Page 12 of The Unplanned Wedding

"I don’t know Japanese."

"Find a translator." I turn back to my computer screen. She stands there for a few seconds. Anger flutters off of her. I sense her frustration and the way she struggles to keep it in check and have to stifle a chuckle.

Damn, I haven’t had so much fun in a long time. Interesting. What is it about this woman that makes me want to get a reaction from her?

I get the sense I’m going to love surprising her. I’m going to enjoy testing her limits until she snaps, the way those before her have. Evenmore surprising? She’s not immune to my presence, as evidenced by her choppy breaths and heightened color.

Unlike my previous assistants, who winced whenever they walked into my office, this woman seems to make up excuses to approach me. And when she stands in front of my desk, it’s always with lowered eyes and blush-smeared cheeks—and pink lips parted to reveal an ‘O’ of space that begs for my cock to be thrust between them. The crotch of my pants grows even tighter, and I suppress a groan.

I’m going to have to jerk off. Again. My dick has gotten very friendly with my hand since this luscious woman walked into my office. The chemistry between us certainly livens up our interactions.

Her awareness of me is going to make this experience of pushing her limits until she throws in her resignation so much more enjoyable. A fringe benefit I didn’t have with the ones before her who barely lasted the day. This fragile creature with her siren curves and plush lips, and a body made to be owned, has lasted five days with me. Another first. It’s a source of surprise and, also, frustration.

No matter what I’ve asked of her, she’s delivered. I drag my thumb under my lip. Question is, can she weather the challenges I’m about to throw her way?

"Because I’m feeling charitable, I’ve informed the Tokyo agency you’ll need an hour to get the information across to them.”

Her jaw drops. “An-an hour?!” she sputters.

“Chop, chop. The clock’s a ticking.”

She shoots me a venomous scowl that makes me want to chuckle. Then, she squares her shoulders, spins around and stomps out.

"Kelly Assistant," I call out after her, “Don’t forget your dress.”

She pauses midway to the door, then spins around and marches over to my desk. With the color of her cheeks a lovely, heightened red—that pleases me no end—she scoops up the garment box, turns, and heads for the door.

I follow her progress and ogle the bouncing of her tush under the same dress she wore this morning. It’s frayed at the hem. Hmm, I’m going to have to order her a new wardrobe, but the way the outfit fits across her ample behind is perfect. Enough to cause the blood to drain to my groin. And when she slams the door shut on her way out, I can’t stop my lipsfrom pulling back.Damn, but her temper only adds to her allure. How would it be to have her fighting and spitting under me as I cause her to dig her fingertips into my shoulders?

I frown—I do not socialize with my employees. I have never broken that rule—and I intend to keep it that way. This attraction to her is, likely, a passing fancy. One born of my lack of feminine companionship. I haven’t been interested in a woman in a long time. Not when every woman I've encountered socially avoids my gaze. My tastes have always veered toward the unusual. And after I was scarred, the pain I went through, the darkness I had to fight to crawl my way back to recovery, seemed to loosen something inside of me.

Where previously I’d been content with spanking or tying up a woman, now, that domineering part of me craves nothing less than a woman’s complete submission. I need to be in control of not just my submissive’s body, but also her thoughts, her mind, her very emotions. Something I tried to explore in the shadowed recesses of my favorite BDSM club. The encounters left me unsatisfied. They lacked a certain something. Despite the willingness of the submissives to do anything for me, their very compliance left me cold. It didn’t have the challenge, that zing, that spark—which my run-ins with my assistant have. I rub the back of my neck.

Come to think of it, I haven’t visited the club since I met her because... Every time I imagine a woman bending for me, edging her, making her pant—every time—teasing her and taunting her until she’s out of her head with desire… Every time I imagine breaking her down, so she submits to me of her free will, it’sherface I see.

Not that she’s aware of my peculiar wants. And if she found out, it’d scare her off.

I can’t imagine, with her air of innocence, she has any idea of the kind of proclivities I indulge in. It’s best I leave her alone. I shoot a glance in the direction of the door separating me from her workstation, then curse myself.Why am I so aware of her presence outside my office?She’s my assistant. I‘m her boss. And I should not cross that boundary between us.

I focus my attention on my computer screen, and even manage to add my remarks to the open legal agreement, when a message pops up. It’s an incoming email...from her.Before I can stop myself, I've clicked on it and opened my inbox.

From [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I’ll have the translated feedback to the agency within the hour. Is there anything else you’d like me to do, Sir?

-June

Jesus, thatSirtacked on at the end has me picturing scenarios where she says it to me in a low, husky voice while she’s on her knees with her big brown eyes looking up at me as she begs me and pleads with me to have mercy on her. I bet she knows exactly the effect it has on me. It’s why she’s been using ‘Sir’ all week in a way that drives me nuts.

It makes it difficult to remember all the reasons why I need to maintain a professional distance between us. It definitely encourages unwanted images to crowd my mind. I’d fit my hand around the nape of her neck and hold her in place as I unhook the waistband of my pants and lower my zipper with my free hand. I allow myself to do so in real life and take myself in hand. I’m thick, rigid, fully aroused. No surprise there. I concentrate on the Sir, and when I close my eyes, I can hear her voice call me by that name, as she did earlier today.

"Yes Sir."

"Please Sir."

"I need you… Sir."

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