Authors: Seraphina Donavan
The intercom on Grace Marcum’s desk buzzed. Even though it was right at five o’clock, she didn’t hesitate or feel even a moment’s hesitation as she answered. “Yes, Mr. Callahan?”
“I need to see you for a moment, Grace,” he said, and there was a stern quality to his voice that made her heart pound in her chest.
“Of course, Mr. Callahan,” she said cordially and rose to head towards his office. It wasn’t unusual to work late with him. She had no idea what might be wrong, but she wasn’t concerned. Her devotion to her job and to her employer was never in question.
Entering his office, she moved towards the luxuriously upholstered chairs that faced his antique mahogany desk. It was not one of the delicate antiques that had graced her aunt’s home during her childhood, but a sturdy partner’s desk from a bank that had been intended to hold and support the weight of money before it was made of paper. “You wished to see me, sir?”
Anthony Callahan smiled and made a benign gesture to one of the chairs. “Yes, Grace. I have a few questions for you.”
Her heart hammered and her knees trembled as she lowered herself onto the chair. Normally she was somewhat embarrassed by the fact that her bottom filled the chair entirely, but she tried to ignore it. “Of course, Mr. Callahan. How can I help you?”
“I think you can begin by calling me Anthony, Grace. You’ve worked for me for nearly two years now. I know that I have a reputation of being difficult, but we haven’t had any issues that would necessitate being so formal...Have we?”
“No, Mr. Callahan...Anthony,” she corrected. It felt foreign on her tongue, but simply saying it caused her to shiver. She’d dreamed of calling him that, of lying beneath him and whispering his name as he kissed her neck and her breasts, and as he drove his cock into her welcoming pussy. For the last two years, her every sexual fantasy had starred Anthony Callahan.
“Are you happy working for me, Grace?” he asked, and as he did so, he retrieved a small leather bound book from the top drawer of his desk. Tapping it on the desk, the sound echoed Grace’s beating heart. Someone had found it and turned it into him. She should have destroyed it, she thought. If she’d burned the damn thing instead of carting it around in her bag like some lovesick school girl it would never have happened.
“My name is Anthony, Grace. Answer my question. Are you happy working for me?”
“I love working for you,” she said honestly. It was the only way she could see him, be close to him, nurture the small bits of happiness that trickled down to her with his smile or a bit of praise. That she was utterly pathetic was not lost on her.
“But working for me isn’t all you want, is it?”
Grace rose from the chair, no longer caring about her job or her dignity, which was apparently a lost cause. “I never intended for you to see my diary! I would never--I will submit my letter of resignation immediately.” The words had no more than left her mouth when another awful possibility occurred to her. “Oh god! You don’t need my resignation because you’re firing me!” Tears threatened and she turned toward the door, fighting back the sobs that were barely contained within her. Her hand wasn’t even touching the doorknob before his palm smacked against the wood directly in front of her. She could feel his big body behind her, the breadth of his shoulders dwarfing even her considerable frame.
“Grace, do not even think of walking out that door without an explanation!”
Grace turned to see face him, looming over her. She could see a vein throbbing in his neck, proof of just how angry he was. It was her own sick and twisted mind that made it seem so incredibly hot to her. It didn’t help that he looked just as he did in every dirty fantasy she’d ever entertained about him. His tie had long since been discarded, as had his jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled back to reveal tanned skin stretched taut over muscle and lightly dusted with dark hair. He’d run his fingers through his dark hair and the waves were slightly disheveled. Green eyes were flashing daggers beneath dark, straight brows.
“An explanation for what, sir?” she asked, challengingly.
Gritting his teeth, Anthony fought to keep his anger in check. When he’d made a beeline for the door, panic had set in. He’d known from the moment that book had been placed on his desk that he would never let her go. From the fact that she wasn’t blushing to the roots of her dark hair, he knew that she was too devastated to even process what was happening. But that wasn’t the letter that had swayed his decision to push her. Opening that diary, reading the profane and intensely sexual fantasies of his quiet, mild mannered secretary had sent his libido into overdrive. What it had revealed to him was proof that Grace was his. Still, he called her bluff, “Your resignation, Miss Callahan, or firing you? I pay you well because I value your work and you do it remarkably well. But that’s professional, and your diary was hardly that. You’re a very dirty girl, Grace.”
“This isn’t funny,” she said. “I don’t appreciate you teasing me this way. It’s humiliating.”
“More humiliating than your dirty little fantasy about being spanked on my desk?”
She did blush then and ducked her head to avoid looking at him. “I will submit my resignation on Monday morning. I’ve enjoyed working at Callahan Industries and I have learned so much working for you this past year, but it is time for me to explore other avenues.” Avenues that didn’t leave her aching and wet at the end of each day, lusting for a man she couldn’t have, and now being utterly humiliated because he was aware of it. Being ignored was preferable to being pitied. Grace wasn’t blind. She knew precisely what she looked like, and with her extra curvy figure and her dark, perpetually messy hair, she was not the type of woman that Anthony Callahan would ever look twice at. It had become painful to come to work every day, to look at the man she wanted more than anything else in the world and know that she would never have him.
Anthony raked a hand through his hair. Grace Callahan was the most efficient secretary he’d ever had. His office had never run so smoothly as when he’d put her in charge. If it had been a little uncomfortable for him at times, watching her lush bottom wiggle as she filed the forms, or noting the way she crossed her legs beneath the glass topped desk. Or, dear god help him, when she dropped something on the floor and bent forward to pick it up, offering him an enticing glimpse of the deep valley between her generous breasts, it had been worth it. It had gotten difficult, sneaking into his private bathroom to jack himself off at least twice a day to avoid a sexual harassment suit, but he’d learned to deal with it, just as he’d learned to deal with the wet dreams that had him waking up in the middle of the night, with a raging hard on and aching balls. But now, knowing that she felt the same way, there was no going back.
“I don’t accept it,” he said. “I refuse to accept your resignation... But everything else you suggested in this naughty book of yours, Grace, I’ll take that and more.”
Panic hit her then. “What are you talking about?”
He growled. Literally, felt the primal sound work its way up from his gut as pressed her firmly back against the door. “The part where you talk about how much you want me... how you dream of having me take you roughly, of bending you over my desk and making you mine. Oh yes, Grace, my dirty girl, I will take all of it and then some.”
Grace’s face flamed. “I never meant for you to see that! I just--I wrote it thinking that if I just acknowledged it and then destroyed it that it would make everything better, but then I couldn’t... and once I started writing, I couldn’t stop.” He was so close. She could smell the subtle spice of his cologne and feel the heat of his big body looming over her. In his anger, he’d moved closer and closer, and now with every breath she took her breasts came dangerously close to grazing the hard planes of his chest. “I don’t want your pity! I can’t stand it!”
The words had tumbled out and tears gathered in her eyes. Humiliation simply flooded her. Unable to look at him, she ducked her head, and tried to move past him. He simply stepped closer, pinning her to the wall. When she felt his large hand touch her face, his callused fingers gently wiping a tear from her cheek, she wanted to simply crawl into a hole and die.
“You’ve never been invisible to me, Grace,” he corrected softly. There was a slight roughness to his voice that sent shivers down her spine. The hand that had been gently caressing her face, wiping away the errant tears, was moving now, inching into the coiled chignon at the base of her skull. Pins scattered, pinging off the hardwood floor as he loosened her hair. “You can walk away from the job if you want, but I’ll be damned before I let you walk away from me.”
Grace glanced up then and the expression on his face was unlike anything she’d ever seen. His eyes bored into her. He looked feral, predatory and irresistible. The thought hadn’t even fully formed in her mind before his lips were on hers. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. There was no persuasion or seduction to it. He simply claimed her mouth, his lips marking her as his. When his tongue swept into her mouth, sliding sensually between her parted lips, she moaned. Liquid pooled at her core, dampening the silk of her panties and making her burn for him. It was all she could do not to press herself against him and hump him like a horny teenager.
“Anthony,” he corrected, his lips coasting along the delicate line of her jaw, his tongue testing the pulse that beat just below it. “My name is Anthony.”
“I can’t call you by your first name! This is--You don’t have to do this. You can’t really want me!”
He pressed her firmly against the wall, his chest pressing tightly against her breasts. Sliding his hands under the soft, globes of her behind he tugged her hips forward until she could feel the raging proof. His cock, hard and thick, pressed against her mound. “Does that feel like pity, Grace?”
She looked dazed, her eyes wide and her lips still damp and swollen from his kiss. “No.”
“I jack off twice a day in that bathroom thinking about you... imagining what it would be like to have your sweet lips wrapped around my cock, sucking me deep.” He punctuated that statement by popping the buttons on her blouse. The red satin bra with black lace cupped her full breasts, lifting them up like the sweetest of offerings. “I think about bending you over my desk... taking you from behind, about all those things you mentioned in your letter. I think about how good it will feel to sink balls-deep into you until I literally can think of nothing else. So don’t fucking tell me that I don’t want you!”
Brazen now, buoyed by the knowledge that he actually wanted her, Grace said, “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”
It was all the encouragement he needed, shoving her skirt up until it bared the bow adorned garters and the lace tops of her stockings, he pressed one hand between her thighs, covering her mound and the damp satin that shielded her entrance. His questing fingers slid past that small scrap of fabric and parted the slick folds. The callused pad of his thumb brushed against the hooded bud of her clit, and Grace couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped her parted lips.
“Yes,” he said, his lips once again trailing hot kisses over her throat. “Tell me what you like... Scream it for me.”
He delved deeper, two fingers penetrating the tightness of her sheath while his thumb caressed her clit more directly. The sensations were overwhelming. It was so good, so amazingly good, that she was struggling to draw breath. He dipped his head, his hot mouth burning a trail over the swell of her breast until he clasped his lips over a pebbled nipple through the satin and lace of her bra. She screamed then. “Anthony!”
“So wet,” he said as the heat of her cunt all but scorched him. His fingers slid easily inside her, her body primed and ready for him. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted her more than ready. He wanted her to beg him for it. Dropping to his knees, he pressed his face against her, inhaling the sweet musk of her desire. Tugging the small triangle of red satin aside, he took in the perfect v of dark, crisp hair. Parting the tender folds, he could see the small, hooded bud of her clit. A gentle flick of his tongue over that sensitive flesh had her shuddering, her hands sliding into his hair. Another pass of his tongue, firmer, more direct, and she arched her back, moaning his name.