It’s just, it felt real for a little while there. In front of his colleagues, he treated me like I was a real Personal Assistant. He introduced me as if I was. I let myself forget. Because I’m a stupid girl.
But I won’t be. Not anymore. I stiffen my back as I kick off my panties and push up my skirt. It bunches uncomfortably at my waist and I sit back on the chair. The smooth leather feels strange against my ass.
Bryce keeps working without looking up. I just sit there. He still doesn’t look up.
“Um,” I finally say. “I’m here. In position.”
“I know,” is all he says.
I can’t help the breath of air that huffs out. Bastard. God, what does he want from me? To just sit here like some pornographic statue for the last hour of the day while he finishes up?
He lets me sit there another good long while. Five minutes. Ten.
Finally, he decides to grace me with his attention.
He stands up and pulls his chair to roll with him as he walks over to the glass. He pauses on the other side of the glass right in front of me. He sits down with that charming smile firmly in place.
“Open your legs, Callie.” His voice isn’t muted at all even though the door between the rooms is still closed. It’s coming through the intercom. Handy trick. “Spread them wide. I want to see your cunt.”
I sit perfectly straight and do as I’m told. Last night, this is how I determined I’d approach everything he requests of me. Do it without thinking. Be a robot. He wants a monkey on a string, fine. That’s what I’ll be.
“Wider.”
I stretch my legs open wider, eyes focused on the outside wall where I can look out on the city. I’ll pretend I’m in one of those cars on the bridge, driving far, far away from here.
“Put your fingers on your pussy lips and open so I can see.”
I do.
He makes a tutting noise. “Ah ah ah, Callie, you’re being a naughty girl. You aren’t even a little bit wet. I want to look at a pretty, juicy, wet cunny. And you’re going to give me want I want, aren’t you, my pretty little slut?” His voice deepens. “Look at me. Callie.” His voice is sharp as he calls my name. “Calliope. Eyes on me.”
My eyes snap to his. His brown eyes are so dark they seem to bleed into the pupils.
“That’s right,” he croons. “Eyes on me. Don’t you dare take them away. You signed the contracts this morning. You’re mine. Stick a finger in your mouth.”
My anger flares before I shut it down. Robot, Cals, you’re a robot.
I pop my forefinger in my mouth and pull it out again, but he’s quick to stop me. “Suck on it,” he hisses.
Reluctantly, I stick it back in my mouth.
“That’s right,” he says with a lazy smile. He leans back in his chair. In the bottom of my periphery, I can see his hands are going to his pants. He unbuckles them and pulls his cock out. He’s uncut and he pulls the skin back—
I snap my eyes back up to his. Dammit. Why did I let my eyes go there?
“It’s okay my pet. I want you to look. Look at my hard cock and suck harder on your finger.” And, a second later. “You’re not sucking hard enough.” The hard edge to his voice. “And look.”
I suck, and I look.
His cock is big. Not gigantic or anything, but bigger than the couple I’ve ever encountered before—and only one of those was a man I actually slept with. Mr. McIntyre never actually went that far. Everything else, but not that.
Isn’t that the irony?
Here I am. The whore who’s only officially slept with one man in her twenty-two years.
Bryce doesn’t jerk at it frantically like I’ve seen other guys do. No, he just rolls his hand lazily, up and down, up and down with a little twist when he reaches the head. A wet drop slips out the slit and then he rubs that all around the head so that it glistens a little in the well-lit room.
I swallow.
Bryce laughs. “Now stick that finger in your cunt. I can see I’m starting to make you wet. That’s right, whore, stick it up in there.”
A rush of mortification swarms me. I want to turn away from him. But no. This is what I signed up for.
Just do what he says. Be a robot. Be a goddamned robot. I jam my forefinger up in my vagina, a little harder than necessary. He can get off. That’s what this is about. But I don’t have to. I can still walk out of here with my dignity.
But it’s like the bastard can read my thoughts. “Aw, did I hurt my precious slut’s feelings? I’m sorry, baby.” His voice is soft. Like he genuinely cares, in spite of calling me a slut. “You need to learn when I say these things, it’s because you’re mine. I like that pretty pussy of yours. You don’t have to come today. But you’re still going to touch yourself. Put your thumb on your clit and stick two fingers in your pretty pussy. Stretch yourself while you rub and look in my eyes.”
I do what he says and look at him. That’s the most difficult part, I swear. Because his words are one thing. They’re crass. They’re dirty. Sometimes they’re even mean. But he looks at me with this intensity. A sort of want that borders on craving.
And he’s touching himself. “That’s right. That’s riiiiiiiight. You know how hard you’re making me right now? All I can think about is ramming into that dirty little pussy of yours. Stretching you open so fucking wide.” He only breaks gazes with me enough to look down at me touching myself. Unwittingly, I do the same. I look down at him pulling on his cock. He’s rougher now. He’s still not quick about it, though. Like he’s not letting himself rush the experience.
In spite of my determination not to let myself be affected, it’s absurdly hot. This attractive, put-together and powerful man, in his suit and tie but with that most intimate part of himself out on display… When I look at his face, I can see his teeth are gritted and his jaw is tensed. And those eyes. They’re heated, every ounce of his energy and power directed at me and his pleasure.
His eyes look back down at what I’m doing between my legs. And fuck it, I’m grinding into my hand. My back bows against the leather chair because Christ, it feels good. I’ve never felt things like this bastard pulls out from me.
Sex with David had been sedate. Some missionary, but more often than not, he just wanted me to suck his cock after he’d had a long day of teaching or office hours. Which worked for me because I rarely if ever came when David and I had sex. That was part of what I liked about being with him. Not cumming during sex made it feel… cleaner somehow. Like it meant I was finally different from the girl I used to be. Different from the little Barbie Mr. McIntyre liked to play with on those shame-drenched nights in my darkened bedroom.
I glare at Bryce because I can see the satisfaction in his face. He knows what he’s doing to me. He can probably see how engorged I’m getting. How wet he’s making me.
I arch again in spite of myself. Why? God, why does this turn me on? It’s wrong. So fucking wrong.
Come on, little Barbie, we’ll make each other feel good. It’s not wrong if we both feel good.
“You’re fucking juicing for me now, aren’t you?”
Bryce stands up and presses one hand to the glass, leaning over with his cock in his other hand. I bet it’s the same posture as when he’s jacking off in the shower.