naked body. Her blouse joined the skirt on the floor. Just as my eyes began drinking in the lush curves of her breasts, she crossed her arms defensively against her chest.
I couldn't help but laugh. We'd only just met, but the similarities between us were startling. Both knowing what we wanted, what we needed; both holding onto fear. Choosing apprehension instead of the thing we clearly desired.
I'd hoped the chuckle would alleviate the tension, but her eyes narrowed and she ducked around me, snatching up her clothes. Her movements were jarring. Insolent. I responded in kind.
"What do you think you're doing?" I practically growled.
"Leaving," she spat. "You know, that thing one does when they no longer want to be someplace."
Touché. I smiled inwardly, wanting her all the more. Throwing my own sarcasm right back at me—Leila had fire. It wasn’t the grating defiance of bratty submissives I'd played with; mouthing off because they wanted to be spanked. She mouthed off because she wanted to be respected.
I knew in that moment that there was no way I would let her get away. I knew her skirt was stuck beneath my shoe, but I towered above her, a smirk taking possession of my lips. She glared up at me and I lifted my foot, taking a small step backward. This was going to be fun. "We both know you're not going anywhere, Leila."
"Is that right?" To illustrate just how wrong she thought I was, she shimmied her way back into her skirt.
"That's right," I answered smoothly. "The starting salary of a research aide at Whitmore and Creighton is more than generous, you'll get behind the scenes access to the meatiest public relations catastrophes in the world, and we have an excellent benefits package."
She zipped her skirt with a snort that would usually garner a swift result of some form of punishment, but I let it slide.
"So it's a good job." She shrugged. "And my interview involves spreading my legs? You dangle a check and health insurance like a bone and I'm just supposed to have sex with you?"
"No." I took all playfulness from my eyes. This was no game. This was the truth that hung in the air between us. A truth that wouldn't be denied. "You haven't earned sex. But you're going to submit to me because you want to."
Brown curls danced into her eyes but she swept them out of the way so I could get a good luck at how infuriatingly sexy her stubbornness was. "I'm pretty sure I just said I wasn't interested." Despite her sharp, ‘don’t mess with me’ tone, she avoided my gaze. "I'm not a whore."
"I never said you were. But I do think you're curious."
She made the sound again, but it wasn't quite as indignant. "Curious?"
I nodded slowly. Deliberately. I was learning this woman, and I couldn't wait until I knew her inside and out. "That's right. You're going to submit to me because you're curious."
"No, I'm not." But her movements, or lack thereof, betrayed her.
"I can tell you're a woman that's used to being in charge. A leader." I took a step toward her, longing to take her when her cheeks reddened with arousal. "You're going to submit to me because you're curious about what it would be like to give everything over to someone else. You're going to do what I say because secretly, you wonder what it's like to be on your knees."
She opened her mouth to say something snarky I imagine, but the time for words had passed. I needed to touch her. I had to touch her.
I slipped a finger inside her panties, her skin soft and inviting, beckoning me. When I reached her sex, I teased her. Soft strokes that gave her a taste of what was to come, but left her wanting. She was still at first and I could tell from the way her breath ratcheted up to panting that not moving, not feeling my finger inside, was becoming impossible.
She twitched against my touch, trying to nonverbally demonstrate what she needed. It was cute, but futile. I knew what she needed, and I would give it to her when she needed it, and not a minute before.
"Stay still," I commanded.
Her moan told me that was the last thing she wanted to do and her trembling confirmed it. God, I wanted her. The wet kiss of the desire that coated her erotic flesh was driving me wild. We'd only just begun and she was already so wet. So in need. It was harder than I'd like to admit to keep my own moans at bay.
She gave in, her eyelids fluttering closed as I stroked her, but almost instantly they popped back open. Wide eyed. Heels dug in. "Mr. Whitmore-"
"Jacob," I corrected. I never allowed my submissives to call me by my name when we were in the D/s space, but I wanted to hear my name on her tongue.
Teasing her opening was no longer an option, so I dipped my finger just inside, a shudder of desire radiating through me as her body suckled me. The honey drenched me to the bone and my cock was so hard it was painful. I wanted to drive my lust inside her tightness; feel her wrapped around me.
She brought a trembling hand to mine, but her words were lost in the haze and my voice betrayed me, words thick and wild as I pushed my finger deeper. "Yes, oh God, yes!"
Her head tossed back and forth, face scrunched in ecstasy. "I think I should-" Her sweetheart mouth hung open as her moans carried us both closer to bliss.
Needing more of her, needing to see how much she could take, I drove a second finger inside her, watching her eyebrows lurch upward and her head snap backward as she ground against my fingers. Seeing her this way, giving herself to me, wild, primal, was enough to drive me mad. I hadn't even touched myself and I felt my balls tighten, filling with a need to explode. This was a morning filled with firsts: the first time I'd ever felt so instantaneously drawn to someone, the first time since I'd accepted my dominant nature and been with someone without thorough vetting and getting their name on the dotted line, and the first time I felt myself getting lost and nothing mattered but this overwhelming pleasure.
"Come for me," I growled, knuckle deep in her warmth, surrounded by the scent of her arousal and a sweet, innocent vanilla fragrance that wafted from her neck. From her breasts that rose and fell with every choppy breath she took.
The trembling became shockwaves that rocked her body and she didn't even need to say the words
because I felt it. She reached that moment of complete loss of control; where her body no longer belonged to her. It belonged to the climax.
I kissed her then, my tongue against her tongue, tasting her moans, her abandon. She was sweet and naughty and everything I dreamed she would be and more.
But she's not the only one that lost control.
My conscience stepped back into the picture and I gave her a final, chaste kiss before I pulled myself from her gushing sex. My rules, my control....they were in place for a reason.
It's what separated me from men like my father. Men who thrived on impulsiveness. Who chose selfishness over all else.
Which was exactly what I'd just done.
A few moments ago I couldn't take my eyes off her. I wanted to make her let go. Make her surrender. Make her mine and watch the pleasure unravel her from head to toe. Now, I avoided her gaze, wiping my fingers with a handkerchief as she put her clothes back on.
I cautioned a look in her direction and my heart balled into a fist. Without uttering a syllable, I knew she wanted me to say something. To tell her what was going on in my head. I couldn’t face the shame rendered me speechless.
She spoke first. "Mr. Whitmore-"
"If you follow the stairs, you'll find your way back to the lobby." I turned from her, but I could still feel her wetness. Taste her lips. The fact that losing control with a virtual stranger not only felt freeing but right just made the ache in my chest grow. "I lost myself, Leila. It won't happen again."
Chapter Three
I told myself as soon as I stepped into my office that I would put Leila and our time in the stairwell behind me. Technically, I didn’t break that rule, because instead of shooting to the top floor where my office looked out on the city, I went to the fifth floor where Maria Delacourt and her team took care of hiring and firing and other personnel issues.
The receptionist behind the desk perked when I stepped through the glass doors, and when she realized who I was, she dialed the charm up to 1000.
"Mr. Whitmore! Gorgeous tie."
My tie was simple, black, and decidedly not gorgeous. Instead of shooting down the compliment, I gave her a cordial nod. "Thank you-"
"Marissa," she interjected, flashing me a blindingly white smile. "Marissa Collins."
I hadn't been on my way to asking for her name, but I just cleared my face of all emotion but business. "Could you please inform Mrs. Delacourt that I will be sitting in on her next interview?" I knew the manilla folder resting at the edge of her desk was Leila's file, so I swiped it and made my way into the conference room.
I flipped it open and couldn't help but smile. A bold, powerful header. Sharp angles and thick lines. In a sea of applicants that just faded into one another, this one caught your eye.
I picked the chair in the center, dropping the folder on the table in front of me and adjusting my tie. The quick, precise movement usually cleared my head and I could put aside all else but being professional, but my mind was elsewhere. I was back in that stairwell, Leila pushed up against the wall, her eyes simultaneously throwing daggers and daring me to do the thing we both craved.
I glanced down at my crotch and shook my head. What the hell was I doing? I didn't sit in on interviews. I was nursing what was sure to become an uncomfortably snug erection and seeing her—that wild hair, those eyes, those lips—would just push me further into insanity.
I closed the folder, deciding that when I walked away the first time, I'd done the right thing. Any woman that had me this undone would be more headache than I could deal with right now.
The oversized wooden door creaked open and I held my breath. When I saw Maria's face, I exhaled. My relief was short-lived because me leaving the interview room now would be even stranger than showing up in the first place.
Maria remained at the door. She was a woman used to calling the shots, and was clearly no fan of another alpha dog staking its claim.
She flashed me a tight smile that matched the fierce salt and pepper bun at the crown of her head. "Mr. Whitmore, how lovely to see you. I wasn't aware you would be attending the interview, or I would have had Marissa make you a more thorough work up on the applicant."
Heat rocketed through me, recalling just how thorough I'd been with the applicant just a little bit ago. "I had a last minute opening and I thought I'd branch out and see what stellar applicant had caught your eye."
The battle lines on Maria's face softened as she glided toward the table. With the bun and her perfect posture she seemed well suited for gliding across the stage in a leotard and ballet flats. I knew that her career choice, human resources, was a godsend for Whitmore and Creighton. With her at the head of the department, we'd assembled a powerhouse team whose skill was unparalleled...and she knew it. Still, she accepted the compliment gracefully, even though I was stepping on her toes.
"I definitely appreciate you taking the time," she said congenially, easing into the seat beside me. "Her name is Leila Montgomery. Marissa told me she's ready, so we'll begin shortly." She cleared her throat and put her hands palm first on the table, then dropped them to her lap, then brought them back to the table.
Reading her body language, I offered the folder to her.
"Oh, that's okay-"
"I'm just here as an observer," I assured her.
It was just a folder, but it was also a peace offering and she accepted it, her taut shoulders relaxing.
The truth was far from professional. I was here because I wasn't quite ready to close the book on Leila Montgomery.
As if I'd made a wish and some genie snapped his fingers, the door swung open, banging against the doorstop. That act was enough to make Leila turn red as a tomato, but when she saw me, her eyes popped from the sockets.
The barely audible sigh from Maria told me she was less than impressed, but I found it charming. There was just something endearingly authentic about Leila.
Before I started swooning like an idiot, I forced away the desire to smile and turned my face to stone. When Leila bit her lip, I knew my eyes would give away my instant need to ravage her so I set my gaze on the folder, remembering our reason for being here in the first place.
"Quite an entrance, Miss Montgomery."
"Sorry." I knew she meant it, and she rushed to recover. "I just want to say that I-"
"And quite an impressive resume." It was the truth. She was Ivy League educated with a 4.0 GPA, and was involved in numerous clubs and charities. I think a part of me hoped I'd see something fallible, some chip in this perfect fantasy I'd created around this mystery woman, but the more I read the more I realized that she was even more interesting that I'd first thought. Control was clearly very important to her too which just magnified my desire to make her mine. Since that was a recipe for trouble, I doubled down. "Student council, honor society, president of several clubs." I sighed, flipping the folder shut. She was laughably overqualified for the position she was interviewing for. "I'd say the only thing missing is Girl Scout troop leader or savior of abandoned kittens."
"Excuse me?" she said, looking ready to step in the ring.
"Your university accolades are commendable, but this isn't a job for Most Likely to Work Herself Into an Early Grave," I said coldly. I needed that subarctic temperature to cool off the fire that burned in my belly as she looked at me defiantly. She wasn't doing anything more than standing her ground and it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. "You are aware that the position you're applying for is the research aide?"
"Yes."
"A position you are extraordinarily overqualified for?"
"Yes." She stepped forward. "But I believe that-"
"Perhaps you believe that this could be a starter job." I committed to the terse role I was playing, making quotation marks with my fingers when I said 'starter'. "Something to whet your appetite until something juicier comes along."
One word and the jig was almost up. Juicier. I knew there was a part of her that flowed like honey, and from the way her lips
quivered, that word was affecting her too.
I doubled down. Focus. You're the CEO. You can't be undone, even by her. "I'm flattered that you chose Whitmore and Creighton to pop your cherry, but I have no interest in training you, then biding our time until you inevitably leave us for a position better suited for your extensive resume."
And with that, I knew I'd gone too far. I could see it in her face, and I wasn't proud of myself. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her.
Prepared to leave before I did anymore damage, I leaned toward Maria, wanting to whisper that I was sorry for interrupting her process, but Leila's clear, authoritative voice cut through my words.
"Clearly you hold this position in high esteem, Mr. Whitmore."
I almost blurted that I was going to leave Maria to handle the rest of the interview, but she didn't wait for me to get the words out.
"Why else would the boss sit in on the interview of a lowly research aide?"
Touché. And if that comeback wasn't saucy enough, she sauntered to the seat in front of the conference table with a look on her face like she was the one giving the interview.
"I know I'm overqualified Mr. Whitmore, but I'm a perfect fit for this company. You're the best at what you do, and as far back as I can remember, I was the best. I am the best." She commanded my attention, and didn't let go. "I'm applying for the research aide position because it was the only opening you had. I'm passionate about publicity and if I have to scrub toilets to work at the most progressive, tenacious PR firm in the world, so be it. Because I can't stop, I won't stop until I get exactly what I want."
My God. I wasn't sure whether I should kiss her, cheer her on for a hell of an answer, or kick Maria out so I could bend her over the conference room table.
She blazed on. "I'll work nights, weekends-"
"That's not necessary." I cleared my throat with a rumble, knowing that I was about to stomp on Maria's toes, but there was no way Leila Montgomery was walking out of this room without a job offer. "The aide position is Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm."
