Shades Of Obsession

by JR King

  “He’s here. I knew it. With the current crisis, some of Cooper’s properties fell into arrears.” He fussed with his hair, no doubt trying to make a better impression than I had. “Turner is in talks to take over this joint. He likes you, Elena, so smile.”

  I’ll kick Frederic too, collateral damage, I reasoned.

  Alexander’s forefinger was stroking against his chin, tight slabs of muscles contracting inside a three-piece, giving life to a vicarious thrill inside me. “Hi again, Ms. Anderson. Always a pleasure running into you.” The look in his eyes reminded me of a lion gazing down at prey before crushing the weak animal between its canine teeth.

  “Alexander,” Frederic, ever the diplomat, started behind me. “Apologies about the ditzy entrance. Stiletto heels. The scourge of feminine elegance.”

  Grey eyes watched me like a hawk. “Don’t be sorry, Fred. It was delectably entertaining.”

  “I’m so screwed.” Even to myself, I sounded needy. Or maybe it was because I’d inadvertently used the word screwed. All I could think about was screw me, Alexander. I’m pretty sure my cheeks were flushed. “I’m done with heels, Mr. Turner. Time to move on, don’t you think?” It made me feel good to jibe at him, you know, swallow my pride and point out the obvious.

  He just stared at me, his spine as straight as The Eiffel Tower, which made me realize I disliked the way he looked at me. It was like he could see straight through me. It sounds clichéd, I know, but it’s how I felt. Whenever he looked at me it felt like he could see how self-doubting, self-effacing I was, and I didn’t like it.

  Everyone was seated, staring at us.

  Cooper, who wore an impassive expression, gave a brief nod and said, “Mr. Turner will be joining us to unofficially evaluate the RFP.”

  Speak of the devil. He pulled out an Aeron chair. “Ms. Anderson.”

  I don’t go quietly into the night but we were here to gain a new client, so I thought to myself that if it meant I had to eat a slice of humble pie, I’d go with it. I’d get back at Alexander of course, a little later. I slid into the chair and owlishly peeked around. Except for the grayscale abstracts with splotches of monochromatic blue, the room was curiously sterile. One of the paintings on my left hand side was out of kilter.

  Disarming casualness in tact, I kept it together and said, “Chivalry isn’t dead.”

  His face impassive, he picked up, “Dead? No. Evolved? Yes.” Taking a seat, he rocked back on his chair and focused on the presentation, but I knew he was concentrating on me.

  I tried not to fidget over the next hour as not just one, but two Fortune 500 CEOs were grilling Jason, all the while smelling my left side neighbor’s cologne. It’s just a noxious fume, I kept telling myself. He was handsomely dressed in a tic weave suit, and the other women seemed enthusiastic about garnering his attention. In the end the client seemed impressed by Jason’s ability to articulate how the company operated, facilitating clients and making sure their money was well compromised. Jason explained about taxes being filed according to executive regulations, currency indexing, derivatives market, write-downs, amortization, fair value hedging, debentures, and audits in case performance curves were off.

  “You smell so good, babe,” I heard the softest of whispers. He rested an elbow on the arm of his chair and stroked his lower lip with one finger. Disgustingly I imagined his fingers stroking my own lower lip. The hairs at the back of my neck stirred.

  I couldn’t throw my bottled water in his face or we’d be fired on the spot, escorted out of the building in the most humiliating manner. Jason was a fine presenter, but I wished he sucked so Alexander would walk out of the room. Were the rumors about his sharp tongue during meetings and explosive tirades untrue? He was keen and insightful, but also unforgiving of fools. Most likely his rages, shouting matches, and outbursts were reserved for his girlfriends. I mean, let’s be realistic here, men like him were never monogamous.

  I overlooked my attraction for him and was mindful not to let him move too close. I liked studying men’s hands, especially when adorned with a classic watch, trying to imagine what they could do with their hands. Alexander’s right arm rested on the wooden surface at all times, his elegant fingers pressing rhythmically along the top. Clichéd piano player. Sexual harasser. Fucking bastard. Noodling through my evening plans, I caught a glimpse of his wrist at the end of his cuff and for some crazy reason the sight of that small expanse of golden skin with a light dusting of dark hair not only arrested my attention, but it also brought back the memory of our first evening. If only we’d fucked like animals that night, none of this would be happening right now.

  “…fantastic, where do I sign?” joked Cooper with an indulgent smirk.

  My fingers curled around the ends of my chair’s armrests.

  Alexander stood and buttoned his jacket. Not wanting to hear his explanation after the fact, I hurried toward the doorway.

  My plan backfired. “Elena, a word,” a sharp voice rang out from behind me like an executioner’s bell.

  Uncertain, but unresisting, I stopped without saying anything else. I was evenly torn between being terrified and intrigued. No denying that—whenever, wherever—his authority stirred something inside me. That’s what terrified me. That, and whatever malice he was possibly dreaming up.

  “She’s sharing a town car with us,” wheedled Adrianne, a senior associate. She was tall like Alexander, in a navy blue Zac Posen business suit, tight at the hips, tight at the bust. Her overwhelmed expression was an understatement.

  Rich and snarky Alexander: “I will provide a proper limousine for Ms. Anderson. Latest model.”

  Her pretty red mouth tightened with disapproval. “A town car is fine.”

  Since the ball was in my court, I kicked it back to the fatted calf of manipulation. “Noblesse oblige? How thoughtful, Mr. Turner.”

  Frederic waved at me. “You’re done for this year. Red dress, wear a sexy red dress tomorrow.”

  Forced to wait, I stared longingly at the door. Like traveling ants, one by one people walked out of it. I was left admiring Alexander’s behind as he walked to the door, no doubt to lock it. I’d barely snapped my attention back to his face when he turned around.

  I savored the fact that I didn’t fear him, and as of yet I hadn’t panicked. Except, both boons were teetering on the brink of ruin as he stalked toward me, his stern expression holding me in place. I didn’t mind at first, but when he came too close, it was time to play it safe with keeping a healthy distance. If you want to be on the winning side, strike first, so, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I spat.

  “I’ve got to be kidding?”

  “This is sexual harassment.”

  “You’re a few beers short of a six-pack. This is a proposal. Big difference. You’re misinterpreting.”

  I responded with a facetious bow, mumbling, “My sincerest apologies for the incorrect postulate, Your Highness.” Get the client and scram, I reminded myself. “Why the wishy-washiness? Stop this cat-and mouse game, just tell Cooper to give Frederic his capital already.” I couldn’t pretend it was remotely convincing, my voice was high and quavered, and I could feel the heat of my blush.

  He leaned closer and said quietly, “Cooper is Frederic’s bitch from now on. Dealing with incompetents isn’t on my list, and I don’t intend to add it anytime soon. I’m merging this company with mine. Happy?”

  “Happy.” He grabbed my wrist and I inhaled sharply, tearing it from his hold. I tried to shove him away but he was too strong. He pressed against my body until my back was against a wall. “Stop it.”

  “Elena.” Beneath the sharpness of his tone, there was warmth and sensuality. His finger skimmed down the side of my face, across my jawbone, until it settled in the hollow of my throat. “We both know you want me. But please keep on saying no if it alleviates your guilt.”

  “Let me go. I’ll scream.”

  “Do it. No one will hear you. The boardroom is sound-proofed.” His lips tightened into a ha
rd line.

  “Don’t do this here,” I breathed tremulously.

  “Careful, you work for me now. Do you want to go to your Christmas Party tomorrow?” The way his eyebrows arched, I could see that he didn’t.

  I went about my answer like an automaton. “Yes.”

  A low, stunningly poor swear escaped his mouth as he tugged at the spread collar of his YSL shirt. “Don’t stay too long. I want you at my party. Sara and Michael are attending.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He gave me a my-patience-is-being-tested look. “You’re not listening.”

  “Am too.”

  “Double or nothing, Elena.” I was far too trained on attention not to notice he was provoking me. I stayed stock-still. His eyes darted at the skirt of my dress, and he cocked his eyebrows, as if poking fun at my outfit.

  “Nothing. I want nothing from you Alexander.” My breathing was seriously affected. “Please don’t ruin Christmas for me. Grandma has been through a lot…I’m finally back home.”

  “Okay,” he answered rather indifferently. I felt enormous relief wash over me. I guessed I couldn’t have expected much else. The revelation that he was not, in fact, planning to wreck my holidays made me somewhat more amenable to his charm. “I won’t ruin your Christmas. How about a date? Dinner at The Cliff on the Bajan West Coast?”

  Just like that, he found a way of tearing through whatever small relief I’d attained, returning me right back to extreme unease. My anger resurfaced. “That will never happen! Stop trying to woo me.” I tried to walk away.

  “Not so fast.” He trapped me. “Don’t make me spank you.”

  When he lifted the hem of my dress, “Let go of me, you pervert,” I threatened him.

  “Do you want to be spanked? Is that it?” His gaze darkened. “While I’m not going to punish you for tomorrow’s nonattendance, I do need to address these little rebellions of yours before they get out of hand. I know you’re struggling to accept it, and though I can be a patient man at times, now isn’t one of them. I own you, Elena, and I never tolerate defiance. Stand up and bend over the table.” He gestured casually toward the edge of the boardroom conference table.

  Own me? This wasn’t happening. I couldn’t let him humiliate me like this. I was familiar with erotic spanking, but this was physical abuse. And if I did this, I would be submitting to a man, in so doing affirming I was spineless.

  “Elena.” He brushed a hand against my cheek and sighed. “I can see this is difficult for you, so I’m going to go ahead and spank you right here.”

  I started to feel the panic rising high up into my chest as my breathing quickened. He spanked me thrice. I accused him of hitting me. Oddly enough, his titillations left me breathless and crying…like a teenager caught necking in public. Feeling myself edging into a climax, I clung to him and reveled in watching his ruggedly handsome face flush because of my impending pleasure.

  “God, Elena.” His upper lip beaded with perspiration, his jaw tightening in surprise. “You’re so into this.” I felt his hot breath fan my neck, causing my nipples to harden even more. “Tell me you don’t want me to stop.” I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out. Or begging him to continue? The pleasure I was feeling seemed obscene but felt wonderful. “Don’t be so stubborn,” he whispered against my skin as he stroked my behind, “tell me you don’t want me to stop, and I won’t. I’ll spank you good. I’ll show you how good it can be.”

  “I don’t like this!”

  Yet in bed that night, my toes curled and my back arched before I was halfway through the sinful memory. He’d abused me and I was wholly ashamed at how thoroughly I’d enjoyed it. Fuck inner diremption. A heavy sense of guilt helped to weigh down my eyelids when I pulled the covers up to my chin and convinced myself I’d never meet him again.

  Followed the day of my office Christmas Party. After a pit stop in the powder room, I made my way to the reception area. Out of the blue, a woman stepped in front of me, the sequins of her gaudy cocktail gown almost blinding my sight. “Elena Anderson?” Her smile was vacuous, her voice glacial.

  For a few seconds, I stood stoic. “I…yes,” I hackled. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  “Anna Gereon. Pleasure to meet you.” She didn’t hold out her hand for a shake. Was she expecting me to kiss her feet? Mitchell’s ex-girlfriend and I weren’t dissimilar at first sight. Her haute couture clothes and diamonds disclaimed that she was impecunious, her dark hair was coiled together in a perfect bun, and the way she went about screamed conceited.

  “Mitchell mentioned dating some intern here. Hands off, we’re back together.” It was a good attempt to shock me and dominate the conversation, to coax a stupid reaction out of me. There’s always a one-in-a-million chance for an ex-girlfriend to go apeshit on the current girlfriend.

  I had thicker skin than that. I did my best to keep a straight face, and it prevailed. “Congratulations.” I marveled at how calm I sounded. How composed my body remained. I wanted to gouge her eyes out. I wanted to bite her head off.

  She puckered her brow. “I have an inclination for putting my foot in it.”

  “Trapping men with pregnancies, you mean?” I could sense her resentment, the irritation rising off her like swamp gas. “Sad. Very sad.”

  “I think Mitchell and you,” the sultriness in her voice disappeared, indicative of anger, “should have a chat.”

  Quietly stewing, I didn’t care to reply, and Anna made like she was about to leave. My eyes began searching for a friendly face. I saw Frederic standing eerily unobtrusively in the back of the room, who gave me a congenial smile the moment he noticed me.

  “I wonder how you get away with showing such exiguous amount of respect for Frederic’s friends.” The harpy before me cast her malevolent gaze on my boss.

  “Am an associate. That’s how. Goodbye, Anna.”

  True to his word, Alexander didn’t contact me again.

  Christmas was here, 2011 would soon be here. No more Mitchell. No more Alexander. Good things to come, I thought, at that time. Or, at least, I’d thought so that day.

  Elena Anderson

  The Best Gift

  For Christmas, Alexander couriered me a vintage pearl set, one that looked a lot like the incomplete set my mother had left behind. I wondered how he knew I’d been searching for similar things online. Reaching for my phone on the end table in the foyer, the Rolling Stone cover stopped me dead in my tracks. I was staring into a set of haunting eyes, getting lost in their greyness. A fair-skinned, full-lipped, grey-eyed god. The shot of Alexander in a dinner jacket at the head of a long table sent a pang of longing through me. All attempts to breathe properly failed. He’d been photographed on what seemed like a world-class penthouse rooftop, along a dinner table with a Christmas feast on it, a rich sunset delineating his features. While his profile was sharply and vividly captured by the high-resolution camera lens, Boston’s skyline was totally out of focus, a bright blur behind an extremely powerful man. I remembered how his face was even sharper in reality, and his eyes were more vibrant.

  Fuzzily, I grabbed my phone and went to my room. He answered on the first ring, startling me because he hummed a little. It was a lovely, rumbling type of a hum, as if he was contemplating.

  Alexander: Little one?

  Me: Did you bug my computer?

  Alexander: Such an apt question. Michael told me you collected antique pearls. I think that’s probably why I got you a pearl set.

  Me: Oh.

  Alexander: Oh, indeed. I imagine the pearls will sway nicely against your delicate skin, touching your fragrant flesh over and over again.

  Me: Why is it you even make jewelry sound filthy?

  Alexander: A naturally filthy mind? Or it could be you. Most likely it’s you. My mind automatically switches to dirty mode whenever we speak.

  Me: I’m obviously a very bad influence on you. We should stop talking.

  Alexander: You so are. Why stop? Long may this continue.


  Me: Should I feel flattered talking to you?

  Alexander: You should. You should also drop to your knees the next time we meet and thank me. This of course in whichever way you deem appropriate to thank a loving master.

  Me: Stop sexually teasing me.

  Alexander: Me? Teasing sexually? As if. I wouldn’t know how to do that. I’m looking forward to losing my virginity on my wedding night. You called me, remember?

  Me: I don’t know why I acted so rashly. Thank you, it’s a beautiful set. I actually quite like the yellow gold earrings and the pearlescent shine of the pearls. But I’ll have to return it.

  Alexander: Why’s that?

  Me: This is terrible to admit. I didn’t get you anything.

  Alexander: True. That’s sufficiently infuriating, all right. I’ll have to put you over my knee and properly punish you. Where are you now?

  Me: Lying on my bed.

  Alexander: You mean in a fetchingly silky outfit? Tousled loose hair? That’s a sexy image.

  Me: I can’t stay. I must go.

  Alexander: Hold on.

  Me: I really do have to leave. Need to help grandpa.

  Alexander: There. Excellent. I’m lying on my bed as well. Here’s what is going to happen. You’ll give me my Christmas present now.

  Me: And how would I do that?

  Alexander: By scrabbling at the fastening of my trousers, ripping at my belt, tearing at the fly because you’re desperate to expose my cock, desperate to feel it against your skin finally.

  Me: However unbelievable and unrealizable, every human being is permitted to have dreams.

  Alexander: Tell me what you’re wearing.

  Me: A winter shirtdress.

  Alexander: I’m slowly drawing it up around your thighs as I look into your eyes, listening to you softly begging me to fuck you.

  Me: You most definitely need get your malfunctioning hearing aid replaced. I was softly begging you to leave me the hell alone.

  Alexander: That statement merits a rebuke. Do you like the idea of being across my lap with one of my hands holding your wrists behind your back while the other hand pulls up the hem of your dress? Do you like the thought of me slowly drawing down your panties until they are around your ankles? Do you like the idea of baring your sexy little bottom to my gaze? And to my unforgiving palm?