Restraining the Receptionist: ...the Receptionist, Book 2 Read online

  “My boss needs something, let’s connect again tomorrow,” I told the assistant to the vice president, who was one of those people who is incapable of ending a phone call. I clicked off the call, opened the drawer with a petulant slam, and grabbed the thing on top.

  A dildo with a devilish little vibrating finger extending from the business end. Huge relief. At least he wasn’t going to fuck her. I flounced over to Ethan and slapped it into his hand.

  “Attitude,” he murmured, not bothering to look my way. He bent down and inserted the dildo into Chantalette’s pussy. He pressed the little button that kicked off the vibrator and suddenly her whole body started to shake and shimmy. He moved the dildo back and forth inside her. She began keening a rhythmic “oh oh oh”, timed to every move he made with that toy.

  I covered my ears.

  “Too much for you, is it, luv? You wish you were her right now, don’t you?”

  “No! I’d never want to be her.”

  “You wish you had this up your cunt. You wish your clit was getting all that action.”

  “No…” My “no” wouldn’t convince a two-year-old.

  “Well, it would have if you hadn’t been so naughty. This could have been you. How wet are you right now?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” His sharp tone made me jump. He pushed the dildo further inside Chantalette, who let out a frantic shriek.

  “Okay. I’m…a little turned on, I guess.”

  “I can smell you, you know. I can smell your arousal across the room. You can’t hide anything from me. I know how hard your nipples are, how eager your pussy is. But since I can’t ask you to get naked for me and kneel down and let me fuck you, I’ll have to demand something else from you.”

  I tried to control my breathing. My inner passage pulsed like a beating heart. “What?”

  “I must require you to refrain from touching yourself, pleasing yourself, giving yourself any sort of satisfaction, no matter how tiny.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a simple order. And fully within our deal.” He flicked a button, which increased the speed of the dildo’s vibrations. Chantalette rocked and rolled as if she were riding a mechanical bull. A dick-riding cowgirl, that’s what she was.

  “It is, but…”

  “But what? A deal’s a deal, right?”

  “Yes, but…until when?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Did it bother Chantalette that we were having such an in-depth discussion while she closed in on her orgasm? If she even heard us over her groans and cries. She was kind of in a world of her own at the moment.

  “Up to me how?”

  “You set the terms of the deal. You can un-set them.” And with that, he moved the dildo and sent Chantalette rocketing over the edge. The power Ethan had over her responses took my breath away. Every time it seemed her ride was ending, he’d twist the dildo or make some other micro-adjustment and off she’d go again. Her orgasm went on and on as I watched, arms folded, pussy burning.

  Finally it was over. He removed the dildo from her body, untied her hands and took off her blindfold. Tenderly, he helped her into a chair.

  “She’s fine,” I said jealously.

  “She’s a good girl, aren’t you, my pet?”

  Chantalette smiled up at him like a puppy dog wagging her tail.

  I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you just give her a doggy treat and call it a day?”

  “Now, now. None of that. You can get back out front now, Dana. I think we’re done here.”

  Dismissed. Like a cleaning lady who’s finished the toilets. I turned with a toss of my head and a mental “talk to the hand” to them both. At my desk, I checked my Mickey Mouse watch. Only eleven in the morning. This was going to be a long day. I muttered to myself as I turned on my computer and set up my headset.

  Chantalette was going to get an earful from me. How dare she waltz in on my territory and try to take my place? How dare Ethan think for one second that she could replace me? What would Simon say about all this?

  That was the first time I’d thought about Simon all morning. I’d been too caught up in the drama of Ethan and Chantalette. I didn’t even want to think about what that meant. And I didn’t have a chance, because Chantalette came strolling into the reception area. She wore skin-tight jeans and a faded pink T-shirt with a sparkly princess on it. I looked at her with utter loathing. She had no business horning in on my job. The best parts of my job, anyway.

  “Any calls for me?” she asked with an airy wave of her hand, her nose in the air.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Your real name called and wants to know who came up with something as lame as Chantalette.”

  “Ha ha. Jealous much?”

  Her smirk made me want to smack her. “Jealous of what? Ethan’s just using you to irritate me. He’s brilliant, that fucker.”

  Chantalette shrugged one casual shoulder. “Whatever. Works for me. And if he was just using me, why would he tell me to stop by whenever I’m in the neighborhood?”

  “The neighborhood of what? Horny and Skank?”

  Chantalette sneered. “You know, I don’t think you treat Ethan right.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re always popping off to him. A man like that oughta get some respect.” A reverent tone entered her voice. “Not a lot of men can fuck like that.”

  “I know that.”

  “You barely mentioned Ethan that morning. All you talked about was Simon. I figured…well, I figured you didn’t even want Ethan. You don’t care about him.”

  “I care. He’s Simon’s mentor, of course I care.”

  She shook her head. “If you don’t want him, let me at him. Simon’s hot and all, but Ethan…he’s special. And he needs someone. If not you, I’ll step up.”

  I wanted to tell her to take herself back to the nail salon, but she’d piqued my curiosity. “What makes you think he needs someone?”

  “I’m very intuitive. I might even be psychic.”

  I snorted. But Chantalette just gave a lazy, satisfied stretch and strolled to the door. “Ciao, girl. It’s been real.”

  I kept thinking about what she’d said. I’d always thought of Ethan as a kind of big dark shadow looming over the office. Or a dog that bites, the one you’re always watching with one eye. I hadn’t thought of him as someone who needed anything, except a kick in the pants.

  When he came out at lunchtime, I looked at him with new eyes. He had an aura of power around him that made it hard to look at him directly. Fit and compact, he had the body of an athlete, which is why I’d always seen him as invulnerable. But now, looking more closely, I thought about what athletes really do. They aren’t born knowing how to win races. They put themselves through training and hardship.

  Ethan had the air of someone who demanded the most of himself and who was willing to pay the price. I knew one of his knees ached sometimes. He had a long, raised welt, like a brand, on his back. Half of the fingernail on his thumb was missing. I had no idea what had caused these things.

  “What happened to your thumb?” I asked as he sorted through Simon’s mail. I’d been told to keep it in a pile until Simon got back. I usually put it on his desk at the end of the day.

  “My thumb?” He looked up with a frown.

  “Your thumbnail. It’s missing.”

  “Yeah. The rest of it’s in Afghanistan.”

  Now that was not the answer I was expecting. “Why there?”

  “That’s where I was.”

  Holy Mother of God, the man was impossible. “And your thumbnail liked it so much it decided to stay?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

  “Why don’t you answer? It seems like a simple question. Why is part of your thumbnail not attached to your body anymore?”

  “You want a simple answer, do you?” He tossed Simon’s mail back on the pile, keeping one envelope with him.

  “If possible.” With E
than, who knew?

  “Simple answer, then. I didn’t have a spoon.”

  What? I gaped after him as he loped to the door. For the first time, I noticed he had the slightest, teeniest of limps. “How’s your knee?”

  “You want to play doctor, is that it? Stretch me across an examining table and test my muscle response?”

  No fair. The leer he left me with was positively thigh-tingling. I sat back in my chair. How the hell had a question about a thumbnail veered into Afghanistan and spoons? And playing doctor? Now my mind buzzed with curiosity about Ethan Cowell. I didn’t dare nose around his office. I’d had a bad experience with that kind of thing when I first started my training. I didn’t bother with Google. I’d done a search for both my bosses early on and found nothing beyond surface information.

  But maybe I didn’t have to resort to espionage. On impulse I picked up the phone and dialed Simon’s cell. “Was Ethan really in Afghanistan?” I didn’t even give him a chance to say “hi”.

  “I’m in a meeting right now.”

  A meeting. Right. Work. I kept forgetting that part of my job. “Sorry. Call me later?”

  “I’m having dinner with the CEO later.”

  “Fine. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be sad, sweetheart. I have to go now.”

  “I miss you,” I whispered.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow. And the answer is yes. For two years. In a prison.”

  Way to end a phone call on a cliffhanger. Ethan was in an Afghanistan prison? Did he try to dig his way out with a spoon, except he didn’t have one? What the fuck? And how was I ever going to get to the bottom of this, since my access to British military records was bound to be non-existent.

  When Ethan came back from lunch, reeking of dirty martini, I took advantage of his drunken state.

  “Simon said you were a prisoner in Afghanistan. Is that what happened to your thumbnail?”

  “You talked to Simon? How is the lad?” Ethan might be buzzed, but he handled it well, crossing the room without a single stagger.

  “The lad’s—I mean, Simon’s fine. Lots of meetings and stuff.”

  “Packed schedule for the boy-o.”

  “He’s not a boy-o.” For some reason, I didn’t like hearing my Simon referred to like that.

  “Don’t get your panties in a huff. You are wearing panties, aren’t you?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d be curious to see how stained they are from this morning. I’m willing to bet you’re still wet. I thought about your pussy all during lunch. I kept picturing it with a diamond stud.”

  My face got hot. “Forget it. No piercings. I can’t handle it.”

  “It would be tough, I imagine, feeling something hard against your clit every time you sat down, or crossed your legs, or touched yourself.”

  I felt faint. I still had my Dr. Pepper from lunch, and I took a swig to steady myself.

  “That tattoo parlor where you go. They do piercings too, don’t they?”

  “No,” I lied. My determination to avoid piercings matched my need to stay away from hard drugs. I have what they call an addictive personality. I’ve got to choose my addictions carefully.

  “Sure they do. I took a trip over there after lunch and chatted with a gentleman named Bobby O.”

  “What?” Bobby O was my tattoo guru and former casual fuck-buddy. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Oh, just wanted to check out their selection. Tour their facilities. I found he does house calls. Or office calls, in our case. He brings his equipment with him. We could put you back on that conference table. Strip you down. Shave you. I asked Bobby O and he agreed that it’s easier if the pussy is bare. Of course he can do it either way, but I’d prefer to shave you again first. We could do it right then and there, while he watched. I’d hold your arms down and Simon would keep your legs spread. Bobby O would do the shaving. Something tells me he’s no stranger to your sweet pussy. I might even let him give you an orgasm first with his tongue. I didn’t discuss this with him, but it seems that some pre-op relaxation might be advisable.”

  Was Ethan Cowell literally the devil, a silver-tongued devil? He wielded that voice like a Samurai sword. I shifted in my chair, which made his eyes go glittery.

  “Of course we’d have to clean you off afterwards. You know how juicy you can get. I’d make sure we had washcloths and warm water on hand. And towels to pat you dry. Which would probably make you wet all over again, but we’d cross that bridge if we had to. When he was happy with how you’d been prepared, he’d get out his piercing needle. I’m told it takes only a second to perform the piercing, and the recovery time is relatively quick. Until you were entirely healed, of course we’d have to confine ourselves to your ass and your mouth. Not much of a hardship for the potential benefit. Would you mind putting your hands in your panties now?”

  Instantly, automatically, I obeyed. Not until my hand was snugged against my scalding sex did I realize he’d broken the rules. Except he hadn’t because he hadn’t told me to do anything. He’d asked if I “minded”.

  I snatched my hand from my snatch. “Yes, I mind.”

  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a dreamy smile softening his face. “Ah, the scent of aroused, sexually stymied female. You want it bad, don’t you?”

  What I wanted was to throw the nearest heavy item at him. The computer would do. Tempted, I eyed it.

  “If you toss me your panties, perhaps I’ll tell you about my thumbnail.” Now that was a tempting offer. But I resisted. If I gave into him now, I’d never have any leverage with him again.

  “Don’t forget, luv. All you have to do is ask.” With a wink, he disappeared through the door to the inner suite.

  It took me quite a while to chase away my shivers. Maybe it was the deep door-hinge raspiness of his voice, or that killer British accent, the man had a way with words, and those words had a way with me.

  About an hour later I got an email from Ethan. It contained the link to an old newspaper article from England, with the headline, “Prisoners of War Freed After Living Nightmare.” Ethan’s name appeared nowhere in it, which made sense because the prisoners of war were British undercover operatives. They’d been tortured and several had become addicted to heroin smuggled into prison. But they were considered heroes because they hadn’t given up any information, or at least any information that mattered. One detail stood out. A prisoner who’d been particularly cruelly treated. His thumbnail had been torn off during an interrogation. Later, he’d tried to use it to do heroin, like a spoon.

  Prisoner of war. Tortured. Drug addict. And yet, I’d never seen Ethan do drugs. He avoided anything stronger than a lunchtime martini. Maybe our addictive natures gave us something in common.

  I wasn’t sure what was more shocking, what Ethan had gone through, or the fact he’d chosen to share it with me. At any rate, when he left for the day, I offered him my very first from-my-heart, I’m-not-afraid-of-you smile. It seemed to surprise him. He stopped halfway across the room, gave me a scorching, lingering look that rocked me down to my bones, then left with a nod. And a limp.

  Maybe he didn’t need to hide his limp from me anymore.

  That night Simon called me after his dinner meeting.

  “Ethan was a prisoner of war?” I said, before he’d finished saying “hello”.

  “So he told you.”

  “Kind of.”

  “Yeah, he almost didn’t survive. They just about killed him over there. But that man is a force to be reckoned with. And then he kicked his heroin addiction. By himself. The man’s a tough mother-fucker.”

  Simon sounded tired. “How was your dinner?”

  He started to answer, but something else occurred to me. “He wants me to get a piercing. I don’t want one.”

  “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that.” Irritation buzzed across the phone line.

  “I know, but he made it sound pretty hot.”

  “H
e has a knack for that.”

  Enough about Ethan. “When are you coming back?”

  “Soon. Do you miss me? How are those sweet nipples of yours?” Simon tried to get some phone sex going, but as soon as I told him getting off was off-limits, he backed off. Now that I knew more about Ethan, I understood why. Ethan would always be the dominant one. The question was, how did I feel about that?

  It would be best if I kept my distance from Ethan Cowell until Simon returned. That way I could keep everything straight in my mind. Simon would finish his business trip, come home and we’d all go back to normal.

  Our normal fun and games, that is.

  Chapter Five

  But my unpredictable number one boss showed up in a new mood the next day. I’d never seen him light-hearted before. Now that I had an idea about his history, not a big surprise. But that’s exactly how he seemed when he breezed into the office. He wore casual clothes, blue jeans and a light blue open-collared shirt that made his eyes look like summer without the smog.

  “I’ve got no pesky clients today, luv,” he told me, without pausing by my desk to check my outfit, which he usually did. “I’d like you to order us a picnic lunch.”

  “Huh?”

  “Picnic. You have those in America, right? Or are they banned in the great state of New York?”

  “We have them, but you can’t even spread out a blanket without kicking aside a stray used needle or two.” As soon as I said it I remembered the heroin. “I…I’m sorry,” I stammered.

  But my thoughtless reference didn’t make him miss a beat. “A little local color will add to the experience, I’m sure. Handle the details and we’ll go around noon.”

  Did a picnic violate the terms of our deal? Ethan and I would be doing something outside of work, just the two of us, something intimate. Almost like a date. But he hadn’t suggested anything physical. It was lunch. We both had to eat, right? It seemed perfectly harmless.

  Since I was working from the company petty cash fund, I called up the neighborhood yuppie café where they served giant organic sandwiches. On my budget, I would have gone for a Subway footlong. But Ethan would no doubt demand something better.