The phone double beeped, signaling that the call had been transferred. He waited impatiently for the guard to answer, sweating and thinking about what to say. A click sounded when the line was picked up.
“Hello, Grant,” his secretary said in dulcet tones. “I see you’re awake.”
“Isabelle?” Grant said, not at all happy to hear her voice. He didn’t want her to see him so ignobly captured. “Listen, can you get the guard up to my office? I kind of have a problem.”
“Oh, my,” she said, with a hint of mockery. At least he now knew his dilemma hadn’t extended to her. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
And with another click, she hung up.
Grant cursed, his need to be rescued warring with his not wanting to look weak in front of Isabelle. Not that it mattered, for his door swung open only seconds later and she walked in wearing a long trench coat.
“Isabelle, thank god you’re all right. I don’t know what happened, but I must have been knocked out-and when I came to, I was tied to my chair. Can you get me loose?”
Isabelle closed and locked Grant’s office door, the click of the tumbler sending a frisson of fear down Grant’s spine.
“Isabelle, why are you locking the door? Are my assailants still out there?”
Isabelle turned to face him, and for the first time since the previous Saturday, Grant looked at her. His breath whooshed out as if he’d been punched in the gut.
She perused him with those clear blue eyes, her mahogany hair upswept in a chignon that showed off her long neck. By all that was holy, he wanted to pull the pins out of her hair and see it spread wildly across a pillow as she gazed upon him with heavy lidded, passion glazed eyes. Her mouth glistened pink and tempting, her lips coated with a sheen of lip-gloss in the sweet flavor he remembered from their encounter a week ago. He still got aroused every time he remembered those luscious lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him expertly.
His attraction to Isabelle still surprised him, for she was in her thirties with a figure more rounded than that of his usual conquests. She hadn’t drawn him in with her youth, however, but instead with her voluptuous beauty and confident manner. A confidence she’d drawn upon even in the bedroom as she told him what she wanted him to do to her full figured body. Glorious orders he’d obeyed eagerly. Desire rose like a beast and roared through his body.
But therein lay the path to madness and sure unemployment. Isabelle might be his secretary and a delectable piece of ass, but she was also the owner’s daughter. Grant knew all too well how this would end. The last man to get involved with her had learned, to his misfortune, that to lust after Isabelle was to sign your own pink slip. His dismissal had led to Isabelle’s transfer to Grant’s office and the beginning of
“Grant, why have you ignored me all week?”
'What?' Her blatant question took him aback. “Isabelle, I don’t think it’s the right time for this discussion. You need to untie me.”
“When will be a good time?” she asked, coming closer, her eyes flashing in annoyance.
Women always had such inappropriate timing. “Listen, I promise that when this is all over, we’ll sit down and talk about it. But right now, you need to set me free before those guys come back.”
“Guys?” Isabelle sat on the edge of his desk with her legs crossed. One stocking clad leg peeked out from the opening in her coat, and for one insane moment, he wondered if she had on garters like she had worn last Saturday. Garters and stockings he’d gripped as he’d pounded into her tight, wet sheath. His cock swelled in remembrance, and he held back a snort of self-disgust. She smiled. “How many men do you think did this to you?”
'I don’t know.' Grant’s ego demanded he lie and tell her it had taken at least a half dozen thugs to subdue him, but the truth was he had no idea how he’d ended up in this situation. “I’m having a hard time remembering. They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“Why would you care?”
'Please, Isabelle,' Grant snarled. The idea of anyone laying an uncouth hand on her roused a jealous beast inside him, one he’d never met before. The protective, possessive instinct shocked him. He was a man who lived for one night stands. “I know I’ve acted like a jerk this week, but that doesn’t mean I want you to come to harm.”
“So you admit being an asshole, do you?” she asked, her eyes glittering triumphantly.
Taken aback by her foul language, Grant tried to defend himself. “You need to understand it from my perspective. I could lose my job.”
Isabelle laughed, a throaty sound that, even given the situation, made his balls tighten and his shaft swell. “Oh, that’s good. So it’s okay to fuck the boss’s daughter, but not okay to treat her like a human being afterward? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.”
'Well…' Said that like, he did sound like a grade ‘A’ asshole, not that he’d ever admit it. His reasons were sound-to him, at least.
She snorted.
In spite of her derision, he continued on, “I really like you. But no matter how good Saturday was, it was a mistake. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I don’t want to lose it all because I forgot who you were for a moment. Can’t we just pretend it never happened and continue on in a professional manner?”
“No,” she said, hopping off his desk. She propped a foot on the chair between his thighs and turned him to face her. Then she untied the sash to her coat. “Guess what, Grant?”
“What?” he asked, mesmerized by the movements of her small, pale hands. Hands he remembered wrapping around his shaft, stroking him and guiding him into her moist center. 'I don't-'
“There are no intruders.
Grant’s eyes almost popped out of his head, while his cock tried to drill a hole through his pants.
Delighted that her plan had worked, Isabelle stood in front of a slack jawed Grant wearing her finest leather dominatrix outfit, which consisted of a black corset that laced up the front and pushed her tits together to give her shadowy cleavage. Barely covering her crotch was a black leather skirt that didn’t hide her garters and sheer stockings. To top off the outfit, she wore bitching, supple leather knee high boots with three inch stiletto heels. And beneath it all, she wore no panties-which he couldn’t tell just by looking, of course-but she knew about it, and it made her feel deliciously wicked.
His eyes stayed riveted on her body.
Isabelle reached up and pulled out the pins that held her hair up, letting its silky mass tumble around her bare shoulders. She knew he liked her hair loose. She knew a lot of things about Grant, even things he thought were secret.
Licking her lips in a sensuous motion that made him swallow, she laughed. “You’ve been a
A tremble wracked his body, and the bulge in his pants twitched. Isabelle strutted around his chair prison to stand behind him. Grabbing his thick, dark hair, she forced his head back, lowered her lips to his ear, and whispered, “I'm going to make you sorry, Grant. Sorry you didn’t try and keep me when you had a chance.”
She bit his earlobe and chuckled throatily at his cry and jerk of pain.
Grant heartily regretted his decision to pretend he’d never touched Isabelle, especially when he saw her decked out in his greatest leather fantasy. He found this naughty, dominant Isabelle even sexier than the one he already knew. It was almost as if she’d seen the images he’d saved in the hidden folder on his computer at home. The ones where women took charge of men and punished them in delicious ways. A secret desire in which he’d never indulged.
Even as she bit his ear lobe and threatened him, his cock strained inside his pants. He fervently wished he wasn’t tied to the chair so he could bend her over his desk, lift that itty bitty excuse for a skirt, and fuck her hard.
