Page 6 of Balthazar's Fire

“S-sorry, sir.” She cringed, loathing both her plea and the way he manhandled her in equal measure.

I should be stronger than this, she admonished herself. I shouldn’t cede… But what choice did she have? Oliver held all the cards and Cherie didn’t even know where he’d taken her.

“You weren’t a bad little worker, you know.” His dark chuckle rebounded as his palm lowered down her body between her legs. With her ankles bound to the chair legs, there was no way to halt his pursuit and the dress she’d donned for Balthazar made it all too easy for his hand to slip beneath and to her panties. “A little slow, but… we could work on that.”

“Please, sir,” she croaked in a breath, disgusted at the liberties he was taking. “Stop.”

In all the time she’d worked for Oliver, Cherie had never so much as even gazed his way. She’d never given him any impression that she was interested in him, because she wasn’t. Oliver was the worst kind of man and any aesthetically pleasing features he had were blotted out by his callous arrogance and greed. She hadn’t wanted him then and she sure as hell didn’t consent to his fingers between her thighs now.

“Is that how you like it?” His tone goaded. “Want to pretend you don’t want me when we both know you do?”

Wait, what?

How was he managing to misconstrue her direct response?

“No,” she rasped, struggling in vain to be free of his touch.

“No?” He laughed at her predicament. “When you’re dressed so wonderfully for me? But then, I forgot, you didn’t dress up for me, did you, baby?” His tone deepened as his fingers pressed harder against her sensitive flesh, her heart rate gathering speed as panic burgeoned. “You wore this dress for that asshole, Balthazar.”

“I-I didn’t know you felt that way about me, sir.” Closing her eyes, she fought for breath as he stroked her tiny panties out of his way.

“I’m not blind,” he muttered. Leaning over her shoulder, his breath smelled of stale whiskey as his vulgar rant continued. “I notice nice pussy when it passes by my desk every day.” His breathing grew labored as his fingertip brushed over her clit and all of her muscles stiffened at the same time, determined to stop his progress in a silent act of defiance.

Oh, God.

She wanted to cry out, to scream, but what would be the point? Yelling would no doubt only anger Oliver, and there was no one there to hear her.

No one.

The word echoed hastily in her head, reinforcing her miserable fate. When Balthazar had collected her from her house yesterday, she’d had no idea that this was how she’d end up, a bound captive forced to endure Oliver’s crude touch. As though her captor was reveling in her desolation, his free hand snaked around her helpless body, feeling the weight of her left breast through her clothing.

I can’t do this. Unable to articulate her misery, the claim ricocheted in her mind, heightening her woe as his fingers attempted to coax her to life. Please don’t make me do this!

‘Cherie!’

Just like that, Balthazar’s voice exploded in her mind.

‘I’m coming. We’re close.’

‘Balthazar!’ She’d wanted to say the word aloud, but fear held it at bay. Of course, as Oliver’s digits continued their unsolicited exploration, she considered that Balthazar’s reassurances originated in her subconscious, like a lifeboat her brain had dispatched to get her through the ordeal to come, but in her despair, she didn’t care. Any beacon of hope in the darkness was welcome. ‘Please hurry. I can’t hold on much longer.’

She and Oliver both leaped at the shrill ringtone of Oliver’s phone, his fingers withdrawing as he straightened behind her.

Thank God.

“Who the fuck is that?” he growled, presumably to himself since the grateful Cherie had no idea who was on the other end of his device. “I told them not to disturb us.”

“Maybe it’s important, sir,” she proffered, physically willing herself not to tremble as he yanked the phone from his pocket.

“It fucking better be,” he retorted.

Inhaling the stale air, she listened as he answered.

“What did I tell you?” Oliver snapped at whomever had dared to call his phone. “This had better be good.”

She could just make out the voice of the other man.

“What?” Snorting, Oliver spun, his voice unexpectedly animated. “Here? Which one?” He paused as he listened. “Sebastian?” Oliver’s laughter was insidious. “Which fucking one is that?”

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