Gift of Submission (2 page)

Allen Biggs is a spineless wimp. I can’t believe how fast he scurries out of my apartment when all Ashford has done is threaten him verbally. Okay, sure. Ashford is a chiseled six foot four inches. And yes, aside from his aristocratic polish, he does look like he could snap a neck as easily as he adjusts his tie. Still, Allen practically runs out of the room as of the devil is on his tail. How weak!

“See, Miss Parker? That is hardly the type of man for you, now is it?” The asshole that is Ashford angles close to breathe into my ear.

I hate it when he does that. My body always betrays me—like now my nipples are puckering, drawing the skin painfully tight. Breasts are well-known traitors. Now the hardened pebbles are rubbing painfully against the lace of my bra. Geez, I’m going to have to spend the night with my battery-operated boyfriend yet again. Most of all I hate the way his brawn makes me feel all safe and protected. With him hovering over me I should feel threatened, but I don’t. I feel downright at home, and I hate him for that too.

“And you are?” I bite back, instantly regretting my choice of words.

I’m not an idiot. The insane chemistry between us has always been there. I don’t deny it outright, but I can ignore the hell out of it. Usually I do a really good job at ignoring it too. Until I get mad. Recently Ashford has kept pissing me off, I swear on purpose. As a result, the unacknowledged heat between us has only gotten hotter. I am very much aware that the majority of my so-called hatred stems from my insane attraction to my boss. If I want to be honest, I’ll have to admit I want him something painful. Secretly I love being summoned to his penthouse, which is so sick. I actually enjoy making him a drink, ordering his dinner, arranging little things in his life. There’s a reason I know all his likes and dislikes. And yes, I am extremely happy I have never, ever seen him with anyone romantically, male or female. And I should know. There is nothing about my boss I don’t know.

But tonight, I just don’t feel like being honest. I don’t want to acknowledge our chemistry or anything else about Ashford. I’m edgy. Hell, I am horny. Most of all, I am oh, so tired of sleeping alone. Getting involved with my boss would be a major mistake, so it is past the time to establish boundaries. I’ve put a lot of thought into this. I’ve prepared. I’m ready to lay down the law. He can accept it or fire me—his choice.

But just as I open my mouth to bite out a caustic reply, Ashford straightens , striding past me into my bedroom.
Of all the nerve!
Not that this is the first time this has happened. Unfortunately, he has a habit of nosing through my things, and I have a habit of letting him. Sometimes he just pokes around. Other times he has the audacity to throw out articles of
my clothes
he says he doesn’t like.

And what do I do? I allow it. I think the extra bonuses I get in my paycheck have something to do with it, no matter how much I bristle at the notes telling me to buy something more appropriate. Meaning buy something he likes. Sometimes he helpfully provides a list of the “right” stores or the “perfect designers for your figure.” Damn me to hell for getting giddy about the fact he likes my figure. He must, as every suggestion generally has a tailored look. It’s not that I’m not aware it’s way out-of-bounds in an employer/employee relationship. It’s a possessive mound of bullshit. And I like it, so what does that make me?

Well, he won’t get away with that shit this time.

I march after him, fully prepared to tell him a thing or two. Only as I enter the room, I see he’s packing. He’s taken out a small suitcase and is busy filling it with my things. Of his choice. What the—?

“We will be going on a little trip,” Ashford announces without bothering to face me. “We won’t be returning after the New Year.”

So why such a small bag if we’ll be traveling for three weeks? It occurs to me there are much bigger questions to be asked, but I know Ash. I’ve known him for years. The trip will be first class, wherever it is, and at least a little fun. So yeah, I am used to jet setting at a moment’s notice, which would be a problem if I actually had a life. He wouldn’t just assume I have no plans for Christmas if I had family, which I don’t, or even a place to go for the holidays. Besides, I
do
have plans for the New Year as it turns out. So what if it is just to go to the local hot spots with some acquaintances from work? The point is—I have plans.

“You should’ve asked. I have plans,” I announce proudly, sounding for all the world like a petulant child. Oh, well, that can’t be helped.

I might as well have stayed mute. Ash just continues rifling through my things, picking mostly white or light-colored items. He says he thinks light colors complement the richness of my skin. And I could just kick myself for remembering that at the moment when I am supposed to be putting Ash in his place. Since he doesn’t answer me, I don’t speak again as he pulls out a couple of winter outfits. Not enough for three weeks. I know from experience, though, that outfits have a habit of arriving in my room whenever we travel. They are usually laid out on my bed whenever I return to my rooms with the unspoken command to wear them.

Since coming to work for Ash there isn’t a single aspect of my life that isn’t in some way controlled by him. While it makes it very easy on me not to have to worry about things like rent, bills, or even clothes, I am too aware this can’t last. He’s a man in his prime. Sooner or later he will want a relationship, and that can’t be me. I work for him—it will never work out. Nor do I ever want to become one of the wives that come in and out the offices to visit their attorney husbands, only to have him turn around and bang some young hot receptionist,or ugh, paralegal. I worked my way through college; as an orphan I have no one to depend on but me. While it is nice to let go, I have to remember tomorrow I could be out there all alone again.

“I’m not going,” I screw up the courage to say. There is no conviction in my voice. Last-minute trips are fun, barring the work. Last Christmas we went to Paris. Last-minute thing three days before. Paris was beautiful all lit up. There were designer Christmas trees everywhere, perfectly placed Christmas lights. God, I wish I could mean what I’m saying. I just don’t want to let go. Why? My mind knows it’s the right thing, but every fiber of my being wants to stay. Even knowing about his...predilections.

Same as before, it’s like I never spoke. Ash doesn’t even pause. He finishes packing, straightens his tall frame, and fishes something out of the inner pocket of his suit. Without a word he he circles behind me, draping a delicate-looking gold chain around my neck. The necklace is shocking enough, but then he pulls the chain snugly against my skin and secures it with a distinctive click. My hands fly to the back of my neck, finding a miniature padlock. There is a length of chain dangling down my back. I can feel it. Not as delicate as I first though. Not exactly heavy, but definitely there.

So many thoughts come rushing at me all at once. I want to demand what Ash thinks he is doing, but I already know. Like I said, I know him so well. And on some level I knew this would eventually happen. Maybe I had been pushing him; after all, I know about the camera outside my door. No other way he could know every single time I try to bring a date home, even if it has only been a handful of times in the last four years. In all that time I have seen enough to know exactly what Ash thinks he is doing. And I am going to let him..

My heart races, elation flooding every cell of my body. I can’t speak; I can’t find the right words to say.

“Come,” Ash commands, not like you would an animal—more like a caress with words. “Our flight awaits.”

Five days. I’ve placed stringent guidelines on myself, vowing not to bring Gelisa or myself to orgasm until she voices her complete and total surrender to me. I have until Christmas morning to secure that vow. It’s ridiculous because Gelisa already belongs to me. Over the last four years she has been gradually allowing my control over almost every aspect of her life. I have given her every opportunity to leave if that is her wish. I even arranged for another firm to try to steal her. One that is a subsidiary to mine, but she didn’t know that. They offered her a package slightly more than what she is making working for me—except for the apartment, of course—where she’d be in charge of all their paralegals. She hadn’t taken it. But then, I knew she wouldn’t.

Looking at her sulking in her seat, I have the first flickerings of doubt. Not that I won’t obtain that which I crave. Gelisa is mine. She knows she is mine. Only her stubborn refusal to voice it stands between us. No matter how hard my cock throbs whenever she is near, no matter how much my palm itches to spank that lush ass every time she dares to talk back to me, I haven’t taken her because I need not just her permission, but her longing clearly expressed to me.

Right now she’s giving me the silent treatment. It has to be killing her; Gelisa loves to inform me of her every opinion. Honestly, I love hearing them, but it is best she not challenge me currently. I’m in no mood to test my own resolve, and watching her coming home with Allen Biggs has made me realize I have waited far too long. It still chafes that she thought to welcome such an unworthy creature into her bed. Yes, I am aware she knew I would never allow it, but she’d tried. So I too stay silent on the short plane ride and the subsequent long drive to a deluxe cabin I have in the Canadian wilderness.

I do enjoy her reaction as soon as she steps in out of the snow. Like any child, her eyes grow round as she takes in all the decorations, especially the seven-foot fir tree, dressed with delicate crystal ornaments that reflect the multicolored lights so the room is a prism of soft colors. There are bows everywhere, with wide red ribbons in the middle—even mistletoe strategically placed all around the rather large cabin. I hired someone to come make everything ready a week ago. I was only waiting for the place to be completely done to my specifications before bringing her here. For the next week it will be only the two of us, cut off from the world. I want it to be a Christmas she’ll always remember. I allow myself a small grin; she hasn’t noticed all the packages under the tree yet, all hers.

“This way.” I tug on her chain before her gaze can settle on all the presents. Let them be a surprise. We won’t be coming back downstairs until Christmas Eve, unless she gives in early. One thing I can count on is Gelisa not giving in easily.

Anxious to begin her instruction, I lead her upstairs to what will her hers until she either agrees to be mine or requests to walk away. All I need for Christmas is Gelisa’s gift of submission. Stepping inside what is essentially a dungeon, I lock the door behind us, slipping the key inside my pocket. I’m very careful to make sure she sees what I did. She needs to know this is no game.

“Strip,” I order, letting the chain drop heavily from my hand so that it lightly taps against her back. I then lean back against the door and cross my arms.

I expect her to argue, to rage out at my audaciousness, or at least roll her eyes and spout off some sarcastic retort. To my surprise, she does none of those things. Instead, she fingers the chain I’d placed around her neck, looking around at the various equipment, her gaze lingering on the day bed set up near the back before returning to me. I notice her lips twitch as she takes in the breeding chair. Interesting. I can’t tell what she’s thinking—have no idea what she feels beyond the expected nervousness. There is something more there, but I can’t identify it. This unnerves me; I’ve made it my business to know everything there is to know about her.

“I will never call you Master.” The words are softly spoken, but it is the truest thing she’s said thus far tonight. So she
has
noticed my various attempts to inform her of my lifestyle without coming right out and saying it. Apparently she’s done some research. Smart girl.

“I don’t expect you to,” I inform her. “My name is Ashford—you may call me Ash.” She already does. I like it. No one beyond a select group of friends I’ve known for years calls me Ash. I would be worried by the surety in her tone if she hasn’t begun to disrobe as instructed.

“I won’t be a slave.” The heavy wool coat drops to the floor with a light thud, a puff of snow rising in a cloud around it. The fuzzy hat and quickly followed.

“You are not a slave,” I confirm. “Nor will you ever be.”

“I won’t eat from a doggie bowl or sleep at your feet.” The sweater comes up and over her head, joining the growing pile of clothing on the thick carpet.

“You are not pet material.” I smile, impressed at the thoroughness of her research. I’m inordinately proud. “So no, there will be no bowls or cages, though there will be collars.” There are already collars—some under the tree, some in my luggage. I don’t even attempt to fight my grin. I’m downright giddy.

Off comes the T-shirt before she bends down to remove her boots. “The rest,” she huffs as she wiggles out of her jeans, “we can figure out.”

Indeed.

Standing in her underwear, she faces me head on, her head high. White lace. Damn, but she looks darling in virginal white, especially given the naughtiness of her bra and panties. They hug her dark skin, giving glimpses of her womanly secrets. Such an enticing mixture of sultriness and modesty. And surprise, surprise—there is a belly ring dangling from her softly rounded belly. I had no idea she had one. But then, I’ve never seen her without clothing. I want to growl, snarl before I fall on her like an animal, ravishing her utterly. Instead I stand still, afraid to move lest I do exactly that. My hands are clenched into fist under the folds of my arms.

“I said strip,” I state simply. “All of it. Every last stitch. You may leave the belly ring.”

Fortitude—I must find some. I’ve come too far to let it all slip away by losing myself.

“Are we clear?” Gelisa demands right back at me, all the vim and vigor I know so well clearly evident in her stance, in her eyes.

“Crystal.” I smile, looking pointedly at the cubic zirconia swaying from the belly jewelry. I make myself a promise to replace it with diamonds. She deserves nothing less.

For a moment, she doesn’t move. She looks at me as if she’s trying to figure something out. I hold my breath, afraid she will suddenly change her mind. One long second stretches into two, but I don’t speak. This has to be her choice.

“Fine,” she grouses, taking off the final barriers. “But if I say stop—”

“I’ll stop,” I assure her. “Even if you don’t mean it.” I have to leave. If I don’t, I’m going to shag her ruthlessly right here and now. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow your instruction begins.”