Chapter 4

4

Knox

She pushes the door open and stomps in, coming to a stop in front of my desk, then slams a flat garment box on my desk. "You can keep your stupid, expensive gifts. I don't need them."

I lean back in my chair and play with the pen I was writing with when she entered.

Her cheeks are flushed. Tendrils have escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck she seems to favor. With her oversized spectacles, her pouting lips, the creamy skin of her neck, the blouse, which is buttoned up to her collar, but which only serves to emphasize her gorgeous tits. With the curve of her hips showcased by her skirt, and those fuck-me heels she seems to prefer, she's the epitome of a wet dream. My dick shows its enthusiasm with an imitation of a flagpole.

I widen the space between my thighs to accommodate my growing erection; it seems to be my natural state since she walked into my life. Good thing I have a heavy-ass desk to hide behind. If she knew about the thickening column in my pants, Ms.-Sexy-Librarian-with-the-Virginal-Air-About-Her would run screaming.

I stay silent. The tension in the air thickens, and I wait for her to break the quiet. She doesn't disappoint.

"If this is your attempt at an apology, I suggest words would be the better option next time." She adds under her breath, "And based on what I've observed, there will be a next time." She slaps her hands on her sizable hips. "Also, you could have gotten my name right for the delivery, you—" She stops herself and narrows her eyes. "Did you really think you could buy your way into my good graces? Brand names and expensive prices don't impress me, even if these are the same brands favored by royalty in this country. There's no way I'm going to accept these. Besides, I could sue you for sexual misconduct." She pauses, her chest heaving.

"Did you read the paperwork before you signed your revised employee onboarding forms?" I drawl.

I had them redrafted and asked the HR manager to ensure my assistant signed them.

When her forehead crinkles, I click my tongue. "Very careless of you. If you had, you'd have noticed that the fine print says all interactions between us are confidential and that you waive any rights to sue me or my company on any and all counts."

Her jaw drops, then she seems to get ahold of herself. "Is that… Is that legal?" she squeaks.

"Feel free to consult a lawyer."

She tips up her chin, and her jaw tightens.

"If this is how you plan on vetting the business agreements before they come to me, I'm not impressed," I add.

The skin around her mouth stretches.

"The outfit you're referring to is a dress for the royal reception. It was sent to you because I anticipated, rightly"—I raise a finger—"that you don't have anything suitable to wear to the event."

She curls her fingers into fists at her side. Also, her cheeks flame. Damn, she's beautiful when she's angry. I place my pen on the desk.

"I have an image to uphold, and it would not do for someone who represents me to wear knock-off brands. As long as you work for me, I expect you to dress in a way that positively reflects the Davenport name. "

She flushes, and opens her mouth to speak, then seems to change her mind. Instead, she locks her fingers around her handbag—it's one of those faded satchel-like things with the edges fraying. I make a mental note to send her a range of bags to choose from. Can't have my employee dress in castoffs.

I tap my fingers together and place my elbows on the armrests of my chair, "You will wear the dress to the royal reception. Understood?"

She firms her lips but stays silent. Her eyes, however... Jesus, they dart fire at me. If looks could kill, I'd be a dead man. But I've survived enemy fire on dangerous missions. My assistant's anger is a hazard I can easily withstand.

I complete a leisurely perusal down to her feet, before raising my gaze to hers. "Nice shoes, by the way."

She glances down at herself, then opens and closes her mouth. "Ah, I…err… I didn't have time to take them off before I came. I got the impression my presence was urgently needed."

I slide a sheaf of papers across the desk in her direction. "I need you to get the changes marked there across to the agency in Tokyo"—I glance at the watch on my wrist, "who should be open for business."

Her forehead crinkles, "It's midnight in Japan."

"Your point being?" I incline my head.

"Wouldn't they have gone home for the day?"

"My agencies work around the clock, as I expect my employees to, when needed."

She deflates a little. Then picks up the papers and glances through them before staring at me. "It's in Japanese."

"Not my problem."

"I don't know Japanese."

"Find a translator." I turn back to my computer screen. She stands there for a few seconds. Anger flutters off of her. I sense her frustration and the way she struggles to keep it in check and have to stifle a chuckle.

Damn, I haven't had so much fun in a long time. Interesting. What is it about this woman that makes me want to get a reaction from her?

I get the sense I'm going to love surprising her. I'm going to enjoy testing her limits until she snaps, the way those before her have. Even more surprising? She's not immune to my presence, as evidenced by her choppy breaths and heightened color.

Unlike my previous assistants, who winced whenever they walked into my office, this woman seems to make up excuses to approach me. And when she stands in front of my desk, it's always with lowered eyes and blush-smeared cheeks—and pink lips parted to reveal an ‘O' of space that begs for my cock to be thrust between them. The crotch of my pants grows even tighter, and I suppress a groan.

I'm going to have to jerk off. Again. My dick has gotten very friendly with my hand since this luscious woman walked into my office. The chemistry between us certainly livens up our interactions.

Her awareness of me is going to make this experience of pushing her limits until she throws in her resignation so much more enjoyable. A fringe benefit I didn't have with the ones before her who barely lasted the day. This fragile creature with her siren curves and plush lips, and a body made to be owned, has lasted five days with me. Another first. It's a source of surprise and, also, frustration.

No matter what I've asked of her, she's delivered. I drag my thumb under my lip. Question is, can she weather the challenges I'm about to throw her way?

"Because I'm feeling charitable, I've informed the Tokyo agency you'll need an hour to get the information across to them."

Her jaw drops. "An-an hour?!" she sputters.

"Chop, chop. The clock's a ticking."

She shoots me a venomous scowl that makes me want to chuckle. Then, she squares her shoulders, spins around and stomps out.

"Kelly Assistant," I call out after her, "Don't forget your dress."

She pauses midway to the door, then spins around and marches over to my desk. With the color of her cheeks a lovely, heightened red—that pleases me no end—she scoops up the garment box, turns, and heads for the door.

I follow her progress and ogle the bouncing of her tush under the same dress she wore this morning. It's frayed at the hem. Hmm, I'm going to have to order her a new wardrobe, but the way the outfit fits across her ample behind is perfect. Enough to cause the blood to drain to my groin. And when she slams the door shut on her way out, I can't stop my lips from pulling back. Damn, but her temper only adds to her allure. How would it be to have her fighting and spitting under me as I cause her to dig her fingertips into my shoulders?

I frown—I do not socialize with my employees. I have never broken that rule—and I intend to keep it that way. This attraction to her is, likely, a passing fancy. One born of my lack of feminine companionship. I haven't been interested in a woman in a long time. Not when every woman I've encountered socially avoids my gaze. My tastes have always veered toward the unusual. And after I was scarred, the pain I went through, the darkness I had to fight to crawl my way back to recovery, seemed to loosen something inside of me.

Where previously I'd been content with spanking or tying up a woman, now, that domineering part of me craves nothing less than a woman's complete submission. I need to be in control of not just my submissive's body, but also her thoughts, her mind, her very emotions. Something I tried to explore in the shadowed recesses of my favorite BDSM club. The encounters left me unsatisfied. They lacked a certain something. Despite the willingness of the submissives to do anything for me, their very compliance left me cold. It didn't have the challenge, that zing, that spark—which my run-ins with my assistant have. I rub the back of my neck.

Come to think of it, I haven't visited the club since I met her because... Every time I imagine a woman bending for me, edging her, making her pant—every time—teasing her and taunting her until she's out of her head with desire… Every time I imagine breaking her down, so she submits to me of her free will, it's her face I see.

Not that she's aware of my peculiar wants. And if she found out, it'd scare her off.

I can't imagine, with her air of innocence, she has any idea of the kind of proclivities I indulge in. It's best I leave her alone. I shoot a glance in the direction of the door separating me from her workstation, then curse myself. Why am I so aware of her presence outside my office? She's my assistant. I‘m her boss. And I should not cross that boundary between us.

I focus my attention on my computer screen, and even manage to add my remarks to the open legal agreement, when a message pops up. It's an incoming email... from her. Before I can stop myself, I've clicked on it and opened my inbox .

From [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I'll have the translated feedback to the agency within the hour. Is there anything else you'd like me to do, Sir?

-June

Jesus, that Sir tacked on at the end has me picturing scenarios where she says it to me in a low, husky voice while she's on her knees with her big brown eyes looking up at me as she begs me and pleads with me to have mercy on her. I bet she knows exactly the effect it has on me. It's why she's been using ‘Sir' all week in a way that drives me nuts.

It makes it difficult to remember all the reasons why I need to maintain a professional distance between us. It definitely encourages unwanted images to crowd my mind. I'd fit my hand around the nape of her neck and hold her in place as I unhook the waistband of my pants and lower my zipper with my free hand. I allow myself to do so in real life and take myself in hand. I'm thick, rigid, fully aroused. No surprise there. I concentrate on the Sir, and when I close my eyes, I can hear her voice call me by that name, as she did earlier today.

"Yes Sir."

"Please Sir."

"I need you… Sir."

"I beg you, please let me please you, Sir."

The tightness at the base of my spine folds in on itself. My balls draw up. I close my eyes and continue to take care of myself, again and again. My thighs tighten. I dig the heels of my shoes into the floor and throw my head back, when a sound makes me open my eyes. I lower my chin to find her standing inside the doorway to my office.

Her eyes are round and fixed on me. The desk covers my lower half but the movement of my arm, the flex of my biceps, the way my forearms flex, all of it gives away what I'm up to. Despite the dim lighting in the office, I can make out the rise and fall of her chest. The embarrassment that coats her features. I hold her gaze, expecting her to look away, but she doesn't.

She licks her lips and draws my attention to her mouth. Where it stays. I imagine that beautiful mouth wrapped around me again, and it sends me over the edge. With a groan, I feel the heated liquid overflow my hands. A moan bleeds from her lips. It seems to awaken her from her reverie, for she turns and attempts to run out.

Then, because it's too good an opportunity to miss, and I can't resist making her even more uncomfortable, I order, "Oh get me some tissues, will ya?"

She scampers off. The door snicks shut, cutting off the sight of her succulent behind. What I wouldn't give to spank that fleshy tush? And that expression on her face when she walked in on me jerking off? Priceless. And she didn't glance away. She couldn't glance away. She was aroused to find her boss taking care of himself. She wasn't turned off. Far from it. She finds me desirable.

I held her gaze and all I saw in her eyes was lust. I find myself smiling, Then, to my shock, a bark of laugh rumbles up my chest. A lightness settles between my ribs, and my shoulders relax. When's the last time I was this entertained? When's the last time I was this turned on? When's the last time I was so stimulated by an interaction with another person?

Ms. June Donnelly livened up my life since she entered it. She's also smoothed out my working day by running interface with my team, so I can accomplish a lot more. Perhaps—I frown—perhaps, I've been too hasty in trying to run her off?

Perhaps, she's more valuable on my team than off? Perhaps, she's more of an asset than I realized? Maybe, I should reward her for surviving the week, so she'll stay on. If nothing else, I need to keep her around for more laughs.