Authors: Delilah Fawkes
I glanced over at the silver wall clock. It read 10:05.
“I’m sorry, Sir. The elevator-“
“
No excuses
,” he snapped, his eyes suddenly cold.
I tensed, unsure of what to do.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
He leaned in until we were eye to eye, him just an inch or two away from me, close enough for me to smell the mint on his breath.
“I expect you to be on time, Lucy. As partner of this firm, I have an appearance to maintain. An example to set. I can’t have my assistant setting her own hours, can I.”
It wasn’t a question.
He reached up and ran his fingers down a strand of my hair, then brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply.
“You’ll have to be punished, is all,” he said. “You have to learn your lesson.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to tremble beneath his touch, his chilling stare.
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.
After all… I had signed his contract. This was part of the deal. Even though I may have felt like it was unfair, it was his right to punish me as he saw fit. He was the boss, and he knew it.
“As I’m sure you read, sweet Lucy, you may veto any punishments you feel are unseemly. But I hope that you won’t use that as an excuse to avoid being disciplined when you clearly deserve it. Do you understand?”
I pressed my lips together, wondering what on earth he wanted me to say. Of course I wasn’t going to punk out on part of our deal. What kind of girl did he think I was, anyway? Fair was fair, and I was determined to hold up my end of the bargain.
Besides, the contracts spelled out that the punishments would be lighter stuff. Nothing too kinky. Nothing I couldn’t handle…
“I do, Sir. I won’t, Sir.”
He smiled again, in that way that sent shivers down my spine.
“Good, Lucy. Good.”
He crossed to the side of his office where there was a closet, rifled through it for a moment, and then returned with what looked like a pair of handcuffs glinting coldly in the low light.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever he wanted to do to me. Was he going to bend me over his desk and spank me? I had to admit… the thought turned me on. My pussy heated just thinking about it.
Lucy, you bad girl, you.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” Mr. Alastair said.
I did as he commanded, showing him my wrists. He took them and slid the handcuffs on, tightening them gently but firmly, so I couldn’t escape. The cold metal against my skin made me tingle, my heated flesh trembling in anticipation.
But instead of asking me to bend over, Mr. Alastair appeared before me with a tube of red lipstick in his hands, taken from my purse.
“Since you are such a very bad girl, Lucy, I’m going to put you in time out. However, I want you to feel the consequences of making me look bad. Want you to feel the stares. Hear the stifled laughter…”
He reached toward me with the lipstick, and I flinched back.
“Are you vetoing already?”
I lowered my eyes. What was I so nervous about? He wasn’t going to hurt me or humiliate me. He was just going to draw on me. Right?
I shook my head and held still, trying not to look as nervous as I felt. Whatever else this was, it was weird. That part I was certain of.
He carefully drew a short word directly on my forehead, the greasy lipstick feeling unpleasant on my skin, its cosmetic smell filling my nostrils.
Mr. Alastair stepped back and admired his work, a twisted smile on his handsome face.
“Yes, I think that will do nicely,” he said. “Now, I have a meeting in a few minutes with the other partners—very private—and I expect you to attend, just as you are. You’ll stand in the corner, holding my recorder, so I can listen to the meeting notes later. You won’t say anything, or do anything, other than stand where I put you. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir…”
What the hell had he written on me? What kind of sick little joke
was
this?
I stood there, hands cuffed behind me, waiting for him to slowly gather his paperwork and tuck it into his briefcase along with the recorder, wondering what the other partners would do when they saw me like this. Were all of them like Mr. Alastair? Their assistants “special” like me? Was this just one big boys’ club, where they played their little games in between client meetings?
It was all too strange.
Finally, Mr. Alastair was ready to go, and motioned for me to follow him. We left his office, and moved down the hallway toward a conference room with frosted glass windows. My cheeks burned as we walked, and even though no one saw me, I knew I was blushing furiously, being paraded like this, cuffed and helpless.
When we entered the room, Mr. Alastair put his briefcase down and greeted the two other men sitting at the polished wooden conference table.
“Jeffrey. Blake.”
I felt their eyes on me, and chewed my lip, not knowing where to look. Both of the partners were in their 30s, and were fit and attractive, and both were staring at me the same way Mr. Alastair did when he first eyed me across the ballroom floor, hunger burning in their gaze.
“Miss Willcox has been a very bad girl,” he said calmly. “So she’ll be standing in the corner today.”
The men chuckled at that, looking from one another back to me, like this was all too funny. I set my jaw, not wanting them to see how humiliating this was, or how uncomfortable it was being vulnerable like this in front of a group of strangers.
What the
fuck
did he write on me?
As Mr. Alastair led me to the corner of the room, I managed to catch a glimpse of myself in the tinted glass of the outside windows, and squinted, trying to make out the lettering.
T-U-L-S… Oh, my God.
I felt tears stinging my eyes, but took a deep breath, trying to force them back as I took my position.
It was okay. This was okay. I wasn’t a slut, I knew that in my heart, and I wouldn’t let this hurt me. I wouldn’t let them see my embarrassment; my shame at being put in such a position.
When Mr. Alastair chuckled, low in his throat, and moved toward me, I tensed again, my eyes watering. He ripped open my shirt, and I screeched, feeling the cool air of the conference room hit the globes of my breasts in my balconette bra. He’d torn all of the buttons off, all the way down to my waist, where the blouse was tucked into the skirt, baring me for all to see.
He clicked the recorder on, and tucked in gently into the front of my bra, then stroked my cheek with one finger, tracing the tear that had fallen there.
“There, there, now, Lucy. Be a good girl and take your punishment.”
My mouth opened, then closed again, as I tried to think of how to protest, then remembered he told me not to speak.
I stood, cold and exposed, bound and humiliated, branded and shamed, trembling as I watched the meeting, the men’s eyes crawling over me in between questions and presentations. I stood and I took my punishment, crying quietly in the corner, feeling worse every minute as I realized my panties were slowly soaking through…
I think I hated Lucas Alastair for that, most of all.
Lucy
I’d tossed and turned all night, thinking about what Mr. Alastair did to me. The way he treated me. The way he’d exposed me, without my consent, in front of those men. The way he used me, like I was property, instead of a human woman… The way he turned me on while he did it…
The way I hated my body for betraying me like that.
I tossed and turned and thought of his smirk, his roaming blue eyes, the timbre of his voice when he spoke to me. Demanded things of me. I loved it, and I hated it. All of it.
And underneath it all was the memory of him taking me that night, fucking me hard against the back of that sofa, claiming me like a wild man, making me cum and cum and cum until I realized what I’d done… When I realized that he wasn’t my Max, and I wasn’t his to claim.
“Max.”
I whispered the word, alone in my canopy bed, wishing he were here now to warm me, to hold me in his strong arms, kiss my hair, and tell me everything was going to be alright.
Or, rather, tell me what I already knew: that the Lucy he knew wouldn’t stand for some asshole pushing her around like Mr. Alastair did. That the Lucy he knew would march into his office and kick some ass.
Then again, the Lucy he knew would never have agreed to work for this man in the first place.
Had I really changed? Or was I just afraid? Worried I was on the wrong path?
I wiped a tear off my cheek and rolled over, trying not to think about Max, about what I’d lost, but try as I might, I kept seeing his face, kept remembering the smell of his cologne and the feel of him as he held me tight.
The memory of that night so long ago when he won the race to save my brother from Dmitry and his goons filled my mind, transporting me back to that dark cornfield where he’d pulled off the road and taken me right there on the hood of his Lamborghini.
“Stay with me?”
Max’s bad boy mask had fallen away, and I could see how vulnerable he was—my sexy billionaire, my Master—asking me if I would be with him; if I would love him, even though I had what I needed.
“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
I’d said those words to him, my fingers tangled in the dark waves of his hair, my eyes locked on his. I’d promised to be by his side, to help him run his company once he took on the responsibility. To be there with him, urging him on. Believing in him when he didn’t dare believe in himself.
But now here I was in some strange mansion, in some strange four-poster bed, my tears staining a strange silk pillowcase, far, far away from the man I loved.
I did still love him, I realized. I loved him more than I could bear, my heart aching for him in a way that made me moan aloud, there in the darkness. I was so fucking angry, but I loved him so fucking much I couldn’t stand it.
After what I did, and who I did it with, I doubted he felt the same way. Could he ever love me again without thinking of that terrible moment? Without thinking of flipping that light switch and seeing me tangled in another man’s arms, crying out while I came for another man, even though it was all a terrible, horrible mistake?
The memory of that night was like a nightmare, playing over and over in my mind. But with that guilt, that shame, came another sensation as well. My pussy ached, remembering the pleasure of the hunt as Max and I played our little game, the egg pulsing inside of me… and coming apart for the man I thought was my Master, crying out in the dark.
God, if only it had been. If only it had been my Max, none of this would have ever happened.
I buried my face in my pillow, willing my mind to still, to stop replaying these memories and let me get some sleep. I would need every ounce of rest I could get if I was to face him tomorrow morning.
I had to set things right, at least with the one billionaire who was still speaking to me.
***
Max
“She left the money. That tells me everything I need to know.”
“Does it? Does it really?”
Jackson cocked an eyebrow at me from across my desk, looking at me the same way he did when we were kids. I wanted to punch that patronizing look right off his face, even if he
was
my brother.
“What does it honestly tell you, Max?”
“It tells me she doesn’t want me… doesn’t
need
me. I mean, other than literally stabbing me in the heart, she couldn’t be more obvious if she tried,” I said. “It’s over.”
I realized my hands were clenched into fists, and tried to relax my fingers, cracking my knuckles. I swallowed, trying to force the pit in my throat back into my stomach, where it belonged.
“She doesn’t love me.”
“Bullshit, Max,” Jackson said.
It was my turn to cock an eyebrow. When my perfect older brother swore, you knew something was up.
“She’s just being stubborn,” he said. “You two have that in common.”
I grunted in response.
“Maybe she’s just angry that you threw her out without so much as a ‘goodbye.’ Did you ever consider this from her perspective?”
I frowned at that, toying with the silver car penholder on my desk, pushing it back and forth.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for God’s sake, Max! It’s clear that you’re still crazy about her, but at the first sign of trouble, were you there for her? Were you willing to work things out? No! You just cut her off and ran away from it all.”
I could feel the anger bubbling inside of me, just below the surface.
“You’re on thin ice, Jackson.”
“I’m on thin ice? Seems to me like you’re the one on edge, Max. I’m just trying to show you a different side. You
always
do this, and it’s getting old, watching you throw everything away like this.”
I felt his eyes on me and looked up. His jaw was tight, his arms folded across his chest. I realized my leg was jumping beneath my desk—excess energy coming off me in waves, as I tried to hold my anger in. Tried to just let it go.
“Since when do I throw everything away, huh? Just because you’re the goddamn golden boy, doesn’t mean I’m some kind of fucking screw up.”
“Well, from the way you handled the company before Lucy came along to the way you’re throwing away the best thing that ever happened to you, I’d say, yeah. You’re a Grade-A-Fucking-Screw-Up.”
He pushed his chair back from the desk, putting some distance between he and I, and blew out a breath. His neck was red, his eyes shining with anger. I’d hardly ever seen my brother like this, and the change in him was startling. But that still didn’t mean he wasn’t pissing me right the fuck off.
“
She
was the one fucking some other guy!
She
was the one who betrayed
me
, Jacks,
not
the other way around.”
“Because of your little game? Hmm? Because of the game you talked her into?”
“Well-“
“Do you really think it was fucking
deliberate
, Max? Or are you just being an asshole? Because from the way you told the story, it sounds like you set her up to get hurt.”
“What?!”
“You wore masks, right? In the dark, at a party full of other masked people?”
“Well, yes, but-“
He kept going, cutting me off.
“Did you have a clue that she could find you with? A rose or a pocket square of a certain color? A password you’d say to one another before touching? Anything at all?”
“Well, no, but-“
“And you were using a toy on her, dominating her from afar via the earpiece, right? You knew she’d be starting to zone out, Max. To get into that submissive space. She’s pliable, then. Suggestible. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you have to watch your sub to make sure she’s comfortable when you’re playing together, or she’s liable to not even know she’s hurt, or being pushed too far!
You should know this
.”
“I
do
know, I just-“
“If you knew, then why did you leave her alone like that? Why weren’t you there, keeping her safe?”
Jackson was practically yelling, pacing the office, angrier than I’d seen him since I wrecked his first car. I stood and rounded my desk, wanting to square off with him, wanting to punch him, and wanting to sink into the floor and disappear, all at the same time.
“She should have known,” I said, fists at my sides.
“Maybe she would have, if she weren’t in that place, but she didn’t. She thought he was you, and she submitted. And you weren’t there to stop it.”
“I…”
I wanted to hit him--wanted to make him take it back—but his words rang out in my mind, again and again.
You weren’t there to stop it
.
The scene played through my mind: finding her there, entangled with
him
. But just moments before, I’d been caressing a woman with a red curl hanging from beneath her mask; running my hand up her thigh, up her side, and almost to her breast, before I realized it wasn’t my Lucy…
And I had been the one in charge. I had been the one responsible for making sure things didn’t go too far in our dangerous little game.
“I failed her.”
The words burned, but that didn’t make then any less true.
“Oh, God, Jacks. What have I done?”
For a moment, I thought Jackson wasn’t going to say anything. He just stood there, watching my face. Then, the tension in the room shifted, and he was there, holding me by the shoulders, his anger fading almost as quickly as it came.
“You screwed up,” he said. “But that doesn’t have to be the end of the world.”
I shook my head, lost for words as I took it all in, thinking about all the ways I’d failed… the ways I’d let Lucy down. Jackson was right. When I was dominating, I should have been watching her to make sure she was alright, and that she wasn’t overwhelmed in that delicate state, that she wasn’t lost or afraid. I should have been the one to take her to the edge where she could truly let go—truly submit—because she knew I would catch her when she fell.
But I’d taken her to that edge and then left her to fend for herself.
I’d thought I had it all under control… but I’d forgotten that one basic rule.
I wasn’t there, controlling all the variables. She hadn’t been safe, and I should have known better.
“Call her,” Jackson urged. “Let her know you’re sorry. Let her know you still want her.”
I sat on the edge of my desk and looked toward my phone.
“No.”
“Max… You have to tell her that you’re there for her. That you love her and want to keep her safe. What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“I mean,” I said, heading for the door, “That I’m going to tell her in person.”
Jackson smiled and handed me my coat. He clapped me on the shoulder.
“There’s my brother,” he said. “Go get her.”
I nodded, a lump suddenly in my throat, but I stuffed it back down. There was no time for that. I had a mission, and I was raring to go: I was going to sweep Lucy Willcox off her goddamn feet.
***
Lucy
“If you were so uncomfortable, my dear, you only had to say something.”
I looked down at my hands. It was hard to meet Mr. Alastair’s piercing gaze.
“You didn’t tell me you’d open my shirt, though…”
My mouth was dry; the words not coming out the way I wanted them to.
“Lucy,” Mr. Alastair said, his voice cold. “If you had a certain limitation, you should have told me. How am I supposed to know what you’re uncomfortable with if you don’t let me know?”
“I…”
I frowned and looked up into that chilly gaze, then looked back down. I didn’t know what to say. Was he right? Did I have the opportunity to tell him I didn’t want him to punish me in that way? Suddenly, I wasn’t quite sure.
“I asked you before we put on the handcuffs if you had any objections, and you said ‘no,’” he continued. “In the future, I expect you to make any problems clear to me when I ask you. Is that understood?”
His tone was sharp, his voice impatient, as if I were wasting his time with trivialities. Hell, maybe I was.
It wasn’t like he’d stripped me naked, after all…
I chewed my lip.
“Y-yes, Mr. Alastair,” I said.
“Yes, what?”
“It’s understood.”
He smiled, then, his eyes suddenly kind, and reached for me, smoothing his hand over my shoulder.
“Very good,” he said. “I just want you to be happy, Lucy.”