Chapter 15

15

Knox

Jesus Christ, this woman. She's negotiating with me... I admire that. Also, it gives me one more reason to punish her. Was that her intention? I frown. Am I the one being manipulated here? Nah, not possible. It does mean, however, that I'm going to draw out her retribution. Something I'm going to enjoy.

She's nervous, as evidenced by how her fingers shake when she pushes the hair back from her face. But the stubborn set to her chin and the rigidity of her shoulders tells me she's settled on her stance. And while I prefer my women submissive, I also want them to know their minds.

"Done." I hold out my hand.

She stares at it for a second before placing her much smaller palm in mine. An electric current seems to zip out from her touch. I stiffen. So does she. Her gaze widens, and she begins to pull back, but I wrap my fingers around her palm and squeeze.

A trembling grips her, and her lips part in an 'O' of surprise. Once again, I find myself leaning closer. I love the ‘O' her pouty lips make. I love the color on her cheeks. I love the look she shoots me from under her eyelids, and the expression, which is half-anger, half-anticipation, with a dash of pleading. I especially love the pleading. I stare at her mouth, wanting to taste it. Wanting to kiss her and find out if she tastes as sweet as she smells. She tips up her mouth, and I lower my chin...just as the elevator slides to a stop. There's a soft ping, and the doors slide open.

Saved by the proverbial bell from committing what would, surely, be a mistake? I release her arm, press the down arrow on the elevator, and step out. I'd love to invite her to my place, but if I did, I'm not sure I could control myself with her. "Go pick up your things at the gym, then wait for me in the reception area downstairs. I'll jump in the shower and see you in a few minutes."

"Eh?" She blinks rapidly. "I thought you wanted to punish me further?"

"I will, but after dinner."

"Where are the other diners?" She looks around the spacious, yet spartan room. It's in the heart of Mayfair, known for its billionaires from around the world who have their summer townhouses here in the center of London, but the facade of this restaurant is deceptively simple, as is the furnishing inside. Make no mistake, the elegant wood furniture, the crisp white tablecloth, the candles, and the single rose in the crystal vase in the center of the table, are all of the highest quality, and sourced from ateliers renowned for their innovative designs.

"What other diners?" I ask without looking up from the menu, mainly to elicit a response from her.

She doesn't disappoint. "There are only four tables here." She glances about the restaurant once again before turning her wide green gaze on me. "And the rest are unoccupied."

"This restaurant only seats sixteen people, and"—I pause for effect—"we are the only diners tonight."

Her eyes widen until they seem to take up most of her face. It's so fucking adorable to see the surprise on her face. When was the last time I was this taken with anything? When I saw her the first time, she entered my office is when. And before that? My life consisted of surviving every day, of getting through the insomnia-filled nights when I was too afraid to close my eyes for fear of the past coming back to haunt me.

"Did you book out the restaurant?" Her sweet voice cuts through the chaos of thoughts in my head.

"Didn't have to. When I told James I was bringing a woman tonight, he decided it had to be special."

"Special?" She swallows, an uncertain look creeping into her eyes. "This was supposed to be a work meeting."

"And it is. We're going to talk about work, but no reason not to enjoy a great meal while we do so, hmm?" I aim for an innocent look on my face and am convinced she's going to protest, but then she leans back in her seat and folds her arms across her chest.

"Why are you doing this?" She narrows her gaze on me.

"What do you mean?" I pretend I'm not aware of what she's talking about. I do it to get a rise out of her and am rewarded when she firms her mouth.

"You know what I mean."

"Pray, enlighten me," I drawl.

Spots of red color her cheeks. Her brown eyes spark, and fuck, if that doesn't arouse me. Why do I love getting a rise out of her so much?

"I mean, all this." She waves a hand in the air. "You bring me here, to one of the most famous Michelin-starred restaurants in the country?—"

"I happen to enjoy the food here." I shrug.

She huffs, "You tell me it's a work meeting, but then you book out the restaurant?—"

"I like my privacy, especially when I'm talking about some very confidential deals with my assistant."

She purses her lips and seems unconvinced.

"Not my fault you don't seem to be able to accept the opportunities that come your way," I say slowly.

She blinks, and realization dawns on her features. She glances around the room again, and her features soften. "It is a beautiful venue," she finally offers.

Not as beautiful as you. Unbidden, the thought scrolls across my mind. I scowl. I don't do sappy thoughts. And I'm not a romantic. But being with her threatens to turn me into one. Fucking hell. I glance around and snap my fingers.

The Ma?tre d'h?tel appears at my side as if by magic. He sets down a tray with folded napkins on it. Those should be the cold towels I asked for. Next to them is a tube of aloe. I messaged the restaurant on my way here. I nod my thanks, then look at the menu.

"She'll have a glass of the Domaine Leflaive Montrachet Grand Cru and a Macallan for me."

She begins to protest, but when I continue to order, she subsides.

"For the starters, she'll have the Roasted cauliflower with curry leaf and coconut, and I'll have the Foie gras terrine with spiced pear chutney. For the main, she'll have the vegan wild mushroom risotto with black truffle. I'll have the Aged Herefordshire beef fillet with bone marrow jus. For dessert we'll have the Dark chocolate and mango tart."

"You're allergic to mango," she reminds me.

I pause. She's right. Am I so taken in by her presence that I forgot that?

"How about the I replace that with orange, Sir?" the Ma?tre d' asks without losing a beat.

I nod.

The Ma?tre d' half bows. "Very good, Madam. Sir." He gathers our menus and leaves.

She waits until he's out of earshot, then leans forward. "How did you know I'm vegan?"

Because I called the delicatessen where you order your lunch. And no, that doesn't mean anything. But would I do it for any other employee? The answer leaves me cold. So instead of replying, I opt to answer her question with a question, "How did you know I was allergic to mango?"

"I'm your assistant. I had to familiarize myself with your dietary habits so I could specify them when I made restaurant bookings or confirmed your attendance at events." Her forehead wrinkles. "You, on the other hand... There's no reason for you to know about my food preferences," she says slowly.

"If you're done ruminating about my food order, could we focus on the work at hand?" I look at her from under my eyelashes.

She wears a confused expression. "I haven't indicated that I'm vegan in any of the onboarding questionnaires for the company either, so?— "

"I've noticed what you have for lunch," I lie.

"You... You did?" Hope shines in her eyes, and I know I need to bat it away before she begins to envisage a relationship between us.

So, I drawl, "Don't read anything into it. I'm a former Marine. We're trained to notice details. Besides"—I ensure my expression grows bland— "you look like the type who prefers the most boring items on the menu."

She firms her lips. Hurt filters into her eyes, and damn, if I don't feel it like it's my own. I almost reach over and take her hand, then stop myself at the last second. Her feelings are of no consequence to me. She's my employee, and sometimes, willing plaything. Yes, that's all she is.

She shifts in her seat, then when she sees me watching her, she flushes. "My butt... Uh... It hurts."

"Good."

Her lips part in surprise, and damn, if my cock doesn't instantly take notice of that heart-shaped hole between them. Then, because I love to keep her off-kilter. I rise to my feet, then grab the tray of cold towels, round the table and set it next to her.

"Get up."

She blinks but does as I command. Once more, her trust in me is... Empowering and humbling. "Pull up your skirt, then slide your stockings and panties down, and bend over the table."

Not only are there no other patrons here, but I've asked James to make sure all the security cameras have been switched off, ensuring complete privacy.

She swallows, then does as I asked. I push the chair out of the way and step behind her. A trembling grips her. I stare down at her exposed arse. The skin is reddened and glowing. Jesus. A familiar thrill squeezes my guts. What I wouldn't give to take her right here, but I won't. For now, I need to take care of her. And feed her. I take the cold towel and gently place it over her butt cheek.

She stiffens, then as the cold sinks into her skin, she sighs. "That feels good."

I take the other towel and press it to her other arse cheek. I hold both towels until her body slumps further. Then I pace the towels back on the tray and smear the aloe-vera gel on her behind .

"Ohh, that feels even better."

Once I'm done, I pull up her panties and then her stockings. I tap her back and she straightens. I slide her skirt down around her hips, and smooth it in place. Then push her chair in behind her.

"Sit down."

She does, and I slide in her chair before touching her shoulder. "Better?"

She nods.

"I'm sorry, I didn't take care of you the first time I spanked you."

I walk around to take my seat and find she's looking at me with that soft look on her features again. Fuck. I don't want to give her the wrong impression, that it means anything, so I add, "You should know, I do this for anyone I spanked. It just so happens to be you this time."

"Oh." For a millisecond, she looks hurt, but then she levels me with a look that sets off alarm bells in my head—like she knows I'm faking this disinterest toward her—before calmly adding, "Noted." She reaches into her handbag—the one I ordered for her, making sure it was stylish, yet roomy enough to carry her laptop and documents—and pulls out her tablet. She places it on the table, then slides her fingers across the screen.

"The forecasts are in from the sales team. They expect to come in significantly under the quarter four projections, and?—"

I allow her sweet voice to wash over me. I also use the excuse of her speaking to peruse her gorgeous features. Those long eyelashes, the slight flush on her cheeks, from my thinly veiled insult—which I regretted as soon as I spoke, but fuck, if I didn't also enjoy the flash of anger in her eyes. Her fighting spirit is a turn on, which is inexplicable. I've always preferred women on their knees, legs spread out as I take them, merely to satisfy a need. I've never wanted any of them to be anything more than submissive, put up with my kinks, and give in to my demands. Fucking hell. I tighten my fingers into a fist. I cannot stop thinking of her as my potential sub. I want to do the things to her that I've never done to anyone else before.

I cannot go there. I cannot want her to be at my beck and call, and not just as my employee. I managed to extend the scope of her presence in my life to my home, under the guise of that being the role of my Executive Assistant .

But to want to also have her in my bed? To want to make her bend to my demands and watch as she falls apart? To feel ownership of her body, mind, and soul? To want to break her down emotionally and physically, only to reform her in the image of my perfect sub… Is not right.

Not only is she invaluable as a member of my team, and that relationship would be affected, but she's also too naive. Unlike the submissives I've had before her, July is too inexperienced—and while that's part of the attraction, it means she wouldn't be up to what I need.

She might claim to be attracted to me, despite my scarred face. She might even enjoy the role-play, so far. But once I remove the veneer of civilization completely, once I bind her, and gag her, and blindfold her, and render her immobile—and then do all the things I want to do to her... She'll hate me. I'll sully her, dirty her, take away every last shred of her innocence... And she won't be able to keep up with my demands. She doesn't really mean it when she professes to love my brand of kink. She has no idea how far I can push her limits. No, this entire line of thinking is wrong, and?—

"Mr. Davenport, Sir?"

It's the last moniker which cuts through the chaos of thoughts in my head.

"Are you okay?" she asks me in a voice that hints at the confusion she's feeling.

Me too. I've always been laser-focused when it comes to my job, be it when I was a Marine or now, as the CEO of my company. I've never been less than one hundred percent when it comes to making decisions in my professional life. But that was before her. Fuck. She's playing havoc with my ability to focus, and that's terrifying.

"Would you like me to repeat the question?" She peruses my features. "I asked?—"

"Call a meeting with the sales team tomorrow at seven a.m. to discuss the projections."

"Seven a.m.?" Her forehead wrinkles. "Isn't that too early?"

"I pay them enough to come into work when I ask," I growl.

Her features tighten. "Yes, Sir."

My dick thickens further. It soothes that animal inside of me when she calls me by that honorific, and that's going to be my downfall. I try to keep my gaze from her mouth, and know I've failed when she clears her throat.

"Then, there was the companywide technological outage last week. The tech teams suspect a cyber-attack?—"

"A meeting with my Chief Technological Officer at eight a.m. tomorrow."

The furrow between her eyebrows deepens, but all she says is, "As you wish, Sir."

The crotch of my pants tightens. Her acquiescence is going to turn me into a mass of raging horniness.

"Then, the shareholder meeting?—"

"Postpone it by a month."

"A month?" She looks at me in horror. "But the board?—"

"You're smart; you can come up with an excuse, I'm sure."

Her lips thin. "I believe that should be possible." Her voice is polite, but her cheeks have gone red again. Poor little July. She has no idea how much I enjoy the fact that her features always give away her true feelings.

You can't hide from me, little one.

What. The. Fuck? I cannot have seriously come up with a sappier endearment for her.

The Ma?tre d' glides over and places our drinks in front of us.

I grab my tumbler, toss back my drink, then growl, "Another."

He takes my glass and retreats while my assistant gapes at me. "Are… Are you okay, Sir?"

Fuuuuck. If she calls me 'Sir' one more time, I'm going to throw myself across this table, grab her by the nape of her neck and kiss that tempting mouth and—I shake my head. Nope, I cannot allow her to take over my thoughts so completely. I need to figure out how to keep her at a distance. It's why I lift my chin and growl, "Except for the exceedingly boring company I've been subjected to for the past twenty minutes, I'm fine, okay."

Her eyes grow wide, then her features crumple.

Instantly, I'm struck with remorse. Fucking hell, did I have to hurt her like that?

She manages to get control of her emotions, then draws her spine straight. With measured movements, she slides her tablet back into her bag. "I don't believe we have anything else urgent to discuss for this evening, so if you will excuse me…" She rises to her feet, then turns and walks across the floor.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I spring up and stalk after her, "Stop, July."