Legally Binding (4 page)

“
T
ype this up
.” Mrs. Donahue handed Maisie several stapled pages. The handwriting was different than before, sloppier. It wasn’t from Mr. Banno.

Too bad.

In fact, the writing was so messy that she could barely decipher it. After a few minutes of valiant effort, she took it back to Mrs. Donahue, who put on her reading glasses.

After a moment, she said, “Nope, I can’t read it.” She removed the glasses. “Mr. Brennbach’s handwriting is a bit of a disaster to begin with, and to make it worse, sometimes he writes while he’s driving.”

Maisie looked at the chicken scrawl and wrinkled her nose.

“You’ll have to ask him to clarify what that says. Some of it you’ll be able to figure out in context, but you’d better check on the name and the address.”

A strangled sound escaped Maisie’s throat, but one look at Mrs. Donahue’s stern features and she knew better than to beg for a favor.

She trudged back to her desk and typed as much as she could, but there were several sentences she couldn’t begin to guess at.

No getting around it—she’d have to go to Mr. Brennbach.

Unless she told Mrs. Donahue about what had happened on the street. But if she did… That might come off as gossiping. If Mrs. Donahue told another assistant… if it got around the office and Mr. Brennbach found out… disaster.

Girding herself, she set off to find the beast himself.

T
o Maisie’s relief
, Mr. Brennbach’s secretary was at her battle station.

“Hi,” Maisie said. “It’s my first day, and I can’t quite make out some of these words.” She fanned the papers.

The assistant jerked her head at the door. “He’s in.”

“Um…” Maisie smiled and held the papers out. “I was thinking maybe you can read it?”

The assistant didn’t quite roll her eyes. “I spend enough of my time trying to unscramble his scrawl. Enjoy!”

Her heart pounding in her throat, Maisie headed for the door. The assistant stopped her. “You can’t just barge in there. Call first.”

“Oh.”

A phone sat on a table beside the door. Maisie pushed the button labeled
E. Brennbach
and picked up the receiver. “Good afternoon,” she said. She hoped she sounded professional and not like she was about to upchuck. “I’m outside your office. If you have a moment to spare, I’d like to—”

“Come in, and close the door behind you.” He hung up.

Had he recognized her voice? No… he wouldn’t. But by process of elimination, he might know it was her.

What if he’d been extra careless with his handwriting to force her to come down here? Maybe it was a trap.

The taste of shame in her mouth, she opened the door and walked into the lion’s den.

M
r. Brennbach was watching
when she entered. From the second she set foot in his office, she felt like she was on trial.

“Hi,” she said, feeling stupid, then immediately pulled her gaze away from his face. She looked at everything except him, but his image was imprinted on her retinas: that flawless body, irresistible in a tailored suit, his thick hair perfect for a woman to dig her fingers into while she rode him hard. His face was a blur, though.

She swallowed and tried to focus on his office, with its classic dark wood furniture. The design was more modern than the other two, but not by much. Maybe it was a legal thing, she thought. Maybe clients expected classic sophistication. Bookcases lined the walls on either side of her. Intimidating-looking law books crowded their shelves. There was a wood filing cabinet, too.

“Where’s the typed form?” he asked, his voice unnecessarily loud.

“On my computer.” Where the hell else would it be?

He picked up a yellow legal pad and tossed it across the desk at her. Impatiently, he jerked his hand, beckoning her closer.

She practically ran across the room to hand the papers to him. “It’s just the name and address, and the second paragraph under the notes section.”

For some reason, her gaze jerked to his, and she found he was staring intently at her.

Instantly she was sinking into the gray depths of his eyes. She felt naked in front of him, like he could see all the naughty things she’d been thinking about doing to Mr. Banno.

Things she ached to do to him, too.

She wanted to lean across the desk to sniff him, to catch another whiff of that delicious aftershave.

He cleared his throat. She waited for him to say something… then realized he was expecting her to pick up the notepad and a pen.

Her fingers frantically grabbed out. She fumbled the pen but managed not to drop it on the floor.

“Elmore Rubins, Jr.,” he said, and spelled out the last name.

She quickly wrote it down, and when he gave the address, she wrote that, too. Then he was quiet for so long that she looked up from the notepad.

“Let me ask you a question,” he said.

Her heart skipped a beat, then pounded back to life, working overtime. Why was it so easy to lose herself in his eyes? She didn’t want him to think she was gawking. Even though her eyes were locked on his, she couldn’t help being aware of the two halves of his face, one smooth and handsome enough to make women swoon, the other stiff, pitiless and cold, to make women shriek.

He leaned back without releasing her from his stare. Her mouth felt as dry as the Sahara after a thousand-year drought.

Was he waiting for a response from her? Or was all this part of his punishment, to make her feel as small as she’d made him feel?

Eventually the silence stretched out for so long that she couldn’t stand another second. “What’s the question?” she blurted.

Her voice trembled. He had to have noticed. A little smile turned up one corner of his mouth—the unscarred side. The effect was frightening… like he wasn’t intimidating enough, with his unblinking stare.

“What were you looking at?” he asked.

The fire of a rare blush shot across her cheeks and up her neck, like she’d bitten into a devilishly spicy chili pepper. Her face was so hot that she could feel blood throbbing in her temples and at the hinge of her jaw.

“I am so incredibly sorry about that—”

“This morning. What were you looking at that made you forget how to stand?”

The blush bloomed even hotter. “The building,” she said quickly.

“Why?”

It wasn’t a trick question, but her mind had gone blank. This morning? It might as well have been a year ago. “I don’t know.”

He seemed disappointed by her answer, but he didn’t press any further. Picking up the papers, he said, “What else did you need help with?”

“The notes section,” she managed to say. Was it the second paragraph or the third? That bit of information had also flown out of her head, but she couldn’t make herself walk closer to him. “I can’t remember which.”

She wondered if people always lost their memories around Mr. Brennbach. He seemed to be short-circuiting her prefrontal cortex.

“Show me,” he said.

Walking the few steps toward his desk was as difficult as if she’d tried to flap her arms and fly there. Yet, somehow, she managed it, probably only because she was staring at the papers and not into his arresting eyes.

The notes section lay flat on the desk. The index finger of his right hand rested on it.

Maybe it was her imagination, but it felt like an echo of what she’d done with Mr. Banno, when she’d pointed out the missing signature.

She didn’t dare take the paper from him. Should she walk around?

Maybe, if she could meet his eyes, she’d understand what he wanted.
Today is a lesson in the importance of nonverbal communication
, she thought. But actually, today was, above all, a lesson in humility.

She sucked the swell of her lower lip into her mouth and, exhaling slowly, leaned over the desk to take a better look at the notes section.

It was upside down. At the moment, she probably couldn’t have read anything if the letters had been eight inches tall and right-side up.

Cooler air stirred over her chest, and she remembered that even though she had fixed her bra after tormenting Mr. Banno, she hadn’t re-buttoned the top of her blouse. Was Mr. Brennbach looking down her shirt? Were his eyes caressing the fullness of her breasts while he imagined ripping away her clothing and exposing her?

The thought woke every dormant nerve in her body, and she became acutely aware of her pussy, which was wet—though she had no idea why or when that had happened. She’d made out with guys, long sexy sessions, yet had stayed bone dry.
Lick it before you stick it
, because otherwise she never got wet enough. But now she could feel moisture seeping through her panties, dampening the insides of her thighs just under her sex.

“Maisie.” His voice was so deep, the room seemed to vibrate with her name.

How could one word fill her with so much longing? “Sorry,” she said, and had to stop to swallow hard. “The first few lines, I think.”

“Make certain. Partners bill at $2,500 an hour. My time is valuable.”

She squinted, bent deeper, and tried to focus. Now she could see the letters—or what Mr. Brennbach tried to pass off as letters. “The second paragraph,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

She could have straightened up, but for some reason she felt like she was waiting for him to… to what?

To release her.

Remaining in place, she forced herself to look up. The sun coming in through the window made her squint, but she stared defiantly into Mr. Brennbach’s eyes.

“I’m not Trent Banno,” Mr. Brennbach said. “He thought about taking you across his knee and spanking you for your insolence, but then decided it would be prudent to restrain himself until after your probation.”

“Spank me?” she asked, her mind reeling.

“That’s correct,” Mr. Brennbach said. “Trent felt you deserved a spanking, and after hearing how you behaved, I’m inclined to agree. If you continue to shove your tits in my face, I’ll be obligated to take you in hand myself.”

She flinched when he said the word
tits
, but she held her uncomfortable position. She hated that word, and he’d noticed.
“No need to be vulgar,” she said.

“Keep flashing your tits and you’ll see how vulgar I can be.”

He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t even smiling.

He meant what he’d said.

M
aisie’s face
was only eight inches from the desk’s surface.

Her arms began to tremble, and she let her upper body sink another few inches. The desk reflected back her uncontrollable shallow breaths. She was drowning, right there in a room full of air.

But she wasn’t going to stand straight. A smile tugged at her lips.

With pointed deliberation, Mr. Brennbach’s gaze raked over her, pausing at her lips, then her neck, before settling on her partially exposed breasts. She could feel him, a hot phantom touch that she yearned to make real.

“Your
tits
are still on my desk,” he said, standing. “I warned you.”

She gasped in surprise as his fingers closed around the back of her neck and forced her all the way down, until the side of her face was pressed onto the wood. His hand was warm, his grasp strong.

Now she couldn’t move.

They’d crossed the point of no return. That much was clear, and she was a little afraid of what might happen next… and even more afraid of what would come after, when their sweat-dampened bodies lay spent on the torn pile of their clothing.

If she didn’t stop this from happening, Mr. Brennbach might add “slut” to the list of reasons he hated her. Rude. Thoughtless. Slut.

That wasn’t a particularly flattering picture.

Would he really want to fuck her if he hated her so much?

Stupid question. He was a guy, and he probably hadn’t gotten laid in ages. Probably he was just really horny and desperate. Anyway, Mr. Banno had obviously told him about their earlier interactions. Pretending to be the kind of woman who wanted dinner and champagne first—that ship had sailed.

Think of what will happen if you decide not to do this
, she ordered herself. It wasn’t easy.

If she stopped him, he’d think it was because of how he looked. Then his list of reasons would include “shallow.”

And “cock tease.” That would surely make the list.

Six of one, half a dozen of the other. No matter what she did, there was a good chance she’d feel bad about it later.

Might as well choose based on what
she
wanted to do. She sighed happily.

“Stay.” Mr. Brennbach released her and walked around his desk.

Ooh, she liked how he’d said it, how he’d known she would obey. She pressed her cheek and palms against the desk’s warm surface.

One of his hands slapped her ass, then slid down to squeeze the soft, vulnerable skin of her inner thigh through her skirt.

He dug his fingers in deeper, making her whimper.

Then he was bending forward, grabbing her neck. There was that aftershave again, the swirl of bergamot and pine. She closed her eyes, letting it surround her. She felt like she was inhaling a drug, one that took her back to the most perfect five seconds of her life.

“Let me be clear,” he said. “If you don’t tell me to stop, I’m going to pull up your skirt, take down your panties, and discipline you for your brazen behavior.”

A thrill ran the course of her body.

His grip on her neck and her thigh tightened. She felt like a high-strung mare about to be mounted by a stallion.

Yes, she could get away, but at what price? Was she willing to leave a piece of herself behind? Could she even truly get away? Because Mr. Brennbach’s essence was inside her. His scent filled her lungs, and his power was like a cloak that wrapped around them both, binding her to him.

“I’m not a gentle lover,” he said. “When I fuck you, I’ll be claiming you as mine. This will never be a relationship. I will never fall in love with you.”

She was stunned for a second, then insulted. But she said, “That’s a relief. I’d hate to have to break your heart.”

His response was an abrupt laugh. A moment later, his fingers relaxed on her thigh… only to slide down to her knee, then slowly caress higher again, this time under her skirt.

Her flesh trembled. Any second now, he would know how wet she was.

He would know it was because of him. For him.

“I just want us to be clear,” he said, stroking a finger across her panty-covered slit. Electricity sang through her veins.

“We’re clear,” she snapped.

“I’ll teach you manners,” he said. “God knows someone needs to.” The smugness in his voice only made her hotter.

She was panting like a dog, like a bitch in heat, she realized. She’d arched her back, pushing her hips toward him, pleading for his finger to slide her panties aside and plunge inside her channel.

Mr. Brennbach wrenched her torso up, forcing her to look at him. “I can’t figure out your fetish. Rich men? Scars? You want the monster to ravish you?”

In the sunlight, the scarred half of his face looked like hard plastic, unfeeling, incapable of emotion.

Something caught in her throat. She struggled to move away from him, but he wasn’t releasing her.

“If you don’t want me to fuck you, you have to say that. You have to say, ‘Mr. Brennbach, I don’t want you to bend me over your desk and shove your cock into my cunt.’ Actually, you can just say ‘no sex’ and that will be fine.”

The silence was the loudest she’d ever heard, and then he laughed.

“Very well.” He roughly turned her to the side and pushed her shoulders down. She propped her hands on her knees to avoid falling over. “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t even blink.”

The heat of his body pulled away from her, and she became aware that he was opening his desk drawer. He closed it and opened another one. She couldn’t imagine what he was searching for. Something to spank her with?

Then the sound of ripping foil reached her ears.

Followed by latex being stretched and rolled down. She hadn’t even seen his cock. She’d done a lot of wild things in her life, but she’d never been fucked by a cock that she hadn’t seen beforehand.

Maybe it, too, was deformed? But that didn’t make sense—his scars were recent, and as far as she knew, confined to his face. After all, both his hands were smooth.

“From now on, you will do whatever I tell you to. You know what to say to make me stop. I will use you however I see fit. What do you think about that?”

I will use you however I see fit
. It was like something from one of those forbidden romances she sometimes bought at newsstands, then skimmed quickly and furtively before introducing them to the nearest trash can… only to regret it at night, in the darkness and solitude of her bed.

He slapped her ass, and she gasped at his presumptuousness. He slapped her again. “I asked you a question.”

“I think… I think you’re a pervert.”

His laugh filled the room. “In which case you like the idea of being used by a pervert. You think we’ll be beauty and the beast.”

“That’s not true.”

He clamped a hand over her mouth. “I could get a girlfriend if I tried?” He laughed.

She tried to protest, to explain that she’d meant it as a compliment, but it was impossible to speak.

No one had ever treated her like this before. Manhandling her. God, she fucking loved it, and even though she struggled mightily against him, she couldn’t stop grinning, which he surely felt against his palm.

He straightened her just enough so that he could jerk her skirt up over her hips. Tight spasms had started pulsing rhythmically in her core, and her legs trembled with anticipation.

She couldn’t help trying to rub her ass on him.

“Stop that.” He took a short break from yanking down her panties to slap her ass.

Apparently liking the way she gasped and tried to wiggle free, he slapped her ass again and again, a quick tempo, the smacks screaming out, her skin warming under his attentions.

When he stopped, they were both panting. She was glad he couldn’t see her expression.

“Open your legs so I can fuck you.”

She almost died. Trembling with need, she slid her feet apart. His hard and surprisingly large tip prodded her slit.

She had never been so ready for fucking. As the unseen swollen head of his cock pressed into her entrance, she could hear the wetness between her legs. Wanting to make things difficult for him, she clenched her muscles.

But she couldn’t keep him out, couldn’t stop him from shoving his way in, and his insistence was even better than in her fantasies.

Only the tip of his cock was inside her, but he was so thick that there was no way he could easily slip out. He kept her upright.

Her body vibrated with anticipation.

“Be still,” he ordered, sliding his hand from the back of her neck to the front of her throat, cradling her. The thin metal of the chain pressed against her skin. “I want you to be quiet. If you fake an orgasm or put on a show, I’ll know, and I’ll punish you. Move your hips.”

Desperately, she began working her hips in a circle. He shoved forward, pressing another inch of his erection into her pussy. Oh, he was so thick.

She loved the way he’d taken control of her, of the situation. The way he knew exactly what he wanted was the ultimate turn-on. He was the opposite of the other guys she’d been with, who’d thought that when she asked for “rough sex” she just wanted her hair pulled a little. One guy had given her a decent spanking. After, he’d been unable to meet her eyes. It had been like a bucket of ice water thrown in her face.

But the fire hadn’t been extinguished. It had kept smoldering just below the surface.

Mr. Brennbach had barely touched her, yet his control was absolute. This was what she’d been craving, one of those heroes she’d fantasized about coming to life.

He didn’t look the part. Not at all. But she was addicted nonetheless.