Leather and Lace

by Landish, Lauren

  But for my twelfth birthday, Grandpa took me to a nice restaurant, and I felt so grown up. It was the summer after Grandma died, and looking back, I think he knew it would be the last big dinner he and I had together. We sat down at the table, and I remember he ordered shrimp scampi for himself and lobster for me. “But Grandpa, I hate seafood,” I complained, and he shushed me, murmuring something about frozen fish sticks not being real seafood, but that was all I’d ever had.

  “Arianna, you’re going to change your mind with this.”

  When the food came . . . oh, my God, it was delicious! Even the bread tasted different, and after I mowed through the whole meal like I hadn’t eaten in a week, I asked Grandpa why. He smiled, looking a little sad as he set his knife down. “Honey, sometimes, having the real thing is worth what you have to pay for it. Sometimes, it’s a financial cost, like butter. Sometimes, it’s something else. But you have to decide whether the reward is worth the cost.”

  Those words were running around my head all last night as I thought about what Liam and I did in his office. Holy fuck, was it intense. I have never experienced something so raw. And I think the reality of his fingers on my clit instead of my own or a toy was well worth the price I had to pay . . . some painful, embarrassing honesty and one appropriately-pitched temper tantrum at his abrupt jump into the deep end.

  I think we both came out of that office with a better idea of who I am. And though I might’ve been called a whore before, I refuse to actually be one. But I am a hard worker, a fast learner, and a sure bet to use this opportunity to make the best future for myself that I can. Professionally, not on my knees.

  I can’t believe I’m going to be able to pick his brain for the next two weeks! I can’t believe he wants to fuck me in the next two weeks either.

  * * *

  “Hey, Super Nerd!” I gush into the phone, needing my best friend right now. Daisy Phillips is truly a nerd . . . in all the best ways, cute, with black-rimmed glasses and just a hint of shyness when she meets new people, and an intelligence for numbers most people can’t begin to fathom. Drawing her as a dorm-mate and becoming friends with her is one of the best things to ever happen to me.

  “Oh, my gosh, Ari! It’s been forever. I’ve missed you!” she gushes back.

  It hasn’t been that long since we talked, just a week or so, but for girls who are used to seeing each other daily, it seems like ages. With a sigh, I realize we won’t ever be roomies again. When I came to my internship, I took a small short-term rental for the summer to be closer to work and Daisy moved in with her boyfriend, Connor. Her boyfriend who also happens to be a math professor at the university we attend. In fact, he was her math professor. But somehow, they beat the odds, ones that Daisy or Connor could probably calculate in their heads if you wanted the real statistics, which I don’t. I just care that she’s happy, and she definitely seems to be that.

  “How’s pseudo-married life treating you?” I ask, knowing they’re not married yet.

  “So good! Seriously, I found out that Connor can cook, like actual food, not Ramen and canned beefaroni.” She laughs, knowing that those are the quintessential college kid foods and arguably some of my comfort-food favorites, a little slice of poor-kid home life away at school. “What about you? Has your internship gotten any better?”

  I take a big breath, knowing this is going to be a major chatter session. “Chica, sit down, okay? I need to brain dump a massive amount of ‘what the fuck’ on you because I could really use your advice, okay?”

  I can hear the rustling on her end as she finds a place to curl up. “Okay, hit me.”

  I give her the rundown of my delivery-turned-photoshoot, including every naughty detail of how Liam felt pressed against me, how thick and hard his cock got while the camera was clicking away, and how turned on I’d been. Luckily, she’s used to hearing dirty talk like that from me so she doesn’t so much as stutter until I tell her about my interview and the ensuing madness.

  “Uhm, what?” she exclaims. “You’re a what? Our connection must have dropped because I could’ve sworn you said you’re a virgin, Ari.” Her voice is full of confusion.

  “I did, Daisy. I know, I’m sorry for not telling you, especially when you were going through all that stuff with Connor, but you always believed the façade I put on and I didn’t know how to go back and straighten that out. Forgive me?” I beg, hoping she does because I don’t want this to be a stumble in our friendship.

  “Of course, I forgive you. It’s your body, your secret, your story, but I do hope you’ll tell me why the big act one day.” I can hear the hurt in her voice.

  “I will, I promise. But it’s water under the bridge, and I need help with where I am now. Liam offered to let me complete my internship in his office, which is basically a dream come true, with a cherry topper that if I do well, he’ll hire me part-time when school starts. No-brainer, right? But it’s all tied up in him wanting to pop my cherry, which when I’m clear-headed and not lust-addled, sounds sketchy as fuck. But Daisy, there’s something about him. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

  My brain flashes back to him crowding me against the door to finger my pussy and the way he savored my taste from his fingers. He is the Devil. And I made a deal with him. A deal for my body and my brain. Daisy interrupts my thoughts. “That sounds familiar.” I can hear the smirk in her voice.

  “I hear you, but this is different,” I argue. Glancing at the clock, I realize I need to get ready for work or I’ll be late, and that’s a definite no-no. I hustle to my closet, grabbing a pencil skirt and blouse and slipping them on awkwardly as I hold the phone to my shoulder.

  She laughs. “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe. Point is, you’ve been saving yourself for some special guy. Maybe that’s the one you marry, maybe it’s not. But it should be someone who makes you feel, someone you know will make it good, so maybe that’s Liam? If so, hit that, girl. If not, that’s okay. And you can still take advantage of the chance to learn as much as possible. You said he specifically said he’d still teach you, even if you didn’t fuck him, right?”

  I scoff. “Of course, or I’d have been out of there.”

  She laughs. “Exactly. You’re a smart woman, so don’t let him dictate your future. Choose for you . . . for both work and personal. And he can damn well play catch-up if he’s not next to you every step of the way, but something tells me he’s going to be right by your side or the one pulling you along.”

  I grin. “Damn, girl. When did you get so wise?”

  “Hey, I went through a bit of hell and had to chase what I wanted and fight for it too, so I’ve got some advice skills. I’m just glad you’re calling now instead of waiting like I did. Just be careful, honey.” She’s right. When Daisy finally talked to me about Connor, it’d only been because someone had forced her hand and she’d been freaking out.

  “But look how well that turned out, chica. Thanks so much, truly.” We say our goodbyes and hang up. I’m struck once again by what a great friend she is. But with that thought, I realize I need to hustle.

  I double-check my makeup and hair, slip on my nicest pair of heels, and look in the mirror one more time. I look like a powerful woman, ready to embrace her future. Whether that’s in the boardroom or the bedroom or both remains to be seen, but for now, I’m ready to roll.

  * * *

  Walking into the lobby, I pass Dora on my way toward the elevator.

  “Arianna!”

  I stop, going over to be polite. “Hi, Dora. Sorry you’re getting shorthanded here. Are they sending someone to help?”

  Dora shakes head. “Not yet. Seriously, is this for real? I send you upstairs and the next day you’re the boss’s secretary?”

  She looks me up and down, and I can read her thoughts as if she spoke them aloud. She’s thinking the same damn thing people always think when they only see the obvious, that I’m some ditzy floozy who gets by on her looks. They never stop to consider that maybe I succeed in spite of my looks, not
because of them. I do have a brain, and I’m quite adept at using it.

  “Yes, apparently so. It’s a great opportunity and I’m looking forward to it,” I say as politely as I can, though my inner bitch wants to snark at Dora for daring to assume she knows a damn thing about me after sending me for coffee for two months.

  “Hrrmph, there is such a thing as paying your dues, Ms. Hunnington. You’d do well to know your place, especially considering you’re only going to be here for such a short period of time. Just two more weeks, right?” Her voice is saccharin, as if it’s a pity I’ll be leaving, but I know she’d be happy if I turned and left, never to return, right now.

  “Speaking of knowing my place, guess I’d better get upstairs,” I reply, just as fake-sweet. And with a small wave, I head to the elevator. Kill them with kindness, I think. Play the part.

  After the elevator doors close, the nerves really set in and I wonder if I’m going to get upstairs to discover this is some elaborate ruse at my expense.

  Haha . . . gotcha. You didn’t really think I wanted you on the top floor, did you? Stupid girl.

  But I quiet the doubts and self-talk with a few slow, deep breaths, even if the other three people on the elevator look at me oddly. I don’t know if it’s because they’re wondering who I am and why I’m going upstairs or if it’s because I’m doing breathing exercises. Either way, they exit, and finally, I’m alone for the final leg of the long elevator ride.

  I really don’t know what to expect. While I was a receptionist, I wasn’t a secretary. I think I know the basics. I mean, it’s answering phones, typing stuff, probably fetching coffee . . . but something tells me that Mr. Blackstone is going to want something sweeter than sugar.

  The thought thrills me and scares me all at the same time, and before I know it, the elevator doors open and I step out. Everything looks like business as usual. Everyone knows what they’re doing . . . and they’re going about doing it.

  Yep, I think as I take a deep, nervous breath, everyone here is a total pro . . . except you.

  I push away my momentary self-doubt and remember that I’m getting a chance to get plugged directly into the brain trust, to learn from the best, and that’s like an electric charge to my spine.

  After a moment, I head toward Mr. Blackstone’s office and knock on the door.

  I wait for a moment and then peek inside. He isn’t here. Neither is Jacob.

  I glance about and realize that in the external office, another small desk has been added overnight. Mr. Wilkes’s desk remains in the same spot, but the line of chairs on the right side of the room has been replaced with an oak desk and cabinet. I walk over and see a note taped to the computer screen. It says Arianna on the front, and I flip it over.

  In a meeting until 10:30. I expect to have these things done for me by the time I’m back.

  Coffee, black.

  One egg sandwich from the 2nd floor, over-easy. I have a tab.

  Read the Eastern Regional Report and have a synopsis prepared.

  Your pussy, nice and wet for me.

  Under the last line is a cursive L with a little swirl of ink underneath, and excitement thrums through me. I shiver as I think about how his fingers felt on me, and my clit starts to throb, wanting it again. If that’s what he’s gonna do to me with a simple note, I’m going to have to start bringing a change of panties.

  Looking over my desk, I find the report and peruse it, getting the gist of how the eastern region is doing, complete with projections and areas of growth. A quick call down to the second floor informs me that they’ll happily deliver Mr. Blackstone’s sandwich right at the stroke of ten thirty, so that’s taken care of. After that, I search for the coffee maker, finding it hidden behind a sliding cabinet door on the minibar. I giggle a bit at that, like the coffee pot can’t be out for eyes to see? I grin at the thought, though I realize it’s probably more testimony to my poor upbringing than his wealthier bourgeois style. It’s a bit complicated to work the thing, but after a few minutes, I have it set up and ready to go.

  I stop for a moment, realizing that I’ve completed my to-do list, and I glance around, once again awed by the splendor of the room. It is truly stunning, and looking out at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows, my breath’s taken away again.

  A sudden urge comes over me and I go behind Mr. Blackstone’s desk, running my hand over the plush leather of his chair. This is where I want to be. The queen of my destiny. Turning the chair to the side, I do what probably every secretary in history has done and sink down into it, feeling it envelope me as I feel the bolt of power from sitting on the throne. Wiggling back, a soft sigh escapes my lips.

  “A chair fit for a king,” I murmur, “or queen.”

  Knowing it’s wrong but not able to help myself, I kick my legs up on his desk, just for a second, and my mind wanders to a future where this is my reality. Yep, this is the life for me.

  I must lose track of time for a moment because I’m surprised when the door springs open. I jump to my feet as Liam walks in, every bit the powerful CEO. He’s wearing navy blue today, not gray, but other than that, he’s just as sexy as yesterday, and my heart thumps in my chest as I take him in.

  He pauses, his eyes roving over me. The hair on my forearms stands up as I blush, knowing I’m busted. “Mr. Blackstone.”

  “Getting comfortable, I see,” he says with an arrogant smirk. Behind him, I can see Mr. Wilkes, looking not too pleased.

  “I . . . umm,” I stammer before hanging my head. “I’m sorry.”

  He chuckles as he walks toward the windows. He gestures to the space next to him, and I obediently stand beside him, following his gaze over the city below as I brush a lock of hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to explain or apologize. You said this is your dream, so you’re checking things out. It’s enticing, no?”

  He leans over, and I’m enveloped by the cologne that I love. Sweet leather. I have to learn what the hell the name of that stuff is because partnered with his natural scent, it’s like an aphrodisiac straight to my core.

  “It was my dream once, too, and I made it my reality,” he says, but he’s not looking at his office or the view. He’s looking at me.

  I gulp, and he glances behind us. There’s a soft click, and I realize that Jacob has left and we’re alone once again. Liam moves to his chair, sitting down comfortably, the crown invisible but no less present with the power emanating from him. “Did you complete your list, Arianna?”

  He glances down my body pointedly, but I’m not that easy. I remember Daisy’s advice to be strong and see if he stays with me. “I did, Mr. Blackstone,” I say, purposefully using the name to differentiate what mode we’re currently in. “Breakfast will be delivered in minutes. Would you like your coffee now?”

  He dips his chin, an amused smirk on his face, like he knows what I’m doing and is getting a kick out my attempt to act unaffected by him. I’m sure he can see the flush on my face, but I press on, grabbing a mug and filling it with the dark brew. The aroma fills my senses, lessening the effect of his cologne and waking me up even without the caffeine dose. I set the coffee down in front of him, but instead of drinking it, he asks, “And the Eastern Region report?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s in your inbox.” I pick up the file from the corner of his desk. “Would you like the synopsis?”

  He gestures widely with his hands, giving me the floor. I come around to his side, placing the folder in front of him and turning to the report so he can follow along as I speak. “Second-quarter figures were trending up, and that was expected to continue. However, third-quarter shows stabilizing numbers.”

  He interrupts me. “Why did you look at the second quarter if I told you I wanted a synopsis of the third-quarter report?”

  I glance at him in surprise. “Because without the relevant framework, the figures are useless. They’re only helpful in the scheme of up, down, or staying the same. Knowing that we had $55 million in sales could be cause for cele
bration or to close the doors, but that’s only knowable in context.” He inclines his head, and I think I might’ve jumped a notch in his estimation. “As I was saying, the stabilizing figures indicate . . .” and I continue a brief summarization.

  I’m standing over him as he sits, a power position, but it’s a false show because we both know who the boss is in this room. And though he’s nodding along as I give my report, he’s distracting me, letting his fingertips trace along my arm and up my thigh. “Please focus, Arianna. Being focused is the only way to succeed, and you do want to succeed, don’t you?” He smirks at me. The cocky bastard knows what he’s doing to me.

  Suddenly, he snaps, “Enough. Excellent summarization. Now, about the rest of the list . . .” He closes the file, setting it aside and pulling me between his spread legs, my ass resting along the edge of the desk.

  I knew he silently promised this, but there’s no way we could do this every day and actually get work done. And while the idea of seeing what Mr. Blackstone has to offer, I’m here for more than that. I have a goal, and getting lost in how badly I want him isn’t helping me accomplish that.

  Liam, though, seems to be unconcerned. “Did you complete your final task? Is this pussy wet and ready for me?”

  I bite my lip, hedging my answer. “I am . . . wet, but I don’t know about ready.”

  The smug tilt of his lips says he thinks otherwise. “Have you ever heard of edging?”

  “No,” I rasp, my head spinning as he cups my breast through my blouse, his fingers tugging on my stiffening nipple through my thin bra. “What’s—”

  Before I can finish, he lifts me onto the desk, his hands slipping up my skirt along my inner thighs to palm my pussy through my damp panties.

  “Edging,” he whispers huskily in my ear, sounding almost like a teacher or instructor, “is when I get you so close to the edge, but right before you fall off, I let up. Then, when you calm down a little, I do it again . . . and again . . . and again. It’s sweet, sweet torture, but oh, so delectable.”