Page 104 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“Yes, but I won’t be on his schedule. It’s a private appointment.”

She gave me a blank look. I responded with a sweet smile and held it until she was forced to smile back.

“I’ll let his assistant know,” she said, lifting the intercom receiver.

“Thank you.” I strolled along the lobby, studying the artwork on the walls, glad that it included no Selfia. In about a minute, a scrawny young man of South Asian descent, impeccably dressed, approached me with a confident but gracious smile.

“Mr. Rehani is in a meeting, but you can wait inside.” I followed him. I wondered why he had not asked me for more details about the meeting. Did “private meeting” mean something specific in this industry? Maybe they thought I was a rich heiress planning to invest my money with the firm? Or perhaps I was here to service Mr. Rehani. The thought tickled me.

I thanked him as he showed me to a stately waiting area surrounded by glass offices. Sameer was seated in one of the conference rooms, deep in conversation with two men and a woman. He looked striking in a tailored suit, his confident bearing exuding power. I settled down with my back to him, picked up a magazine from the side table, but returned it promptly. Neither celebrity gossip nor finance interested me. Instead, I pulled out my phone and began reading an article I had bookmarked. In a few minutes, the door opened, and the men and the woman walked out.

The scrawny young man reappeared to escort me to a different room. It was Sameer’s office, and he sat at his desk with his back to me.

“Lock the door behind you, Ms. Mehta.”

I turned the lock with a smooth click.

“Go ahead and strip. I’ll be with you in a moment,” I heard him say and went motionless.

His hand moved to somewhere around his table, and the blinds on the door and the windows began drawing in the darkness. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He lifted his head from his file, his back still to me. “I don’t hear you stripping, Ms. Mehta. Are you waiting for me to rip those clothes off your body?”

“Uh, Sameer,” I whispered.

“That’s Mr. Rehani to you.” He swiveled in his chair with a straight face and stood up. “You thought you could pull one over on me, Ms. Mehta? As if I could forget you made me dance to that challenge?”

My face flamed with heat.

He advanced toward me with careful, calculated steps. “See the thing is, although you might be an alpha, a tigress, I’m only one tiny step behind you, Tara Kadam. I’m a tiger, fearsome and powerful.”

“Is that so?” I purred.

“You better have brought some other clothes with you, because this dress is getting destroyed.” He snapped the buttons and flung the dress off my shoulders with such incredible speed that before I could gather my wits, I stood naked before him. But he wasn’t expecting what greeted him when that double-breasted trench dress came off my body. I stood in an open-bust, black bondage bra with rings and leather straps and a matching leather T-string. In other words, mostly naked. The nice woman at the sex shop also helped me pick out a discreet chain necklace attached to nipple rings.

“What do you say, tiger?” I said, striking a pose.

All he could manage was a gasp as he raked a hand through his hair, then loosened the tie at his neck.

I giggled. “You wanted kink, you got kink, baby.”

“Oh, you have come to play, my tigress.”

I saw the spark in his eyes as he saw my perked-up, taut nipples. But he bridled his excitement and flicked them with his fingers to watch me wince. Holding a firm grip on my wrist, he led us to his table and, in a swift motion, swiped the contents to the floor. Files and paper flew off the desk like I had only seen in movies. As I wondered who was going to clean all that up and reorganize the files, he ordered me down on my back with my knees spread wide. I redirected my eyes to him and obeyed like a good girl. With a growl, he removed his jacket and flung it away. It landed somewhere in the vicinity of my discarded dress.

Eyes firmly locked with mine, he continued, “This is what a tiger does when he is really hot and horny. Are you ready, my tigress?” He attacked my neck and clenched it between his teeth, firmly but not to the point of pain. I giggled hard.

“Unless you have a degree in zoology, I’m not taking your word for it,” I teased. “But I did read somewhere that the tiger holds down his mate by the neck to prevent her from slapping him as he enters because it’s painful. But apparently, the pain is what enables fertilization and propagates the species.”

He looked up and stepped away. “You just killed my sexy tiger with that science lesson,” he said with a frown, and I laughed.

I flung my legs back together and sat up. “Don’t worry, your sexy tigress knows enough ways to get you hot again. Let’s see what she has to offer.”

With complete faith in my transfer-resistant, matte red lipstick, I took my mouth to his. His hands explored the cool leather on my bare breasts. His thumbs rolled over my nipples, then his hands traveled down to my waist. I squirmed.

“Aah, tickles!” I yelped and jounced out of his arms.

“Okay,” he said, and pulled me back.

I inhaled him. “You smell different.”

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