Hostile Takeover (14 page)

“Bastard,” Lucas muttered. “Fine. Five thousand. But no more talk about rubbing off on each other. Gives me some pretty disturbing images.”

“Agreed,” Matt said.

* * * * *

The meeting could have been about painting circles on a monkey’s ass for all that Ben really cared about it. Because of that, he sharpened his focus a hundredfold and secured everything Matt wanted from the strategy session, and then some.

Such obvious proof he was on top of things was validating. It put him in a much better frame of mind. Mentor. He was Marcie’s mentor. Lucas had given his blessing, and that helped. Hell, he’d always liked the brat, and now that she was a hot young woman, it could be enjoyable. He’d help her find the right path in the D/s world, know he’d had a part in bringing her into the full glory of that.

He’d have to tread easy, be careful, but every interaction with a difficult sub was a chess game. Marcie really wasn’t difficult as much as she was green and headstrong. But she sure had a lot of guts. He liked that. She was also absolutely determined to prove she’d go above and beyond for him.

When he had that thought, they were doing the usual shake-hands-while-thinking-
what-a-dick
ritual, part and parcel of their interactions with this particular negotiations team. Ben stopped in mid-motion. While he jumpstarted his brain enough to finish out the hand shake with Fred Marlton, Ben turned to Matt. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They’d intended to catch an early dinner, but Matt nodded, reading his set face. “All right. Take the limo. We’ll walk down to Acme’s to eat.”

Normally his gut would gripe at missing out on their po’boy sandwich, but his stomach had another issue right now.

The right Master could go after her with a fucking baseball bat and she’d still come at his command. She needs strong guidance, training to help her protect herself from that extreme…
Goddamn. Had he really made such a newbie Dom mistake?

Taking the stairs, he hit the lobby with a swift, ground-eating stride. Matt had already anticipated him, because the limo was pulling up front. He wished it was Max who was at the wheel instead of Tobias, because Max could get through New Orleans’ business traffic like shit through a goose. However, by unanimous agreement of the K&A team, Max was Dana’s daytime driver for her job as assistant pastor at one of New Orleans’ many old churches. His duties had even expanded to assisting her with some of the church’s programs, like helping with the soup kitchen and doing maintenance on the building.

It was all right. K&A wasn’t that far. If they hadn’t been running late this morning, they probably would have walked the fourteen blocks.

As Ben got into his vehicle, he checked his PDA, which he’d kept turned off during the meeting. He bit back an oath.

One text from Janet, over two hours ago.
There’s a problem with your intern. You need to get back here.

He texted back
On my way
, and grimaced as he received an immediate reply.

About time
.

When he arrived at the building, he took the private, coded elevator that went straight to their floor. As he emerged, he saw Janet sitting at her desk, waiting on him, purse at her elbow. Five-fifteen. The meeting had taken all day, fuck it. As she shouldered her bag, she gave him a steady look. “I gave her the note precisely thirty minutes after you left, just as you instructed. We had a busy day here, so I wasn’t aware of the problem until I took her some files at three p.m. That’s when I sent the text. She made me promise not to call and interrupt your meeting, but I was on the verge of breaking that promise when you texted me.”

He needed to address the hard note in her voice, but of course the most important thing, even in Janet’s opinion, would be to skip the apologies and fix the problem. He’d screwed up.

His office area was sequestered from the others because he often met with clients and adversaries who didn’t need to be privy to snippets of information overheard in other sections of the office. As he turned the corner, moved down the hall toward his space, he heard her. To most, it wouldn’t be detectable, but when he was in a session with a sub, he was attuned to the slightest indrawn breath, the rise of gooseflesh over fair skin, the tensing of muscles, warning him when she was reaching her limit. This was far beyond that. He quickened his step.

Tiny sobs, small expulsions of air bitten back. As he reached his reception area, something twisted in his chest. Something different from anything he’d ever felt.

Marcie was still sitting on that barbed pillow. Her body was quivering as she tried to finish up some memo on her computer. Two out of the three documents he’d left her to prepare were laid out on the side table. They’d be perfect, because she would have re-checked them a couple extra times, taking into account her distracted condition.

Instead of following his direction, she’d stayed on that pillow all day. Each time she rose to go to the printer, the file cabinet, as she would have had to do numerous times, she’d had to sit back down on it, let the hundreds of barbs stab into those welts anew.

Her hands were shaking as she typed. She’d apparently long ago stopped trying to stifle her tears, because there were dried tracks on her cheeks beneath the newer ones, tears caused by stress and pain. While her hands were moving, the rest of her body was rigid, trying to minimize any motion that could impact those barbs. She’d still feel their bite with every key typed on the laptop.

“Marcie.”

She stopped abruptly but didn’t look at him. Her fingers curled over the keyboard.

“Get up.”

She couldn’t. He knew she couldn’t. But she tried, placing her hands on either side of the computer. Her elbows quivered so hard the desk vibrated. Since there was a small store of office supplies on the desk, the printer pulled closer, at some point she’d stopped getting up. Now the lack of circulation, the prolonged stiff posture, was defeating her efforts to rise. Stubborn, beautiful, pain in his ass.

Going to her, he turned the chair on its swivel toward him. Clasping her upper arms, he eased her to her feet. When she tried to swallow a pained noise, he cupped her face, turning it up to him. He was tempted to take her head off with a bellow that would scare monks in their temples in the furthest corner of Asia, but he kept his voice even, steady. “I left you an order. To remove that pillow when Janet gave you the note.”

“I know. But I had to prove—”

“Stop.” He cut her off with the steel injected in his voice. “A Master told you to do something, and what did you do? You disobeyed. You can call it interpreting, overcompensating, whatever the hell you want, but it’s pure disobedience.”

She was pale, and he could read her thoughts in the trembling of her body. She thought he might punish her further, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to bear any more pain. But she would. Just to prove to him she could.
Christ.

“Marcie.” He pushed her head to his chest, curving his hand over the side of her face to hold her there, shelter her. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, just be easy. Easy, darlin’.”

A little sigh went out of her, a hiccup. “I love it when you sound Cajun.”

Her hands were folded in between them, so he tightened his grip, cocooning her. He wanted her to stop shaking, but that was going to take some doing. “Where’d you put your things? Purse, girly stuff?”

She straightened, holding on to him to steady herself, but determined to show him she could do it. When what little color she had drained out of her face, he anticipated the faint. She hadn’t had lunch, hadn’t hydrated herself at all, because her skin was too cool and dry, despite the fact she looked as if she’d perspired quite a bit. She really needed to work on that bad habit of locking her knees.

“Okay, here we go.” He’d lifted her, carried her to the reception couch. The mere pressure of the seat cushion on her ass was enough to keep her from full unconsciousness. She swayed inside his grip, her brown eyes seeking his face.

“I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. But not as bad as I did. Stay here just a second.” He made sure he was back fast, bringing her a bottle of water from his office fridge, and a pack of peanut butter crackers. “Okay, drink some of this. Slow, just sip it. There you go. Ease back on the couch if you can.”

It was difficult, her body too stiff, her ass too sore. She was starting to shiver. He was functional, brisk, sliding his hands under the skirt, along her thighs, locating the straps to the two phalluses he’d left inside her. Coiling an arm around her waist, he lifted her enough to work all of it free, then set it aside. She made a small sound as his fingers brushed her pussy, her upper thighs, the rim of her ass, a different kind of shudder going through her.

Her cheeks colored over it, but he wasn’t surprised. Given what he knew of her already, the pain and stress wouldn’t have completely overwhelmed the arousal caused by being under a Master’s command, his direction. Being as much of a Dom as she was a sub, he of course couldn’t stop his dumbass cock from hardening.

Shrugging out of his coat, he put it around her shoulders. Then he lifted her in his arms and took her spot on the couch. When he put her in his lap, he kept her abused ass in the open area between his splayed thighs, bracing her lower back and upper thighs against that vee so she made only nominal contact with the firm cushion—and his groin. Then he brought the water back to her mouth.

Cupping her hands over his, she met his eyes before her lashes lowered, suggesting that she’d felt his arousal against her hip, but she focused on drinking. For the next fifteen minutes, he didn’t let her speak, just worked on calming her down, getting crackers and fluid into her. At length, she let out a little sigh, rested her head against his chest. Her fingers were curled loosely in his open collar, because he’d pulled off his tie in the limo. Her French manicure was making teasing little scratches against his flesh as she continued to shake.

“Why did you say that? That you’d messed up?” she whispered.

“Figures you’d latch on to that.” He was relieved to feel her lips curve in a slight smile against him, but he tipped up her face, held her chin, made her see the serious reproof in his gaze.

“A hardcore submissive like you, an inexperienced one, tends to go to extremes. You have to be trained to understand a Master’s nature, to respond to it. You don’t know the difference between anticipatory service to a Master and destructive overcompensation. Part of being a Master is knowing how far to push a sub, uncovering what they really need. It’s never about causing them true, lasting physical harm. You were too green for me to leave you unsupervised like that. I knew better.

“Now, that said, there’s your side of things.” He gave her delicate jaw a firm squeeze. “A sub’s devotion is shown through obedience, not pushing past the edges of good sense. You have a responsibility to care for yourself. How can you serve a Master if he’s forever having to tend to your injuries?”

He was angry. Marcie knew his logic was sound, and more than that, she could tell he was angrier with himself than with her. It shamed her, that she’d caused that, but it also revealed a side of him she’d never seen before. It mattered to him, deeply, that she’d hurt herself. She wanted to tell him she understood what he was telling her, that she wouldn’t make the same error twice, but there was something reckless in her when it came to him. She wanted to give him everything. She wanted him to know her soul was his, every part of her. The more it had hurt, the more determined she’d become, until the agony and the yearning were the same thing.

He tightened his arms around her, letting out a sigh as if he could read her thoughts. “It was stupid of me to leave you alone. You’re too deep in your head on it. It’s irresistible, but it also means a Master really has to be on his toes with you, to make sure you don’t go overboard.”

No other Master would ever have to worry about that, because she didn’t feel that way about any other one. She wisely held that thought to herself. For now.

He told her they were leaving, but not where they were going. He didn’t let her take her laptop with her, making it clear she wasn’t going to be permitted to do any work tonight. Thank goodness she’d finished most of his task list, though it bugged her she hadn’t completed it all, as he’d demanded.

He had her step out of her shoes and picked them up, looping them over his wrist as they walked to the elevator. He kept his arm around her, holding her steady. They didn’t take his car, the small sports car whose bucket seat she was sure would have been agony to her. Instead, they took a limo from the limo pool. Fortunately, the driver stayed in the car, Ben holding the door for her. When she got in, she saw the privacy screen was raised.

As she tried to determine how not to sit on her ass, Ben curled his fingers around her upper arm and guided her down onto her stomach on the comfortably long seat. Fortunately, he sat next to her, so she could put her cheek on his thigh and slide one hand under his knee. He smelled good. Heated male, aftershave, soap, dry cleaning for his suit.

He stroked her back, playing with her bra strap through the thin turtleneck. That intimate touch made her hold her breath. It also stirred things up inside her, crazy as that was in her current condition. But doing what he’d ordered her to do, having that vibrator inside her, had kept arousal a big part of the equation. She could imagine going to her knees in this limo, wrapping her hands around him, putting her mouth on his cock.