Chapter 22
KATIE
Iopen the second button.
Artur’s eyes leave the report for less than a second. The glance reaches the strip of skin between the blouse edges before returning to a column of contractor names.
“The north-passage list is incomplete,” Boris says through the speaker. “Two catering employees used temporary credentials assigned as a group.”
Artur sits behind the study desk in a white shirt with the sleeves folded below his elbows, dark trousers drawn taut across both thighs, his hair leaving the older temple scar unobstructed.
Four days of restraint have made every detail offensively desirable.
Veins rise along the forearm resting beside the report, one large hand guides a black pen without pause, and his open collar reveals the first dark hair on his chest. Paper contributes its dry scent of ink, but cedar soap warms the air closest to his skin.
Most insulting of all is his composure, so complete that I want to climb over the desk simply to damage it.
I open the third button.
The blouse loosens over my breasts, exposing deep plum lace whose upper edge follows each curve before dipping between them. The cups lift me high and leave the inner slopes exposed.
Artur stops writing.
“Separate the catering credentials by entry time,” he tells Boris.
His voice stays even, though the pen has pressed a dark point into the paper.
I pull the blouse from my trousers.
Artur raises one hand with his palm toward me.
Stop.
I smile, then open the final buttons.
From my throat to my waist, the blouse falls apart.
Through the lace pattern, warm study light reveals the darker nipples it barely covers.
Against my shoulders, narrow straps hold the bra, while between my breasts rests a small bow, frivolous enough that I chose it specifically to offend his concentration.
Artur’s fingers close around the pen.
“The temporary list was issued by senior event staff,” Boris continues. “Ivan’s credential authorized the group request, but the venue manager approved each employee.”
Artur looks down at the report. “Interview the manager again. Ask who delivered the names.”
I slide the blouse from one shoulder.
The fabric catches at my elbow before falling along my arm. I free the other sleeve, then drop the blouse across the bedroom threshold where Artur can see it.
His gaze moves over my bare shoulders, following the straps toward the tight points the lace fails to conceal.
He points toward the blouse with his pen, then toward me.
Put it back on.
I shake my head.
Artur writes across the margin of the contractor report. He tears away the strip, folds it once, then holds it toward the open doorway.
I cross the hall to take it.
I approach the desk half dressed with his eyes fixed on my face, then stop beyond his reach and lean far enough for my breasts to press together above the plum lace.
The note contains one word.
Stop.
I take the pen from between his fingers and write another word beneath the order.
Ask.
Artur reads it before his gray eyes lift slowly to mine.
Boris continues speaking about access records.
I place the pen beside Artur’s hand, then return to the bedroom.
My trousers close at the side with a concealed zipper. Facing the mirror, I lower it with Artur framed behind me. The dark fabric releases my waist before sliding over my hips, then catches against the curve of my ass until a small movement works it lower.
Artur’s next breath reaches the speaker.
“Did you have a question?” Boris asks.
“No.”
I push the trousers down my thighs.
The matching thong appears one inch at a time. Plum lace forms a narrow triangle over my pussy before disappearing around my hips. The back consists of two slim straps framing bare skin, leaving the full curve of my ass exposed as the trousers fall toward my knees.
I step out of them, first one foot and then the other.
Artur shifts in the desk chair, and the dark cloth outlines the thick erection along his thigh. His free hand closes over the chair arm instead of reaching for it.
“The photograph carrier may have changed shoes before leaving,” Boris says. “We’re comparing sole patterns from the venue cameras.”
“Continue.” Artur’s voice has roughened.
I open the lingerie drawer.
The garter belt matches the bra, with plum lace across the front and narrow straps hanging toward my thighs. I fasten it around my waist, then turn so Artur can watch me adjust the clasp above my ass.
His pen stops again.
I take out one sheer stocking, but sitting on the edge of the bed would hide too much, so I enter the study and place my bare foot on the corner of his desk.
Artur looks at my toes beside the security report.
His gaze travels up my calf to the open lace between my thighs. My raised leg draws the thong tighter across my pussy, where a damp spot darkens the center under his sustained attention.
I gather the stocking over both thumbs, fit the sheer toe over my foot, then begin rolling it upward. Fine black fabric covers my ankle before smoothing along my calf. I take my time above the knee, easing the band toward the soft upper part of my thigh.
Artur presses the mute button.
“Put your foot down.”
“Ask properly.”
“Katie.”
“That’s my name. You’ve known it since the lap dance.”
His eyes move to the wet lace between my legs. “If you continue, this call will end with you bent over the report Boris spent all afternoon preparing.”
“Threats aren’t requests.”
“It wasn’t intended as a threat.”
The blunt answer sends heat through me, and I attach the garter clip to the stocking band, then smooth the sheer fabric slowly, holding his attention.
Artur un-mutes the call. “Continue.”
Boris is silent for a beat. “The sole comparison may take another hour.”
“Send the first results when they arrive.”
I lower my foot, then place the other one beside his hand.
The second stocking takes longer as my fingers slip once against the sheer fabric and Artur’s chest rises more deeply through the open collar while he watches them travel up my leg.
I step away from the desk wearing only lace and stockings.
Every curve fits the set exactly as it should. Beneath my breasts, the bra cups support their weight, and around my waist the garter belt draws emphasis. Above each thigh, dark straps divide bare skin, and before lace covers my damp curls, the low thong shows the shallow dip of my stomach.
Artur studies every exposed inch: his attention begins at my feet, follows the stockings upward, then stops where bare thigh meets the hanging straps.
It moves over the narrow lace at my hips before reaching my breasts.
By the time he returns to my face, his trousers show the full heavy outline of his cock.
My breath has become less reliable because I want his hands over the lace, followed by the cold desk against my back as his composure finally breaks.
I sit on the edge of the desk.
My ass pushes the reports across the desk, and Artur catches the working copy of the evidence photograph before it reaches the floor, then places it facedown without taking his gaze from my thighs.
I open my knees.
The thong pulls aside and exposes one wet edge of my pussy. Cool air reaches the slick skin, and the lace rubs my throbbing clitoris as Artur watches from less than an arm’s length away.
He mutes Boris again.
“Get off the desk.”
“Make me.”
“I’ll tear that thong off with my teeth, put your ass on the report, then fuck you until every guard outside understands why this briefing ended.”
My nipples press harder into the bra. “Still no request.”
“I’ll give you the right side of the bed for a month.”
“You’ve been avoiding it for free.”
“I’ll cancel tomorrow’s first meeting.”
“Bargaining isn’t asking.”
Artur leans back in the chair, studying me in silence while the call timer continues on the muted screen.
“You enjoy this,” he says.
“Immensely.”
“I can make you come before Boris finishes one sentence.”
“A filthy promise is still a promise.” I trace one finger along the damp center of the thong. “Say the word.”
Artur’s nostrils flare as his hand flexes once on the chair arm.
Then his shoulders lower.
“Please come here, Katie.”
I close my knees and slide from the desk.
Artur presses the red icon and makes the call timer disappear.
Then he stands.
His hand closes around the back of my neck before I take a second step. The other catches my waist, pulling me hard against him until his erection presses through the trousers into my stomach.
“You made me ask,” he says.
The quiet words carry more command than every order he wrote.
Artur kisses me before I can answer, and his mouth opens mine with the first rough stroke of his tongue, taking the breath I meant to use for another joke. I grip his shirt and kiss him back, rising onto my toes to meet the force of him.
Four days of distance collapse at once.
As he turns us without breaking the kiss, the desk strikes the back of my thighs, and Artur lifts me onto its edge before stepping between my open knees. His palms travel over the stockings toward the bare skin above them.
I spread wider.
The movement tells him everything he needs.
His fingers hook the garter belt at my waist, drawing me forward until the wet lace between my legs grinds over the hard ridge in his trousers. Friction catches my clitoris through the thong, and my hips move again before he decides the pace for me.
Artur pins both my wrists against the desk with one hand.
Heat races from the restraint into my breasts, even though I could pull away from his grip. Instead, I curl my fingers around his and press my body closer.
His gaze drops to the plum bra.
The cups still hold my breasts high, though my nipples show through the lace. Artur drags one strap from my shoulder, then the other, and reaches behind me without releasing my wrists; the clasp opens in his hand.
He pulls the bra down slowly.