I moan at the same moment the elevator doors open for Nancy to disappear.
Seemingly satisfied, Roman withdraws his fingers and unties me, rubbing soft circles over my wrists. He then snakes a hand behind my back, helping me up and off the desk.
“Would you like to go back to the party?”
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
He reassembles his tie as he watches me gingerly sit in one of the oversized chairs. My nerves are still humming, but it wasn’t enough. I remind myself again that I loathe the man in front of me despite how good he makes me feel, and that perhaps we’re doing this to get it out of our system.
You can’t hate-fuck someone if you didn’t technically have sex.
Once he fixes his tie, he runs a hand through his hair. “I’d like to leave. Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll tell you now. If we leave, a punishment is owed, and I intend to collect.”
“For what?” An odd combination of anxiety and excitement weave together in my chest.
“Do you recall the number I told you to remember this afternoon?” He steps closer, leaning forward and closing me in as he places both hands on either side of the arm rest.
I nod. “Yes, sir. Six.”
“It’s seven now.” He moves his face closer, running his nose along the edge of my jaw and up, then sliding around the shell of my ear. I shiver against him but don’t move an inch. “One for every time you made me lose control. For every time I had to go against my ability to never let another person dictate my mood. For when I had to come in my hand and not over this smooth skin.”
His words travel straight to my clit, soaking me all over again, and have me struggling to take in enough air. Everything about him is overwhelming and intoxicating, and like this, it's hard to remember anything other than how bad I want him.
“Are you sure you want to leave with me?”
As much as I say about Roman, one thing is for certain, he always makes sure to have my explicit consent. He wants me to know that while he is running this entire show, I am in control. “I’m sure.”
He smirks. “My house or yours?”
I am in Roman Chen's house. Roman. My boss. The guy whose coffee I was tempted to spit in just hours ago.
Now I’m sitting in his penthouse, which is surprisingly beautifully decorated, waiting for him to get something from the kitchen. My eyes take in as much as they can as I try my hardest not to focus on my nerves—because right now, my leg is bouncing a mile a minute and I’m sitting on the literal edge of my seat.
His apartment is at the top of a building, a little shorter than our office, and it just so happens to be on the thirteenth floor. Like I’d expected, it’s a direct reflection of him. Everything is clean, modern, sharp edges, and designer tags. I can almost guarantee his Persian rug costs more than one year of my rent.
A skinny tree stands by his floor to ceiling windows overlooking a snowy New York. It’s adorned with silver ribbons and blue bulbs, and appears to be a small replica of the one from the Christmas party. A long wreath drapes around his huge island, with small, twinkling lights providing some of the only illumination in the apartment.
Well, that and the colorful lights outside the window. They stream inside in pretty blurs of color, staining his wood floors with festive hues.
The soft sound of Roman closing his fridge makes me jolt, my shoulders tensing up next to my ears.
His dark chuckles fill the air as he walks toward me, his loafers growing louder with each step. “Are you having second thoughts, Miss Cartier.”
I jut out my chin, compelling my shoulders to drop as I look up at him. “Nope. In fact, I would go so far as to say this is much less exhilarating than I anticipated.”
“Ah.” His brows rise in mock surprise, his lips turning down in the corner as he slides off his shoes. “How disappointing.”
He takes a seat on the opposite couch as me, setting a glass of water on the concrete coffee table. Next to it, he puts two orange, oval tablets that I recognize as Motrin.
My eyes flash from him to the pills and back again. “What is this for?”
“Pain.”
I scoff. “I know that. But for who?”
“You.”
“Why?”
He runs a hand through his thick hair before leaning back and propping one ankle on his opposite knee. “Think of it as premature relief. It will kick in right when you need it.”
Realization falls heavy into my stomach, my core tightening and clit pulsing at the same time. He said I was going to be punished, but he didn’t tell me how it would be executed. And now, I’m nervous to ask.
I saw my bottom lip between my teeth, wondering if I should be a smartass or more docile considering I’m in his domain. Oddly enough ,though, I trust that he’s not going to hurt me. Maybe he is and I’m willingly walking into his flames.
Or maybe that’s an assumption. I’m not sure how this works. It’s not like we talked about— “I see those wheels in your head turning, Miss Cartier. If you have a question, please ask.” He adjusts in his seat, peeling his jacket off before placing it on the armrest.
I release my lip and straighten my back. “Do you plan on hurting me?”
A smirk. “In the best ways.”
“What if it’s too much?”
“Then I stop.”
I ignore the way the idea of stopping brings an ache to my chest. “Is there some type of word or something I need to say to stop it?”
His brows furrow, and his head tilts slightly. “Have you never been spanked before, Miss Cartier?”
A vicious blush immediately rises through my entire body, and with words impossible to grasp, I shake my head.
Roman’s eyes flare at the same time his frown deepens, almost as if he’s disappointed and excited at the same time. “That’s quite a shame, pet. If you’d like me to stop, I’ll need you to say red .”
“Are you like...” I can’t bring myself to ask. I mean, I have an inkling. A very strong inkling, but to outright question it seems juvenile.
“What we are doing tonight is enjoying each other. Engaging in consensual sex with a few extra perks. Should you decide this is something you’d like to continue, we can talk about what I am .”
“Continue.” I play with the word and the very idea a few times. I would like nothing more than to experience his tongue on me again. “Why just me? Why do I have to be the one to say if we continue?”
He begins rolling up one of his sleeves, showcasing his corded forearms inch by tortuous inch. “Because I’ve already decided.”
“And that is?”
His eyes darken as he pauses his movement, stealing my ability to even breathe properly. “You're mine.”
Mine.
His.
The two words wrap around my body and send a flush of wetness between my thighs. Why does that turn me on so much?
“Alright. Tell me how this is going to go.” I lean forward, popping the two pills in my mouth and taking a swig of the water.
“Strip,” he says simply, rolling up his other sleeve. “There will be seven.”