26. Stan
Chapter twenty-six
Stan
Catherine has started feeling better, so I take Ruth to the city to see her for the weekend.
I text Sam.
Hey Sam,
Ruth and I will be in the city to see her mom. Then I’m going to take her around so she can see old friends, show me her favorite spots, and the like.
I'll be back on Tuesday. Can you hold down the fort?
I don’t get a text back but an email. And it reads:
Dear Mr. Holt,
I would be more than glad to hold down the fort. Enjoy your trip.
Samantha Knight, Personal Assistant at Stan Holt Productions.
Disgruntled, I write back:
Sam, you know you could have responded in text. This isn't work mode.
Her reply?
Dear Mr. Holt,
Our relationship is professional and will be treated as such. Future emails should be sent via email.
Thank you for understanding.
Enjoy your trip and send my regards to Ruthie.
Samantha Knight
Personal Assistant at Stan Holt Productions .
That's the last email, and it keeps me up all night at the hotel Ruthie and I are staying in.
Sure, I enjoy spending time with Catherine. She seems to have found a community of people who are going through something similar.
I listen awkwardly as she talks to Ruth about menstrual cycles and liking boys. Not that I’ll let any of those filthy mongrels around Ruth.
Speaking of which, one of the psychiatrists at the center, who seems to be in his late thirties, is clearly interested in Catherine. From what I can tell, he’s a good person. I kind of have a nose for these things.
Catherine doesn’t seem to have picked up on his interest yet, but that's fine. All she needs is to focus on her health for now.
Ruth introduces me to her former neighborhood and her friends. She shows me her favorite spots to eat.
While I have fun, our trip feels incomplete. Like someone is supposed to be here. With us.
Don't give up now.
My forehead still burns from the kiss. I’m not sure how I’ll face her at work on Tuesday.
Tuesday morning, I practically bolt down to the office.
As I walk in, Louis the painter is holding a bottle of water, clearly flirting with Samantha. She's wearing a black pencil skirt with a matching blazer and a pair of nude stilettos like she’s back in Chicago or something.
I lose it.
“Louis, you're fired. Get out,” I bark.
“What?” The man blinks in confusion.
“You'll be paid the complete amount of money you're owed, with 50% extra. Only if you manage to disappear from my sight within thirty seconds.”
The man doesn't argue but is clearly upset. He picks up his things and tosses one more look at Sam .
“See you around, Sammie,” he waves.
“You too, Lou,” she replies, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.
As the door closes, she gets to her feet. “Good afternoon, Mr. Holt. Are you going to explain why you fired the painter?”
“Do I need to explain myself to you?”
“Sure. I mean, it would make sense if he was being unprofessional and not just friendly,” she replies as she walks around, closing the windows and locking the doors.
“I can paint the office myself,” is my answer.
She makes her way towards me, her hips swaying, calling to me. Her stiletto steps on my shoe and grinds into it. “You're acting like a jealous little boy, you know that? Is this how any professional should behave with his staff? And with contractors?”
I say nothing, so she continues, “This is still an office space. As your personal assistant , I'm free to talk to any painter or outside party.”
“He clearly wants to fuck you,” I blurt.
“And you care because?” she scoffs. “Maybe I want him to fuck me, Mr. Holt.”
I grab her hips and pull her to me. She doesn't resist, but I’ve taken her off-guard.
“Say it again,” I growl.
“Say what again?” She rolls her eyes again. “Louis is not my boss. He's not looking for a safe environment. He has his needs, and I have mine. It’s not unprofessional if he’s the one involved. Is it? Mr. Holt?”
She's taunting me. Daring me to cross the line.
“I'm going to fuck you, Sam,” I say.
“You don't have the balls,” she scoffs, trying to meet my height. I still tower over her.
I pull on her hair and bury my face in her breasts, biting the exposed skin. She grabs my own hair and gives it a sharp tug, but not hard enough to pull me away.
“Is that all you got, Mr. Holt ?”
I flip her around roughly and step in close behind her as I bend her body at the hips. Her hands slap against the flat surface of my desk .
“Stay like that,” I order.
She moves the stuff on the table so she can spread her fingers, getting a better grip.
I laugh. “Good girl.”
Then I’m gripping the hem of her tight-as-hell pencil skirt, tugging it up over her smooth thighs. Shoving it higher until it’s bunched around her waist.
Her pink thong outlines the globes of her ass. I grip them hard. I know she can take it.
“This ass has been haunting me for awhile, Miss Knight.”
She flips her hair, showing a flash of a flushed cheek as she glares at me over her shoulder. “Call me Miss Knight one more time, and I'll kill you, Stan .”
I smirk. “Don’t pass out on me before you do, Sam .”
I yank her panties down to her thighs and kick her feet apart so she’s spread for me. I pause, taking her in. The pink underwear stretched between her legs. The way her stilettos accentuate her calf muscles. The glare she’s still giving me over her shoulder.
Everything about her is so fucking alluring. How have I managed to control myself until now?
I put my hand against her mouth. Her lips close around my fingers, and her teeth bear down in warning. My dick comes free, and I don’t waste any time lining us up and running the tip over her to test how wet she is.
I groan at the contact, then growl against her neck. “This pussy is fucking soaked. Just like I knew it would be.”
Her hips shimmy against me, and I hear her muffled “I hate you” from around my fingers.
I don’t take it personally. It’s always been like this between us—we say one thing and mean another. “I don't think you hate me,” I say.
She’s already hot and pulsing beneath me, and now she widens her stance and arches her back, urging me on.
I push the head of my cock into her, and we both groan. I pull back out, and her chin tips forward on a desperate whimper.
“More,” she hisses .
“You’re awfully eager for my cock, considering how much you hate me.”
Her response is to bite down hard on my fingers, but I still don’t remove them. I dig the fingers of my other hand into her hip and thrust forward, impaling her with my full length.
“Oh, God,” she moans, and her fingers curl against the desk.
“Should I stop?” I grit out, trying to get myself under control.
“Mmm,” she hums around my fingers. Her bite transforms into a firm suck.
My breathing goes ragged when I look down and see myself inside her. When I feel her clenching around me, I grunt, “So fucking tight.”
I want to touch her. Feel her.
I remove my fingers from her mouth with a wet popping sound and press them between her shoulder blades, pushing her lower before I lift her hips. I watch, hypnotized, as I draw out and slide myself back in.
Breathless, I pound into her. The desk scrapes the floors as we push it forward. “You going to settle down once I make you come on my cock?” I whisper in her ear.
She chuckles, her ass shaking with the force of my thrusts. “You going to stop following me around like a sad puppy once you finish fooling around back there?”
I slap her ass and watch a handprint bloom on her pale skin. There’s a hint of a tan line from the summer just beside my mark. She moans again, putting her forehead against the desk.
I grunt on a forward thrust, getting off on the way she squirms, loving the way she bites back. “You’re stuck with me,” I tell her. “Give me all that bitchy attitude. It just makes me love and want you more.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. They hang between us, an elephant in the room. I slow my motions as silence descends between us.
She finally lifts her head and looks back at me over her shoulder, eyes glazed, cheeks glowing. I expect her to get up and run away. To move us back into familiar territory. Put us back on even footing.
But her voice comes out hushed when she says, “Then flip me over and fuck me like you love me.”