by Cynthia Sax
“But if something did--”
“Nothing will happen to you,” he repeats. “When you have to leave the office or the house and I’m not available, Dave will accompany you. He’s a former marine.”
He’s assigning his driver to protect me. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m fine, sir.”
“I’m not fine.” John pushes me off his lap. “And you clearly do need a bodyguard. Your unauthorized lunch break has affected my entire schedule, inconveniencing myself and countless others.” He stands, his jaw clenching. “It won’t occur again, understand?” He gazes down at me, his eyes hard, his stance unrelenting.
I gulp air. He’s still very, very angry. “I understand, sir.”
“Move my one and two o’clocks.” John places one of his hands on my back and propels me toward the exit.
I unclip my phone, accessing the calendar as we walk. “You have time to make your two o’clock.” I find an empty space for the first meeting and send notifications, ensuring the participants are aware of the change.
John holds the door open for me. “Actions have consequences, Grant.” I step onto the busy sidewalk and pause, the sun’s rays blinding me. “This time, I’ll allow you to choose the consequences.” He guides me toward the side entrance to Powers Corporation. “Choose carefully.” He waves his passcard over the security sensor, pokes his head into the building and then gestures for me to enter.
He’s ensuring the area is safe, protecting me. I climb the stairs to the second floor, forgoing the crowds waiting for John in the lobby. He walks behind me, guarding my rear, his palm pressing against the small of my back.
Is he protecting me because he’s my boss? I step onto the second floor. Or is he protecting me because he cares about me?
I rush toward the bank of elevators. Men and women sort the mail into slots, their gloved hands moving quickly. They laugh and tease each other, oblivious to our presence. The brown carpet is worn thin by the heavy carts. A large clock ticks, counting down the minutes of the workday.
My workday never ends. John calls me whenever he likes and he likes to call me often. “I’ll work late tonight,” I offer.
John presses the button for the elevator. “That’s an expectation, not a consequence.” The elevator doors open. Faces stare back at us.
Undaunted by the crowd, John pushes inside, clearing a path for me. Employees chime greetings. He grunts his replies, maneuvering until I’m positioned between a mirrored wall and his solid form.
“It sure is a beautiful day, isn’t it, Mr. Powers?” an eager young employee chirps, his face glowing with hero worship.
“Consequences, Grant,” John mutters.
I smother my grin. My boss hates small talk. “This is a great opportunity to talk about the new social media campaign.”
John looks over his shoulder and narrows his eyes. I narrow my eyes back at him. His lips twist.
He faces his elevator-constrained audience, takes a deep breath and recites the speech he gave to the board last month, his voice rolling over me. His employees gaze at him as though gold gushes from his lips, their admiration almost painful to witness. I rest my forehead against John’s spine and relax, my body hidden from view.
When the elevator opens on the top floor, the car remains packed. John ends his monologue and steps into the hallway, holding the doors for me.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Powers, Miss Grant.” Nancy smiles. Her greeting is echoed by the three men sitting in the brown leather chairs.
My lips twitch. I doubt any of the men know who I am.
“What are you so happy about?” John growls, pushing me along the hallway. “Consequences are no laughing matter.”
“You could dock my pay,” I suggest.
“If I docked your pay every time you misbehaved, you’d be working for free.”
As we pass Mr. Zanetti, I glare at the young executive. He’s likely the one who squealed on me, telling John whom I was with.
Mr. Zanetti frowns at me. John growls softly, his hand lowering to my hip. The CIO’s eyes widen and he hurries away from us.
I pause near my desk. Half of a grilled Reuben, my favorite kind of sandwich, is set on a plate by my keyboard. I lick my lips, the corned beef, swiss cheese and sauerkraut on rye bread making my mouth water.
“You don’t deserve that treat.” John propels me forward. “You’ve been a bad assistant.”
My shoulders slump. “Isn’t eating in a seafood restaurant punishment enough, sir?” I enter his office, my heels sinking into the thick, soft carpet.
“Bass is a fool.” My boss shuts the door. “Everyone knows you don’t like seafood.” The lock clicks, the sound startling me.
I turn. John’s eyes gleam, his expression anything but professional.
“We’re at work, sir.” My gaze lowers to the pronounced ridge in his black pants. “Everyone will hear us.”
“If I was a cruel boss, I’d allow them to hear you.” He reaches for his remote control and activates the far screen, increasing the volume. Two talking heads heatedly discuss the Fed’s stance on interest rates. “But I’m not a cruel boss.” He tugs on his blue silk tie, loosening the knot. “This is your last chance to name your punishment.”
He wants to punish me. I watch him remove his tie, the strip of fabric wrapping around his palms. What would it feel like to have his rough skin connect with my tender ass? I swallow hard, aroused by this thought.
“Choose or I’ll choose for you,” John warns. “You won’t like my choice.”
“A spanking,” I whisper, unable to meet his gaze.
Chapter Six
John sucks in his breath, his chest rising. “You want me to spank you?” The excitement edging his voice confirms my decision, his response escalating my need. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.” I wiggle, having never played these naughty games before. I’m uncertain of what happens next¸ what I should do, where he wants me.
“Bend over my desk,” he commands. I don’t have to worry. I’m playing these games with John. He knows exactly where he wants me.
I stride to the desk, my stomach fluttering with nerves, and I lower my chest to the hard wooden surface, stretching my arms out.
John loops his tie around my head, sliding the silk between my teeth. “If you need to scream, bite down on this, not on your lips.” He skims one of his thumbs over my abused flesh. I flick my tongue, tasting him, his salt, his warmth. “Behave,” he warns, securing the makeshift gag. The TV blasts in the background.
He runs his hands down my back, over my ass. I’m at my boss’ mercy and, at the moment, he has none, his body remaining tight with suppressed fury.
“Widen your stance.” He kicks my feet apart and I obey him. “Better.” He squeezes my curves, and my nipples tighten. “Your ass is now mine, Grant.” He hikes my skirt up slowly, the cool air sweeping along my thighs. “I’ll punish you as I see fit.”
He traces my lace G-string, following the trail between my ass cheeks, over my mons, his touch delectable. “Did you wear this for me?” He rubs his fingers against me. “It’s pretty.” I rock into his hand. “But I prefer you bare.” He twists the lace. The fabric digs into my skin and snaps. “I want to see your pussy clench.”
John smacks my right ass cheek and I cry out, the sound muffled by his silk tie, my inner walls closing around nothing. “That’s it.” He rubs my heated skin with his course palms and I moan. “Your body wants my cock.”
He cuffs my left ass cheek, his movement controlled, using only a portion of his strength, and I jerk under him, the pain exquisite. “But you don’t deserve it.” He spanks me. “You’ve been.” Smack. “A bad.” Smack. “Bad.” Smack. “Assistant.”
He presses his left hand between my shoulder blades, holding me down. His right hand connects with my ass again and again, the location, intensity and timing varying, keeping me off balance, focusing all of my attention on him.
I scream, plead, cry, my skin heating, burning, sco
rched by his palm, my protests muted by the gag. Even if John could hear me, I doubt he’d listen. My punishment is set and I don’t want him to stop, not truly, my pussy humming with happiness, my soul wanting, needing this.
Actions have consequences and consequences have consequences. If I decide to work for Rexton or I choose to stay with John, John will always have this memory, know this secret kink of mine.
He’s the only man I’ve ever trusted this much. The blows rain down upon my ass, the pain flowing into the sweetest pleasure, my wetness streaming along my legs.
“You’re soaked, Grant,” my boss comments on my shameful arousal. I squirm, unable to hide from him, every intimate part of me exposed to his all-encompassing gaze.
“You’re dripping for me.” He slides his fingers along my pussy lips and I tremble. “Dripping for my cock.” He spreads my juices over my ass, swirls the moisture into my fiery skin, branding me with my own scent.
John grips my hair and tugs on the tendrils, forcing my head upward. “If I take you now, I won’t be gentle.” He leans over me, the ridge in his dress pants pressing against me. “I’ll be rough.”
I ache, needing him, my pussy empty. If I could speak, I’d beg him to take me, to ease this loneliness inside me.
John releases my hair. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he growls into my ear.
I nod vigorously, my entire body shaking with anticipation.
He chuckles. “You’ve been warned, Trella.” A zipper rasps. A package rustles. I glance over my shoulder. He sheathes himself, rolling a condom over his massive cock. “Eyes forward,” he barks.
I obey, not wishing him to change his mind or to continue his punishment. The need in me is almost unbearable. I wouldn’t survive another sexy spanking. I’ll go insane.
“Good girl.” He positions himself between my spread thighs, brushing his hips against my burning ass cheeks. “I’ll give you what you want.” Warm latex-covered skin prods against my entrance. He pushes his tip inside me and I whimper into my silk gag, his girth stretching me painfully wide.
“I’ll give you everything I have.” John folds his rough fingers over my hips, holding me steady. His thigh muscles flex against me, and he thrusts hard. I scream, my spine bowing, my pussy protesting the invasion. “Yes.” He drives even deeper, pressing his base against my feminine folds, shoving his hips against my abused ass.
God, he’s huge. Tears drip down my cheeks, leaving salty trails on my skin.
John doesn’t allow me time to recover, to adjust to his size. He pulls out to his cock head, and thrusts into me again, pushing me against the wooden desk, the edge digging into my upper thighs. It feels so bad and so good at the same time, pain and pleasure merging, the contrast numbing my brain and spiraling my need upward.
John repeats the action, filling me again and again. We fit together perfectly, as though we are designed for each other. My inner walls hug the bloom of his tip. My pussy lips drag along his shaft. The connection between us intensifies.
My boss shows no interest in our spiritual link. He uses my body, riding me hard, smacking his hips against my sensitive ass, slapping his balls against my thighs, owning my pussy with deep, sure strokes, dominating my smaller form. I can’t escape him. All I can do is hold on, submit, accept, enjoy.
The mixture of agony and ecstasy drives me closer to the edge of fulfillment. I grit my teeth, refusing to fall before John does. He bends over me, grunting into my right ear with each thrust, his cotton suit sliding along my suit jacket, the layers of clothing frustrating me.
I yearn to feel his skin against mine, to feel his cum filling my pussy. I want no fabric, no condom, no barriers between us. Damn the consequences. I rock back into him, meeting his punishing rhythm, matching his passion.
“Behave.” John growls, scraping his teeth against my neck, and I tremble, tilting my head, giving him access to more skin, to more of me. I ache. I need. I shake.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his lips vibrating against my earlobe. “Warm. Tight.” He pistons in and out of me, dangling me over the emotional vortex and then pulling me to safety. “I knew you’d be like this.” He holds onto my shoulders, controlling my movements, propelling me backward, onto him. “Soft and perfect and mine.”
I follow his lead, undulating under him. “That’s it, Trella. Fuck me,” he urges, his pace intensifying. “Fuck your boss like a good assistant.” I clench down on his shaft and he jerks, groaning. “Do that again and I’ll come.”
I smile. This is exactly what I want. When he comes, I can come and I’m desperate for release, mindless with wanting. He withdraws, his cock head grazing my inner walls, severing more of my restraint.
John thrusts and I constrict around him, squeezing him with everything I have, forcing his fulfillment. He swoops downward, bites my suit-covered shoulder, the cloth muffling his roar. As he comes hard, he grinds his hips, the contact plunging me into a spinning black funnel of turbulent emotion.
I scream soundlessly, bucking, writhing, grasping for something, anything, my soul tossed, twirling, ripped from its bearings. He pushes into my release, pinning my hips to the desk, capturing me, securing me.
John holds this pose for three heartbeats, shudders and collapses, flattening me against the desk, covering me with his muscle, his scent, his heat. I’m sore, my ass stinging and my pussy tender, every inch of my physique pulsating from his hard usage, yet I’ve never felt more desired, more necessary.
He needed this release and I gave it to him. John loosens my gag and removes his tie, the silk damp and frayed. “Thank you.” He nuzzles against my cheek and I smile sleepily, warmed by his gratitude. “You are a good assistant.”
My smile fades. I want to be more.
“Though you misbehave at times.” He pulls away from me, his cock slipping from my warm pussy, leaving me empty. “You have such a pretty ass.” John bends over and presses his lips to my aching skin. “It’s red from my hands.” He squeezes me. Pain and pleasure shoots down my thighs. “I’ve marked you. Everyone will know you belong to me.”
“I work for you.” I push myself upward, groaning with the effort.
“You belong to me,” John repeats. He discards the condom and fastens his pants, becoming my professional boss once more. “No other man will touch you.” He grabs a couple of tissues from the box on his bookshelf and crouches beside me. “Spread your legs.”
I obey him, my face heating. My reaction is foolish. He’s already seen everything, been inside me, felt my pussy milk his cock, my tongue tease his slit.
John leans forward, his breath wafting on my inner thighs. He’s looking at me, I know. My boss is examining every inch of me. I quiver, fighting the urge to press my legs together, to block his view.
“You’re pink and perfect and mine.” His voice is soft. He brushes the tissues over my thighs, my mons, my pussy lips, cleaning me carefully, thoroughly, his touch caring, almost reverent.
John straightens and tosses the tissues into the trash. “You’ll attend the mayor’s party with me tonight.”
Is he asking me on a date? I stare at my boss. “This is a social event. Assistants aren’t invited.”
“I’m allowed a plus one.” John lowers my skirt’s hem, smoothes my jacket. “You’re my plus one.” He brushes a loose curl away from my face. “We’ll work to and from the event, make up for the time we lost over lunch.”
He’s anticipating an evening spent working with me. My joy, revived for a couple of heart lifting minutes, dims once more. “That will be efficient.”
“It will be.” John smiles.
* * *
John wishes to work the entire night. I know only one way to distract him, the same method women have been using to distract men for centuries.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the woman’s bathroom, gazing at my reflection, second guessing my plan.
From the front, my gold satin dress appears conservative, bordering on plain. I brush my long br
own curls over my right shoulder. John won’t be seeing the dress from the front. I turn and the sinfully soft hem of my skirt skims over my bare knees. The back of the dress dips obscenely low, the fabric gathered at my spine drawing even more attention to my ass.
Is this too sexy for a cocktail party? I nibble on my bottom lip. The dress is new, bought on impulse seven months ago and has never been worn in public. I didn’t have anyone to wear it for…until now.
I want to wear it for John. I want him to see me as a beautiful woman, as his date, not as his assistant. His mind won’t be on work tonight. I clasp my matching clutch purse and exit the bathroom, my heart pounding.
John leans against the wall, his phone pressed to his ear. He’s clad in a black suit, a white shirt, and a plain black tie, his ensemble simple yet classic, complementing his dark brown hair and golden tan.
My fingers twitch, the urge to touch him, to rub my hands over his shoulders, his chest, his hips, tremendous. I want him to want me with this same intensity.
“There’s no wiggle room on the Bel Air build.” John glances at me. His eyes glow and his lips curl upward. “We have tenants moving in.” He stalks toward me. “They’re in multiple locations.” He curves his left hand around my hip, turning me. “Pushing the date--” His words abruptly stop.
My dress has rendered him speechless. I’m not brave enough to look over my shoulder, to face my boss’ reaction. Instead, I walk toward the elevators, my hips swaying, my skirt swishing against my legs, my six inch heels cushioned by the carpet.
John pauses for one moment and then surges forward. “I’ll call you back.” He catches up to me easily and puts his arm around me, splaying his fingers over my bare skin, one of his fingertips dipping under the satin. “There are other men attending this party, Grant.”
“I suspected there would be.” I smile at him, his possessiveness lightening my mood. He must care for me a little. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll distract them with the dreaded small talk and you can find a quiet place to work.”
He presses the button for the elevator and the doors open as though the car has been waiting for us. “You’ll be occupying that quiet place with me.”
