Page 154 of The Imperfect Marriage

"Uh, I want at least"—I raise my middle finger next to my forefinger—"two, no"—I add a third finger—"three orgasms."

Knox

Jesus Christ, this woman. She might have swung my water bottle at me earlier and gotten my attention, but it’s only now that I truly notice her. She’s nervous, as evidenced by how her fingers shake when she pushes the hair back from her face. But the stubborn set to her chin and the rigidity of her shoulders tells me she’s settled on her stance. And while I prefer my women submissive, I also want them to know their mind.

"Done." I hold out my hand.

She stares at it for a second before placing her much smaller palm in mine. An electric current seems to zip out from her touch. I stiffen. So does she. Her gaze widens and she begins to pull back her arm, but I wrap my fingers around her palm and squeeze. A trembling grips her, and her lips part in an O of surprise. Once again, I find myself leaning closer. Goddam, this static electricity that seems to spring to life every time we touch is surely a coincidence. I release her arm, then reach past her and slap the button on the elevator.

It rises up to the top floor and she turns to me. "But?—"

"Not today."

"Eh?" She blinks rapidly. "I thought you wanted to punish me?"

"I will, but another time."

"Oh." She seems crestfallen.

"Don’t be disappointed. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while. I also promise I’ll give you all the orgasms you deserve. But?—"

"But?" She swallows.

"But if we want to be at Arthur’s lunch in time, we need to hurry."

She flushes, then nods. "Of course."

"These documents need your signature." Her fingers move across the tablet, and my phone buzzes. We’re in the backseat of my Aston Martin. I got off the elevator at my floor and instructed her to get dressed and meet me at my place in half an hour. And wasn’t surprised when I’d showered and walked into my kitchen twenty minutes later to find her already dressed and waiting for me. She's back to wearing a trouser suit two sizes too big for her. She also pulled her hair back in an efficient chignon, and the oversized glasses slip down her nose as she studies her laptop screen.

For a few seconds, I watched her, unobserved. She was focused on whatever she was reading, and a tiny wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. Her spine was straight, her narrow shoulders at attention as she perched on the stool at the breakfast counter. She muttered something to herself, then made a note in the book next to her. Her fingers raced over the keyboard as she typed something. A tendril of hair pulled loose and flopped over her cheek. She pushed it back, then continued typing.

I approached her on soundless feet, and when she looked up, our gazes met. She instantly flushed but didn’t look away. "You have a packed day at the office. We’ll need to get back in time for the four p.m. meeting with the sales staff, the five p.m. conference call with the East Coast, followed by the six p.m. review of the creatives for the newest ad campaign, and finally, the seven p.m. discussion with India."

"Best we get started then." I walked past her and headed for the elevator, leaving her to scramble to keep up. By the time the doors to the elevator opened, she was with me.

Never misses a beat, this one. The most efficient assistant I’ve ever had. And apparently, also a submissive in the making. Too bad my plans don’t include her. She runs my office with a ruthless efficiency, which sets me free from the day-to-day and allows me concentrate on growing the business. She's too valuable in her position. Which is why I’ve given myself one chance to punish her and make her come. And then, I’ll never look at her in that way again. But is it worth changing the status quo and risking complicating the work environment? And if I don’t, am I going to let her get away with throwing the water bottle at me?

It's not my ego that's hurt… Not only. It's more the fact that she did it, hoping for the consequences of the action. She did it, wanting to be punished, whether she realized it or not. And I admit, a part of me is curious about how she’ll take it. It's academic curiosity, is all. I want to see the expressions on her face as she orgasms. Yep, chalk it up to intellectual curiosity.

And why am I spending so much time thinking about it? It pissed me off enough that I barely spoken a word to her on the way here. Not that it stopped her from continuing to work on her tablet, sending emails my way. I preferred to ignore her—easily done, given the practice I've when it comes to her—and we made the trip to Arthur’s place in silence.

She follows me in, and I take in the long table set up in the center of the garden in the backyard of Arthur’s townhouse. Trees surround the estate, shielding us from early afternoon visitors to Primrose Hill. The table is loaded with food, but no one makes a move toward the table. There’s a hush of expectation in the air. Or perhaps, that’s my imagination? I roll my shoulders, then continue to scan the group gathered around the table.

"You okay, man?" Quentin shoots me a curious glance. "You seem… on edge."

"You need to get your eyesight checked old man." I grab a glass from a passing waiter and take a sip, only to spit it out. "Some non-alcoholic shit," I growl.

"I can help." June materializes by my side. She pulls out a flask and splashes clear liquid into my half-filled glass.

Some of the tension eases from my shoulders. "Thanks, doll." I down half the glass and sigh in appreciation.

She begins to melt away, but I snap my fingers, making sure not to look at her. "Don’t go, I’ll need you to pour." I hold out my glass again.

"Huh, don’t think you want to get drunk, sir."

Sir? Did she call me sir? The sass on this woman. It shouldn’t affect me, but fuck, if my cock doesn’t instantly stiffen, and my balls tighten. I manage to keep my gaze away from her features and my arm outstretched. A few seconds pass, then she relents and pours a dollop more into the glass. "Thanks." I toss it back, then glance around, wondering where to keep it.

My efficient assistant, of course, takes it from me, and I nod. "Don’t know what I’d do without you, Sierra."

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