Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
My hands tighten around the edge of the desk because she's right about me. I need control. It's probably why I've never even bothered trying to date. I'm self-aware enough to know no one should be stuck dealing with an autocratic asshole all day, every day.
But…I want her to deal with it. Right now, I want to force her to give me what I want. I want her to spill her secrets and tell me what makes her tick. What does she want? What does she crave? What makes her thrust those fingers into her panties to get herself off?
"You like to see how far you can push before you're forced to obey," I rasp, pushing the boundaries to the breaking point. Ha. Who am I kidding? This is so far outside the bounds of appropriate workplace conversation, it's laughable. Except, I'm not laughing, and neither is she.
She's staring at me with a flush to her cheeks and the pulse in her throat fluttering. She doesn't tell me to stop, though. So I don't.
"But you don't get off on disobedience."
Her tongue darts out, whetting her bottom lip. "W-what do I like?"
"Being made to submit."
She won't bow to just anyone, though. Hell no. Constance is too goddamn smart for that. Unless a motherfucker can prove he's worthy of her, she won't give him the time of day simply because she knows her worth. She knows what she deserves, and she won't settle for a single iota less. She's not a delicate little flower, willing to jump into bed with the first man who comes along. She wants real and raw. She wants a man willing to work for her.
I want to work like a fucking dog to please her.
She stares at me silently for a long time, her nipples hard points in her thin silk blouse. And then she gives her head a sharp shake, as if she's trying to pull herself back together or dispel the thick layer of tension coating every fucking inch of my office.
"Well, at least one of us is right," she says, her lips quirking into a grin as she rises gracefully to her feet. "And it isn't you." She tries to laugh off what I've said, but it comes out a little breathless and unsteady. "There isn't a submissive bone in my body."
I lean back in my chair, my fingers interlaced behind my head. She's half right. She isn't submissive. What she craves isn't an exchange of power. Hell will freeze over before she willingly gives that up. What she wants is someone who can match her, someone who makes her so wild she'll do anything for another taste. She wants someone who makes her want to let down her walls and trust him with her heart, her body, and her soul. And she hasn't found that man. Yet.
The prospect that she might be looking is grim as hell, especially since I know she belongs with me. I just don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do about it.
My life would be a helluva lot less complicated if she didn't work for me.
I'm still obsessing over that quandary when Trystan barges into my office after lunch, throwing himself down on the sofa in the corner with a grunted curse.
"Is there a reason you're in my office instead of yours?" I ask, scowling at him.
"Yes."
"And that reason is?"
"Your twin. He had sex on my desk, so now my office is here instead of in the restaurant." He smirks at me. "So that means I get to stop by whenever the fuck I feel like seeing your left eye twitch."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing heavily. "Do you actually want anything, or did you come just to piss me off?"
"Option two."
"Naturally."
Tryst laughs softly, kicking his feet up on the arm of the sofa. "I heard we're getting a new printer."
This is the problem with working with family. They're always around, meddling, being nosy, and otherwise working my last fucking nerve. I love them to death, but Jesus Christ. Do they not have any business of their own?
"Yes, and?" I finally say.
"Haven has been asking for one for months."
"No, she hasn't."
"Yes, she has." His smirk grows. "Interesting that we're getting one now that Constance needs one."
"It's more cost-efficient to print on-site than it is to send materials out," I remind him. "We'll save several thousand in shipping costs alone just this year. The printer will pay for itself in two."
"Uh-huh."
"Can you please get the fuck out of my office?"
"No."
I consider launching a stapler at his head, but quickly decide the worker's comp claim probably won't be worth the momentary satisfaction the sound of it striking his hard ass head will bring me. Neither will having my ma all over my ass about it.
"Constance is an employee."