Pierced (Tall, Dark, and Handsome Book 2)

by JA Huss

  She grabs my arm as I try to walk past her. “What are you going to do?”

  I shrug her off. “I’m going to dirty-talk him until he’s rock hard and then I’m going to parade him in front of every one of his fiftieth-floor executives. Hell, I might take him downstairs and walk him past the underlings too.”

  “Myrtle,” she hisses.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the cock cage to hold up as proof. “And then I’m going to take him into his office, strip him naked, force my chastity device over his dick, lock it up, put the key in an envelope addressed to him, and dismiss him for good. I’m going to tell him it’s over. All of it. I’m going to end this little game the winner and give him my notice. Then, after the Halloween party, I’m going to drop that key into a mailbox and forget about him. Forever.”

  “Myrtle!” she hisses again. “That’s crazy! Just wait!”

  But I’m already past her, pulling my office door open.

  I’d like to see him try to have a romantic weekend with me when I’ve got his cock all bunched up inside a cage.

  This is gonna be so much fun.

  “Pierce,” I coo. “Oh, Pierce! Where are you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY - PIERCE

  I sit in the throne in my office and try to look casual. Problem with thrones is that one can only appear so relaxed. I could throw my leg over the side, but then it’d just look like I was trying too hard. Also, it’d look like I’m trying to show my dick off. I don’t wanna show my dick off. Feels like that sends the wrong message.

  The sofa. I could lounge on the sofa. I run to the sofa and assume a position of repose. No, this is no good. Now I just look like a cheesy velvet poster of a seventies porn star. Shit.

  Why is looking relaxed so damn stressful?

  In about two seconds Myrtle is going to walk in here and ‘test’ me. I can feel it. Unless she isn’t. Maybe that’s the test! Oh, Myrtle, you sneaky minx. The test was to see if I’d feel tested and react as though she’s going to give me a test when that’s the test itself! Crafty vixen.

  Oh. No. Guess not. Because here she comes. Oh, hell.

  I see her approaching from down the hall through the glass wall. Shit. There is a test after all. Oh, Christ. I can’t show her that I feel stressed about the test. Stress test. That’s what this is. Aha! OK. Stand. Maintain composure. Look casual. Read something. Grab a magazine.

  I have no magazines in here to grab. Are you kidding? This is a magazine and there are no magazines in here? Well, that’s ironic. Maybe—

  “Pierce?” she says, entering the office. Which is wildly unnecessary. A) It’s my office. And B) she knows I’m in here because she can see me through the wall. Maybe I shouldn’t answer. She hasn’t given me permission yet.

  Wait. What? What the fuck am I saying? It’s my office, not a dungeon. Oh, Jesus, she’s in my head. I can’t let her know that she’s—

  “Oh. Hey, Myr. ’Sup?” I stand and lean on the arm of the sofa, super chill.

  She blinks at me. “Did you just call me Myr?”

  “Uh… I think I may have, yes.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Copy. I shall do it no myr.” I smile. “Get it? No myr? It’s a play on—”

  “Yeah, no, I got it.”

  I give her an o-kay sign with my hand and I wink. She takes in a breath and starts walking toward me. She’s wearing typical Myrtle-at-work wear, but as she moves in my direction, all I can see is what she had on last night. The dirty, Parisian dominatrix motif. I imagine that when she looks at me all she sees right now is a dog collar and a hard dick.

  And… I kind of hate that. Not the second part. The dick thing doesn’t bother me all that much, but the first part…

  “What’s up, Ms. Rothschild? How can I help?”

  She gets close. Not so close as to cause anyone (aka Valerie) to notice, particularly, but close enough that I can smell her perfume.

  “Well, I was worried that I wouldn’t see you today. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

  “Pffft,” I scoff. “Why—Why—Why would I be avoiding you?” Not sure the stammering gives me the strongest position of authority, but—

  “I thought maybe you were trying to get out of your test.”

  “Test? Oooooh, right. The test. Y’know, I forgot all about that.”

  “Did you?”

  “Sure did.”

  I’ve never been in a Mexican standoff, as they are called, but this feels like maybe what one is. Everybody with their gun drawn, waiting to see who shoots first.

  “Well,” she goes on. “I didn’t forget.” She steps closer still. Man, she smells nice. “Because, remember, if you pass the test, there will be a reward waiting for you when you come over tonight. You are still planning to show up tonight?”

  “You betcha. Deal’s a deal.”

  “Oh, good. Because I was afraid that after last night—”

  “Deal’s a deal, Myrtle.”

  It feels like the temperature in the room just dropped about ten degrees. That last bit came out of my mouth unexpectedly cold and a more than a little harsh.

  It surprises me. I can tell it surprises her because it stops her move toward me.

  I’m not sure why I just got so stern.

  Garbage. Yeah, I am.

  It’s because… this isn’t me.

  This submissive bullshit. And, y’know, it’s fine to do it in her basement or whatever in order to honor the agreement I made with her. Because I always honor my agreements. But now she’s bringing this shit to where I work. My place of business. The company I built. And it suddenly occurs to me that hiding in a goddamn parking garage to avoid seeing someone who works for me is pretty fucked up.

  And also, what Andrew said about the lengths that I’m willing to go to for the people I love…

  I don’t love Myrtle. I’m not in love with Myrtle. I like her. She was a great assistant and I appreciate everything she’s done for me over the years, but I’m not in love with her.

  I’m not.

  I’m definitely not.

  This is just a game.

  A weird, fucked-up, totally absurd game that I’m willing to play right now because I have nothing better to do. But it’s starting to intrude too much into my real life. My everyday life.

  And out of the blue, I hear my father’s voice, in his thick, French-accented English, reminding me to never give up my power. I’ve worked incredibly hard to be who I am. To shake off all the anxiety that I had as a child, when I felt abandoned and unwanted. I’ve worked incredibly hard to earn the respect I garner. To be the man I am. To be seen the way people see me.

  I know that most of the time people see me as this bigger-than-life personality who kind of fancies himself as a twenty-first century monarch. That’s OK. That’s the role I’ve assumed in life and I’m happy to play it. It’s fun. It’s easy. And most of the time it allows me to get everything I want. I have no problem being seen that way.

  But I am not a joke. I am not a fool. And I am not someone who loses.

  I know who I am.

  And like an unexpected bolt of lightning on a clear blue day, I am now shocked into remembering that.

  I look around at the throne, the glass wall that allows me full view of my kingdom, the mountains outside my windows, and I feel pissed. You can make me simper. You can make me crawl. You can burn me and shove my dick in a tiny box (again, weird), but you do not get to walk into the sanctity of my sovereignty and push me around.

  “So,” I say. “What’s the test?”

  She looks a bit distracted now. “What?”

  “The test? You got a test? What’s the test? You said you had a test for me and that if I passed I’d get a reward tonight. Give me the test. I want to earn a reward.”

  I’m walking toward her now and she’s backing up. The heel of one of her shoes buckles a tiny bit and she almost, but not quite, stumbles. I’ve never seen her do that before.

  “Um,” she says.


  “Let’s go. Test me. C’mon. Let’s do it.”

  She reaches into her pocket and grabs at something. I can’t see what it is. She doesn’t draw it out.

  “What’s that? Whatcha got there? Is that it? Is that part of the test?”

  She doesn’t say anything. She looks a little… Jesus. She looks a little scared. And I hate it. I really do. But I can’t stop.

  “Myrtle? What are we doing? Are we doing this thing or not?”

  “I, uh… I don’t…”

  “Because honestly, I’ve lost some of my day and I’ve got work to do and a company to run and things that actually, y’know, matter to take care of. So, if we’re gonna get into it, let’s get into it so that I can get on with the business of my business and then get my reward tonight. Let’s make moves, ma chérie. Chop chop.” I snap my fingers.

  She steps back again, her brow furrowed, her chin drawn in toward her chest. She pushes her librarian glasses up the bridge of her nose. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a couple of my VPs chatting with Valerie. All three of them are trying to pretend that they aren’t looking over this way and don’t see Myrtle’s back almost pressed against the glass.

  Fuck it.

  I take another step toward her and finally stop.

  “So… Myrtle?” I say. “What are we doing?”

  She looks down at the ground and it’s almost like she’s another person. That’s fine. I imagine that’s how I look to her too.

  “Myrtle?” I ask again.

  She glances up at me. Stares in my eyes. “What are we doing?” she repeats.

  “Yeah. What are we doing?”

  She’s breathing heavily. I watch her breasts rise and fall under the blouse that’s always open one button more than everyone else’s. I meet her eyes. The way the afternoon sunlight is hitting them causes her to almost look like she’s tearing up. If I didn’t know better, I might actually believe that was the case.

  But I do know better. And I choose to believe it is not.

  Finally, after several long seconds, she says, “We’re not doing anything.”

  I squint. Draw back. “No?”

  “No,” she says. “See you tonight.”

  She reaches for the door and swings it open. She steps into the doorway and starts to exit.

  “No test?” I ask.

  She stops, turns her head to the side so that I can just see her profile, and lets out a long, jagged breath…

  “You passed. See you tonight.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - MYRTLE

  The rest of the day was a blur. A disturbing, nightmarish blur. I went back into my office and closed the door, shutting out Eden, and Valerie, and the whole damn office who all witnessed me cowering before Pierce with my back against the window.

  What the fuck happened back there?

  It’s like I… it’s like I went back in time. Became old, old Myrtle. That girl who entered her first dungeon a scared, timid wallflower.

  I just packed up my bag and left after that. Didn’t even say goodbye to anyone. Just left.

  And now I’m home, it’s dark, Pierce will be here any minute, and even though I’m dressed in an outfit I’ve always called the Queen—thick, light blue silk-jacquard corset binding me tightly with cream-colored satin ribbons and full rear-shirt made of chiffon; my breasts lifted so high they practically touch my chin; the stockings thin and silky, same color as the ribbons; hair piled on top of my head so that my silver tiara is fastened securely, and long, wispy tendrils flowing down to my shoulders like spirals; quite simply the most beautiful dungeon apparel I own—I don’t feel much like a queen.

  I look at myself in the wardrobe mirror and feel a lot more kinship with the peasant-girl outfit that got tossed with the submissive collar the minute I did the switch from bottom to top than the queen I am now.

  How did he do that?

  I don’t understand it.

  And all he did was speak. It’s not like he was holding anything over me. Not like he was threatening me with punishment. And the whole office seemed to be watching, so there was no chance of him dominating me.

  But he did. He dominated me.

  And I reacted.

  I have several justifications for this.

  One. We were at work. His kingdom. And while at work, I am his subject, just like everyone else.

  Two. He’s not a submissive. In any way. So it was bound to come out, and that’s the moment it emerged.

  Three. My power isn’t what it used to be.

  And the thing is, it’s all three of these possibilities. I was in his dungeon, he’s not a submissive, and I am not the woman I used to be.

  And there’s nothing wrong with any of those things.

  I close the wardrobe to make my reflection go away just as my phone dings a text. I glance down at the screen.

  Anastasia is here! That’s the message from Samantha at the gate.

  “Great,” I mutter. “Figures he’d be punctual.” I was hoping for a little time to figure out all my… feelings… which I’m also trying to deny I have, but that’s a luxury for another time.

  I was going to wait for him down here in the dungeon, but I’ve changed my mind. I go upstairs, get to the living room just as the lights on his McLaren switch off, and then open the door.

  Pierce is absently adjusting his coat collar with leather-gloved fingertips, looking around at the house as he travels up the long, curved walkway, looking like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

  Eden was right. #Fail.

  I have failed. And to be fair, it was doomed from the start. I made a mistake with Pierce. Well, not true. Many mistakes.

  That’s when he notices me standing in the doorway. He’s about fifteen feet away when he stops and says, “Myrtle?” with equal parts confusion and… what is that? Worry? “What are you doing? Go inside, it’s freezing out here tonight.”

  I sigh. Massive. #Fail.

  “I wanted to stop you,” I say.

  “Stop me from what?” he says, smiling. Walking forward again.

  “From coming inside,” I say. “The deal’s off, Pierce. We’re done.”

  “What? No, no, no. I passed your test. I get a reward.” He does that cute eyebrow lift thing I’ve come to love over the years. It’s a playful expression, one that says he’s in a good mood. And why shouldn’t he be? He won. Again.

  “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, you see—”

  “Can we go inside?” he says, looking down at my legs. Bare, except for the silk stockings. “It’s like twenty-two degrees out here.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “We’re not going—”

  But he grabs my hand as he pushes past, taking me with him. “Whatever’s going on, we’re not doing this outside. Come on.”

  I follow him, stopping in the large foyer, just underneath the massive chandelier, and he closes the door, once again reminding me that I’m not the one with the power in this relationship, he is.

  And the thing is—the most important thing is—he’s not doing it to make a point. He’s not trying to be a dick, or throw his authority in my face, or ask me to submit to him. Not at all.

  He’s acting this way because this is just who he is. This is just him, being him.

  “OK, now… what’s going on?” he asks. “What’s the problem?”

  It’s a thing I loved about him. The very first thing I noticed when I came in for the interview as his assistant at Le Man. He was the fresh-faced rich boy. Eager to show his father what he was made of. And I was…

  “Myrtle?”

  I was coming out of something. Something I thought I left behind a long time ago but now find myself fully immersed in once again. I wanted something normal. Something that would ground me to the real world and take me out of the fantasy life I’d been living in since I left my mother’s school and went to college.

  I wanted to reinvent myself, but not the way I did when I entered the lifestyle. Because the girl I was at the Quaker
school was something I was happy to discard. The woman I became in the lifestyle was something… else.

  “Myrtle? What’s going on?”

  I wanted to keep parts of her. Wanted to dress like her at work. Tight pencil skirts. Crisp, white button-down shirts with one too many buttons unbuttoned. Red lipstick on my full, pouty lips. Dark hair done up tight and severe, but in a way that had every man who looked at me wondering what it would look like down. And real silk stockings held up with a garter belt and ending in four-inch heels.

  “Talk to me. What’s happening here?”

  I realize he’s still holding my hand. He squeezes it.

  “Is this about today? I’m sorry, OK? I don’t know what came over me. If I scared you, then I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t scare me,” I say, my words very low and soft. “Not the way you think.”

  “What? Then… how? What’s happening?”

  “I want to apologize,” I start again. “For talking you into this when I knew this isn’t who you are. And I know better, Pierce. I shouldn’t have asked you to sign that contract, and I shouldn’t have been drinking down in the dungeon yesterday, and I should not have let my emotions cloud what should’ve been a serious, serious decision.”

  “Hey,” he says, taking my other hand now too. “We’re having fun, right? I am. I mean, yeah”—he laughs—“it was… a little bit intimidating yesterday, but I’m prepared now. I’m up for anything, Myrtle. Let’s do it.”

  “No,” I say, pulling my hands from his and folding my arms across my chest. It is cold out tonight and that cold came in with him. It’s lingering in the foyer. “No,” I say again. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  “Sure I do,” he quips. “You get to boss me around. I’ve made my peace with it. I’m fine, I promise. If this is all you need to stay at Le Man, well, I’m getting off easy. I want you there. I do. And I am sorry for this summer. I made a mistake and I’m willing to do my penance.”

  “This isn’t penance!” I say, too loudly. “It’s not a punishment! I’m doing this all wrong! I’m using you, Pierce. Can’t you see that?”