13. Fiona
Chapter 13
Fiona
During my next shift, I quickly glanced around to make sure no one was in the staff room. Then I popped in both files.
The file is not compatible with this device!
I groaned, then shoved my chair back. No matter how many methods I tried, I couldn’t open the files.
Erica was at the front desk, finishing up her youth program. I could have asked her for help, but the idea of asking anyone for help always disturbed me. Especially when we were competing for the same goal. I wanted the library, and I was so close to getting somewhere with it. Finally.
She nodded to me, and I straightened, pretending to work on my program proposal.
“Is it your turn to get the book drop?” Erica asked. “I think I left the key on the hook.”
I did a mental check in my head; she was right—it was my turn. I grabbed the key, then pushed one of the empty book carts back to the book drop behind the library. As I emptied the metal container, a note fluttered out from one of the books: Cows get butchered. Stay away from the farm, heifer.
My skin burned. It had to do with the farm, so it meant Sawyer, right? It had to be a note for him. Did anyone see me go into the Dairy Barn? Did they know what I had done?
Was Sawyer messing with me? Was this another warning to keep me away?
I shoved the note in my pocket, trying to forget about it. It was probably nothing. Working in a public space was strange. It honestly wasn’t the first weird threat someone had left in the book drop, and it wouldn’t be the last.
But it was the first time it seemed personal, like it was meant for me.
Still, it wasn’t a big deal. It was just a note. If I wanted to, I could report it to the Board of Trustees. But until then, I had to ignore it.
As I opened the door to the staff room, my heart leaped into my chest. Sawyer adjusted his jacket, heading into his office without so much as a glance at me. He closed the door, locking it behind him, then shut the curtains so that we couldn’t see through the window.
Once the most recent checkouts had been cleared and the rest of the drop was checked in, Erica made her way to Sawyer’s office, a slight bounce in her step as she carried over a flash drive. I flicked my thumb over those files, like it was proof that I meant more to him than she did.
But it was nothing. She was simply an employee.
Just like I was.
As he opened the door, she winked. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck!” I said.
Their shadows danced behind the curtain. I gawked, unable to focus on anything else. After ten minutes, she emerged, holding the flash drive to her chest. I let out a breath.
“He loves my program,” she squealed. “He thinks it’ll be great. Hey! Maybe we can work together. Then we don’t have to compete.”
It was an interesting idea, but I had a feeling Sawyer would find a way to make us compete.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He made it pretty clear that we were both supposed to make our own programs.”
“It’s not like he made it a rule. And besides, it would be our own! Maybe we just have to play his game.”
His game.
Did she know about our ‘please, Sawyer’ game?
The sex tape from the Dairy Barn popped into my mind. Was that another game for Sawyer? Was he seriously going to use it as ‘insurance’ against me?
Erica shrugged. “It was your idea to go against him, remember?” She put a hand on her hip. “How is that going, by the way? Did you find any dirt on him?”
Suddenly, the urge to protect him fluttered inside me, though I wasn’t sure why. I should have despised him. But instinct reassured me he would never use blackmail like that against me. He liked his games, but he enjoyed them most when I was a willing participant.
And believing in him almost made it worse. I wasn’t supposed to like it, or him, but I did.
I kept the files a secret. “I’m just focusing on my program proposal now.”
“Makes sense.”
That afternoon, I stalled as long as possible until everyone, except for Sawyer, had gone home. And still, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. He had dismissed me so quickly in the Dairy Barn. Part of me wanted to clear the air, and part of me didn’t want to admit that I cared. I waited at my desk, pouting, fiddling with the file until finally, he emerged from his office.
“You’re still here,” he said.
I raised a brow. “You look disappointed.”
“Only that you haven’t said my two favorite words.” My insides burned as he stared at me, making my cheeks hot. “What’s going on?”
“Erica’s going to get the managerial position, isn’t she?” I asked, my shoulders sinking. “She deserves it. She’s probably better at programming. Quicker. Less distracted. She’ll be able to help the community more. She’s just—” I paused, shaking my head. There was no easy way to put this: “She’s better at it than me.”
He studied me for a second, melting me under his gaze. I looked out of the staff room toward the dim front entrance. I wished he would put his hands on me. Make me feel anything other than the shame of admitting that. Hell, I wanted him to tell me I was wrong, that I still had a fighting chance, that all I had to do was try, and I’d earn that position without having to win our game, without having to literally beg him for it.
Finally, he put a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“She’s a good candidate,” he said. My eyes widened, my body shuddering at his blunt truth. His smile softened. “But you need to give yourself a break.”
Those words shot through me. Was he making an excuse? Being sympathetic to me?
“A break?” I asked.
“She’s not going to school right now. You are.”
“A lot of good it’s doing me.”
“She’s not dealing with a hardass distant family member who keeps her on her toes. Or a game-playing rival who’s determined to make her lose. She’s dealing with a boss, plain and simple. When it comes to me, you’ve got the pain.”
Was he taking responsibility?
“Give yourself a break,” he said. Those words made me weak, like someone was finally seeing me in all of my vulnerability.
He pulled me up by my hand, and a warm rush ran through me. “Pack your things,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“I’m taking you out.”
“You want to take me out?”
He was already at the staff exit. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Once I had my giant purse together, I followed him out. His driver took us to The Culinary Exhibit in the financial district. It was early—almost six o’clock—but there was always a waiting list for the place.
“How did you?—”
Sawyer shuffled me in front of him as the server led us through the restaurant. The white walls were decorated with spotlights, hung with minimalist art resembling food. We followed the server through a door to a similarly decorated, large private room.
Once we had ordered our meals, I grabbed a bread roll, trying to be casual.
“Are we still playing the game?” I asked. I took a sip of water, trying to hide behind the glass.
“Why?” he grinned. “Are you still losing?”
“That would imply that you’re winning.”
“I always win, Fiona.”
My insides burned. He was so confident in himself, in his abilities, and it was maddening. Why were we at dinner together when he knew he was going to win? Why even play this game with me?
I rubbed my face, trying to steel myself. “Why did you take me here?” I asked.
“Because I wanted to.”
“Why are you pretending like you want me?” I asked, frustration burning my throat. “You don’t have to pretend. I know you’re just messing with me.”
“Why would I mess with you?”
Those words came out with such sincerity that my jaw hung open. “Because you like playing games with me?”
He smirked to himself. “My interest in you isn’t reliant on whether or not we’re playing a game.”
“What is it dependent on, then?”
“You, Fiona. Just you.”
A text message came through, buzzing in his pocket. He checked it, typed a response, but then his demeanor changed, a sudden shift in his personality. Whatever it was had pissed him off.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Work. Speaking of which,” he took a sip of his whiskey, “Did you get that file opened yet?”
I shook my head. “What is it, anyway?”
“A work video. The parts that don’t have to do with cattle farming. We record videos for our clients.”
So it was as simple as a video, then. Why was it encrypted?
“Have you considered asking someone for help?” he asked.
“Are you suggesting that I ask someone for help? Like Erica?”
“I’m not suggesting her. You are.”
I shrunk down into myself. I didn’t want to ask her for help, but it wasn’t her fault that she was better at a lot of things than I was.
Sawyer beamed at me like none of these worries mattered. He simply wanted me.
“Sit beside me,” he said.
A tension seized my stomach, my skin on fire. Why was it that everything inside of me felt electric knowing that he wanted me to be by him? It was like a drug.
I stood up and got to his side of the table, sitting right next to him. He put a hand on my knee, and we finished our meal like that. It was as if his hand was a reminder that he owned me. And I loved it so much, knowing that he wanted to possess me, that I lost my appetite. I was distracted. I put my hand on his knee, running my fingers up his thigh, his cock responding to my touch.
“What are you doing, Fiona?” he breathed, his voice husky.
“I want to please you,” I whispered.
He went to the door of our dining room, then locked it.
“Sawyer,” I said.
His expression was ruthless, as if he was angry that I would dare question him.
He smacked a hand across the dining table, the food and plates crashing to the floor. I gasped, my eyes round and concerned. Then he pulled my pants down and hoisted me up until my bare ass was on the table.
“Sawyer,” I breathed.
He knocked his hands on my knees until I spread myself, then he slapped his palms on my inner thighs, the sting of it awakening me.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
His lips twitched in surprise. He kneeled down, pressing his fingers against my pussy lips and clit .
“What was that?” he asked in a murmur. His eyes barely flicked up to acknowledge me.
I shook my head. I had forgotten what I had said. “What?”
“Can’t figure out what’s going on when you’re so turned on,” he murmured. “You want to be used, like a good girl.”
His tongue landed on my clit, warm and enveloping, and I moaned, thrusting my hips toward him. I looked down, his eyes searching me as his tongue and lips manipulated me into submission.
He reached up with one hand under my shirt as he played with my nipples. Then he thrust a thick finger inside of me, massaging my g-spot, making an uncontrollable surge of pleasure wash through me, but no matter how hard I bucked, he wouldn’t give me enough to come. He was teasing me.
I closed my eyes, and he fingered me, his tongue on my clit, the pressure building.
“You’re going to come,” he said, “right here in the restaurant. Because I want you to. Because you want to please me. You can be a good girl for me, can’t you, Fiona?”
My pussy clenched. I wanted to be good. But doing that would be letting go, and I didn’t know if I was capable of that.
The climax built inside of me: “I can’t?—”
“But you can,” he growled, “and you will, Fiona. Because your only purpose right now, your sole desire is to please me.” He stood up, shoving another finger inside of me, stretching me to the brim, his palm resting against my clit, his eyes level with mine. “It pleases me to use you like this, plaything.”
He fingered me hard, penetrating at an angle, digging into me. His mouth pressed against mine as he growled out his words: “I’ll take what I want from you. Whenever I want. Whatever I want.” He fingered me harder, making me sweat all over, the pleasure surging to my toes. “I don’t care if this destroys your sense of self. You’re mine, Fiona. And if you wanted me to stop, you know exactly what to say.”
Those two words.
Please, Sawyer.
But I couldn’t beg. I refused. Not with him. No matter how much I wanted to. Needed to. But for a second, I knew there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, and that scared me. But he kneeled down again, his mouth returning to my clit, his fingers thrusting inside of me, the heat building in waves, making sweat perspire on my brow. I looked down.
Sawyer was on his knees.
In front of me.
Gazing at me.
Pleasing me.
Yet I was the one who was completely owned by him.
And I loved everything about us.
Pleasure twitched me into release, and I cried out, wrapping my calves around the back of his head, digging my fingers into his hair, everything shuddering and breaking inside of me, twisting into knots, and he growled, the vibrations sending me over that edge and I knew I would never be the same.
No matter what happened, whether I lost or won, I would be his.
The last ripples of pleasure subsided, and Sawyer stood, towering over me. He yanked me down to my knees, then ripped open my shirt, the buttons flying as he stared at my breasts. Like he owned me.
And I felt complete. So damn right. I held out my tongue, eager for him, and he fisted his cock, then grabbed my hair, shoving his length down my throat until my eyes watered and I couldn’t breathe.
With one loud groan, he pulled out, feverishly choking his cock until those spasms raked out, come marking me in sticky ropes on my cheek, my chest, my naked breasts. I was his plaything. His good girl.
Because I did want Sawyer. I couldn’t deny that.
He scooped his come from my chest and rubbed it into my skin, his dick growing again as my nipples pebbled under the slick liquid. His palm met my cheeks, sticky with his come. Rubbing it all over me.
“So everyone will know you’re mine,” he said.
A chill ran through me. My mouth gaped as he went to the door, letting the server in.
“Thank you,” he said, gesturing at the mess of plates and spilled food. “We’ll have dessert now.”
Without a word, the servers came in and cleaned, and when they were done, they brought us two slices of chocolate cake. None of them said a word about my ripped shirt, the missing buttons, or the sticky and dried substance on my face. Had he told them what to expect? Did he do this often?
How much power did Sawyer have?
Another text vibrated on his phone, and his facial expression shifted again, back to that fury. Why did work disturb him like that?
He exited the room, making a phone call, then returned. I itched my cheeks; the come was unpleasantly dry now, but I didn’t wipe it off. I wanted to see how long he would make me keep it there. He sighed, his face full of pleasure as he took me in. His fingertips grazed my cheek .
“I can’t take you back to the library,” he said. “But my driver can take you back home.”
He must have had work to do, then. “What about my car?” I asked.
“It’s been taken care of,” he said. “Another car is parked in your complex. One that doesn’t require any extra maintenance to drive.”
“Sawyer,” I started, but he put up a hand.
“If you can’t get to work, then how can I use you?”
Use me? Did he mean sexually, or as an employee? I let those words sink in. I loved being his plaything, his toy.
But buying me a car? I had to mean more to him.
I wanted to be more than that.
He nodded at the door. “Finish up, and my driver will take you home.”