Onika
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I'm a mess by the time Robyn drags the thong back up my legs and maneuvers it into place, making sure to press against the base of the plug again, sending aftershocks through me. Literally, figuratively, and any other possible way you can conceive.
She lifts me off her lap as though I weigh nothing and stands me on my feet, keeping a grip on one hip as the hem of the dress falls back into place. As soon as I'm upright, I remember the whole reason for this exercise.
"Shit! I'm going ot be late." I bolt toward the door, but Fenty's voice stops me.
"You have plenty of time. Your meeting doesn't start for another hour."
I swing around all the heat humming through my body freezes. "You lied to me."
Her only answer is a dismissive shrug. "You---"
She interrupts me before I can curse her. "From now on, every time you call me an asshole, a bastard, or any other slur, or tell me you hate me, I'm going to put you over my knee or bend you over the nearest flat surface. No one speaks to me like that without repercussions, and you just got your last free pass."
I swallow the insult that's on my tongue, wondering how in the hell I'm going ot manage not to swear at her or tell her I hate her. She makes me so angry, I can't control my own responses.
No one has ever had that kind of power over me, and I hate that she does.
I square my shoulders and stand as tall as my frame allows. "You can't control everything.
She rises from the chair. "And you've never been more wrong. Get your coat. You wouldn't want to be late for your meeting."
I snatch it off the floor where I dropped it, and shove my arms into it.
"That thing is ugly as hell."
"It's the only one I have, so I guess you have to deal with it." I refuse to look at her.
As I walk toward the door, I feel her stalking close behind me. Her suit coat brushes against my arm when she reaches around to open the door, and her heat envelops my body.
When the door swings open, my mouth drops open in shock.
It was unlocked this whole time. I could have run.
Maybe in my dreams. I wouldn't have made it two steps before Robyn reached me. And who knows what that punishment would have been.
My ass clenches, too aware of the foreign object inside it.
Scar waits in the hall with the hood. Is it too much to hope he's deaf as well as apparently mute?
"Make sure she gets to the distillery before nine. Pick her up at six. She's not working late this evening because I have plans."
I turn to argue because she's speaking to Scar like I'm not present, but Robyn's features might as well be carved from granite. That's when I realize that this is the Fenty her employees know. The Fenty everyone knows. The implacable, cold woman whose orders are never question or denied. The woman who rules with an iron fist and no velvet glove.
When her hard eyes land on me, it's like I'm staring at a different person. I have no doubt this woman is ever bit as ruthless as her reputation declares.
This isn't the woman who carefully surveyed my injured hand last night--before dousing it in fire--but I can't argue that it doesn't hurt today at all because of her actions. This also isn't the woman who was just inside that sitting room, making sure I gained as much pleasure from my first experience with anal play as possible.
Which one is the real Fenty? Do I even want to know? Does it matter?
The questions stay with me as Scar hands me the hood and silently carries me away. I tell myself I'm imagining it, but I swear I can feel Robyn's gaze burn into my back as we leave.
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"I don't think we'll have any trouble giving you a little more leeway on your line of credit while you wait for that check to come through, Ms. Maraj."
Joe Budden delivers his opinion to my chest rather than to my eyes, and I don't know whether I want to curse Robyn for leaving my nipples perpetually hard or thank her, because that ridiculous fact might have just bought Seven Sinners a little more time.
I sink back into my chair with a sigh of relief, and the movement shifts the plug in my ass. I paste a smile on my face, not that it matters because Budden is still staring at my boobs. "I appreciate the consideration. We have several other promising proposals out for bid that will no doubt lead to additonal large payments on the line of credit and on the principal of our loan."
Budden finally raises his gaze to my eyes. "Excellent to hear. We'll look forward to seeing those payments in the near futer. And . . . you know, we should probably get another meeting on the calendar as a check-in before I leave. Perhaps next time over dinner?"
My banker is not asking me on a date. That's seriously not happening.
"I can get us a great table at Galatoire's any time."
Yes. Yes, he is. Great.
How do I reply to this delicately? I don't want him reconsidering the deal he just struck with my boobs---I mean, me. I scramble for a diplomatic answer.
"I think I'll be working into the night for some time just to make absolutely sure Seven Sinners stays as profitable as I know it's going to be for a long time to come."
Budden smiles. "Then how about dinner in the restaurant upstairs? Surely the boss gets to take time to eat in her own establishment?"
He's not going to let me get out of this easily, is he?
"Of course. It's my humble opinion that Jennifer rivals the best chefs in town."
"Great. Then how about tomorrow night?"
I smile while gritting my teeth. The man doesn't understand the word subtle in the least. "Let me check with my assistant. She knows my calendar better than I do. I'll get back to you on that."
"Good. I'll expect a call from you tomorrow." He hands me his card.
"My phone number is on here as well. Only my favorite clients get this one."
"Wow. Thank you. I don't know what to say," I reply, and it's the actual truth.
"Just say yes to dinner, Onika. I'd love to get to know you better."
Finally, the excuse I should have been using all along snaps into my brain, and I smile sadly. "In the interest of full disclosure, Joe, I'm really still . . . in a grieving period, so friendship is all I'm capable of right now."
His smile reflects his sympathy for all of two seconds. "I absolutely understand. I think we could be great friends, Onika. It would further our working relationship too. When I have a vested interest in certain clients, I go above and beyond to make sure their files are kept on my desk, instead of . . ."
He doesn't finish the rest of his sentence, but it's implied. If I agree to dinner, he'll make sure to keep my loan out of workout. Then again, I'm not naive enough to think his expectations would end with dinner.
"I'll be in touch, Onika." He gives me another swarmy smile as he rises from the chair and gathers my loan documents to tuck them in his breifcase. When he finishes, he pauses. "I'm really looking forward to dinner."
To him, it's a foregone conclusion.
I nod as he leaves my office, and can't help but think that his suit hangs on him like a little boy playing dress-up. Nothing like the way Robyn's fit her to perfection, accentuating her chest, and hourglass waist.
My unruly brain adds hourglass waist you clawed with your nails . . . and I shut it down. I shouldn't even be making a comparison between a man and a woman.
And if Robyn knew what Budden suggested . . . I shiver at the thought of what might happen to my banker.
I still wonder if Robyn has cameras in my office, and if she does, whether they're wired for sound too. It's a question I should ask, but the woman with the granite features that I left this morning isn't one who will give me any answers.
I sit back down at my desk and stack my copies of the loan documents to return them to their file. Seven Sinners is barely staying in the black. These events have to come through, or I'm going to need a miracle.
Before I can contemplate the topic further, there's a knock on my door and Tiffany pokes her head in.
"How'd it go?"
The smile I shoot her way is genuine. "Seven Sinners will live to fight another day. Hopefully many, many days."
"I knew you could do it." Her gaze skims over my dress. "And your outfit is on point, boss. You've stepped it up in the fashion department for these meetings. Smart."
I can't admit that I had nothing to do with these choices, but I suppose I should be grateful they worked in my favor, even if my last two business victories leave a bad taste in my mouth because they feel manipulative.
But I'm not the one manipulating things here, I remind myself.
I don't need to use my boobs to succeed in business, but Fenty's point was again hammered home this morning. I have been oblivious to how people look at me, and now I'm hypersensitve to it.
Another knock sounds on the door. I expect Harry to pop his head in, but it's an unfamiliar face.
"Breakfast delivery for Ms. Maraj. The receptionist said I should bring it here."
I open my mouth to say that I didn't order any breakfast, but that would raise questions from Tiffany I'm not prepared to answer. "Thank you. Here is fine."
The delivery girl steps inside, and I open my desk drawer to grab some cash for a tip, but she waves it away.
"We're all set. Enjoy."
Tiffany turns to watch her walk away. "She was cute. What restaurant is that from? I might need to order some takeout."
"Uh . . ." I stare down at the plain brown bag devoid of any logo. "You know, that new place I've been wanting to try." I snap my fingers like the name is escaping me, frustrated that there's no receipt stapled to the bag with a name. "I swear it'll come to me as soon as you walk out the door."
Tiffany eyes me with a strange expression on her face. "Okay. Keep the cute delivery girl to yourself if you want."
"It's not that---"
She holds up both hands. "Hey, if you call dibs. I'm not one to judge."
"No dibs. All yours. I swear. I'm just flustered from the meeting and all the stress leading up to it. And now I have to figure out how to get out of having dinner with Joe Budden."
Her expression swiftly changes to pure disgust. "He asked you out? During a business meeting? That's just plain unprofessional. Plus, he's . . . ugh." She shudders to driver her opinion home, and I can't disagree with her. Joe is the last person I want to have dinner with.
Shouldn't Robyn be the last person you want to have dinner with? My logical brian taunts me with the question.
I tell it to shut the hell up as I tear open the brown bag. "I'm going to eat this while it's hot."
Tiffany slips out the door. "I'll leave you to it then."
As soon as I sit back down in my chair, the plug shifts in my ass and my nipples pucker against my dress. I try to ignore the sensation, but it's impossible. I've spent the entire morning trying to forget how my day started, and my thong is a lost cause. I remember what Robyn said about her pants, and a twinge of embarrassment stabs into me. I wonder if she changed them, or if---
Stop thinking about her.
That's almost as impossible as forgetting I have a butt plug in my ass.
When I reach inside the bag to discover what I'm having for breakfast, I find a note in familair handwriting.
Eat. Don't leave the building until you're collected.
"That motherfucker," I whisper to myself.
She can't punish me if she can't hear me call her names.
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Yep so I'm only reading selective parts of this too lmfaooo. I still haven't read the last update of Mistresses comments. Definitely won't be going over them until I'm zooted or something.
Anyways....
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Thoughts?
Keep or delete?
Nicki?
Joe?☠
Tiffany?
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Also an alert/announcement : This book has five more chapters.😀 Yes a totally sad thing.😀 I'm totally not ready to do some major developing and end this thing. 😀
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