Purely Professional (14 page)

“Are you enjoying this? Are you a horny slut, enjoying her punishment?”

Was she supposed to lie or tell the truth? The answer was obvious whenever he touched her. “Yes, sir.” Her voice was just a whisper now, her hips moving of their own accord against the hand he had dipped down between her legs again. Oh fuck it all, she was going to come from this. Bridget closed her eyes, resting her head down against the sofa, surrendering to the conflicting sensations.

Max kept gently tugging on the Smartballs, not enough remove them, just enough that they kept stimulating her. He moved his hand down a little lower and cupped her, his long fingers finding her swollen clit, which he began to rub in slow circles.

Bridget rocked against his hand, the thrusts of her hips moving the Smartballs inside her, her movements becoming more and more frantic as she neared her climax. Her focus narrowed to the pleasure, all else put aside by the strokes of his fingers.

Then, abruptly, his hand stilled. “Maybe I’ll leave you like this. Maybe that’s your real punishment.”

“No…” She didn’t care how she sounded, just cared that this didn’t stop, didn’t ever stop. “Please, sir, I need to come.”

“I’m going to spank you ten more times.” Max rubbed a little harder. “You may come when I finish and no sooner.”

Ten more times. Ten more slaps, while he still rubbed her clit with that amazing precision. Could she stand it? She knew she was close, but as soon as he told her she
couldn’t
come, it felt impossible to hold it off. With a slow inhale and exhale, she concentrated on relaxing her muscles, ignoring the pleasure spiraling from his fingers on her clit. Then his hand cracked down, hard, and she cried out, the pain momentarily distracting her from her impending climax. He kept circling her clit, and she began to climb before the next slap distracted her again. As he continued, though, the slaps began to drive her closer to orgasm, rather than further away. By the time Max reached stroke eight, the combination of stimulation had Bridget shimmering on the brink, her whole body vibrating. He slapped her again, the ninth one, and she was gasping and shaking, barely able to control herself.

When he spanked her for the final time, he squeezed her clit, and she broke apart under his hands. She was falling, falling, thrusting against his hand, pulling at the bonds holding her wrists, her muscles clenching and clenching around the balls, sobbing into the cushion beneath her.

Finally she collapsed, spent, her body limp across his lap, and Max untied her wrists. When he slowly slid the Smartballs from her, he drew another moan from her lips.

“You can move your hands now, and sit up when you’re ready.”

Although Bridget wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready, she sat up slowly, pulling her underwear up over her sore ass. When she shifted back to the couch, she hissed at the prick of the leather against her skin.

“We’re not done,” Max said. Bridget noticed that he was sweating a little, his dark curls damp against his forehead, and she could see the outline of his hard cock through his pants. “Get upstairs.”

Bridget climbed up the spiral staircase, unsure what was coming but sure she was going to like it. She tried not to think about how she’d behaved; as she came down from her high, it was hard not to feel embarrassed. Her body, which had always seemed familiar and predictable, was responding to Max’s treatments in completely unfamiliar ways. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, each new experience revealing something unexpected about her wants and needs. Now, even on the heels of her recent orgasm, she needed more. She needed to know how much further this could get, and that kind of need felt frightening, overwhelming and inexplicably wonderful.

Max was right behind her as she stepped into his bedroom.

“Take off your skirt and that pitiful excuse for a blouse.” As she unbuttoned it, she noted the barely contained intensity in his eyes and realized she liked making him look like that. First she let the shirt fall, then the skirt, until she was dressed only in the corset and her black lace underwear.

Max looked her up and down before going over to the wardrobe. “You’ve been reading my articles on bondage. So I’m sure you’re aware how much I enjoy rope.”

Bridget swallowed and nodded, then tentatively added, “Yes, sir,” knowing he’d want her to speak.

“Take off your underwear and kneel on the bed.” She did so, heart beginning to pound again. He set a coil of rope down on the bed alongside a pair of sharp-looking scissors, then returned to her. With a tug, he pulled the corset down so her breasts were visible, nipples just barely peeking out over the top.

How was he going to tie her up? As she knelt up on his bed, wondering what was to come, she eyed the equipment with a bit of apprehension. That was some serious rope, and those scissors looked rather threatening. Max picked up the rope and moved the scissors aside. “Just in case,” he murmured, and bit her earlobe. She shivered at the contact.

Max worked with the focus of a true artist. First he bound her arms behind her back so she was holding her elbows with opposite hands, forearms parallel. He wrapped the rope around her arms again and again, binding her snugly. The rope felt surprisingly soft against her skin, just tight enough to hold her without constricting. She wiggled her fingers. With every pass of the rope, she grew dizzy with anticipation of what was to come. When he finished with her arms, she couldn’t move them at all. Then he laid her down, supporting her gently, and rolled her onto her stomach.

The position made her feel more helpless than anything had so far, her clit throbbing in response. The corset made deep breathing difficult, and she felt like she was panting as she lay there unable to move.

Bridget jumped when she felt Max’s hands tying rope around her ankle. He bent her leg at the knee, bringing her ankle to her thigh, and began to wrap the rope around both. The position pulled her muscles, not quiet to the point of discomfort. Then he did the same with her other leg. When he finished, she was completely immobile and her body was aching for his touch.

“How does that feel?” Max asked, leaning right down to her ear. “Do you like feeling helpless?”

She wiggled a little, exploring the twin sensations of excitement and fear. “Yes, sir.”

“If this is too much, use your safe word,” Max said, “because nothing else is going to stop me.”

She heard him moving behind her, heard a zipper and a rustle of cloth. Then he flipped her onto her back and tugged her over to the edge of the bed, pulling her legs all the way off so just her torso remained supported, his hands holding her hips from underneath. He moved between her thighs, his body spreading her bound legs almost painfully, his erection bobbing against his stomach. Angling his hips down, he pressed his cock just past her folds and slowly began pushing inside.

The feeling was exquisite, pleasure like nothing else. Bridget couldn’t stop from crying out as he filled her completely, his hard shaft throbbing deep inside her, splitting her open. She was totally helpless, completely immobile, as he began to fuck her in earnest.

There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. Bridget gasped with each stroke. She felt completely out of control as he plunged into her easily, using her body to fill his own needs. At the thought of not being allowed to come again, she clenched around him reflexively, drawing a hoarse groan from his lips. He paused, holding himself fully buried inside her, then pulled back and thrust in again. “Fuck, I love your tight little pussy,” he breathed, and she spasmed once around him again. His cock was incredible, and each time he slid forward, she could feel every inch penetrating her.

Max fucked her harder and harder, his fingers digging into her hips. Bridget was moaning uncontrollably now, babbling, outside of herself with pleasure. She wanted to come but couldn’t get over the edge, wasn’t even sure if it mattered to him. His thrusts were growing erratic as she hovered at the brink.

“God, yes, just like that.” He threw his head back, looking completely wrecked with pleasure, and the sight was so dazzling that Bridget lost herself in it. His voice sounded rough and desperate as he reached for her clit and said, “Come for me, Bridget.”

Bridget tumbled over the edge with a long cry, her bound form shaking with spasms, arching and shivering and riding out the pleasure. Her climax went on and on, so intense she couldn’t even think, drawn out by each plunge of his cock. Finally he thrust once, twice, and then emptied himself inside her with a low groan, jaw set and eyes squeezed tight against his own shuddering orgasm.

Max stood there for a long moment with his head hanging, getting his bearings, still buried inside her. She could see him breathing hard, his hands trembling where they held her thighs. When he looked up, he seemed spent and overcome, and it took him another moment to gather his wits before he began untying her. He unwrapped her legs first, freeing them from the loops of rope, and she stretched them to get some feeling back again, her feet tingly. At last, he moved on to her wrists, and soon she was free again. She sat up, rubbing her wrists, and looked at him, not sure what to say.

“Are you all right?” His voice sounded a little breathless.

She nodded, not trusting her own voice in that moment.

“Do you want me to stay with you for a little while, or do you want to go get cleaned up?” He was already cleaning himself up and pulling on a pair of jeans.

She cleared her throat. “I think…I need a minute or two alone?”

He met her eyes, searching them for something, and then nodded. “All right. I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

Bridget walked into the bathroom on wobbly legs and sat down on the toilet, trembling all over. Her arms and legs were crisscrossed with thick red lines, and she traced their path with her fingers, needing to ground herself in the reality of what she’d just experienced. She should probably feel out of her depth, way over her head, frightened and looking for the exits. Instead, she felt…settled, somehow. Surprisingly calm in a way that transcended normal afterglow, and wasn’t that just the damnedest thing?

Bridget went downstairs a few minutes later in another pair of stolen sweatpants and a T-shirt. Maybe one of these times she’d remember to bring a change of clothes. Max was sitting on the couch with a beer, staring blankly at the powered-down television, lost in thought.

“Hey.” She sat next to him on the sofa.

“Hey.” Coming out of his reverie, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her against him. The gesture surprised her, but it was nice to be held. No, it wasn’t just nice to be held. It was nice to be held by
him.
“Want a beer?” he asked.

“No thanks.” Mmm, he smelled nice, and she rested her head against his shoulder. She shouldn’t read too much into this. She liked being close to him because…because she enjoyed his company. That was all it needed to be.

“Tell me how that was for you.”

Bridget paused, thinking. How could she put this into words? “That was really hot.” Well,
that
sounded lame. “I mean, I never thought much about spanking until recently, but when I read your article today, I thought it might be fun…” Her voice trailed off.

“And was it? Fun?”

“I don’t think ‘fun’ is the right word. It was intense. I didn’t think I would come like that.” This was easier to talk about when she wasn’t looking into his eyes, and she studied her own fingernails. “And then, upstairs…” She shivered. “That was incredible.”

Max’s hand went to her hair, gently stroking her curls. “Bridget, tonight…” He paused. “Tonight was good for me too. You’re…a fun partner.”

“Thanks.” She shifted slightly. Maybe it was her imagination, but it didn’t seem like that was what he had been about to say.

“How’s your blog going?” He drank some of his beer.

“It’s a hit. My boss loves it.” She drew her legs up on the sofa and leaned into his side again, enjoying the closeness and willing herself not to overanalyze it. “I keep feeling like I’m going to get found out at any time.”

“You probably won’t. You’re doing everything that you’re writing about.” He paused, then shifted away from her to look her in the eye. She loved his eyes, but staring into them made her feel self-conscious, as if he were examining her deepest secrets. “Is this a lie you can live with?”

“What do you mean?” She drew back, sliding out from under his arm.

“If you never get found out, can you live with knowing you got your promotion, all your recognition, from pretending to be someone you’re not?”

A comeback leaped to Bridget’s lips, but she let it fade. She didn’t need to bluster with Max. “Maybe I’m not pretending,” she said, wondering if it was true. “Maybe this is who I am.”

Max traced the neckline of her stolen T-shirt, his expression contemplative. “Maybe it is.”

Chapter Twelve

“So did you read the latest in
Sultry Submissions
?”

It was all over the office. Since the site had gone live the previous week, the only thing people seemed able to discuss were the blog posts by Nyx, the mystery writer. Bridget could barely tolerate the staff meeting.

“I think we should know who it is,” argued Todd, the personal ads editor. “It’s not very professional to keep secrets within the company. It builds mistrust.”

“This person is working under the condition of anonymity,” Marcy insisted, not for the first time that meeting. Bridget was incredibly grateful that her executive editor was keeping her identity secret, but she knew it wasn’t going to be an easy secret to keep. When Abigail, the entertainment editor, tried to lock her into a conversation speculating on Nyx’s identity, she had to participate and look interested.

“What was my favorite line?” Abigail was scanning through the site on her phone, for crying out loud, scrolling through the posts. “Oh, here it is. ‘
When I come
,
it’s light and sound and breathlessness
,
my senses blending and dissolving until only pleasure remains.
He has taken me out of myself and brought me beyond thought
,
beyond fear
,
and I am his.’
Fuck, doesn’t that sound incredible?”

Bridget smiled, the expression feeling stiff on her face. “Yeah, sure. But I have to be honest. I stopped reading after the first post. It’s interesting, but it’s not really my thing.” It was the same thing she had said to two other women in the office who approached her with the same question.

Oh, what a lie it was, but they accepted it without question. Abigail nodded, as had the others, both saying, “Of course it’s not. It’s not our thing, either. We were just curious,” or some other innocent phrase. Rachel, though, their resident health columnist, was more persistent.

“You mean you’ve never thought about it?” she asked. When Bridget shrugged noncommittally, she pressed on. “Nyx is giving me all sorts of ideas. I’ve always wondered what this stuff is like, and now I’m trying to get my husband to tie me to the bed.” She laughed. “What do you think? Can someone really get off on a spanking?”

“Yeah, um, I don’t know.” Bridget shifted uncomfortably. Her coffee was burning hot; was there any way for her to finish it without scalding her tongue? If she didn’t get out of the break room soon, she was going to get a lot more information about Rachel’s sex life. That was the thing about working on the “Sex-positive magazine for sex-positive women”—they really
were
sex-positive, and sometimes blurred professional boundaries. Bridget had
always
kept her personal life personal, and now she actually had some secrets that she wouldn’t want revealed. Of course, it would probably be fun to shock the hell out of everyone…but how could she keep writing if they knew her identity? How could she look anyone in the eye when they knew how she had moaned and screamed as Max had spanked her to orgasm?

“I don’t know why she doesn’t just up and reveal herself.” Rachel leaned against the counter, holding a kale smoothie in one hand and gesturing with the other. “If it were me, I’d want people to know. Nothing I write has been this successful. Granted, I’m pretty much writing about STI prevention and why women should exercise more. It’s not Ben Wa balls and bondage, but it’s got its place, right?”

Bridget peered over her coworker’s shoulder at the open door, longing to escape back to her office, but Rachel was still making eye contact and gesturing one-handed in between sips of the vile-looking green smoothie. The woman clearly spent too much time hopped up on exercise endorphins. Bridget nodded and forced more coffee down her throat. She’d already resigned herself to singed taste buds and was now just trying to finish the drink before Rachel started giving a play-by-play of her latest night with the husband.

“It’s like last night. I was in bed with Jake, and I asked him to talk dirty to me, right?”

Damn, not fast enough. Bridget tipped her head back and downed a too-large mouthful of hot coffee. Her eyes watered. Rachel continued on for a few minutes, the gist of her story being that she’d ended up reading half the blog post to Jake to “give him ideas,” but after that, they’d just fucked like normal, and wasn’t that so boring?

The burning in Bridget’s mouth felt like freedom. “Yeah, well, coffee break’s over, I guess.” She held up her empty mug with a shrug, faking disappointment. “Good luck with all that.”

She backed up and went the long way around the table, making it to the door before Rachel could stop her. On her way back to the office, she kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone else who might want to gab. Were her coworkers always this chatty, or only when she didn’t want to talk to them? At least it was almost the end of the day, and she could probably work for a few more hours undisturbed before going home.

If she was honest, though, she wasn’t really looking forward to going home. Max had other obligations that night, and she had nothing planned. She’d always enjoyed her solitude, the peace that came from living alone, but over the past few days, what she really looked forward to were her times with Max. What was happening to her? She needed a distraction.

A few text messages later, she’d set up dinner plans with Helen. True, Wednesday was a little unorthodox, but it was something to do with someone she liked.
Someone other than Max
, a little voice reminded her, and she dismissed the voice by reopening her task list.

* * *

“I wish you hadn’t ordered artichokes. Pizza King overcooks them.” Bridget picked the soggy offending vegetables off her pizza and took a bite.

“I like them. You call next time.” Helen took another piece out of the box.

“I hate calling.” The pizza wasn’t all bad, once the artichokes were gone, and she settled onto the sofa with her dinner.

“So what’s with the last-minute dinner date? Max busy tonight?” Helen flashed a teasing smile over her pizza.

“Yes.” Bridget couldn’t think of any way to deny it.

“You’ve got a thing for him, don’t you? It’s more than just sex.”

Bridget picked at her pizza. The question had been on her own mind a lot that day. “I don’t know. It’s all been happening so fast.”

“Well, do you want something more?”

“I don’t know!” Bridget repeated, exasperated. “I’m doing this for my job. I like fooling around with him, and he’s fun to hang out with, but feelings aren’t supposed to get involved. That was our arrangement.” She swallowed another mouthful of pizza. “I don’t know if I would want to live this lifestyle all the time.”

“Is that what he wants?” Helen brushed her hair back behind her shoulders. “He wants someone to live this all the time?”

“Well, no. But I don’t even know if I want it
some
of the time.” Bridget put her pizza down. “I don’t even know what I’m talking about. I have a career. I don’t have
time
for more.”

Helen looked around pointedly at the empty apartment, at the two of them sitting there in her living room. “Clearly you do.”

Bridget blinked down at her pizza. For a moment, she had a crazy vision of cuddling here on the couch with Max, talking about work and their weekend plans; she imagined double-dating with Helen and Jessica and debating the merits of artichokes on pizza. Although ridiculous and unrealistic, it brought a strange lump to her throat. Swallowing down the idea, she opened up her Netflix queue. “Want to watch
Die Hard
?”