Page 33 of The Unplanned Wedding

“Got you again.” I pretend to chuckle.

He must take my words at face value, for an expression of relief crosses his features. “Just so long as we understand each other. You’re my assistant, and we have a professional relationship. And, while you’re clearly a submissive, there will be nothing between us.” The groove between his eyebrows deepens. "We clear on that?”

12

Knox

“This is unacceptable.” My assistant flounces into the room. “I will not have you dictating what I wear to the office...Sir.”

She had to tack on the ‘Sir’ at the end again, didn’t she? Bet she does it on purpose, knowing how much it turns me on. My cock springs up, ready for some action. This, despite the fact I jerked off last night and twice today. Just looking at her ensures I’m painfully hard.Fuck.

It’s been a week since she almost came on my foot. A week filled with dreams in which I‘ve done unspeakable things to her. Things if I told her, she’d be scandalized.Though perhaps she might enjoy it, too, given her response to that scene at the royal reception.And if I did share more with her, I'm sure I’d sully her further. She has no idea what I’m capable of, and I need to keep it that way. I shove the thoughts aside and fix her with a cool gaze.

We’re in my office, and I’ve been at work since six a.m. Conference calls with East Asia, followed by Europe, mean I’ve been in virtual meetings for three hours straight. I admit, I welcome the intrusion, but I’m not letting her know that. I told her not to disturb me and I knew she wasstewing at her desk. Finally, when she couldn’t stop herself, she decided to confront me. The fact that she has the courage to do so thrills me.

It excites me to realize she has the gumption to go toe-to-toe with me. But what she’s forgotten is thatshedoesn’t set the agenda. I do. I continue to ignore her and focus on my computer screen. The seconds stretch and turn into minutes. When I don’t look at her, I sense her stiffen. I don’t have to see her gorgeous features to know that she feels neglected that I haven’t spoken to her all day.

“If, by delivering a wardrobe full of new clothes to me, you’re trying to tell me how to dress, it's not gonna work,” she fumes.

She’s referring to the fact that I took the liberty of stopping by the leading department store in the city and choosing a range of office clothes which were appropriate for her to wear to work. I had it delivered to her late last evening.

There’s no mistaking the challenge in her voice. The stiff lines of her shoulder, the rigid way she holds herself—all of it tells me this is a woman who’s upset.

I finally raise my gaze to her, and my attention is drawn to her curves. She’s nowhere as thin as the women I was normally seen with, but her figure is so much more alluring. So much more enticing. And tempting. So very appealing. It would be so easy to fall for her. To take her as my submissive and mold her into the kind of woman who’d be perfect for me.

A-a-and she’d never be able to bear the level of kinkiness I want to inflect on her. Oh, how I want to bruise her pristine flesh with my bites and licks. How I want to tie her up, whip her, and gag her so she can only communicate with me through those expressive eyes. How I want to bend her over every surface in my office and spank that lush bottom, so she carries the permanent imprint of my fingers. How I want her on her knees, taking my cock down her throat. How I want her helpless and mewling and out of her head with pleasure, begging for more. How satisfying it felt to have her following my directions last night. Seeing her almost fall apart as she brought herself to near orgasm. And then, sadist that I am, I stopped her from going over the edge.

I saw the subservience in her stance, saw how she lowered herself over my foot, felt the fierce satisfaction in knowing I could prolong her anticipation in a future orgasm, and that spurred me on. How I’d love to break her,and in doing so, break myself apart for her. I stiffen. Not only would I be opening myself up to her, but I’d also be giving her the power to hurt me. She’s not going to stick around once she knows exactly how much of a kinky bastard I am. That I'm a beast who not only looks like one, but also had the disposition to go with it. And I don't mean just in my business dealings.

No, entertaining this train of thought is wrong, and dangerous. I cannot subject her to my twisted tastes. She’s too pure, too much of an angel to be put through what I have in mind. I only have to see her for my thoughts to fall into a tailspin. All the more reason for her to stay out of reach.

And allow another man to reap the benefits of my edging?It's a sobering thought, one which turns my stomach and has the bile rising in my throat. I swallow it down, tamp down on my errant line of thinking, and force myself to focus.

I have to ensure I put enough barriers between us, so I’m never tempted to own her. I redrew the employee-boss line for her as much as for me. And I must do my best to stay within the parameters I set between us. I lean back in my seat slowly, and sense her go completely still.

And when I glare at her, she pales. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

“No, you’re not sorry,” I drawl.

“I... I’m not?”

I shake my head slowly. “You interrupted me because you felt ignored. Because you want me to notice you. Because you want me to punish you. And just for that, I’m not going to.”

She blinks. “You think I’m trying to get you to punish me. And to punish me, you’re not going to punish me?”

I nod. “You wanted my attention? You have it now.”

She swallows, then squares her shoulders. “You should know, I can’t accept the entire... Boatload of clothes you had delivered to my place yesterday evening.”

I hold up my forefinger. “Firstly, it doesn’t mean anything that the clothes were sent to you. Secondly”—she begins to speak, but I silence her with— “as I've already explained, and I will repeat this for the last time,the clothes are so you can be dressed appropriately, as befits your status as my representative.”

“Oh.” She deflates a little. “I see.”

“You may leave, Kelly.” I purposely call her by the wrong name. Another way to reinforce that she doesn’t mean anything to me. That she's one in an extensive line of assistants who’ve worked for me. My words hit home, for her features crumple. My heart squeezes in my chest, but I ignore it.

She turns to go. And because I’m a bastard and want to make sure I drive the wedge between us deeper, I call after her, “And make sure I’m not disturbed again.”

An hour later she walks into my office. “Your grandfather insists on seeing you. I assume it's okay to interrupt you?” she asks in a tight voice. By the tone of her voice, I can tell she’s pissed at me from our earlier exchange.

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