Authors: Claire Kent
She fought the instinct to buck up toward his touch as he lingered over the damp spot he’d found.
“You’re very wet,” he said softly. “And I believe you’ll only get wetter as you wait.”
He was right about that too.
She suppressed a whimper of frustration when he turned back toward his computer and started working again on the email pulled up on his screen. She could see some of the words from her position, and it was of absolutely no interest to her. None of the email in his inbox right now would be any use to her.
She needed to go much further back.
She felt exposed and uncomfortable and incredibly turned on, bent over the desk this way, stretched out completely, wearing nothing but her bra and panties. Waiting for him like this. Completely vulnerable to him.
Arousal throbbed deeply in her pussy, in her entire body, as she watched him work. This hadn’t turned out exactly as she’d planned, but it would still turn out fine if she could just focus on the task at hand, rather than on the aching compulsion of her body.
He made her wait. And wait.
The minutes stretched on. The edge of the desk was pushing against her stomach in a way that was starting to hurt and she was so aroused it was deeply uncomfortable. She shifted a little, trying to get some friction with her thighs to take the edge off.
“I told you not to move,” Caleb said, without turning around. He was on his second email now, and was typing quickly, without hesitation.
“How much longer do I have to wait?”
“As long as I say so. Don’t let me hear you asking again.”
He was playing along with her. She knew that, of course. She was the one who had prompted this little game. He hadn’t pressured her into anything. But it was still unsettling to hear him order her around that way—completely in control of her, no softness to break the dominance.
She was breathing in hot little pants now, and she closed her eyes when she saw him turn his head to look.
“You’re excited,” he murmured.
She gave a little whimper, feeling his eyes on her.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“I’m excited.” She shifted her legs again. She couldn’t possibly help it.
“You’re not allowed to move yet.”
She grew still immediately.
“Tell me what you’re excited about.”
“I want to come.”
“What else?”
“I want you to touch me.”
“What else?”
“I want you to fuck me.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She kept her eyes closed, but she heard him stand up and move behind her. Her whole body tightened in anticipation when she felt him slowly brushing the tips of his fingers up her thighs, over her bottom, and then back down.
And then finally—finally—he slid his hand beneath her panties and started to stroke her exposed pussy.
She gasped loudly and gave a little jerk of pleasure before she could stop herself.
He removed his hand. “I didn’t say you could move yet. Do you want me to do this for you or not?”
“Yes. Yes, please. I won’t move.”
She breathed deeply as he started to explore once more, her body tensing up when he slid two fingers inside her.
“Do you want me to make you come now?”
She knew he was aroused himself, because his voice was rough with desire. She knew well how to recognize it, and it relieved her, knowing he was affected by their little game too.
“Yes, please,” she whispered, forcing herself to keep her hands in position, even though she desperately wanted to move.
“Okay. As long as you stay still, I’ll make you come.”
She breathed deeply as he started to fuck her with his fingers, the rhythm fast and hard and exactly what she needed. When she was tempted to push her bottom back against the penetration, she fought the impulse, keeping her body as still as she could make it.
“Very good,” he was murmuring, over the sound of wet suction from his fingers in her pussy. “You’re getting so tight around my fingers. I can feel how much you want this, and you’re taking it so well.”
She tried to smother the sounds as her orgasm deepened, tightened, as her body tried to prepare itself for release.
“I told you on the first day we met that I would prove something to you. That I could make you come without your help. Do you remember?”
She did remember. And she’d been so sure back then—it felt like ages ago now—that she would never give someone else control of a sexual encounter.
Of any encounter. Of anything in her life.
And yet here she was, submitting to him completely. With everything except her mind.
“Okay, when I tell you to come, you’re going to do so, but you’re still not to move. I still have you bound. Do you understand?”
She whimpered out her affirmation, her skin from her face to her belly flushed dark red from effort and pleasure.
“Come now, then.”
She came all around his fingers, as if he’d pulled a switch in her body. She bit her lip around the sobbing sounds of pleasure and made herself stay completely still, even as the spasms of sensation filled her, overwhelmed her, lingered.
“Excellent. Now I want to see your face as I fuck you, so I’m going to turn you over. But you’re still bound. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she rasped, filled with warm repletion and yet her body still somehow wanting more.
He unclenched her fingers from where she was grabbing the edge of the desk, and he turned her over onto her back, so she was sprawled out on the top of his desk.
His face was flushed too as he stared down at her possessively, like he wanted to swallow her whole.
“Fuck, you’re amazing, blossom,” he muttered, something deeper and hotter than lust in his expression, something she was too afraid to identify. “I’m releasing you now.”
She didn’t think that had been his original plan, but she was so relieved she didn’t think it through. She felt like she’d been rewarded when he gathered her up into his arms, propped her on the edge of the desk, and kissed her urgently.
They fumbled with his pants, and then fumbled with the condom, and then fumbled to get him in position—until he was finally moving aside her panties and sliding himself home inside her.
She was clinging to him desperately, her legs wrapped tightly around him, as he fucked her fast and hard, huffing out soft grunts as he let himself go.
And there was no way she could stop herself from loving how he felt in her arms, in her body—hard and substantial and warm and real and human. And there was no way she could stop herself from coming again as their eager motion built up toward climax.
She was coming with a loud cry, letting go of the last of her control, when she felt his whole body shudder through his own release.
He was gasping out words as the tension in his body began to soften, but she couldn’t understand what they were.
She was gasping out something too, but she couldn’t understand that either.
Finally, she was limp against him, still held in his arms. And it finally came back to her that she’d come into his office for a reason.
If she didn’t accomplish what she’d come here to do, then she might as well give up on the whole thing.
So, despite the hot chaos of feeling and satisfaction in her mind, she made it work enough to say, in a slightly teasing tone, “I guess the lesson is over. Although I’m not exactly sure what it was supposed to prove to me.”
She felt him twitch, just slightly, as if he had woken up from some sort of dream. And he felt far more like himself when he pulled out of her, straightened up, and rearranged her back on the desk.
“The lesson isn’t over yet,” he said as he took care of the condom. “I’m binding you again. You’re not to move yet.”
“Okay.” Her thighs and arms were sore from holding the earlier position for so long, so she was glad she was on her back this time, although her legs were dangling uncomfortably and her pussy was sore and still wet. But she was in the perfect position to see the computer screen and keyboard right here.
“I’m going to work some more, but I’ll get back to you later. I don’t want to see you moving.”
He was reestablishing his power in their little game. She understood it with crystal clarity. He felt like he’d lost something in their interplay just now, and he was taking it back.
In some ways, they really weren’t all that different.
She was getting her power back too. Just in an entirely different way.
Her whole body ached and was deliciously sated at the same time. It was such an incongruous combination of feelings, she could barely process it.
As soon as she heard his chair turn, she opened her eyes. She didn’t move a muscle as she watched him type his password into the prompt that appeared on the blackened screen.
He might sound perfectly cool and controlled, but he wasn’t. He’d obviously been affected by the hot sex they’d just had too. He was breathing heavily, and his typing was halting and slow.
This had always been a long shot, but she’d decided it was worth the effort. If he typed slowly enough, she might be able to follow the letters that were keyed in.
KELLY321#blossom
Her eyes were closed again when he turned back around to check on her.
The next day, Kelly had to wait until late afternoon before she got a chance to get on Caleb’s computer.
Breah was around all the time, and there was simply no excuse for Kelly to be in Caleb’s office, if she were to get caught.
Finally, Breah left the house to go shopping. As soon as she saw the car pull out of the gates, Kelly hurried downstairs.
The office was locked, of course, but Kelly knew where the household keys were kept now, so she grabbed them from the kitchen, ran to open the office, and then returned the keys in case Breah returned quicker than expected.
On an edge of excitement and anxiety, Kelly locked the office behind her and ran to the computer and typed in the password. To her relief, the home screen immediately opened up.
After that, it was really just a guessing game.
She tried the email first, being careful not to make any changes to his inbox, in case he had it opened on his office computer and would notice. She checked out the folders but saw nothing of interest—certainly nothing that went back eighteen years. Next, she tried the deleted and sent mail, but all of that must be purged fairly regularly.
There was nothing in the email that could help her, so she closed it down and pulled up his document folders.
There were hundreds of them—so many she stared blankly, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of information he kept on this computer.
It was all perfectly organized, though. Each folder labeled with the project or task, and folders inside folders, compartmentalizing each document neatly.
He had an assistant, she reminded herself. He probably didn’t do all this organization on his own.
She scanned through the names of the folders, but she didn’t see one with the name of the project her father had worked on. It was so long ago, he may not even keep records of it anymore.
What she needed might be in some obscure file cabinet in his company’s storage room.
What she needed might have been destroyed ages ago.
She found a group of folders titled only by years, and clicked on the one with the year of her father’s death.
There was a whole group of folders inside it—a variety of different projects. And there was a folder with the project name she was looking for.
Tarleton.
Her hands were trembling as she clicked on it, looking at the new folders that appeared on the screen.
Budget. Research. Admin. Marketing. Competition.
She clicked on
Research
and blinked at the number of documents that pulled up. When she started going through them, they were full of detailed scientific results she’d never be able to decipher. She pulled out the jump drive she’d brought and copied the entire project folder, glancing at the clock to reassure herself she’d only been in the office fifteen minutes.
No way would Breah get back from the grocery store that quickly.
She closed out the folder and scanned the rest of the titles. She was about to log off altogether when she saw a folder entitled
Old Correspondence
.
Out of curiosity, she clicked on it, discovering folders by year again. She clicked on the right year and found the same projects she’d seen listed in the other folder. When she opened the Tarleton folder, she found hundreds of memos listed by date.
She sighed. Didn’t the man ever delete anything?
She found the dates just before her father’s death and started opening them.
They were nearly all interoffice memos, from a time when email wouldn’t necessarily have been the primary means of office communication. They were mostly innocuous—about boring, mundane items connected to the Tarleton project.
She figured she’d just copy all of them, and then sort through them at a different time. But as she was closing the documents, she noticed a few words that made her halt.
The memo was to the CEO at the time, and it was made up of only two lines.
The problem we discussed has been taken care of. Please let me know if you would like me to tie up any lingering loose ends.
Kelly stared at the screen with a sickening churn of her gut.
It was too vague to be compromising, but she knew—she
knew
—it was referring to her father.
Caleb. He’d “taken care of” her father’s potential whistle-blowing, having the man killed instead of leaving a loose end.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t completely a monster. Men crossed those kinds of moral lines all the time.
Caleb’s career was the thing that was most important to him, and everything else fell in service to that. Including her father.
Including her.
She’d known to expect it, but it still made her shake helplessly with emotion. There might be more in these documents. Maybe something genuinely compromising. She finished copying the correspondence folder and pulled out her drive.
She closed out the computer quickly and turned around to leave, feeling shaky and heavy and profoundly angry.