Isabella
"Would you mind removing your shirt? I'd been fairly uncomfortable throughout the whole night." A raspy voice wakes me up to a day that'll undoubtedly brim with annoyance and audacious remarks.
I lift myself into a seating position and watch as Andreas' arm falls to my thighs. I slap it off me. "Fuck off."
He groans and rolls onto his stomach, limbs messily splayed on the mattress. It's only now that I realize he hadn't changed out of his work uniform, and he's managed to look—and smell—amazing despite it. I move to the edge of the bed, feet dangling over.
"Don't I have work?" I ask.
"Of course, of course. But..." A slumber is trying to take ahold of him, but I won't let him sleep. I exert a huge effort into taking myself across the bed and bringing my palm to his back. That only does well to startle him; he flinches and continues relaxing.
So I tell him, "It's 7:43am."
He springs onto his feet immediately, wobbling from the rise, and his eyes skip around the room, searching. Just before he disappears into the closet, he demands, "Get dressed."
"Into what?"
He reappears moments later, a black flared pants slung over his shoulder, and moves towards me. But he pauses, and then I realize I'm kneeling before him, clothed in my cropped top and panties.
With all the false purity I can muster, I fold my hands together and ask, lashes batting, "Is something bothering you?"
I think of last night, the way he was pushed up against me, the heat of his breath sprawling over my skin, the unconscious movements he'd made that brought him even closer.
So much weight was on me. His weight. The blanket's weight. The weight of my thoughts. And everything is going to get heavier. I've only been with him for a day.
He merely responds, "Take these pants. I'll be in the car."
⚘
Silence reigns in our ride to the mall.
A car swerves in front of us, forcing Andreas to hit brake and inciting some verbal violence.
"Stupid, stupid fucking drivers. Unbelievable idiots. Aren't they, baby?" He turns a displeasured look to me before focusing on the road.
"Don't call me that."
He utters something under his breath. But his cock seems to have a hold on him, because he's persistently steering his eyes towards me and the way my oversized top sits on my chest at red traffic lights or as we pass through an uncluttered road. Similarly, I'm trying to picture what exactly lies beneath that crumpled navy blouse of his.
"Why did you wear those clothes in your sleep and now? You look...messy."
His head snaps to me for a brief second. "It's because balance is essential in every relationship—a base requirement. The idea corresponds to that same old 'a gift for a gift' phrase. If you choose not to repay me for the gift I'd given you, then there'll be an imbalance and you'll be in my debt. Meaning—"
"This has nothing to do with what I said."
"Don't insult me; it makes sense. Since you couldn't wear your pajamas, I had to sleep in my work uniform. That way, our inconveniences cancel each other out and that imbalance between us no longer exists."
I scoff. "You could've given me a shirt."
He chuckles, his ruffled hair bouncing. "Remind me after work."
Ignoring him, I turn to the window for the rest of ride. But the odd feeling of being in a car with someone new unsettles me. Of not being in a car with Jasper and listening to him nag.
I'd been sucked into an inescapable life with him, and that's not because I was too fragile to tolerate admitting I didn't want us to be together. It was more of financial stress and...my parents. I don't have a job because he'd disallowed me to, even after we graduated and moved in together, and I couldn't find it in me to speak up. Reluctance was a fucking plague.
I was going to say something to Jasper, but I hadn't yet, so staying at the house with him was no choice until I found a way to make money and dart out. My parents, unable to help since they live in a separate state, keep encouraging me to marry him. Marry him. And I'm not ready to tell them that he always finds a way to crack open another section of my skull, whether that be through our arguments, his demands that I do shopping for the house, or simply having sex with me. Ugh. Who knows, maybe working at the store can be temporary until I get my resume into a few labs.
Andreas stops the car in a parking spot by the mall.
"We're playing a game of Boyfriend-Girlfriend," he says. "It'd be ideal to start off with a kiss. Or—"
The door slams shut behind me before he can continue.
I thread my way through cars, cross two roads, and speed into the shaded-glass entrance with him pursuing me. He catches up, but I choose not to acknowledge him.
"Owe to your debts." He clutches my arm and veers us into the store—'Aressia' as it's called—before I can skip it.
In being the early morning, customers are yet to charge at the racks and tables, and employees work with stocks and arrange clothing in different sections of the store. We pass the front desk and walk to the opposite side where I'm guided into one of the changing rooms. A curtain shuts behind me, and then he's scurrying off, leaving me to stare at myself in the mirror of the small room. I can't believe I'm doing this—playing as a puppet to a store owner's acts. I wonder what Jasper is doing right now.
Presumably, Andreas is going to fit me into a uniform, make me his employee. So it'd be right to help out and undress for him now. It'll save us the time and allow me to get to work sooner. It has nothing to do with luring those hands on my body.
I let the pants fall to the floor and toss my shirt over my head.
Soon, he returns with three box pleat skirts patterned with red and yellow hexagons and three short sleeved white blouses, each with 'Aressia' sewed into them in joined, spindly curves for letters. He only notices I'm in my undergarments once he's hung it all on the wall.
Then his eyes explore me blatantly—my lower body, my chest, remaining there for a few seconds until I'm met with an intense stare. Lust is brewing.
"You're a provocative, bold woman. Dress yourself and meet me at the front desk." He's out the room before my seductions can advance.
But as I sample the clothes, finally figure out what size fits me, it's that same, immoral feeling I always run into that coaxes me to fold my skirt higher and leave the top buttons of my blouse open. I'm not going to be the only one that's baited into a need to be touched. If he can summon a craving in me, then I can do the same to him. I'm going to be a temptress.
I tuck the loose blouse into my shortened skirt and head towards the front desk where he's asked employees to go off and do other chores.
When he captures the way I've adjusted my attire, he looks at me pleasantly, lips quirking up. He stands a foot away from the register, gesturing that I come in with a nod, his hands held behind him. I enter and close the door to the desk, interlocking my fingers once I stand before him. I tilt my head as he glances down my shirt. His breaths come unevenly, and I know it takes him some effort to assemble words.
"You've made quite...a style with the uniform. Nothing that I've seen before."
I spin around and observe the items on the desk. A potted plant, a wooden pen holder, a lanyard strap with a key, and a box that's filled with assortments of packaged jewelry.
"Styling is what I do." I pick up a pen and twirl it between my fingers. "It was my second career choice after biochemistry."
"Really?"
I turn my head to him, frowning. "No."
"So you don't do biochemistry?" He finally comes to my side, elbows on the desk, staring lazily as I twiddle with the pen. His attention flickers upwards as I raise my arm in the air.
"I do." Before he can open his mouth to gain more insight, I drop the pen, watching as it clatters to the ground. I look at him in artificial shock, then prepare myself to bend down to the floor. "Oops."
I'm unnecessarily folding my entire body and keeping my legs upright as I reach for the pen. My hand rests on the desk, and my outstretched arm is taking its time in picking up the fallen object. I feel my skirt riding up my thighs, the cool air hitting portions of skin near my panties. When I finally grasp the pen, it gets warmer, like an invisible furnace has emerged in the empty space surrounding my lower body.
I straighten and return the pen to the desk. The heat is from Andreas, his groin a shaky distance away from me. The distance between us breaks as he comes against my backside and takes my hips in his hands.
"Has yesterday's warning already flew past your head?" A hand slithers up my torso, pausing between my breasts. I lean into him, allowing myself to immerse in the complete heat of his body.
"I thought I was giving you your gift."
"Gifts...gifts...gifts...My amazing gift." He positions my stomach against the desk, his hand holding my wrists behind me and the other adjusting the waistband of my skirt. His erection is hard against my ass. I hope the morning is enough to keep customers away. "Should I take it right here? Where my employees might come and go?"
I've failed at being a proficient temptress. Now all I can do is be the tempted. How can I not when he makes me so wet? I can feel the beats of my heart against my chest, thumping the desk, speeding as my time with him extends. It doesn't take much effort not to shout "yes". Not when I struggle to make up the word, let alone take a lungful of oxygen.
"Actions speak louder than words, huh Bella?" I snatch back a piece of my perception and realize I've begun rubbing my ass against him. Can't I remain within control of my own body for longer than a minute? I blame my incompetence on Andreas. He's too...riveting.
The hand playing with my waistband reaches my inner thigh, travelling up with my skirt as it comes closer to right where I want him to be. Just go in already. Stop teasing.
I move myself back.
He pulls me up, my body arching, and whispers into my ear, "It's only your first day and you're already perverting your duties as my employee." I'm jerked back down to the desk, and his hand finally finds its way into my panties. His fingers stroke, find out how wet I am, toy with me—and don't go inside. He muses, "Oh, it seems I've made a mistake and hired a naughty one. Is it appropriate to be this aroused for your boss?"
I try to repress a whine that's bouncing around in my throat, readying to drive itself out my mouth to reveal how starved I am. But he keeps teasing me, goading me into releasing that sound, so when he presses down on my clit, it does. "Please. Please just do it. I'm going to—"
I shut my mouth as he begins rubbing my clit—fast. I don't want to make any sounds. Not when we're on the front desk of his store, the place where customers will stride into soon enough. A short wall is the only barrier between me and exposure, but if anyone comes close enough...I close my eyes and pray that luck trumps any misfortune.
"This is my gift. I take it how I want." His groin pins me to the desk, pushing forward so I can't writhe or move by my own accord, and his cock is a firm pressure, a blatant indication that he's thinking about fucking me right here, on this desk, in his store. "Unless you want to give me what you want. But that means you'll compensate tomorrow." His fingers stray away from my clit and move down, dipping in me slightly then coming back out.
It's doing nothing to gratify those sexual impulses that he's reeled in. My body is on fire, the skin between my legs so heated with unfulfilled need that I want to sever his fingers and jab him for depriving me but also taste his skin for the same reason. And because of his provocations, I become a horny, petulant woman and let out a noise that's a cross between a grunt and a cry.
He enters with the tips of his fingers, using a thumb to flick my throbbing clit.
Having had enough of his intolerable yet delightful teasing, I wriggle, trying to escape from the tight grip on my wrists and press of his groin keeping me against the desk. I need him to finish me. Right now. Among struggle, I decide to work with a new tactic.
"What do you want, huh? Are you worried I might not give you something in return? I will. I fucking will. I'll suck your cock for you, boss. I'll suck it so good." He ignores me, so I continue. "Please. Is...is it because you want to be referred to as something? I'll call you sir. I'll call you that. Fuck, I'll even call you daddy. Is that it? You want me to be daddy's little girl? Daddy's desperate slut? Please d—"
He yanks his hand out of my skirt and pulls me up by the wrists. I'm spun around, and after all that I'd said, I'm not surprised that he seems to be seething.
At first, there's just silence between us being poked at by the sound of racks and their wheels driving across the surface of the marble tiles, our focus lying on each other, movements unbroken in this blank span of a stretched few seconds. Blood is pumping frantically throughout my thighs, the vessels around my bottom, and even in the veins of my upper limbs. It's all driven by my arousal which Andreas is dismissing.
I'm left with only one choice.