Chapter 5
Riley
Iemailed the spreadsheet to Mr. Steele before standing and crossing the room to his desk. He didn’t look up from his laptop as I knelt on the cushion beside his chair and kept my head bowed. I was proud of how much more graceful I was at this attempt, and I wished he’d been looking at me when I knelt so he could see my quick improvement.
Already, my desire to please him, my yearning to hear another ‘good girl’ from his deep voice, was a burning fire in my belly. It made me a little ashamed… how fucked up was I that I craved this depth of praise from a practical stranger?
It’s just a kink, Riley. Nothing more.
Right. Just a kink. Besides, now was not the time to armchair psychology myself about my need for praise. I was here to do a job I desperately needed the money for, and if I didn’t please Mr. Steele, I’d be forced to work with a different client. One of those older, stone-faced men who made me nervous just looking at them.
“You finished this quickly. Are you certain it’s correct?” Mr. Steele’s voice washed over me.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I sounded the most confident I’d been since I got here, but I was confident. I might not know much about how to be a man’s ‘good girl,’ but I knew administrative work like the back of my hand, and the data entry spreadsheet he’d given me was child’s play. I was detail-oriented and meticulous and had no doubt that I’d entered everything exactly as required.
I tilted my head slightly, just enough to see Mr. Steele’s screen. He opened my email, and when he opened the spreadsheet, I stared at the floor before he caught me peeking. I’d already broken one of his rules by being late, and I didn’t want to break another.
I jerked wildly when he placed his hand on the back of my skull. For a moment, I thought he meant to tug me forward, to bury my face in his crotch and make me suck him off while he looked over my work. Anxiety flooded my body, the resulting adrenaline rush making me tense.
But I couldn’t deny the tinge of excitement under that anxiety. Giving Mr. Steele oral sex wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Is that why your pussy is throbbing?
I ignored my inner voice, even if she was right about my pussy.
Those thoughts went through my head in about five seconds flat, and it took another five seconds for me to realize that Mr. Steele was not, in fact, pulling me forward to give him a blow job but simply stroking my hair as he reviewed the spreadsheet.
His blunt fingers threaded through my dark hair, tugging lightly at the scalp before combing through the strands. He petted me repeatedly until the tension eased from my body. When his big hand cupped the back of my neck and kneaded lightly, I couldn’t stop my soft groan of pleasure. I immediately pinched my lips shut, but the sound was already out there.
“Sorry, sir,” I said quietly.
His mouse clicking was his only reply as he cupped the back of my neck and tugged me closer this time. Before I could panic, he was pressing my cheek against his firm thigh, urging me to rest my head against him.
Confused, I obeyed his silent request as he almost absentmindedly stroked my hair again before tucking it behind my ear. His warm fingers grazed my cheek, and I closed my eyes when he traced the curve of my ear with those blunt fingertips before petting my hair again.
This was actually kind of nice. The soft and thick cushion protected my knees nicely from the hardwood. Mr. Steele’s office was delightfully warm, and this close to him, I could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne, and how he stroked my hair was very calming. I relaxed fully against him, my body slumping a little to the side, but he didn’t reprimand me for not being on my knees. I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of his fingers threading through my hair.
I hadn’t slept well the night before, too keyed up about tonight to get any real sleep. I was seconds from dozing off against Mr. Steele’s leg when he said, “Excellent work, Charlotte. The document is perfect.”
He released my head, and I straightened, keeping my gaze on the floor as I said, “Thank you, Mr. Steele.”
I waited with shameful desperation for him to tell me I was his good girl, and when he didn’t, disappointment nearly crushed me. I had done exactly what he asked. Why wasn’t I his good girl?
He cupped the back of my neck and gave it a light squeeze. “The hallway to the left of the foyer leads to the kitchen. There’s a coffee station in the pantry. Make me an espresso and bring it to my office.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I stood and hurried out of his office and down that grand staircase. Coffee this late at night seemed crazy to me, but maybe Mr. Steele was a night owl, or he wasn’t affected by caffeine like I was. I found the kitchen and only briefly marveled at the high-end appliances, quartz countertops, and stunning island before I opened the pantry door.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “His pantry is bigger than my kitchen.”
I stared at the shelves, the food neatly organized and labelled. I wasn’t surprised by that. This might have been my first time meeting Mr. Steele, but I knew a fellow Type A personality when I met one. Also, how happy his neat and tidy pantry made me was a little ridiculous. Clutter made my teeth itch.
I ran my hand along the food shelves as I made my way to the coffee counter near the back of the pantry. My stomach growled. I wasn’t starving myself or anything, but I did keep my food budget as low as possible, and I hadn’t eaten a name-brand anything since the moment I found out my mother had cancer.
I stopped before the coffee station, my happiness fading to be replaced by familiar anxiety. The gleaming espresso machine in front of me looked expensive and complicated.
I liked my coffee, but I wasn’t a connoisseur of it. My fancy coffee used to be my daily Starbucks latte, and I’d quit my Starbucks habit months ago. I couldn’t justify spending that much on a daily cup of coffee when I could send it to my mother instead.
I searched the station for an instruction manual, the minutes ticking down and sweat collecting on my forehead as I came up empty. I hated not knowing how to do something, hated not being immediately perfect at whatever task was set before me.
“If you had your phone, you could Google the instructions,” I muttered. For about thirty seconds, I was tempted to go back upstairs and silently sneak my phone out of my purse, still sitting in the hallway outside Mr. Steele’s office.
Instead, terrified of breaking his machine and another rule, I returned to his office to admit my failure. Mr. Steele was still at his desk, staring at his computer screen. I hesitated just inside the door, unsure if I should kneel on the cushion, before finally deciding not to and raising my hand.
I was certain he would leave me standing there, my hand raised like a little kid in school, but to my surprise, he immediately said, “What is it, Charlotte?
“I don’t know how to work your espresso machine and couldn’t find an instruction manual. I’m sorry, sir.”
I cringed inwardly, hating how incompetent I looked and certain he would be annoyed with me. To my surprise, he stood and joined me at the door. “I’ll show you how to use it.”
With his hand at the small of my back doing weird things to my insides, he guided me back to the pantry and the coffee station. I watched carefully, taking obsessive notes in my head, as he made his espresso. It was, thankfully, easier than it looked, and I tried to memorize each step in my head.
Mr. Steele set the espresso cup on the station without taking a sip, his dark eyes studying me. I squirmed under his gaze and flushed with shame when he said, “No fidgeting, Charlotte.”
I forced my body to be still as Mr. Steele continued to stare at me. Finally, he said, “Tell me why you’re upset.”
I blinked at him before saying, “I’m not upset, Mr. Steele.”
He sighed and stepped closer until his big body nearly brushed mine. He pressed one finger under my chin, tipping my face up to his, and a hot tremor of excitement went through me at just that simple touch.
“I would prefer if you didn’t lie to me, Charlotte. Especially during a play session. Honesty and clear communication are needed to make this… partnership work.”
“I’m upset because I couldn’t figure out how to work the espresso machine. I had to ask you how to use it, and I failed at the task you gave me.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “How does it make you feel to know that I consider you asking me for instructions to be a success rather than a failure of your task?”
“Why would you think that?” I asked with honest confusion.
“Not knowing how to do something or asking questions isn’t a sign of failure,” he said. “My preference is for you to ask me if you need help or guidance, rather than muddle through it and potentially break a rather…” his slight grin turned my insides to mush, “pricey espresso machine.”
“I hate looking incompetent,” I admitted.
“That’s fair. Over the next few weeks, we’ll work on helping you realize that learning something new does not equal incompetence. Are you agreeable to that?”
“Yes, Mr. Steele,” I said.
That slight grin grew, revealing a faint dimple in his right cheek and laugh lines around his eyes. “That’s my good girl.”
My pussy gushed at the approval in his voice, and mild alarm washed over me. I’d craved and sought praise from others my entire life, sure, but I’d never had this intense of a reaction. I’d gathered my courage and asked a previous boyfriend to call me a good girl in bed, but while he’d been willing, it hadn’t made me feel this way. Maybe because there’d always been a sense of falseness to it. A knowledge that while he was fine with this bedroom game, that’s all it was to him… a game. In actuality, he didn’t want or need me to be his good girl.
But with Mr. Steele… I barely knew him, but I instinctively knew he craved my obedience as much as I yearned to give it.
Mr. Steele applied more pressure under my chin, tilting my head higher, his dark eyes focused on my mouth. More heat erupted in my core, and I parted my lips, hoping he’d take the hint. Earlier today, I’d been sick to my stomach at the idea of being intimate with a stranger. Now, I was nearly desperate for just one kiss.
To my delight, Mr. Steele didn’t disappoint. He bent his head, and I closed my eyes as his firm lips brushed against mine in a soft caress I felt down to my toes. He kissed me repeatedly with those same soft movements until I made a low sound of impatience and flicked my tongue out to lick his bottom lip.
Immediately, his arm slid around my waist, and I gasped when he pulled me against his hard body. I clutched at his arms, clinging to him as he angled his head and took the kiss deeper. He explored my mouth with soft licks and nips, his tongue brushing against mine.
I moaned into his mouth, my brain already short-circuiting and my body trembling. I’d never once been kissed like this, and I wasn’t prepared for the aching need spreading through my body.
Mr. Steele’s big hand slipped under my shirt, and I cried out when he cupped my naked breast. My nipple was a hard pearl against his palm, and I arched into his touch, needing more.
“Please,” I moaned. “Mr. Steele, please.”
His fingers plucked at my nipple, and pleasure shot straight to my core. I rocked my hips against him, parting my thighs eagerly when Mr. Steele nudged them with his own. He pressed his thigh against my pussy, and I fought and won against the urge to hike my skirt around my waist so there was only the thin fabric of his pants between my pussy and his warm skin.
I couldn’t, however, stop from shamefully humping his leg like a dog in heat as Mr. Steele’s kisses turned rough and demanding. I clung to him, letting him take what he wanted, while I tried to find the friction I needed against his leg to get myself off. I didn’t care how I looked or how desperate I appeared. I loved orgasming as much as the next girl, but I’d never gotten this hot from kissing and groping before.
You’ve never had someone kiss you like Mr. Steele.
A weird whimpering sound escaped my lips when Mr. Steele pulled his mouth from mine and his hand from my breast. I crowded even closer, pressing my body against his and rubbing my pussy against his leg as I tried to kiss him again.
His hand squeezed my hip, and he made a sound between a groan and a growl before pushing me back. I surged forward, but his stern look and terse “No” stopped me in my tracks.
Some of my sanity returned, and I sagged against the coffee station, staring wide-eyed at him, my fingers skating over my swollen lips and my body shuddering with unfulfilled need.
He sucked in a deep breath when my gaze dropped to his obvious erection. “Stop staring at my dick, Charlotte.”
I tore my gaze away, looking at a spot over his shoulder as humiliation poured through me even as my body still trembled and my pussy dripped for him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have… I’m very sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He grimaced. “I was the one who -”
His phone dinged, and he pulled it from his pocket, shutting off the alarm before glancing at the expensive looking watch on his wrist. “Our time is up, Charlotte.”
Our time is up? Our time is up? The man almost made me come just from kissing, and all he can say is our time is up?
“Right,” I said. “I’ll grab my things.”
I hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs, snatching up my purse from outside his office. I didn’t bother to use the washroom to put on my bra and underwear. The humiliation of being so summarily dismissed far outweighed my worry of being in a car accident while not wearing underwear.
I returned downstairs. Mr. Steele wasn’t in the foyer, and I waited nearly a minute before my face flushed. What was I doing? This wasn’t a damn date. This was a business transaction, and Mr. Steele was not required to walk me to the door or say goodbye. I grabbed my jacket from the closet and ran out of his house. The cold air bit into my bare arms and I yanked on my jacket as I slipped and slid in my heels on the icy pavement to my car.
I turned the key, panic infusing my body when Marvin didn’t start.
“Now is not the time, Marvin. Get your fucking shit together!” I snarled before pumping the gas and turning the key again. Marvin started with a wheeze and a groan, and my breath pluming out in front of me, I drove away from Mr. Steele’s house like the hounds of hell were after me.