She bristled at being scolded like a child, given that she could tell he was still impressively aroused, but she suppressed the dangerous urge to point it out. Instead, she gave him a short nod. “Okay.” She kept the fingers of her other hand crossed, behind her back.
He studied her, sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
“Think about what?”
He gave her a narrow look. “I’ll think about taking you to a club. Not as your Master. As your mentor. Make sure you know what you’re doing, show you around, keep you safe. That’s not a definite yes. I may wake up tomorrow and change my mind. You’ll just have to live with that.”
She didn’t nod, didn’t give anything away, agree or disagree. Her fingers were a damp knot. Faster than she could anticipate, he reached behind her, yanked her wrist to the front.
“Finger crossing? Really?”
She shrugged, knowing she was flushed to the roots of her hair. “It’s a universally accepted escape clause for untenable verbal agreements.”
Ben stared at her a heart-pounding moment. Then a devastating grin crossed his face. Her pussy dampened again, telling her she’d have to seek a panty liner in the women’s room of the main bathroom or she’d soak through her panties and skirt, right onto the cushion of her office chair. Particularly since she’d be thinking for the rest of the day about what had been done here, what tinder had been lit.
“That mouth of yours is going to be your undoing, little girl.” He stepped back. “I want you back at your desk. I have work to get done, and so do you. You don’t get to shirk it because of this. Since HR made you my personal slave for the next thirteen days, I plan to take full advantage.”
He stepped out, shutting the door firmly behind him. She wondered if he had any idea of the images that one potent word had conjured in her mind.
“I sure hope so,” she whispered.
She had the reckless bravado and stalwart courage of her sister, despite her lack of experience. He could cut through that shit pretty quick— break her down and leave her in tears. Which was when Lucas would kill him, rightly so. Even if she seemed to be begging for such rough treatment.
Marcella Ann Moira. Marcella meant young warrior, and damn if that didn’t fit. She reminded him of Eowyn in The Two Towers, disguised as a man on the battle line, shaking in her armor but still screaming out “Death” with all the veterans. She wasn’t backing down on this. Goddamn it.
Okay. He shifted in his chair, considered the view of downtown New Orleans, an assortment of rooftops and brick buildings, an old cathedral tower rising in the distance. She was a submissive. He wasn’t going to argue an indisputable fact. And fuck him, one aspiring to be full hardcore, though he didn’t much care for that word when it came to Marcie. Everything about her was soft, sweet, tempting. Too tempting. A sweet, tempting masochist who wanted pain as part of her pleasure. You pinched the places that you’d whipped, made them hurt more. It only made me hotter… Christ.
She was right, no matter how unsettling hearing the truth had been. With her being a natural sub, and having that curious mind, it wasn’t a surprise she’d figured out they were all Doms. She’d had a crush on him young, so the current fixation was normal, particularly with her exploring the way of it. It might make sense to take her to a club, show her the ropes—figuratively, not literally—give her some tips, guide her. Maybe even facilitate a pairing with a young Dom he trusted to help guide her. Then he’d leave it there, let her continue her life’s journey.
Shit, and maybe he’d go live in a swamp like Yoda, Great Jedi Master, content with what he’d taught his student. Go forth, young Grasshopper. What a load of bullshit. He rubbed a hand over his face. His cock was still settling, but the slightest provocation would have it at the ready again. He could jerk off in the bathroom, but he didn’t trust himself with her this close. Hell, he didn’t trust her. She wanted to suck him off. He’d given her a wrenching orgasm, and within seconds her eyes had been back on his cock, because she hadn’t done what a sub needed to do to feel complete. She hadn’t serviced her Master.
It was his own fault. When he’d yanked her into the bathroom, he’d let the Master take over, responding to her exactly as he would a sub displaying that kind of behavior. Trouble was, she’d more than held her own. He wanted to berate himself for an error in judgment, but the problem was, it didn’t feel that way.
It didn’t matter. Bottom line, he couldn’t do this. She might get exactly what she was asking for. There was a reason he chose experienced, hardcore subs, ones well-trained in extreme submission. He liked cracking those hard nuts, finding the inner core they thought was impregnable, and taking it to an even deeper level. He was after a woman’s soul. That was the challenge when he did a scene. But after that mission was accomplished, he let go of the soul, as easy and gentle as he’d been hard and ruthless when pulling it out of its fortress. He had no desire to keep it for his own.
You’re a conqueror. You conquer and move on, never finding true contentment. Jon’s words of course.
He needed to be the adult here. A thirteen-year-old’s maturity or not—he was so getting even with Jon for that one—he was going to rein himself back.
The problem was Marcie had no appreciation for his restraint.
Mini-cake donuts covered with white powdered sugar, fresh from the local bakery, were one of his favorite indulgences. Apparently Alice had told Marcie that, because the next morning she arrived with a box. He detected the aroma the moment she set it down on her desk, along with a coffee for him. Glancing up from his laptop, he saw she’d worn a longer skirt today, but it held her tight from waist to just below the knee, with a little flare to the skirt at the bottom when she walked.
He’d seen Cass wear a similar style, and it made Lucas just as batshit as Ben felt now. It triggered something in an alpha male, seeing a woman wearing something sexy that also hampered her movement, making her easier prey to catch. It also gave her a hell of a walk, lots of shifting curves and provocative movement.
She wore a scoop-necked shell blouse in a pale tan color. No necklace, but simple silver earrings. Was she keeping her neck bare on purpose, cognizant he still held her collar? He wouldn’t put it past her.
“Good morning.” She paused at the door, giving him a smile. She was holding his coffee and two of the donuts on a napkin. When he met her gaze, acknowledging her, she lowered her lashes, sending a shot straight to his groin. As she crossed his carpet, her heel hooked one of the fibers, putting a brief hitch in her step. She stopped, lifted it free carefully to make sure she wasn’t taking any fibers with her, then she was on the move again.
When she rounded his desk to set the coffee and donuts next to his elbow, he saw some of the sugar had gotten on her breast during that jerk in her step. It was right above the scoop neckline. When she bent to put the donuts and coffee down, the blouse shifted, giving him a brief glimpse down the front, to the barely there bra that seemed to be a lot of lace and sheer tan mesh.
It wasn’t one of her calculated tricks, not this morning. She seemed oblivious to the sugar, was already talking about the day’s work. He’d left her a shitload to get done yesterday, not holding back in the least. Part of it was him wanting to do right by her, give her the most out of her internship, because she did take the job seriously and the opportunities and experience it could provide her. His other hope was that the work would keep her out of trouble. Off car hoods.
Right now, giving him a status on the work she’d finished, she was obeying him to the letter. A hundred percent professional, going a hundred miles a minute. While that white powder was teasing him like crack to an addict, stark and tempting against the curve of flesh.
He had a full plate today. He’d be out of the office at a meeting with Matt and Lucas for most of it. No time to play. But there was always time for the important things.
Touching the remote on his desk, he heard the door swing close and lock, but he kept his eyes on her. She stopped in mid-sentence, brown eyes widening as he turned his chair toward her, set his hands to her waist and brought her between his knees. She was still holding the hot coffee.
“Put it down on the desk,” he ordered. She complied, her simple obedience a sweet drug. Pulling the blouse free from her waistband, he slid his hands beneath it, along that soft skin. She kept her hands lifted, clear, so there was no impediment to what he wanted.
When he reached the bra cups, he curved his palms over them, squeezed to make her breasts swell up over the neckline. Leaning in, he inhaled that powdered donut and coffee smell. Then he licked away the sugar. She strangled on a breath as he took his time with it, tracing a pattern on her quivering skin. He was tempted to dip down into the bra cup, find her nipple with the curl of his tongue, but he reined himself back. She was swaying on her heels when he sat back, savoring the taste of sugar on his tongue. “Fix your blouse, Marcie.”
He was satisfied to see her a little dazed and fumbling. “Sounds like you have a full day ahead,” he commented casually. “Everything you’re doing is fine. Have those three documents on my desk by day end for review.”
“Yes sir.” A flick of those lashes showed him a quick glimpse of her bemused eyes before she lowered them. When she backed out of the space, she’d recovered enough to add even more of a fuck-me-now sway to that mouthwatering backside, though he noticed she was a little wobbly on her heels. The combination made him hard as a rock. Might be good he was spending most of the day offsite, or he’d be in excruciating pain by lunchtime.
“That skirt’s so tight there can’t be any panties under it.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her brow lifting. The sparkle was back in her gaze. “It would ruin the line of the skirt over my absolutely perfect ass, don’t you think?”
“Behave,” he reminded her. “Or else you’ll get that ass smacked, and it won’t be pleasant.”
