“Sorry, sir,” I squeak, putting my hands to his chest to steady myself.

  “You'll learn,” he repeats for what must be the thirtieth time this month. We've been following the rules for a couple of weeks and I still seem to forget rule number seven far too often for my poor behind's liking. “I'll make sure of that tonight.”

  I whimper involuntarily, pouting up at him and enjoying the rare phenomenon of being held in his arms.

  He smirks and I have to remind myself that I hate that smirk and ignore the fact that he looks so handsome. If I blush at that thought, I'm hoping it goes unnoticed because he drags me into a kiss.

  His kiss is what they always are; possessive, demanding, but most importantly, revealing. I can feel that he's stressed although I'd never know it from his relaxed demeanour. I can tell he's had a long day. I can tell that he needs me to submit to him tonight; that he needs a release from the tribulations of the world.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, sir?” I offer, well aware that if I stay in his good books, he's less likely to instigate rule ten for my transgression of the rules.

  He smirks like he knows exactly what I'm doing. He nods to the affirmative and I head straight for the kitchen cupboard. I'm less surprised than I should be that new packets of tea and coffee have appeared. No guessing is required as to who put them there.

  I raise an eyebrow at him across the kitchen as he leans casually against the breakfast bar. His invasions into my privacy will never cease to amaze me.

  “One of these days you're going to walk into this flat and see Xander and Steph all naked and sweaty,” I warn him, quickly adding a “sir” as an afterthought.

  “Nothing I haven't seen before,” he chuckles in amusement. He is so much more likeable when he smiles.

  “Gross,” I wrinkle my nose. “I've heard enough of them to know I don't need to see.

  “Xander has a hairy back,” he informs me.

  Chest hair I don't mind, but back hair is a little repulsive.

  “Has Steph asked him to wax it yet?” I laugh. “She used to make Kev wax his.”

  “I'd like to see her try,” E scoffs and I have to agree. Xander doesn't seem to be the type who could be made to do anything.

  “Speaking of Kevin,” Ian accepts the coffee I've made him. “What's the history there?”

  I frown. “Why?”

  “Answer the question, Olivia,” he assumes his usual expression of irritation at my failure to comply immediately and I barely resist rolling my eyes.

  I sigh. “We were neighbours as kids and went to school together.”

  “Nothing between you?” He probes further.

  “Are you jealous?” I tease.

  Clearly that was the wrong response because I quickly find myself spun around, bent over the island with my skirt around my waist.

  Since Ian didn't tell me what underwear I should have on today, I'm bare from the tips of my suspenders to my suspender belt. Being commando at work is something I'm never going to get used to, but when I text Ian this morning to ask if I could wear my grey lace undies, he didn't reply. Bastard probably did that on purpose.

  I clasp the cold surface of the work top as he quickly lands six forceful blows to my behind, the final one bringing tears to my eyes.

  “Answer the fucking question, Olivia,” he demands, no hint of compromise in his voice, but plenty of frustration.

  I repress a shiver and whisper “No, sir. Nothing between us.”

  He knows I hate it when he does that. Sometimes he spanks me softly and it's tantalising. That wasn't. It was painful and I was only messing around.

  “Why do you have to fight me at every turn, woman?” He pulls me back to standing and holds me against him.

  I stare intently at the, button of his shirt and mumble an apology with the accompanying “sir”.

  “And now you're shaking,” he sighs. “I hit you harder than I meant to.”

  Is that an apology? If it is, then it's an awful one.

  “I was only joking,” I defend, looking up at him through tearful eyes.

  “It wasn't the time or the place,” he soothes.

  “I have a personality, E. I'm not going to be a mindless robot submissive,” I try to reason with him because he needs to understand that because I'm not sure how much of that sort of behaviour I could take before I said “stop”.

  “Noted,” he nods his head curtly. “I'm starting to slowly like your personality.”

  “Wow,” I drawl. “I'm flattered, sir.”

  He laughs. “Are you okay?” He tilts my head up so he can look deep into my eyes and evaluate my emotional state.

  I nod slowly. “You're scary sometimes.”

  “I know,” he admits. “I'm okay with it, but you don't need to be scared. I know your limits.”

  I'm only moderately reassured because he seems to like pushing them. However, I do know that he will always check in with me and make sure I'm okay, which I appreciate.

  “How long were Kev and Steph together?” He continues his questioning now that I've stopped shaking.

  “On and off since they were fifteen,” I reply, anxious to avoid irritating him again.

  He nods contemplatively.

  “And how long have you known him?”

  “Since I was four or five,” I shrug. “Do I get to ask you questions too, sir?”

  “No,” he dismisses immediately.

  “Why not?” I demand with a pout.

  “Because you're the submissive,” he shrugs with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “This is a very one sided agreement,” I scowl.

  “Let's fix that,” he winks, lifting me up onto the work surface, the cool marble shocking to my bare flesh.

  My legs are quickly spread wide and held in place. I automatically lean back and clasp onto the edge of the surface behind me.

  As E buries his face between my thighs, I moan in ecstasy. His tongue is extremely adept in pinpointing the exact right spot and applying the maximum pressure I can tolerate.

  He withdraws as my hips start gyrating and gently nips at my inner thighs.

  “Is this still one-sided, Olivia?” He smirks, looking up at me.

  “Very much so, sir,” I reply breathlessly although I'm aware it's working in my favour at this moment.

  “Are you complaining?” He raises an eyebrow, his breath tickling regions which are far too charged not to be over-sensitive.

  “No, sir,” I almost-whine, desperate for him to recommence. I’m not so distracted by lust that I don’t catch his point. I’m fine with the agreement being one-sided if it works in my favour. I agreed to this; I can’t really complain.

  He smirks and plunges his tongue between my folds, thrusting it deep inside me and leaving me wishing it was his cock rather than his tongue.

  I moan, helplessly captivated by the desire for release, but I need permission. “Please, sir,” I plead as the intensity peaks.

  E being E, stops and pulls back with a smug smirk. “Whose pleasure comes first?”

  I whimper needily. “Yours, sir.”

  “On your knees then,” he instructs, the wicked gleam in his eyes telling me he knows just how much I hate this.

  “Yes, sir,” I slide on the floor with a full pout, but I don't hide how eager I am to please. I'm no submissive, but I am a woman and I enjoy hearing a man groan in pleasure because of me. I find it ironically empowering.

  “Hands behind your back,” Ian instructs, catching me off guard because I need my hands.

  The look in his eye tells me not to question him though and I dutifully cross my hands behind my back,

  “Mouth open. Tongue out.”

  I comply watching raptly as he frees himself from his trousers. Grasping my shoulders with his large hands, he guides himself into my mouth, slowly stroking his length against my waiting tongue.

  He doesn't go too fast or too deep and I have to force myself not to catapult onto him.

  He takes his time in working deeper, his concentrated growls of satisfaction rumbling down his torso.

  “All the way, Olivia,” he groans, pulling me forwards until the length of his cock is inside my mouth.

  He holds me there for a beat before letting me pull back. I don't choke, but I wouldn't be comfortable there for long because I can't pull oxygen in.

  He repeats the movement just as I hear Steph's door open and close, remembering too late that we're not alone.

  I quickly move my hands from my back and press against E's thighs, but he maintains his grip on my shoulders. I'd protest if it weren't for the rather large obstruction in my mouth.

  “Where's Olivia?” I hear Steph ask.

  I wiggle fruitlessly, but get nowhere. Thankfully, I'm sheltered from her view by the breakfast bar. For now at least.

  “She's around,” Ian answers as if he were fully dressed and not in a compromised position like a woman on her knees, cock in mouth, and skirt around waist.

  “Tell her I'm using the bathroom for the next two hours,” Steph sneers, not waiting for an answer before she slams the bathroom door behind her.

  E finally pulls me back and I gasp and splutter for air, glaring daggers at the evil bastard.

  “Did I say you could close your mouth?” He nods his head towards my pursed lips.

  I grit my teeth because I'm too pissed off that he just risked exposing me to my grumpy best friend.

  “Open it or I will open it for you,” he threatens.

  I scowl as I do as I'm told and he raises an amused eyebrow as he thrusts back into my mouth, holding my head in position as he fucks my face. He's less gentle now, but by no means violent.

  With rasping breaths, he pulls away from me – something which seems to require great control on his part. His cock throbs an angry red with the need to come.

  “Bend over the counter,” he instructs and I’m quick to obey because I need that glorious cock inside me pronto.

  There’s no need to be delicate as he lines himself up against me. We’re both well lubricated and he slides easily in to me, the walls of my pussy gripping him and urging him deeper.

  The cold work surface presses against my cheek, my knuckles grabbing the edge of the counter to stop myself from shunting forwards with every thrust.

  “You are mine, Olivia,” he reminds me with ragged breath. “Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply with what little oxygen I have left. “Yours.”

  “Good girl,” he slows his pace, gradually withdrawing.

  There is little I can do about the cry of need which escapes my throat. It’s a primal protest from a place of pure desire.

  “On your knees again,” the rasp of his voice sends a shiver down my spine and I obey with my eyes locked on his lustful expression.

  “Taste yourself on my cock,” he orders, pushing himself against my lips.

  In my haze of arousal, I don’t hesitate, and the taste of myself mixed with his musk is like nectar to me. Eagerly, I pump his shaft with my mouth, eager to taste all of him.

  With my hands free this time, I gently tease his balls, ensuring I pleasure him as thoroughly as possible.

  He grunts as his hips begin thrusting against my mouth. “Mouth open, tongue out.”

  I obey, returning my hands to their place behind my back as he takes over, his large hand wrapped around his length to bring himself to release inside my mouth, coating my tongue with his salty seed,

  “Swallow,” comes his growled command.

  It wasn’t needed, I was already drinking down his cum eagerly, my body tautly wound with the need to consume more of him.

  “Good girl,” he smirks. “Time for your reward.”

  He scoops me up, plants my butt on the counter, winking at me before he proceeds to bury his handsome face between my thighs.

  I’ve never been so well rewarded in my life.

  Chapter 23

  There are no words to describe the feeling in the pit of my stomach. I could talk about a dark emptiness, a heart-wrenching fear, or a gnawing bite of panic. None of these things accurately describe my emotional state.

  Mum isn't supposed to be ill. She's a superwoman, an Olympian, a fearless leader. She has always fixed the wrongs of the world and nursed me back to health and yet I stand here powerless to return the favour.

  My parents had known for weeks that mum had that awful disease; that scourge of humanity, that cruel twist of life. How is it that a human can look so healthy, but inside, they're being torn apart cell by cell? I spent the whole weekend just staring at her, trying to see something other than my flawless heroine. I needed to see some imperfection, something to hint at the fact that she was slowly dying.

  Nothing could be done. That's what the doctors had said. There was nothing. How can they say that? There has to be something. She's not a statistic, fact, or figure. She's a mother, a wife, a friend. She would one day have been a grandmother.

  At this thought, I dash from my desk to the bathroom because I'm going to cry. I haven't cried since I found out because Mum didn't cry. It feels somehow selfish that she's the one who's about to lose her life and I'm the one crying about it.

  I'm not about to shed tears in front of the office apes so the women's bathrooms will have to do.

  When my parents told me, I couldn't help hoping it was some sort of sick joke. They seemed so calm and at peace.

  “I've watched my children grow into beautiful adults, Olivia,” she told me softly as she held me in her arms. “I've been luckier than many.”

  I tried not to look at my Dad because seeing the pain in his eyes made everything so much worse. He's trying to be strong for Mum, but he'll be the one left behind to deal with the pain.

  I know death is part of life, but life is supposed to be long. They're supposed to live until they're ninety and buy a little cottage on the beach with sea shells on the walls. They're supposed to grow old together and watch our family grow and multiply.

  There are so many evil people in the world; cheats, liars, rapists, and murderers. If there is a God, why would she take my Mum? What harm has she ever done?

  “Olivia,” Tamara knocks gently. “Are you okay, chick?” She hovers nervously by the door, wringing her fingers.

  I haven't made it as far as the stall, instead I'm slumped in a heap on the floor, crying hysterically into a wad of scratchy tissues. I shake my head through my sobs.

  Tamara is by my side in the blink of an eyes; she has pulled me into her lap and gently strokes my back. She doesn't know what's wrong, but she knows I need somebody and she's there for me.

  “Mum has cancer,” I blubber as soon as I'm able. “She has six months left.”

  “Oh, Olivia,” Tamara gasps, pulling me into a tighter embrace.

  “What are you supposed to do without a Mum?” I sniffle, wiping my tears away as best I can.

  She doesn't answer, but she continues holding me for at least ten minutes, comforting me in exactly the way I need.

  “I'm sorry,” I apologise tearfully when my breathing becomes gradually more controlled. “I lost it there for a while.”

  “It's okay, Olivia,” Tamara reassures me. “I can't imagine what you're going through, but I'm here if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” I hug her gratefully.

  “Do you want to go home?” She asks as we rise to standing.

  I shake my head. “I think I'd be better keeping busy.”

  “Okay,” she smiles in understanding. “Let's get you cleaned up so the ball brigade don't ask questions.”

  I risk a glance to the mirror to see my puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. I definitely need sorting out.

  “I don't know what I would have done without Kev this weekend,” I sigh as she applies copious amounts of concealer under my eyes. Normally I wouldn't wear this much make-up, but I need a truck load to make my face look normal today.

  “He came with you?” She asks.

  I nod. “He only came up to see my Mum,” I smile sadly. “He's always loved her. He never really got on with his own Mum and spent most of his childhood at my house.”

  “He must be gutted too,” she purses her lips in empathy.

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “But he was the only thing keeping me together over the weekend. I've hugged him so much I wouldn't be surprised if he had bruises.”

  “I'm glad you had a friend with you,” she squeezes my hand before returning to fixing my face.

  “Would you come with me one weekend?” I ask her hesitantly.

  “To meet your Mum?” Her eyes widen slightly.

  I nod. “Mum worries about me,” I smile sadly because I guess all mums worry about their children. “She doesn't really get on with Steph and she'd like you. She thinks I don't choose good friends.” Normally I'd roll my eyes at this, but, considering everything that's happening, it makes me want to cry instead,

  “I'd love to meet her,” Tamara smiles, putting down her make-up and hugging me gently. “Just let me know when.”

  I have to force myself to go back to my desk for fear of judgmental eyes, but they guys don't seem to have even noticed we weren't there because they've put the football highlights on the screen we're meant to be using for presentations. I would never have allowed that as team leader.

  I wanted to keep myself busy by staying at work, but that just proves I should be careful what I wish for. I discovered an error in the spreadsheets we use for generating statistics. These statistics are used to demonstrate how profitable a specific marketing or research case has been.

  The stats were showing that some of our endeavours had been vastly more successful than the reality would indicate. It took me four hours to amend and reprocess. I tried to take it to my manager, Perkins, but he was too busy playing trash can basketball with the rest of the team. God forbid any of them do any actual work.

  Tamara keeps me supplied with a steady stream of tea. She seems to sense my need to remain silent and keep my head down, and I appreciate her understanding. We walk to the tube in relative silence. I'm so emotionally and physically exhausted that I almost lean on a stranger just for support.

  “Do you want to stop for coffee before you go home?” She offers, slowing her pace as we near the coffee shop.

  “Not tonight, sorry,” I apologise.

 

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