by Ivy Carter
“Oh,” is all I can manage. It’s the most intimate he’s been with me, and I get the sense that it’s the most intimate he’s been with anyone in a very, very long time. The words sound heavy on his tongue like they were heavy on his mind, and they come out choppy and unpracticed. It’s clear he’s not used to talking about things like this.
“We have a … complicated relationship,” he says, as if that’s clarifying, but I don’t push him.
I can’t help but notice the way the word father sounds unnatural in his mouth, or think about how I’ve never called my dad father. He’s always been Dad, or Daddy when I was younger.
“I worried it was something work related,” I say, trying to gracefully give him a change of subject, even if it means throwing myself under the bus. “Maybe related to the Rochester account?”
“No. Although you really screwed me on that one,” he says, though is voice is slightly playful. “I fixed it. Though I’m sure tomorrow there will be a whole host of other fires to put out. There always are.”
“The magazine articles make it sound so easy,” I say.
“Magazine articles?”
I begin to quote the copious headlines about him. “Wunderkind Ad Man Breaks Bank. King is King of Advertising. Boston’s Most Eligible Billionaire.”
I hear a rueful laugh. “Yes, well, you should know by now that nothing comes easy,” he says. “Nothing worth having ever does.”
“But you seem to like the work,” I reply.
“I love a challenge,” he says, and there’s a tone in his voice that tells me that we’re not talking about work anymore. And I’m willing to give him a pass. He’s said enough. He’s already given more than he was prepared to, and I hold the words close to me like a victory.
“You like the chase,” I clarify.
“I like what comes after the chase just as much,” he says easily, but I’m not so sure. Perhaps once he’s really had me, I’ll never hear from him again.
“You sound so sure you’ll always find out what comes after the chase,” I rally, making my voice playful again.
“I seem to recall just a few hours ago when you were bent over my desk, begging me to fuck you,” he says, and now it’s game on. I can feel everything inside of me igniting in that way only he can do. It’s like he knows exactly where to find the switch inside me and flick it on with one of his long fingers.
“I wasn’t begging.” I try to remain defiant, but my voice trips in my throat.
“Not with words, but with the way you pushed back into my cock, trying to get me inside you.”
I have nothing to say, just a long sigh that I know he hears, because he gives a devilish little laugh.
“You want me inside you right now, don’t you?” he whispers. I shiver as if his lips are right on my ear. I close my eyes and can practically feel the glass top of his desk beneath my palms, the way my skirt bunched around my hips as he gripped them in his firm hands.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Tell me what you want,” he says.
“I want you.”
“I know that,” he says, his tone slightly chastising, like a teacher correcting a student. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
I pause. I’ve never had phone sex before. The dirtiest things I’ve ever said on a phone call were to Janet, and that was not this. But I’m powerless against him, and I’m not reluctant.
“I want you inside me,” I say. “I wanted it in your office, and I want it now.”
“You’re touching yourself, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I let my fingers slide beneath my panties and between my folds, two fingers locating the source of pleasure.
“Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’m rubbing my clit,” I say as I let two fingers swirl lazily, my thighs quivering with each motion.
“And what are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about your tongue, your mouth on me in the back of the limo.”
“You tasted so sweet,” he says in a husky voice. “I’m going to taste you again.”
“Yes? Please,” I purr.
“I’m going to lay you out on my bed and unwrap you like a gift. I’m going to run my tongue over every inch of you, leaving my mark in places only I can see. I’m going to have you. Is that what you want?”
“Yes. God yes,” I gasp.
“I knew you wanted it from the moment you walked into my office. I knew I would be ripping your clothes off and making you scream my name.”
As he talks, my hand goes first to my breasts, cupping their fullness and brushing across my hard nipples, but it’s not long before my fingers begin migrating back down. Thinking about him has me wet already, and I cup my pussy with a firm hand.
“Can you make yourself come as well as I can?” he asks.
“No one can make me come like you can,” I reply, the truth in the words only I know.
“Let me hear you come.”
I dip two fingers inside, slick with wetness, then return to my clit. I rub circles and figure eights until I can feel my back arching off the bed, my thighs quivering. I apply pressure, firm, as I close my eyes tight and imagine is deep brown eyes gazing up from my between my legs while his tongue works over me. I’m moaning now, softly between ragged breaths. I can hear his breath through the phone, deep and even. I let myself imagine him stroking himself as he thinks of me, as he listens to me, as he remembers me. And that’s the image that finally pushes me over the edge. I cry out as heat bursts beneath my fingers tips, the sensation of my orgasm rolling over every part of me in heavy waves.
“God, yes, Jared!” I cry as I sink into the delicious warmth of my orgasm. Then I lay there in silence, gasping into the phone as I come down.
“Sleep well, Quinn,” he says. And then the lines goes dead.
Chapter 6
As I stroll into work, I flash my ID badge and a wide smile to the normally stone-faced security guard who sits at the desk in the lobby. I, along with hundreds of other King Advertising employees, rush past him day in and day out, flashing badges but barely making eye contact, much less exchanging pleasantries.
“Morning!” I say, giving him a bright smile and direct eye contact. I recognize that I sound like a Disney princess, all bright and chipper with little cartoon birdies on my shoulder, but multiple orgasms will do that to you, apparently.
“He— ahem — Hello,” he replies. I’ve caught him off guard with my cheerful demeanor, and even he can’t maintain his crotchety facade. He manages to crack just the hint of a smile, though it drops quickly as soon as he remembers himself.
I ride the elevator up to my floor, still grinning from ear to ear.
When the doors open on my floor, I squeeze through the crowd, most of whom barely move for me, and I still ride the wave of optimism as though nothing can touch me.
Basically no one is going to harsh my mellow today, dammit.
“Patsy wants to see you,” Jessie says as I approach my desk.
“Did she say why?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Nope.”
Patsy is our resident HR woman, and my blood instantly runs cold. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure what Jared and I have done in his office is in flagrant violation of the company’s sexual harassment policy, if not potentially illegal (surely indecent exposure applies to your boss’s office). Am I about to get a super awkward talking to? Will there be cops waiting for me when I get in there? I gulp and try to look nonchalant as I drop my bag at my cubicle and head towards human resources.
I find Patsy in her office at the end of the hall and give a tentative knock on her already open door.
“You needed to see me?” I ask.
She glances up from her computer screen, her reading glasses sliding down her nose. “Oh, Quinn. Yes, actually. I wanted to let you know that you’re being reassigned.”
Not again, I think, though what reason could Jared have for demoting me from my already basement-level position? Bumping me
off his desk was awkward enough. Am I about to get assigned to the mailroom?
“Yes, Alec has been promoted to Junior Account Executive, and you’re getting a promotion of sorts into his old job,” she says.
Holy. Shit.
“I’m going to be J— Mr. King’s assistant?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” she says. “Now I know you didn’t apply for a transfer, but he requested you specifically. And it’s definitely a step up. Alec wasn’t just an administrative assistant. You’ll answer phones and handle Mr. King’s schedule, of course, but the role is really an apprenticeship with Mr. King himself. You’ll be assisting him on campaigns and sitting on meetings. It’s a wonderful opportunity and can be a steppingstone to a nice promotion if you do well. You were the obvious choice, of course. Your work on your desk has been impeccable since you got here. I assume this is a role you’d like to take on?”
I study her face for a moment to see if there’s any hidden knowledge behind her eyes, because this is a big opportunity. This is the mentorship role I was looking for when I took the job at King Advertising, I just didn’t think I’d get it in quite this way.
And if this woman has even a hint of our extracurricular activities, it doesn’t matter what opportunities Mr. King offers me, my career will always be tainted by the gossip. But from the way she smiles serenely at me like a kindly librarian over the top of her reading glasses, her un-manicured fingers tucking a strand of gray hair behind her ear, I know we’ve been careful. No one knows.
Yet.
But it’s a good reminder to remain discreet. I plan to earn this job and every other promotion I get in my career. No matter what happens with Jared, I can’t let any of that get in the way of my goals, or even let it appear to get in the way of my goals. Damn right I’ll take this promotion, and I’m going to impress every single person in this building with what I can do.
Patsy tells me the position begins immediately, and that I should pack up my cubicle and move on up to the executive suite as soon as possible.
And that’s just what I do.
Chapter 7
So we’re clearly not having sex anytime soon.
I realize this after two weeks go by, where I work harder than I ever have in my life, and that includes the semester when I tried to be pre-med.
Fourteen days working intimately with Jared King, except we’re less intimate than ever, somehow.
Jared is always at the office at 7am sharp, and though my work day isn’t scheduled to begin until eight, I can tell he needs me there earlier. And I vow not to leave until he does, which most days is somewhere around 7:30 or 8pm.
I spent the whole first day on edge, waiting to see if he was going to pull me into his office or whisk me to his apartment over lunch, but as the day wore on, I soon realized it wasn’t going to happen.
And then the next and the next. As each day passes, a little of my hope dies.
Of course, I’m under so much pressure learning and trying to perform up to Jared’s expectations, that I don’t even ask him what’s changed. Between my determination to earn the job and the enormous workload, there’s absolutely nothing sexual between us.
In part, I thrive on the hours and the deadlines, the to-do lists and the meetings. It takes me a few days to get Jared’s schedule and rhythm, but once I’ve got it, I can tell he’s impressed.
There’s almost a sexual gratification in meeting his needs in this new way.
European conference calls begin at 8:30, which he likes me to be on to take notes. Executive board meetings occur weekly, and Jared likes those catered by a bakery in the South End, because the smell of hot food in a conference room makes him fidgety. He likes to do final approval on ad copy by hand, but he prefers almost everything else electronically.
And he always takes three Splendas with his coffee.
But somehow, in some way, the whole arrangement starts going sour in my mind.
It’s Thursday of the second week, and we’re running later than usual.
We have the presentation to the Moonhanger Restaurant Group tomorrow, and we have to nail it. I’ve been copy editing slides all day while Jared and the other executives run through the presentation. It’s a multi-million dollar account, and we don’t want to lose it to Cuttar Advertising, our biggest Boston rivals.
Finally, at just after nine at night, everyone else has left except the two of us. I’ve made it a point never to leave before Jared, but he’s been holed up in his office with the door shut for the last two hours. For all I know he’s fallen asleep in there.
Until I hear his voice cut through the thick wooden door and the silence of the lobby.
“Do not talk to me like that.”
I take a tentative step towards the door to try and listen in. Yes, it’s a little nosy, but I’m curious.
And I’m wondering if maybe eavesdropping will help me figure out what’s going on with him lately.
“You lost your right to order me around years ago,” Jared snaps again, which I can hear clear as a bell through the thick door to his office.
He’s angrier than I’ve ever heard him, which means his voice is getting lower, more steely, and it sends chills down my spine. “This conversation is over.” He slams down the phone with enough force that I worry he’s going to break it. I leap back from the door just as he comes striding through it, wound up like a spring ready to snap.
“We’re done for the night,” he says to me, his face impassive, his tone almost attacking me as if I was the one on the other end of the phone just now.
I’m wounded and also tired.
Tired of wondering what’s next, tired of trying to figure out what new game I’m supposed to be playing.
I find myself searching his eyes for any hint of the man who cradled my hand in his, something I’ve done several times this past week. But he’s been nothing but professionalism. Distance. Boundaries. “You can go,” he adds coolly.
I nod, but as I watch his jaw tense as he grinds his teeth in frustration, I know I can’t just let this go.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“It’s fine,” he replies, a little too quickly.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“It’s none of your concern,” he snaps, and once again, I hear the same venom in his voice that he used on the phone.
I recoil, but I don’t push him anymore. And I don’t plan to ever again. If he wants to pretend nothing happened, fine. If he wants to act as if I’m nothing more than his assistant, whatever. But I must ooze the frustration I feel, because as I hurl my keys into my bag and slam the chair into the desk, turning to stomp my way to the elevator, I hear him sigh.
“Dammit, Quinn, what is the problem now?”
I whirl around, my blond hair flying. “The problem? Well I think the problem is abundantly clear, Mr. King. The problem is you.”
“What, because I have no interest in sharing my personal life with you, you take that as some kind of affront?” He says, giving an annoyed chuckle, like I’m some fawning teenager. “I told you very clearly. I am a private person, and if you’re going to work for me, this kind of behavior on your part cannot continue.”
“This? What exactly is this?” I ask, gesturing between the two of us. “Are you talking about the screaming orgasms in your office? Or the fact that I’m here busting my butt for you every single day and late into the night? Because the line between work and play’s been a little blurred for me.”
“I have my way of doing things,” he says. “If you can’t handle that—“
“Well I have my way of doing things, and they don’t involve spending time with an asshole who plays mind games,” I snap. “It seems to me that your way of doing things is fueled by stubbornness and fear.”
He looks skeptically at me. “You think I’m afraid? Of what exactly?”
I take a step towards him, so frustrated I’m shaking. As usual. He makes me shake in all sorts of way, but this time it’s not a good thing.
/>
“I think you’re afraid of feeling something, whether that’s with me or anyone else. I think you’ve walled yourself off in the name of privacy and doing things your way. But maybe I’m not the kind of girl who can separate sex from feelings, and I’m not the kind of girl who likes or wants to be toyed with.”
He inhales sharply, his broad shoulders rising, the muscles in his neck going ropey with tension. His fists clench, and his whole body seems to be alight with conflict. His eyes narrow as he contemplates his next move, and there’s a brief moment where I think he’s going to decide it’s all over. Where he’s going to tell me that he can’t or won’t do things my way, and so we’re done.
But then I see it, just a flash, just for a second. It’s the spark in his eye, the tiny quirk of his lips, and then his whole body seems to uncoil.
He steps forward and grabs my elbow and begins steering me towards the elevator.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Home,” he growls, and I know right then that he doesn’t mean my home. I’m not going back to my crappy studio in Somerville, and I’m not going alone. I barely have time to grab my bag on the way past my desk.
As soon as the elevator doors close, his lips are on mine, pinning me to the back wall of the elevator. I want to ask him if this is a reprieve, if he’s changed his mind, if he’s opening up, but I can’t because his mouth is opening up on mine. He nips at my lower lip, and all rational thought leaves me. I’m his now, I know it for sure.
The elevator doors open in the parking garage, and he leans away to grab my hand and pull me out of the elevator. His car is parked in one of the first spots, one of the (many) perks of being the CEO. He pauses at the passenger door of a shiny black vintage convertible roadster, the chrome accents gleaming. When he opens the door for me the scent of conditioned leather in a rich, buttery brown wafts out. It looks vintage and fully restored.
It’s the kind of car I imagine usually sits in showrooms or garages and doesn’t actually ever get driven.
