Taunt Me (Rough Love Book 2) (20 page)

“What if someone comes in?”

“No one will come in,” he said.

That was true. When people knocked, they waited outside until he barked “Enter” like a commanding sovereign. “But what if they do?” I asked.

“Then I guess they’ll discover what a whore you are.”

His gaze dropped to the front of my blouse. He unbuttoned a couple of the buttons, just enough to expose my bra and the tops of my breasts. He smoothed back the fabric, and raised me to stand in front of him, between his legs.

“Lift up your skirt,” he said.

“I thought you wanted a blowj—”

He slapped me before I even got the words out. “Do what I fucking tell you.”

I bit my lip and yanked my fitted skirt up to my waist, feeling cool air against my skin. My cheek stung where he’d slapped me, flaring with heat as I held his gaze.

“Now push down your panties,” he said. “Leave them around your ankles. If anyone comes in, I want them to see just how slutty you are.”

His desk faced the door, so once I was kneeling under it, giving him a blowjob, everything between my legs would be on display. It was so scary and hot, and twisted. I pushed down my panties, half ashamed and half turned on.

“Take out my cock,” he said in a low voice. “Touch me.”

Five minutes ago we’d been working on my evaluation. Now we were working on something very, very different. I reached for his fly and released him. He offered brusque assistance, rearranging himself in the chair and pushing back the sides of his pants so only his cock was exposed.

“Get on your fucking knees,” he said. “If I have to fill out this evaluation for you, you’re going to blow me while I’m doing it. You’d better make it good.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And don’t be sloppy.” He grabbed my hands and shoved them behind my back. “Just your mouth. Just your tongue. No drooling and acting stupid. If there’s one fucking drop of spit on my pants when you’re finished, you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I was so turned on by his rough handling and his coarse words that I could hardly speak. When he shoved his cock in my mouth I took it as deep as I could, but not so deep that I’d start drooling. I held my hands behind my back in obedient fists and sucked him with warm, steady pressure.

After a moment or two he let go of my head. I heard him start typing again on his laptop. Work and blowjobs. Why wouldn’t they go together in Price’s perverse world? I thought about what I must look like, kneeling under the desk with my ass stuck out and my panties around my ankles. It just went to show how much I would do for him, how much I was coming to accept, even enjoy, the depraved humiliations he bestowed on me.

As for Price, he stayed rock hard between my lips. Sometimes he touched my hair, a silent signal that I was doing it right. If I wasn’t, he would have let me know that too. I wanted to do it right, if this was really his first under-the-desk blowjob. I wanted it to be memorable, so any that came after me would pale in comparison. I used all the tricks and titillations I’d developed in my escort days, all the techniques he didn’t allow me to use when he was in control. Eventually the typing ceased. His legs trembled where I leaned on them.

“You fucking slut,” I heard him whisper. A moment later he spurted into my mouth. I swallowed the cum as fast as I could, fearful of getting anything on his pants. Since we’d returned from Oslo, I’d become reacquainted with the sting of his whips and belts. He kept an entire selection of them at my apartment, and I knew he’d punish me later even if he couldn’t do it now. I sucked until he was dry, until he pushed me away with a groan.

“Enough,” he said. “Overachiever. I need to put that on your evaluation somewhere.”

I lay my head against his lap as his breathing returned to normal. I was horny now, my pussy hot and untouched. I wanted to touch it.

“Please, may I...?”

“No. No sex in the office, remember?”

He made me scoot back so he could tuck his cock away and refasten his pants. I watched in disappointment.

“That’s not fair,” I said. “You got sex. Why can’t I have sex?”

He looked down at me as I trembled on my knees. He’d been attempting to teach me about submission, about giving myself over to his will, but the lessons were hard.

“We have sex when I want, not when you want,” he said. “Remember? I’m the Dominant in this relationship, you’re the slut toy. Now go back to your desk and do some work.”

I frowned. I may have actually pouted as I pulled up my panties and rearranged my skirt. When I reached to button my blouse, he stopped me with a sound.

I took a deep breath and returned to my seat, aware that anyone who came into the office would have an unobstructed view of my exposed bra. Having him as a client had been difficult. Having him as a boss and Dominant truly and magnificently sucked.

“Sometimes I hate our relationship,” I said. “I thought Dominants were supposed to be caring.”

“I care about you.”

“You care about making me miserable.”

He pointed to his laptop. “I haven’t sent your evaluation yet. You might want to watch what you say to me.”

“I can’t wait until this internship is over,” I muttered just loud enough for him to hear. It was a reckless lie that directly related to the frustrated horniness of my pussy.

“If you don’t stop sulking, I’ll give you something to sulk about, starshine.”

“Like what?” I sassed.

“Like a long and difficult lesson in surrender.” He held up a finger when I opened my mouth to protest. “My control and your submission is the whole basis of our dynamic. If you’re going to poke me and act like a fucking brat—”

“Maybe I’m acting like a fucking brat because I don’t enjoy our dynamic.”

He dismissed my angry words with a flick of his wrist. “Tell me something, Chere. How do you feel after our scenes? At the end, when I’m holding you and soothing you, and telling you it’s over? How do you feel?”

I gritted my teeth, refusing to answer.

“Do you feel calm? Do you feel serene, like everything’s perfect in the world?”

That was exactly how I felt, although I wasn’t in the mood to admit it. I pulled my open blouse together and leaned over my laptop.

“No answer,” he said with a sniff. “It figures. Open your fucking blouse. Let me see your tits.”

I looked up at him, holding the sides more tightly together. He was across the office in an instant, stalking toward me with all his force and heat. He reached down and yanked the two sides of my blouse apart, so all the buttons came open. One of them popped off and rolled across the carpet.

“Stop,” I said, pushing his hands away.

“Show them to me!”

I swallowed and looked up into his ice blue gaze. I hated him. No, I
wanted
him. Why did this aggressive, obnoxious behavior turn me on? I leaned back and let him look at my breasts.

“Take them out. Show them to me.”

I started to fold down the cups of my bra.

“No, wait.” He grabbed a pair of scissors off my desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Sit still, or I’ll cut something that shouldn’t be cut.”

I watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as he cut two nipple-sized circles from my lacy bra cups. He pinched each nipple, tugging at them through the holes in my bra. “What I wouldn’t give for a pair of clamps, bad girl.” He thought a moment, then snapped his fingers and went to his desk. He returned with a pair of small silver paper clips. I shook my head, tried to close my blouse again.

“Don’t dare,” he said, tugging it open. He bent one edge of each clip until there was enough space to slide it onto my nipple. It pinched the tender flesh into a flat, painful shape.

“It hurts,” I said. “Please! Why are you so mean? I gave you a blowjob.”

“And then you bitched and whined because you didn’t get what you wanted in return.” He tweaked each of the paper clips. “Now you get punished.”

There was a tap at the door. I reached up to cover my breasts. He took my hands hard and lowered them again. “Yes?” he asked.

“Your three-thirty appointment is expected in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” he called out. “We’ll be in the conference room a few minutes ahead of time.”

The receptionist went away. I let out the panicked breath I’d been holding. “It hurts,” I said again.

“As much as nipple clamps?”

Not really as much as nipple clamps. I just felt exposed and ashamed.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “I’ll take them off before we head to the meeting.”

Thank you, God.
I wouldn’t have put it past him to make me wear them the whole time he met with his clients. I cringed, looking down at my reddened nipples and my ruined bra. I’d have to wear my jacket the rest of the day. This was why I’d insisted on the no-sex rule in the office, because he took shit too far. “I don’t know why you do things like this to me,” I whispered.

“I do them because you need me to do them. How does your pussy feel right now, with those clips on your nipples?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t even describe how wrought up I was, how tormented and fucked up and horny. I placed my palms flat on the desk to keep from stroking myself through my skirt. “Please let me come.”

He leaned closer, and forced me to meet his gaze. “Tell me you belong to me, bad girl. Say it.
I’m yours
.”

“Will you let me come if I say it?”

“Don’t make me smack your fucking face. Say it.”

My nipples throbbed from the clips. My pussy was about to explode. “I’m yours,” I said, my voice trembling with the hell of denial.

“That’s why I don’t let you come every time,” he said, tracing a manicured fingertip over the paper clips. “Because you’re mine, and I get to decide. Because you’re my beautiful, horny fuck slut, and I have the control, and right now I’m not going to let you come.”

“Will you let me come later?” I asked. “Please?”

“I’m going to punish you later, Chere, for being a mouthy, horny brat. I think we ought to start having regular lessons in surrender. You need them.”

I squirmed in my chair. Regular lessons in surrender sounded like hell. “Please. I’ll be good.”

“I think I’ll take you to my apartment after dinner. There’s more equipment there.”

In all this time he’d never taken me to his apartment, but now that he was inviting me to visit for this ‘lesson in surrender,’ I didn’t want to go.

“I have plans with Andrew,” I lied. “I’m not sure I can make it tonight.”

“You’re going to make it tonight.” He flicked my aching nipples one last time and walked to his drafting table, and leaned over the set of plans for his three-thirty meeting.

“You’ve got five more minutes to go,” he said when I heaved a melodramatic sigh. “You fucking brat.”

He ordered me to sit on a couch in his silent, darkened living room until he was ready for me, then he disappeared down a hallway. No tour of the apartment, no after-dinner cocktails, no clicking on the TV. Maybe this was part of learning to surrender, having to sit here and worry with my heart pounding in my chest.

I looked around, trying to calm myself. Finally, I was able to see his world, his lair, the apartment he retreated to after he finished tormenting me. The soaring space was a showcase of design and understated elegance; I would have expected nothing less. The furniture was old-world, heavy and varnished. The leather couch I sat on probably went for twenty thousand bucks, if not more.

The end tables were thick, polished wood. A similarly furnished dining area opened up on the left, and beyond that, I suspected, a jaw-dropping kitchen. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, perhaps laden with all his poetry anthologies? I didn’t dare leave the couch to investigate. It was a beautifully welcoming residence, I just didn’t know why I’d agreed to come here. Had I temporarily gone insane?

Not temporarily, Chere. You’ve been insane for almost three years.

I heard him in the hall. He returned and beckoned me. “I’m ready for you now.”

Oh, fuck.
I’m ready for you now.
Price didn’t do the fun, playful power exchange people engaged in at the BDSM clubs. This was twenty levels higher, and I knew his lesson on “surrender” would be twenty levels higher as well.

He led me to a room that had to be his bedroom, with more heavy, classically designed furniture, chests and an armoire, and an iron poster bed covered in smooth gray-blue sheets. As soon as I saw what he’d lined up on that bed—mask, ball gag, cane, Lucite paddle, a tangle of black rope, condoms, lube—I deeply regretted my decision to come here, and turned immediately to leave. “I’m not ready for surren—”

He silenced me with a hand over my mouth and used the other hand to shut the door behind us. I shook my head, meeting his intent gaze, pleading in the only way I could, with my eyes.

“You earned this,” he said. “You need this.”

“I don’t. I can’t.” I babbled behind his hand, anything I could think of as he dragged me to the bed. He took his hand off my mouth. “Please, no,” I cried. “Please.”

He held my chin hard. “You don’t just need a lesson in surrender. You also need to be punished for running your mouth at me. Say it.
I need you to punish me.
”

“I can’t say that!”

“Say it.”

He waited. I balked.

“I need you to punish me,” I finally admitted. Tears rose, along with my anxiety level. “But I’m afraid.”

His fingers brushed across my cheek. “Do you deserve this?”

One of my tears fell, coursing down the same cheek he stroked. “Yes. Probably. But—”

“Say it, then. Admit it.
I deserve to be punished.
Ask for it.”

“I—” I knew the words he wanted, but it was so hard to say them. “P-please punish me, Sir. I deserve it.”

A spark of satisfied mayhem glinted in his eyes. “That was very nicely done. Maybe I’ll go softer on you because of it. But probably not.”

He put the mask on me first, so I wouldn’t keep panicking over the things he’d spread out on the bed. The gag came next. I tried to close my lips against it and got a slap for my efforts.

“Open your fucking hole,” he said. “You’re supposed to be learning a lesson.”