BENTLEY Read online

  “You may go,” I say, dismissing her. She and I are entwined in this together. That much is clear. Where this will go though, I have no idea .

  * * *

  W ith earbuds in, I stretch my legs on a park bench in Central Park. Heavy guitar and pounding drums vibrate through me—I like music that spurs me into action. Angry stuff. Things with emotions I never let myself feel .

  My feet pound on the pavement as I run. I try to get out two to three times a week when I can. Shut out my life and just be in my skin. Forget everything, everyone .

  Usually, my running stints are a source of escape for me. But not today .

  Not since I’ve known Samantha .

  Every waking moment seems to be consumed with her. We started our…new situation a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been teaching her how to be my submissive. And she’s been responding beautifully. Stubborn at times, of course—but I wouldn’t expect less. But those stubborn moments make it even sweeter when she breaks down and gives in to my demands .

  I inhale and exhale steadily. Warm air glides along my skin. We’re inching toward the end of summer now, but it’s still hot in New York City, and even though it’s early in the morning, I’m drenched a few minutes into the run .

  Discipline. It’s been the name of the game for years now. Where would I be without my careful discipline? Without those safeguards keeping me in check? Would I lose myself completely? I can’t. I won’t .

  I may be fucked up, but no one is going to suffer because of me .

  My footsteps pound through the park, past walkers with dogs on leashes, kids in strollers. Happy clusters of families .

  I admit, I wanted that at one time. To be normal, to have a wife and kids. But I’ve never been able to love anyone. I’m sure now that I never will. It’s something I’ve accepted about myself. I have enough to keep me busy anyway .

  Strongwell Ink is more than a full-time job. It’s a life .

  It’s my life .

  And I’m okay with that. Because I’m good at it. I don’t need interpersonal skills to make the company a success. I can be myself. No one expects any different .

  Not that Samantha is expecting me to be different. She shocked me when she asked me what I really wanted. It was bold and brave. Unexpected .

  I duck under a tree branch and head toward the bridge underpass. A couple of runners are there, stretching and drinking water from bottles. I keep going. My legs are beginning to burn, but I don’t stop. I have to push myself harder .

  Soon enough, I feel like a machine, with no purpose but running. My body is relaxed, each step moving me closer to the end goal. I feel free .

  Free, but not alive .

  My birth mother loved running. One of the secret reasons I picked it up. I remember her holding my hand and showing me how to stretch my calves. She was all smiles, all love. A single mother who gave everything she had to raising me .

  Thinking about her makes my chest burn. It hurts so badly, but sometimes I can’t stop the pain. I need the pain. To remember her. Because I never want to forget her, even if the remembering makes me feel like I’m being skewered alive .

  I push myself to run harder. Like I can outrun those painful memories of the last time I saw her. She should never have died like that. She should still be alive and smiling, despite the hardship in her life. Raising a child alone. Working whatever jobs she had to. But still being kind and loving. Not only to myself, but everyone around her .

  The ache in my chest grows, and I will myself to stop thinking about her. At least for now. I have to make it through the day. Finish my run. Go to the office. Work. Do what’s expected of me. My birth mother would never have dreamed I would turn out like this. Rich, powerful .

  And I’m not done .

  Strongwell Ink will only grow—we have international markets to penetrate. I nudge the earbuds tighter in my ears and keep running. My breath is panting, but I love the way running makes my body feel. Tight, like a well-oiled machine .

  Nothing can break me from my path. Including an unexpected woman. I will keep my relationship with Samantha separate from my goals, my aspirations. She might have lodged herself beneath my skin, but that’s all that is there for anyone to touch, to take. I won’t lose control .

  * * *

  I t’s early afternoon when my office phone buzzes. Samantha. “Yes?” I answer .

  “Mr. Wallings is here for your meeting,” she says .

  The sound of her voice alone makes my skin feel alive. I don’t know how, but even a few words can spur my pulse to irregularity. “Send him in,” I manage to say .

  Wallings walks in, shirt stretching over a wide belly. He’s kind of an oaf, but he’s the head of our printing department, and he makes that shit run for me. I rarely ever have an issue with print runs, and that’s because he keeps a tight ship. So when he wants to meet, I make room for him .

  Wallace sits down in the chair opposite me, his bulky frame uncomfortable in the seat. I make a mental note to have Samantha order wider chairs for people to be comfortable. We make small talk for a moment, then he tells me about some concerns he has regarding upgrading of printing equipment and training of employees .

  I listen and nod. But admittedly, it’s hard to focus. It’s always hard to focus now. Because Samantha is never far from my mind. I know she’s on the other side of the wall, sitting at her desk. Wearing a dark blue skirt with no panties under it. And I’m aching to touch her wet slit, to make her come for me .

  When Wallace finally finishes his spiel, I promise him that we can send a few employees for certification on the printing equipment so the responsibility is more evenly distributed. Then I fire off a text to Samantha .

  Go to the bathroom. Get yourself close to coming—but do not cross the line. Then take a picture of your wet fingers in your mouth for me .

  I can just imagine how she’s going to react to this. My dick is already at attention, thinking about her shock and arousal .

  Yes, sir, is all she replies .

  Minutes pass. Fuck. What happened to all that self-control I boast to myself about? I’m acting like a high-schooler who needs to get his rocks off. Giving her orders is doing something to me. Bringing a spark in my chest that I haven’t felt…in I don’t even know how long. I can’t resist it .

  My phone vibrates. I slide it open to view the message .

  And I just about come in my dress pants .

  Samantha put on that sexy-as-fuck red lipstick, apparently. And her drenched fingers are right between those pouty red lips. I need to slide my cock in there so badly I can almost feel it .

  She’s driving me insane .

  I’m supposed to be the one in control here, not her. She knows what she’s doing. She sure as fuck didn’t have those red lips on before .

  Edge yourself every hour until it’s time to go home, I type. But you are not allowed to come. Not until I tell you .

  I see the dots indicating she’s typing a response. They pause. Then the message comes through. But I need to. I’m so close. Maybe you should come in here and join me .

  Fuck me, she’s still in the bathroom, inviting me in there. I can’t stop the vivid vision of slamming her against a tile wall and shoving that skirt up. Gripping her jaw and pinning her in place as I drive into her again and again, my come exploding and dripping down her thighs .

  I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to make me assert control. I like this game. You will edge yourself every hour. Then walk into the break room and get a glass of water. Let everyone smell how wet you are. What a dirty little slut you are. But you are not to come .

  Her reply comes fast. OMG. Seriously ??

  Are you questioning me ?

  No, sir. I can almost hear the surliness in her tone, which makes me laugh. That’s my girl. Obeying but fighting it. I like it. That makes her obedience that much sweeter .

  The rest of the day, I keep my door open. So I can hear every time she gets up from her desk. I can hear h
er going to the bathroom. Then the breakroom. Then back to her desk. Again. And again .

  And I can’t help but smile .

  It’s almost seven before I’m done working for the day. Of course, that means Samantha stays too. She doesn’t say a word to me, doesn’t text anything. I know she’s frustrated as hell. But since she didn’t complain, I’m going to reward her for being so good and listening .

  Come here, I text her when I’m sure everyone else on the floor is gone .

  A few moments later, she’s in my doorway, looking small and fragile. Her whole body seems tightly coiled. She has clearly been listening to my directions—she seems ready to explode. Cheeks flushed, breasts full and rising with each inhale .

  “Close the door and lock it behind you,” I command her .

  She does as I order, then takes her place against the wall. No hesitation. No argument. Just sheer obedience, despite the torture I put her through today. Her palms are flat on the plaster, her skirt around her waist, bare ass thrust out for me to inspect .

  This is a fucking wet dream come true .

  I stand right behind her, my own body as tight as hers. Jesus, I fucking need her. So much. We haven’t had sex since first time, and it’s been torturing me. I crave to plunge myself so deep inside her that my balls ache for the release .

  I graze a hand over the curve of her ass. I feel her body arch toward me, almost imperceptibly, like she’s moving without knowing it. I’m such an asshole, torturing her this way. Making her follow my whims. But fuck, seeing how responsive she is to this kind of interaction…it just spurs me on .

  She’s too young to know better, my brain argues with me .

  Her breathing grows slow and steady with my even strokes over her ass. She’s moving into that headspace, the one where she is open and willing for me. Where she wants to do nothing but please me. I caress her with both hands. Her skin is impossibly soft, tempting. She’s incredible .

  Spread open for me this way, the girl who lost her virginity to me. Aching for my next touch. I’m going to make her scream her orgasm .

  I rip off my tie and then wrap it a couple of times around her mouth then knot it off. I need her quiet. “You’ve been a good girl for me,” I tell her. “I’m going to make sure you get your reward .”

  Her whimper is thanks, plus the way she moves her ass against my groping hands. I stroke my index finger along her puckered asshole, which makes her freeze. Oh, she didn’t expect that. What will she do? Will she let me touch her here ?

  “You will stay relaxed for me,” I say as I lean toward her and breathe into her ear. “I promise to go slow and make you feel good if you obey me .”

  She gives me a slow, cautious nod, her eyes wary .

  I stroke my other fingers along her pussy lips, which are already drenched for me. She is aching to come, swollen, right on the edge. Her clit is prominent and jumps under my touch. I gather enough cream and then smear it on her asshole, then let my finger push in, just the tip .

  Samantha stiffens, her sharp inhalation evident .

  I pause. Let her grow acclimated. With my other fingers, I rub her hardened nub. Reach my free hand up and caress her breast. If she can relax, she’ll sink into it. Give herself to me .

  Gradually, I feel her unclench. So I push my finger in deeper, knuckle by knuckle. God, this entrance is tight and squeezing around me. But her moans are easy to hear through the tie .

  She fucking loves it .

  “You’re a little slut for me, aren’t you,” I tell her as I stroke her passage. “I’m going to make you come .”

  Samantha turns pleading eyes my way, her hands still planted on the wall, and nods. I can see she wants more, but at this point, she’s willing to accept whatever I will give her .

  So I give it to her. I fuck her asshole with my finger, curling it to stimulate the places I know will feel good for her. She bucks under my touch, her cries smothered by the tie but still filling the room. I can smell how wet her cunt is for me .

  When I reach down to touch it, I’m shocked to find it dripping .

  “You want more, don’t you,” I say .

  She pauses but doesn’t answer. I can tell exactly what she’s thinking by the look in her eyes. She does, but she wants to please me the most .

  She wants to give me what I want to take .

  And that does it for me. I fuck her ass with one hand and her pussy with the other, stroking her walls without mercy. She’s shaking and bucking from my touch, her teeth biting the tie, her ass thrust toward me without shame .

  When she’s right there on the edge, I hear her whimper, see how she tenses, trying to stave off the orgasm. Such a good girl .

  “Come for me, doll,” I murmur in her ear, relentless in fucking her .

  And she explodes. Her muffled cry is still loud enough to wake the dead, and she’s shaking and falling apart against me, and I’m breathless too and holding her and wondering how the fuck I came to be in this place, with this woman who gives herself to me without holding anything back .

  She finally comes down from the orgasm and sags, and I hold her to me for a moment while she gathers her wits. When she pulls back, there’s a relaxed smile on her face .

  I tug the tie down .

  “Thank you, sir,” she murmurs .

  I can’t help it. I kiss that beautiful mouth. And with that gesture I feel more than I know I should. As soon as my heart rips open from the pain of feeling, I stitch it right back up again. “Go clean up and head home. I’ll see you tomorrow .”

  Samantha tugs her skirt down and leaves my office. And I’m left there feeling like a hurricane hit inside me and I don’t know how to right everything again .

  Samantha

  M y life has turned into something completely unexpected .

  Every day, I live to see what Bentley is going to tell me to do next. He has such creative and unusual ideas for me—daring me to push my limits. And not just in the office. He’s started texting me outside of office hours .

  When I told him yesterday that I was going out with Janelle in the evening, he ordered me to wear the sluttiest outfit I have and to send him dirty pictures from the bathroom. And during our drinks, to think about all the things he was going to do to me .

  The possessiveness set me on fire. Even Janelle noticed a difference in me, saying I seem more assertive, more awake. I couldn’t explain the depths of what I’ve gotten into with my boss. How could I? It would give away our secret. And I promised that what happened in his office stayed there .

  Even if this has branched outside of that. The idea is still the same .

  Last night, Bentley called me when I got home and over the phone, he coaxed me into an orgasm. I barely had to touch myself. My body was already so primed for him. It’s crazy how much I respond to him. How much I need him .

  Crazy and scary. But here I am, living on the edge and not thinking about what it means for tomorrow. I can’t seem to help it. Being with him is a compulsion. Giving in to his demands…it makes me feel so good to please him .

  And yet, even as it makes me feel good, I also kind of…hate it. Not because of the intimacy that I think is growing there—I know I’m dropping my walls for him—but because I worry it’s all just an illusion, a rich fantasy. Bentley keeps me shut out of his real inner world. In fact, I question if anyone knows him .

  What are he and I? I don’t know. We’re more than employer/employee, but we’re not dating. But we’re also not just fuck buddies. We’re something way more complicated and intricate, despite the walls that are still up between us—and all because of him. I’m not even sure it has a word .

  Whatever we are, it’s strange and confusing and scary, and I crave it like oxygen .

  But I still know next to nothing about him. He is a vault of secrets, impenetrable as Fort Knox. And not even the dynamic we have going on is enough to make him crack a little. The thought depresses me a little .

  I need to feel like this isn’t just
me being vulnerable. Because he’s piercing deep into my psyche, making me face things about myself I never have before. Challenging my views on my body, my sexuality. But what is this doing for him? Anything ?

  I shake off these morose thoughts and go about my morning routine. Make him coffee and leave it on his desk, along with notes about what to expect for the day. He’s grown to like this, and I enjoy doing my job well .

  This morning, when he comes in, he barely spares me a glance. Goes into his office with a sour look on his face and doesn’t emerge .

  No emails to me. No texts. Silence .

  I’m restless. I have backburner work that I focus on, but that’s not what I need. I need our dynamic. I need him giving me orders on something to do for him. But I don’t get a word .

  Hours tick by in torturous clicks. Kim asks me if I want to have lunch with her. I’m tempted to say no and sit at my desk, but I already know he’s gone out to lunch. There’s no purpose just staying there and looking desperate. So I agree to go. Screw this. I’ve let myself get too hung up on someone who is just playing with me. Righteous anger fills my chest. Indignation .

  After putting my cell phone on silent, I shove it into my desk drawer and lock it. Then I enjoy my lunch as best as I can .

  We chat about various things in our lives—movies we’ve seen, books we’ve read, what’s going on with our families. Mine isn’t in touch with me a lot, so I don’t have much to offer to that topic, but I listen attentively and ask questions. When our hour is up, we head back to work .

  I refuse to check my phone in my desk. No one would text me but him anyway, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m only here at his whim, at his beck and call. Instead, I do emails, filing, other things that have fallen to the wayside .

  The afternoon surprisingly flies. People leave, but Bentley’s office door remains shut. Stubbornly so. And I can’t leave work until he does .

  I try not to sulk about that fact. He hired me for a job, and that comes first and foremost. Maybe whatever we had going on between us is done now, and I need to move forward and stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the way he’s made me orgasm effortlessly. How I can’t keep from fantasizing about him and his commanding voice .