Watching the clock has never served me well, and yet, here I am, staring at the minutes as they tick by. I keep getting distracted, knowing that our meeting is slated to take place a mere 14 minutes from now.
Make that 13.
Moving away from my desk, I pace nervously, as if that will speed up the time. Or maybe slow it down.
I seriously consider making myself a drink.
It isn’t the reprimanding, that I can handle. I’m a partner at this firm, for chrissake. I’ve been castigating underlings with the best of them for nearly a decade.
But you’re not a typical underling.
Fuck. 11 minutes.
You have a swagger that’s… unnerving. Like you know it’s only a matter of time before you unseat H.G. Kennedy and take over the firm; a firm that’s been in his family for five generations.
And you just made junior partner, which means you are now my charge. And when you screw up, you’re my problem.
If you were any other young, arrogant upstart, I’d bust out my best withering glances and send you away from my office in tears after groveling for my forgiveness… but no other cocksure flunky has ever had this effect on me, and I’m afraid no matter what facade I assume, you’ll see right through it.
Seven minutes. Goddamnit.
Fuck it, I’m making a drink.
The bourbon goes down smooth and spreads through me with an emboldening power.
I can handle this. I can handle you.
I also can’t be pacing when you walk in the door. Or sweating. Or looking in any way agitated. You’re the one who’s coming to me to be disciplined.
Not the other way around…
Sitting at my desk, I open several emails and proceed to stare at them for the next four minutes until Cenissa buzzes through.
“Ms. Stratton? Your one o’clock.”
Of course you’re early. It’s infuriating. I tell Cenissa to buzz you through, then greet you as brusquely as possible when you walk into the room.
The slim cut of your expensive suit fits you too well; you clearly have an excellent tailor. And I don’t have to get close to know that you also smell incredible… a piquant scent that leaves both men and women in the firm swooning in your wake.
I square my shoulders and invite you to sit, and when you do, my confidence starts to settle in.
“I’m sure you know why we’re here today.”
“Of course.”
As you lean back in your chair, I unthinkingly make my usual power move, stepping out from behind the desk to lean against it, arms folded across my chest.
This is clearly a mistake.
Your eyes drink me in, traveling from my heels up my bare legs to the blouse hugging my curves under my slim-cut blazer. Per usual, your gaze bores right into me, unnerving me. I’m overwhelmed with the inexplicable urge to kneel at your feet…
I clear my throat and look away, tossing my hair.
Amateur. Pull it together.
Meeting your gaze, I clench my jaw.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
It’s subtle, but I swear I see it as it flashes across your face, almost imperceptible… a smirk. A brash, presumptuous smirk.
You’re imagining things, I tell myself. You’re the one in charge here.
In another calculated power play, I wait patiently for you to answer me. I’m sure I can maintain the upper hand, so long as I don’t look at your mouth…
I arch an eyebrow, in an attempt to mask the weakening in my knees. Finally, thank god, you speak.
“I owe you an apology, Ms. Stratton. You and the other partners.”
This catches me off guard. I hadn’t expected an apology from you. Dismissive, cavalier shirking of responsibility, yes. An apology? Insofar as I know, that’s a first for you. So it’s my turn to smirk.
“Well, that’s certainly… unprecedented.”
You smile outright now, and I hate how much it disarms me.
“I can admit when I’ve made a mistake, Ms. Stratton.” The smile transforms into a calculated squint. Not contrite, by any means, but at least an assent. “And the Hardwick account was my mistake.”
“It was. I’m glad you see that.”
“I do. So. What’s my punishment?”
Goddamnit. You’re teasing me…
I can’t help but waiver, and I know you can tell. I steady my gaze, but I swallow… timid… and it gives me away. I have to get you out of here.
“You’ll work with Anthony to rectify the situation-”
I start turn away but you stand abruptly, taking me by the arm.
“Not with you?”
I glance down at your grip and steady my voice.
“Let me go.”
“Is that really what you want?”
My breathing betrays me, growing shakier with every moment.
“Y-yes…” My voice is so much smaller than I want it to be. You pull me closer, your chest pressing against my back.
“Mmm… I don’t think it is. I think you want me to lift up your skirt, bend you over this desk, and have my way with you. And I think you’ve wanted that since the day we met.”
I let out an actual whimper, which is completely mortifying. I want to deny it, to insist that you’re wrong, but the wetness between my legs confirms how very right you are…
Sliding your free hand around my waist, you move upward, slowly, caressing my breast… then slipping under the fabric to feel my chest… collarbone… neck…
Tilting my chin up and back, you kiss me, slow and deep, so I feel the full height of you behind me, with your hands holding onto me, keeping me in place. I moan into you, unable to resist your touch…
Pulling back just a little, you no longer bother to hide your smirk. And this time, you laugh, just a little… just enough to eradicate the last of my defenses. Knowing you’ve got me exactly where you want me, you whisper in my ear.
“Put your hands on the desk.” With a shudder, I do as I’m told. “Don’t move.”
A sharp smack lands on my ass, making me cry out. I look over my shoulder to see you locking the door… I turn back quickly so you won’t see me peeking.
I expect you to put your hands on me again, but you don’t. Instead, you walk to the other side of my desk, and… sit in my chair.
The fucking nerve of you.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Laughing, you shake your head. “Ask me another impertinent question, and you won’t be able to sit for a week.” I bite my lip and lower my eyes, properly chastened. The gloat in your voice is palpable. “That’s what I thought. Now be a good girl and tell Cenissa to hold your calls.”
Eva Monroe is a gal’s gal, guy’s gal, gal about town. She has a very active imagination and lots of opinions and frequently writes those things down. From screenplays to news articles to academic essays, Eva loves taking on the challenge of writing in new mediums, and her smut-tastic adventures with Bellesa are some of the most fun she’s ever had. Eva also co-produced two award-winning short films and has an MFA in screenwriting. Eva Monroe is not her real name.