Under His Command (For His Pleasure, Book 17) (9 page)

He laughed. “Okay, then. For solidarity’s sake.”

She laughed too, glancing up at him. He called over the waiter, and ordered himself two shots of vodka.

The two shots of vodka arrived and Easton drank them, one right after the other, while the waiter was still standing there. As the waiter left, Easton gave Kennedy another smile. “I think we’re even now,” he said.

“Is that all?” she said. “You’re not going to order a beer?”

“I don’t think so.” He stood up and held out his hand to her. “Come on, we should go.”

She looked up at him. “Stay with me. Stay here. Talk to me.”

Easton’s expression grew serious. “We’ve got work to do, Kennedy. This isn’t playtime.”

She nodded, looking away from him. “I was hoping we could talk, get to know one another.”

“Maybe another time.” His hand was still extended.

Kennedy took his hand, feeling his warm skin against hers, and it made her want to cry somehow. He helped her to her feet, and she realized in that moment just how drunk she’d gotten.

Yet another reminder how sheltered she’d been, how few parties she’d ever gone to. Kennedy drank so rarely in college that her tolerance was at about zero, and it was embarrassing. A couple of glasses of wine and she was practically on the floor.

Easton wanted nothing to do with her—she was like a child to him.

They didn’t say much on the walk back to the car. Once they were driving, the silence hung like a pall in the air.

“I ruined everything,” she said, feeling worse and worse.

Easton glanced over at her. “Stop that,” he said. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Miserably, she shook her head. “I embarrassed myself with Travis, didn’t I?

Acted like some third-rate call girl and then messed up your meeting with him. And here I thought I was going to be the big hero and help you get that feather in your cap.” She laughed bitterly.

Suddenly, Easton pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked, turning to face her. “Stop it,” he said. “It’s not cute and it’s not professional. It’s also not my job to coddle you.”

She looked at him and tears sprang to her eyes. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “Far from it.”

The intensity in his gaze startled her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, finally. “It won’t happen again.” She sniffled, wiped her eyes with her fingers, blinking.

He sighed. “I know you’re not used to how things work in the regular world. All the rules are different here, and I get that it’s a big adjustment.”

She smiled. “I probably just had too much to drink.”

“Well, we certainly learned out lesson about drinking at lunch, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, I suppose we did.”

They locked eyes and Kennedy saw a need in him that was so clear that she knew—knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was just as interested now as he’d appeared to be when they were together at the club the other night. If anything, she realized, he was more interested now. His eyes told the story as clearly as if he’d come right out and said it.

Easton reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from her face, the most intimate gesture she could imagine in that moment. His eyes were so very soft.

“Kennedy,” he whispered.

“Yes?” She looked at him, desperately wanting him to continue. Whatever was coming next, all she knew was that she wanted it. “You can tell me anything,” she said.

He seemed to flinch at her comment, and then he pulled away from her, a look of dismay clouding his features. “We really should get back to the office,” he said, and his voice had grown suddenly icy. He didn’t look at her again.

Her heart sank in disappointment and confusion. They’d been so close to…something…something special. She felt it, and she was sure he did too.

But the moment had slipped past.

***

Back at the office, she was sulking and desultory.

As close as they’d seemed to come to having a moment together in the car, they now seemed further apart then ever. Easton’s entire demeanor had shifted to one of cold detachment.

He began communicating to her primarily through email, asking her to schedule a trip to China at the end of the month, giving her the name of his travel agent and the basic details she should take into account.

She called the travel agent and got the ball rolling, and then Easton sent her another email asking her to make him a coffee.

Kennedy got up and made him a coffee, brought it into his office, hoping for some kind of communication from him—maybe a smile, a word or two, a joke.

He virtually ignored her.

When she got back to her desk, she found another email telling her to schedule a particular conference room for him. She needed to do it through their work intranet, which took her a few minutes to figure out.

As she was doing that, another email arrived. This time he was telling her that he wanted her to run to a nearby restaurant and pickup some food for lunch. He gave her the phone number and his order.

She was starting to wonder why he was doing everything through email and refusing to basically even speak to her. But then Kennedy told herself it was simply her imagination.

You’re hung over and depressed
, she told herself.
He’s just being efficient.

But as the day went on, the change in communication continued. Easton seemed to be going out of his way to avoid speaking to her in person, instead choosing to go through email and occasionally, a cold text.

The things he was having her do were purely busy work—nothing challenging or interesting.

He was gone for meetings for a few hours and then he returned at almost five o’clock, barely giving her a glance as he brushed by her desk on the way into his office.

She turned and watched him go past. A feeling of dread rushed through her. He was going to fire her, she realized. Whether it was for screwing up the meeting with Travis Hill Jr., or drinking too much, or starting to whine and cry—whatever it was, she suddenly knew deep down in her gut that Easton was about to let her go.

She stood up and slowly walked into his office, knocking lightly at the open door to get his attention. He looked up from some papers he was reading. “Whatever it is, just email me,” he said.

“I’d rather just say it now,” she said.

“Email.”

She practically stamped her foot. “Why? Why does it have to be email?”

He looked up at her, his expression one of impatience and disdain. “Because I told you to.”

“If I did something wrong, something to offend you—“

“Don’t start,” he growled. “I’m not your babysitter. I’m not your psychotherapist, and I’m not your daddy.”

She bit her lip. “I never said you were any of those things.”

He pointed at her. “I told you—email. Why are you defying me?”

“Defying you?” She laughed. “Because I’m trying to have a conversation? I think I’m being reasonable in trying to use the most expedient form of communication.

Why would I write an email when I can say the same thing in two seconds?”

Easton stood up. “Because I told you to, that’s why. What part of that concept don’t you get?”

She stepped back, licking her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Stop apologizing.” He walked a step towards her. “Stop crying. Stop being emotional in this office.”

She held her breath as he continued towards her. “I—“

“Don’t,” he said, continuing forward. “Don’t apologize again, don’t even think about it. I’ll kick you out of this building if you say you’re sorry. You’re not sorry, Kennedy. You’re doing everything you can to distract me, everything you can to drive me crazy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look at how you’re dressed,” he said, raking her up and down with his eyes.

“Showing off all that skin,” he continued. “And the way you keep bringing emotion into this office, into my business—it’s unacceptable. Do you get it?”

She nodded, her jaw quivering. She almost apologized, but didn’t.

“Say you get it,” he told her. He was almost as close now as he’d been the other night. His eyes were focused on hers.

Her nipples suddenly grew stiff and warmth spread down her pelvis. “I get it,”

she told him.

He leaned forward. “Do you understand or will you continue misbehaving in my office?”

“I understand,” she breathed.

“Because if you fail to listen, I’m going to be forced to take drastic action.”

She nodded mutely. He looked down at the floor and took a big breath.

Kennedy didn’t really know what was going on. Her mind was telling her one thing and her body another. Her mind was telling her that Easton hated her, was very close to firing her, was at the end of his rope, and wanted her to shape up or ship out. But her body told her something very different. She was aroused, and she felt his arousal like a force field around him, pushing into her. He hadn’t touched her, but his presence was so close that it seemed as if he was touching her in the most intimate way imaginable.

“What kind of drastic action?” she asked.

His gaze locked on hers once more. “You shouldn’t ask that question.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. It was as if she was trying to enrage him by apologizing after he’d specifically told her not to. But somehow, some part of her actually wanted to push him past what he could take.

“What did I tell you?” he rasped.

“You told me to stop apologizing.”

“Then why did you just apologize?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot.”

His eyes bulged at her. And then suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around so that she was facing the wall. “Put your hands on the wall,” he growled.

She did as she was told, her chest heaving, legs shaking.

Easton grabbed her skirt and pulled it up, revealing her buttocks covered only by a thong. “You’re leaving me no choice,” he muttered. And then he began roughly spanking her ass.

She cried out, not in pain—but ecstasy. Each time his palm crashed against her shivering skin, it was like a direct channel to her pussy. Each slap sent another wave of pleasure through her, and she flooded with slickness, dripping more and more with each slap he delivered.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, slapping her buttocks. “Just shut your mouth, understand?”

She nodded, breathing, moaning softly, as his palm slapped against her flesh once more.

“Just shut your mouth and be a professional.”

Be a professional?
She thought.
Like you, striking my bare bottom on work time?

Of course, she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want him to stop, after all.

Eventually he did stop. He let go of her skirt, and it fell back over her buttocks again, covering her bare skin. Her skin stung in a pleasurable way that was surprisingly enjoyable.

“You can turn around now,” he said, his voice calmer.

Kennedy did so, looking at him. Their eyes met and some kind of understanding passed between them.

“Is that all for today, then?” she asked, her voice oddly steady.

He nodded, his jaw working. “Yes.” His nostrils flared, and she could once again see that he wanted her badly. If so, she wondered, then why didn’t he just take her?

She stood there a moment longer, waiting to see if he would break down and do it already. But he didn’t, he just turned and moved back to his desk. “That’s all,” he said again, looking down at his papers. He picked them up and shuffled them.

“See you tomorrow, then,” she replied.

“Yes.”

She left the office, gathered her things, and walked out.

***

That night, Kennedy got home from work and showered, changed into some comfortable clothes, and tried to make her apartment a little more livable and presentable.

She had some music playing and she was humming along as she set up some plastic drawers to put a lot of her old school papers and things in for safekeeping. The majority of the boxes were unpacked, broken down and stashed beside the refrigerator.

There were only a few boxes left, and overall, she was happy how things looked.

She decided to light a few candles that she’d bought on her way home from work at a neighborhood store. As she was lighting them, there was a knock at the door.

“Hello?” she called out, hesitant, wondering who could be at her apartment. She didn’t know anybody in the city.

“Hey,” a male voice replied, sounding muffled. “It’s your neighbor.”

She walked towards the door, not sure about opening it. “I’m sorry, who are you?” she asked.

The voice called out from the hallway. “My name’s Blake Douglas, I’m in the apartment right next door. Just thought I’d introduce myself—and I also was wondering if you had any eggs.”

She laughed, figuring he wasn’t some serial killer just trying to lure her into opening up the door so he could murder her. She unlocked the door and opened it, and there he stood; a man just taller than her, with curly brown hair with long sideburns, clean-shaven, in jeans and a t-shirt.

“I’m Kennedy,” she said, waving.

“Blake—like I said.” He grinned and gave the room a once over from his position in the hallway. “Place looks amazing already.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is like college dorm room territory. I don’t even have a TV yet.”

“You’ll get there. Besides, isn’t it fashionable these days not to watch TV?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She scratched her head. “Unfortunately, on top of not owning a TV, I also don’t have any eggs in my possession. So I guess this trip’s a bit of a bust for you.”

“Nonsense,” he said, waving her off. “I got to meet my new neighbor, and turns out she’s a pretty cool person.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling her face flush. Blake was a handsome guy, with a winning smile and he put her instantly at ease.

“So,” he said, “I’d been thinking about making some fried chicken, but without eggs for the batter, it doesn’t quite hold together—literally.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Want to go with me and grab some Thai food? There’s an amazing little hole-in-the-wall joint just a block from here. I’d love to introduce you to the place.”