Sensing my acquiescence to this first task, he tells me to strip.
Strip? In front of him? “I can’t.” That’s just too much. I tell him as such, voice shaking as I tell him that stripping for him is too much.
Mr. Lamant steps aside, his muscles clenching as he points to the door. “You’re free to leave then, Vivian. If you can’t do this much, this little task, you cannot handle what I have in store for you.” He’s so calm that it’s frightening. I’d expected anger at my refusal, not indifference.
I mean, I know that he could replace me in the time it takes to pick up the phone, but to be that unwanted? It hurts.
“I’m not that type of woman,” I say. I’ve always been shy about being exposed, and even just one on one with him, this is beyond what I think I can do. Looking at the clothes, I long to be that sort of woman. Just thinking of being dressed like that for him . . . My entire body aches with desire. Confused with the lust and what he wants from me, I pick up one of the scraps of lace and drop it onto the desk. “These have nothing to do with my job.” Repeating the motion with the shoe, I don’t have the chance to drop it when a hard body pushes me into the desk.
He’s huge, dwarfing me, and he’s so close that I can feel everything: his hard body, his breath, even the thudding of his heart. Kodiche meets my eyes and somehow gets even closer without moving, like he fills up all the gaps between us. It’s overwhelming . . . and hot. It’s hard to remember why stripping for him is a bad idea. Getting naked sounds so much better, both of us naked.
“Everything I tell you to do is your job.” His voice is sweet, a sing-song tone that worries me more than the icy anger. I can’t anticipate what he wants when he speaks like this. “If you’re scared, I will help get you started.” Those hands I’d felt steadying me before unbutton the top of my shirt, and I freeze. Without even trying, he could cup my breasts. Only one person has ever done that, and it’s been longer than I care to think about. I’m so turned on that I can’t stop shaking, and I really wish he didn’t affect me like this. It’s unfair.
He undresses me slowly, admiring me with raking eyes that appreciate the lean lines and soft curves he reveals with each button. “So innocent,” he whispers as one finger accidentally brushes my nipple, making it harden.
My body jerks in response, the sharp pleasure twingeing all the way down to where I’m still covered. Being topless I feel so exposed—laid bare to him, as if he’s seeing more than my skin. He’s standing before me in his vest, shirt, and slacks, while I tremble in my underwear and unbuttoned pants. It’s unfair. Maybe if he even had an idea of what it feels like to be in my position . . .
Feigning boldness, I toss my hair back out of my face and pretend I’m not horribly mortified at what I’ve gotten myself into. “It’d help me adjust to being naked in front of you if you took off your clothes, too.” I make a small smile, the coy kind I’ve seen other women use around him during meetings when they try to flirt.
Eyeing me, he smirks but stays silent. My blush heats my face and neck, and it must be spreading down my chest as I watch Kodiche pull free his tie and then drop his hands to his belt. In a matter of seconds his shirt is undone and pulled free, the vest draped over my desk. Tattoos decorate his skin in a myriad of languages and black lines. Tribal art mixed with images, and a broken heart—the kind a teenage girl would draw on notebook paper—on his ribs. The writing there is faded and barely visible, unreadable from my position. It looks like it could be initials or a name.
His muscles are even more impressive. How can he be so fit for a guy who sits behind a desk all day? He has a six pack, maybe an eight pack, and his stomach is so flat that the veins are visible where they trail under the waistband of his slacks. Hairless, I can’t tell if he is naturally that way or waxes, and I’m disappointed when he stops his striptease.
I’ve been caught ogling him, and he is amused if anything, and arches one eyebrow as I try to lean back. He’s right there though, only an inch or two from me the entire time, and all I can think about is having that hard body pressing down onto me in bed, what it would be like to have his hands lifting me to him, and then that mouth . . . His lips are full and lush, a deep rosy shade that draws my eyes. They always have. I wonder what he kisses like? Would it be a gentle kiss, a tease, or would it be hard and demanding, making my own lips swell? What would it be like to have that mouth on my body?
I look away, blushing, not wanting him to even guess what I’m thinking about. He won’t let me live it down.
“What were you thinking?” he asks. When I refuse to answer, he grabs me by the jaw and forces me to meet his eyes. “Tell me.”
“I can’t. I don’t remember,” I lie.
He licks his lips, a hint of moisture left behind, and he smiles at me. “I think I can guess, since you are having some sort of memory problem. You want me to kiss you. No, not just kiss you. You want me bury my hands in your hair and have my way with your mouth, kissing you until you’re ready to pass out from how bad you want me to fuck you. Is that what you want?” He leans in, hovering. I could stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. I could, but if we’re going to kiss, I need him to do it. That way I can tell myself after that I was going along with what he wanted.
Kodiche’s lips are almost touching me, his nose brushing against the bridge of mine, and I part my mouth slightly in anticipation. Waiting . . . waiting . . . Silently begging him to kiss me, I know that I need to know what it’s like. I need at least that much.
He’s gone, backing off, and I’m cold as the air rushes over me in the wake of his absence. Strong hands twirl me around in a practiced motion that I won’t let make me jealous for whomever he’s done this to before. My pants are on the floor before I can catch my balance. “Stay there, hands on the desk.” Kodiche hovers behind me, and even though I’m facing away from him, I can sense when he kneels.
I’m shaking as I stand there, body held in a position that is mortifying. My ass is right there in his face as he reaches for my feet, helping me out of my flats and pants. “You have a very nice ass, Vivian.” Teasing fingers slide along the edge of my panties, barely touching me. “These panties need to go. They do not match your new outfit, and I can’t wait to see you in something more suited for your job training.”
I glance at the wetness on my panties as he whisks them down my legs. Can he see what he’s doing to me? With his forehead on my lower back, I don’t know if he can. Maybe his eyes are shut. Naked in front of him, I want him to just finish this and fucking take me. Maybe then we can just go back to the office and pretend like yesterday and today never happened.
“You’re wet, Vivian.” I hear him take a deep breath, and look down to see him holding my panties up to his face. “You smell so delicious.” Kodiche smells my underwear again. “I wonder if you taste that good,
too?” He hums, and I glance again to see him licking at the wet spot I’d made. I wish he’d go straight for the source and stop this ache I have for him.
I can’t help but want him. He’s gorgeous. He is my boss, though. This morning I thought I’d just be doing crap copies and research on new clients to replace the one I screwed up for us. I never thought I’d be kneeling, begging, and then dressing like a prostitute to keep a job that just barely makes ends meet.
He taps my foot, and I look down to see that he’s holding out the new panties for me to step into. No sex right now, I guess. That’s . . . good? I stifle my disappointment as he pulls the lace up my thighs and onto my hips, tugging until the thin band slips into my slit. He continues tugging in rhythmic pulls, making the lace strip push on my clit and tease me. It’s like pulsing touches squeezing me.
I hear the moan before I realize I’m making it. I’ve never been teased like this. Pushing my hips back for more, I try to use my body to ask for what I can’t find words to do—won’t find words to do. Faster, he uses the panties to bring me just to the edge, and then laughs, his hands moving on to their next task, dressing me in the skirt and heels, and then reaching around to settle the lace bra cups over my breasts.
He does kiss me this time, on my shoulder, an open-mouthed promise of what he won’t give me. “You have to earn it, and you’ve not been a very good listener so far. Show me you can do better, and maybe I’ll let you have this.” His cock, even harder than the muscles in his forearms, pushes against my ass as he stands. I don’t know if I have room inside me for something that size. It’s massive like the rest of him. I want to try, though, as much as it mortifies me to think of him that way. Of myself wanting someone—anyone—that way.
I barely register him turning me around. “Button yourself.” He doesn’t move away, not even as my fingers have to squeeze between his chest and mine to work the buttons through their holes. The shirt is such a sheer white that I can see the shadow of the black bra through it. He backs off, adjusting his hard-on as he does, and looks me over slowly, a head to toe look that brands me at a soul level with desire. His eyes are dark and dancing as he smiles. “There. That’s better. You look perfect.” The smirk, a cocky twist of his lips, says he knows exactly what I wanted from him and that he can manipulate me. I long to walk away, but I need this job, and my body says I need him. I need to come. Why didn’t he take me?