The Bishop Affair (Dominated by the Billionaire Brothers #2) (2 page)

Oh God
.
Was that his erection? The hard flesh pushing against my soft skin evidenced his arousal and sent even more shockwaves between my thighs. I parted my lips as my breath quickened.
Jordan began working down my back again and my breathing turned to panting. His hands lingered at the edge of the towel draped over my ass, rubbing and caressing my lower back, the pressure actually rocking me a little on the table, inadvertently stimulating my clit.
“You have great skin, you know?” he said impassively. “Most women your age are so focused on tanning but it destroys their skin.”
“I burn easy,” I moaned out by way of explanation, willing to do or say anything as long as the exquisite feelings never stopped.
“You’re beautiful.”
Had I imagined the words whispered in my ear? There was no way my rich, gorgeous boss, who could have any woman he wanted, just called me beautiful.
His hands on my lower back were pushing me closer and closer to a climax. I was so close. The will to fight it crumbled to the burning desire for release. The moment I accepted that maybe that’s exactly what Jordan wanted and gave myself over to it, he stopped and withdrew his hands.
“Feel better?” he asked brightly.
I gaped, so sure that I was going to come as of a few seconds ago that I now felt robbed.
“I do,” I lied. My body simmered with arousal. Anxiety over Trevor had been replaced with lust for Jordan. “That felt amazing.”
“You should always take a little time for yourself so you don’t get too overwhelmed.”
He strolled across his office and stared out the window, his back to me. It was my cue to peel myself off the table and get dressed. Heaving myself up, I found my knees wobbly from all the sexual tension. My pussy was so wet that I hated to put my panties back on, but I did, frowning at the unpleasant sensation.
As I glanced back at the table, I was horrified to see a wet smear right where I had been resting. Wriggling into my skirt, I tossed the towel back over it. I wondered what he would have thought if he’d found it. Would he have smelled it to figure out what the wetness was? I shuddered and finished dressing.
“Okay,” I said, turning back to Jordan and seeing him back in his pants. Had he been peeking at me?
“That gift,” he said, pulling on a navy oxford that didn’t seem capable of containing his muscles. “The one for my client? It’s a clock.” I was shocked to remember the reason why I came to his office in the first place. Jordan scribbled a few words on a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a model number and a store. I looked up to see my boss smiling lightly. “As a reminder.”
I certainly didn’t need a reminder of this meeting. It would take a severe blow to the head to forget it, and even then, I was sure my body would still remember. I smiled shyly and took my leave.

***

It was still a little early to take lunch, but I found it extremely hard to focus on the stack of paperwork on my desk after Jordan’s massage. My loose muscles were a constant reminder and every time I imagined his strong hands rubbing me, I got turned on. The easiest transcriptions seemed like insurmountable tasks. I found myself yearning to rub my thighs together to try to recapture some of that feeling.
Finally, I grabbed my tote and stood up, eager to make my escape.
“Hey Susan,” I said, stepping across the hall to her desk. She looked up and smiled, her graying hair pulled into a messy bun that was pierced through with no less than three pencils. “I’m going to step out and run a couple errands for the Bishops and pick up some lunch while I’m out. Can I get you anything?”
“That’s sweet of you Lori, but I’ll be fine.”
I walked away, feeling much lighter knowing I’d be out of the office for a while. Hopefully, I’d be able to clear my head so I could be productive the rest of the day.
Strolling along the sidewalk, free from the building, I felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I grabbed a smoothie from a nearby shop and sipped on it, watching New Yorkers pass by in droves, dragged by an invisible current of their own needs and desires. How many people had just received an mind-blowing massage from their gorgeous boss?
Before leaving the shop, I bought a plastic-wrapped brownie for Susan. She kept a dish of chocolates on her desk and had quite the sweet tooth. I knew the brownie wouldn’t go to waste with her.
Enjoying the crisp weather, I walked the handful of blocks to the store Jordan had indicated and picked up the clock. The receipt listed an outrageous price for the decorative timepiece—more than several of my paychecks combined. I really hoped the client would remember the time spent with Bishop Corp.
I had the clock wrapped and placed into a bag. Carrying the pricey parcel gingerly in one hand, I dug around in my tote until I found the other task I had to do: the dry cleaning ticket. Surprisingly, I felt a lot less dread than earlier. What else could Trevor do to me? Spank me again? I was doing exactly what he asked. Jordan’s massage apparently did wonders for my confidence.
I remembered the dry cleaning shop’s façade from yesterday and picked it from the others with little trouble. The attendant pulled the plastic-covered shirt and vest from a rack and handed them to me. I paid and carried everything out. Back on the sidewalk, I looked up at the office building, towering into the sky.
It was time to face Trevor.
I held my head high as I strode across the office to my desk. I was so ready to get the phantom of Trevor out of my mind for the day. Carefully, I set Jordan’s parcel on my desk, promising myself to give it to him as soon as I dealt with Trevor. I placed the brownie on Susan’s empty desk before shaking out the dry cleaning, making extra sure it was perfect in every way, right down to freeing the wrinkles in the plastic. Marching down the hall with the clean items in hand, I knocked briskly on Trevor’s office door.
“Enter!”
I pushed the door and bravely opened my mouth to say
hello
when Trevor held up his hand.
He was seated at his desk in shirtsleeves, his tie thrown over his shoulder, listening to someone on his phone. Drawn curtains of heavy fabric kept most of the light out of his office, and the space was only illuminated by a desk lamp at his elbow. He kept his eyes on me even as he made curt sounds of acknowledgement to whoever was on the other end of the line. He pointed at my shoes and gave a stern expression.
Of course, the rug.
I stepped out of my pumps again, leaving them next to his expensive-looking Italian loafers.
He crooked his finger at me and pointed at the chair across from his desk. I walked across the rug in my bare feet and sat, still holding the dry cleaning. He returned his attention back to the phone as soon as I was in the chair, taking notes rapidly.
“If Murdoch wants to play ball, we’ll play ball.” He clicked his pen impatiently. “Jordan met with him last week in London, but he didn’t get a good impression.”
He underlined something on his notepad as his shoulders heaved a silent sigh. I took the opportunity to really observe him. Seeing the business side of Trevor in action made me better appreciate his intensity in personal settings. He was obviously not happy with whatever he was hearing on the other end of the line, but he was holding his ground, not giving an inch. Trevor and Jordan were so different that it was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that they were brothers. Jordan’s gray-green eyes danced with a friendly, almost playful light. They reflected the mood around them, amplifying happiness and soothing away stress. Trevor’s eyes, on the other hand, had a hard edge around them. Theirs were a frosty blue, cold enough to give you frostbite in a single glare. They were always carefully assessing, like they were picking apart every flaw.
Though their body types were vastly different—probably, in part, to their unique workout regimens—the Bishops still had the air of pride. Both knew they were good-looking and powerful. Everyone else around them knew, too.
That was where any sort of similarity ended. Even their aesthetic tastes were unique, right down to the ways they decorated their offices. Whereas Jordan’s office seemed comforting, with its bright windows, comfy chairs, and warm wooden flooring, Trevor’s office seemed designed to warn you — don’t walk on the rug with your shoes, don’t touch the erotic statue on the desk, don’t even look at the Eastern paintings on the wall. Most of the décor was probably from Jordan’s travels, and I wondered if he saw his brother reflected in each piece he bought. It would be interesting to see how they interacted with another.
“I know he’s probably feeling anxious,” Trevor said. “Phone tapping will do that to people. I should think he’d like an ally right about now.”
He set his pen down and leaned back in the chair. Cracking his neck twice, he looked at me. The amusement was evident in his eyes and I wondered what was so funny. If it was something on the phone, I’d likely never know. But I had a sneaking suspicion that the joke was on me. Even when he looked happy I wondered if it was because I screwed something up. Still, I was all too aware of how my body reacted around him. All of his sharp parts and hard edges made him dangerous. Only a fool would say they were immune to “bad boy” allure. And Trevor had more than enough to spare. I found myself tracing the scar on his face, mentally concocting outlandish scenarios for its existence.
When I met his blue eyes, they were no longer amused. I blushed and stared at my lap purposefully.
“Well, keep me posted on what you find out.” His tone indicated he was done talking about the subject. I was sure the person on the other end was scrambling to wrap up the conversation.
“That’s fine.” Trevor leaned forward to set the phone back down in the cradle and then cracked his knuckles deliberately, one by one.
“Lori,” he said pleasantly, his mouth curling into a smile. “What a welcome distraction.”
He glanced down to his desk—the very one I’d been sprawled across yesterday and spanked—and returned his gaze at me. His eyes twinkled and I knew exactly what he was thinking about. My cheeks heated with embarrassment but I tried not to avert my gaze.
He, delighted. “No hard feelings over yesterday, I hope,” he said. “Have you run into anyone today?”
“No—of course not.”
He held out his hands, grinning. “Lesson learned.”
He enjoyed tormenting me and I wanted this over with as quick as possible. “I’ve brought your dry cleaning,” I said, taking great care in ensuring the words came out evenly. We stood at the same time and he walked around the desk, taking the items from me. I felt a thrill of nervousness at his closeness.
He peeled back the plastic and examined his shirt. When he reached the collar, he rubbed it between his fingers and a faint smile met his lips. Had I finally done something right in his eyes? Tiny tendrils of hope shot through my veins.
“Lori, Lori, Lori.” He set the clothes on his desk. The hairs on the back of my neck rose at the hints of condescension and false disappointment in his voice. What was I going to have to do to endear myself to him? “I work long hours. When I leave the office, I rarely go home. I’m often conducting business at restaurants—sometimes, even at nightclubs.”
I swallowed, my mouth as dry as cotton. Where was he going with this?
“What would clients think of the company if I showed up with a wrinkled collar because my personal assistant failed to have it starched?”
I let out a long breath. “I’m sorry.” Stupid starch. Stupid dry cleaning. Stupid Lori. Of course it wouldn’t occur to me to ask for starch. In the few times I had some of Eric’s clothes dry-cleaned before important events, he hated starch. When was I going to remember that this was my new life and I was screwing it all up? It felt like Trevor was counting on me screwing up just so he could have the pleasure of making me feel inadequate. “Clients would probably get the wrong impression if you wore a wrinkly shirt.”
“Exactly.” He stabbed the air with a pointed finger. “Bishop Corp. needs to look perfect at all times, right down to the appearance of its CEOs. That’s why we need everyone who works here to strive for perfection. We can’t be perfect if you aren’t.”
I knew that the “you” in his statement wasn’t general—he specifically meant me.
He paced around, deep in thought. I wondered if I was going to get spanked again or if he was tired of that game. Part of me hoped he wasn’t. My nipples tightened at the possibility of being bent over his desk again, absorbing his blows on my ass. What was wrong with me?
I lowered my eyes, hoping to mask my arousal in a veil of shame and remorse.
“I need you to be better, Lori.” He purred the last part, my name. “I have to punish you again. Hopefully you’ll learn your lesson.”
I looked over at the desk and he followed my gaze before bursting into laughter. “Oh no, we’re not doing that. You’d like to get spanked, wouldn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
How did he know I enjoyed what he did yesterday? Was my face betraying my thoughts?
“I don’t know what you’re talk—”
Trevor held out his hand. “Take off your panties and give them to me.”
What?
My thighs squeezed together instinctively as if to stifle the strange sensation that suddenly skittered between them. What was he playing at?
“Mr. Bishop, that is highly—”
“Appropriate. Given your offense. Garment for a garment.”
His steely blue eyes left no room for compromise. Hating myself a little for how turned on I felt, I realized the command had the same effect on me today as it did yesterday.
My blush crept across my face and down my throat as I slowly inched my skirt up. His eyes glittered, never looking away. The wicked scar marring his otherwise perfect face looked menacing. I reached beneath the fabric of my skirt and hooked my fingers on either side of my panties. I was excruciatingly turned on in spite of my humiliation, feeling a thrill as the air hit my bare pussy when I drew the panties down my thighs. My skirt slipped down to cover my nudity and I stepped out of my underwear.
I couldn’t meet his eyes as I dropped the scrap of fabric into his outstretched hand. He held them up for me to see, dangling the purple scrap of fabric in front of my face.
“I’m going to confiscate these. You can have them back before you leave for the day—if you think you deserve them back. Do you think you can be better?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt exposed even though my skirt amply covered everything. Losing those panties made me feel completely naked.
“Good.” I bit my lip as he fingered the crotch area of my panties, my stomach in knots, and then lifted his hand to his nose, eyes narrowed. “Have you been thinking dirty thoughts today?”
I looked at the ground, wishing desperately that I could just disappear. Trevor had detected the wetness my pussy left in the panties after my massage from Jordan. The fact that he had just put his fingers in my arousal and smelled it made me direly afraid that I would soon start dripping on his precious rug. If he would reach down and cup the space between my legs...he’d find much more where that came from. The entire scenario made me nearly as horny as Jordan’s massage.
“I bet I can guess who you were thinking about.” He said it so casually that I almost missed it. I looked up just in time to see him slip my panties into his pocket. “I hope you spend the rest of your day thinking about how you can be better.” The dismissal was clear in his voice.
My knees quaking, I walked back to the door and stepped into my shoes. I could feel his eyes on me. Every step reminded me that I wasn’t wearing panties, my pussy rubbing against the fabric of my skirt. I left his office, closing the door and not looking back. Another lesson learned, I thought to myself, feeling humiliated and extremely horny. When would these lessons end?