Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I punch a button my phone and ask him, “Why so late?”
“She wasn’t ready when I arrived, sir,” he says, then quickly amends, “but she got ready as fast as she could, and we might have hit a little traffic on the way.”
Is he covering for her? I frown. “Might have hit a little traffic?” Traffic in NYC is brutal, but a quick glance at my monitor shows me the distance to my office is no worse than usual.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
“Very well. Send her up.”
“I’m already here,” comes a voice on the other side of the door.
“Come in.” I push the button to allow her entrance to my office, leaning back in my chair so I can watch her enter. She lights up a room when she comes in, and I want to see the transformation, but I’m not quite sure what happened with my instructions this morning.
The door opens, and Cora stands in the entryway, the light of the hall behind her casting her body in shadow so I can’t quite see.
“Shut the door,” I command. “And stay right there.”
The door clicks shut and now I can see her fully, dressed in a little dress we picked up last week for her, a casual, hunter green number that dips to a low vee in front, that I know from personal experience simply slips on and off, with no fussy buttons or zippers or ties to deal with, so it can be removed in record time. An important point.
But first, we have something to discuss.
“Why were you late?” I demand, fixing her with the stern glare that usually makes her humble and contrite.
“I… well…” she begins, and though I’ve trained her to keep her eyes on mine when I speak to her, she looks away.
“Cora,” I warn, but she doesn’t look at me.
“I overslept,” she says, but by the way she shifts her feet and won’t meet my eyes, I can tell she isn’t telling the truth. She’s lying to me? Being late earns a minor consequence, but a lie?
I can’t abide lying.
I’ll have an answer.
“Look at me.”
She swivels her gaze to mine and there’s fire in her eyes. I get to my feet, prepared to meet that challenge. This is an exchange of power she’s agreed to and here, right now, in this room, she needs a reminder. I need to strip away whatever’s holding her back from submitting to me, and everything about her right now from her stature to her tone, to the way her eyes harden when she looks at me, says she isn’t prepared to submit.
Has this all been an act? Has she feigned submission, and now that we’re near the end of the contract, she’s putting up a wall?
Our contract isn’t up yet, and I’ll fucking remind her of that.
I snap my fingers and point to the carpeted floor.
“Knees.”
Well trained, she falls to her knees in obedience, though her eyes still spark defiance.
I crook my finger at her and give a silent command.
Crawl.
With a sharp intake of breath and pinched lips, she hesitates. I do a mental calculation of what I have at my disposal in my office. Though I’m discreet, I’m fairly well outfitted for play here, and I know in the other room I used to have a stout riding crop, but I think I’ve brought all the other tools to Verge.
The belt I’m wearing is well-crafted Italian leather.
It will do.
One foot forward. Then two. She’s crawling toward me reluctantly, her eyes alight in anger. I don’t know what it is that’s gotten under her skin, but I will.
I wait, watching to see if her anger bleeds off as she comes to me on all fours, but it seems the closer she gets, the angrier she becomes, until she’s at my feet all but glaring at me. I drop to one knee and chuck a finger under her chin.
“This is no submissive woman I have kneeling before me,” I say. “You began our day with disobedience, and now everything about you speaks defiance. What is it?”
“Nothing, sir,” she grits out.
I bring my fingers to her hair, and allow myself one stroke of the soft, silky strands, before I wrap them in my fingers and tug her head back, hard. Punishing. “That’s a lie.”
Her eyes water from the hair pull, but her mouth is clamped shut.
I could bend her over my desk and take my belt to her ass and attempt to whip the truth out of her. Or I could stand her in the corner until she finally caves and tells me. I have many options at my disposal, but instead of immediate punishment, I decide to give myself time to think about it while I make her submit. Sometimes the actual act of physical submission is what it takes.
“Alright, then,” I say, getting to my feet but holding her hair so she hisses and scrambles to her feet beside me. “Since you won’t open your mouth to speak the truth, let’s put that mouth to better use, shall we?” She swallows but remains silent.