Hidden Love by MINK

9

Liam

Professionalism. That is what my company is built on. There’s a reason I’m on every up-and-coming CEO list there is. I’m young but not impulsive, bold but not brash. Above all, I’m a consummate professional. I must maintain those standards.

Which is why I redden my sunshine’s ass with several hard strokes of my palm. She moans, her low keening cry a demand. One I must meet. So I give her more discipline, punishing her for the cat, the skirt, and most of all--for intentionally leaving her panties at home.

When she’s panting and her ass is the color of a ripe peach, I drop to my knees and kiss her sore spots, running my tongue along her silky flesh. After all, I’m not without mercy. It’s imperative that I treat my employees with respect even when I discipline them.

Moving lower, I grip her legs and spread them farther apart. Getting a view of the sweet pink skin between her legs sets off a hunger in me that far surpasses anything I’ve ever felt for my $400 steak.

Perhaps now is the time to demonstrate that, as a professional, I value my sunshine’s work. When I see her wetness, I know I’m right, so I delve my tongue along her trembling lips, tasting her cunt and groaning at the flavor.

She jerks and knocks my fountain pen off my desk.

I don’t care. I grip her thighs and bury my face in her ass, my tongue greedily taking everything she has to offer as she pants and squirms. But she isn’t escaping me. Not when I’m showing her employee appreciation time. My tongue darts into her tight hole, and I spread my lips wider, tasting and feeling every bit of her wet pussy.

Pulling back, I tongue her perfect little asshole, and she squeaks.

“Mr. Baxter!” She turns and looks at me, her eyes wide.

I tongue her again, her thighs shuddering as I bring one hand to her wet slit and press two fingers inside her. She jerks, her body tightening around me as I pull my fingers out and stroke her clit while I lick her, my tongue wild on her lips and ass.

Her hips shake, her body seizing, and she comes with a moan that goes straight to my cock. I press my fingers inside her, feeling how hard it hits her. Fuck. I need to be inside her to give her full punishment. Fucking her roughly, the way she deserves, is the only true way to correct my sunshine and let her know that she’s an important part of my team.

I rise to my feet and survey her red ass. This will have to do for now. Even though my cock aches, I can’t rush this. A good, seasoned employee takes time. Running my hands up her hips, I grab the hem of her skirt and pull it down.

Leaning over her, I pull her upright and press my cock against her ass. “Only the very naughtiest of employees get this, sunshine. I’ve never been pushed to give it to anyone before, but you are testing me.”

“Mmm.” She moves her hips, her ass rubbing against me until I grip her hard to stop her.

“Be a good employee, and you won’t have to worry about it.” I lean close to her neck, the need to run my tongue along her and mark her as mine almost overwhelming. But this is business. She’s new here. I must give her time to learn the proper way to be my assistant. It doesn’t matter what she makes me feel or how I can’t seem to stop thinking about her; she’s only here for one reason. Her father’s downfall.

With that sobering thought, I release her and back away. “The gala is an upper crust event, and you should dress accordingly.” I walk around my desk and manage to sit despite my erection demanding I do something about it. “There’s a company credit card in your desk. Middle drawer. Use it to buy the proper attire.”

Her tongue darts out again, wetting her bottom lip. I want to feel it against me, the softness of it, the heat.

“But it’s not a date?” she asks, her eyes hopeful.

“It’s professional.” I hate the way her face falls, my words dimming her shine. “But if you prefer to think of it as a date, you may.”

Her face lights up, and my sunshine is back. “A date.”

Why does that warm me? It’s not the superficial feeling of heat, the spark of lust I feel when I’m forced to discipline her, but something deeper. I don’t even recognize it, but I want more of it, and it seems I can only get it from her. From her smile. From her shine.

I turn to my lunch and wave a hand at her. “Eat, sunshine. Mr. Knight will be here soon to discuss my acquisition of a couple of his South American mines.”

“Yes, Mr. Baxter.” She sits and enjoys her desserts as I chew my already-cut steak.

“Why did you learn French?” I like the way she’s made neat cuts, portioning the slices the way I do it myself.

She shrugs, the color still high in her cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

“Why?”

“It just seems amazing. I’ve read so many guidebooks and thought about going for years.”

“Why not go?” I have the urge to hand feed her, but I ignore it.

“Money.”

“But your father is--” I pause. “I mean, I’ve heard your father is a man of means.”

“He is.” She drops her gaze. “But he left my mom and me when I was little, and there was no prenup. So she got nothing, he took everything, and we had to make do.”

“You had to go without?” I spear a piece of steak a bit too violently, the tray scooting across my desk.

“Not too much. Mom worked. She was raised to marry a rich man and never have a job, but when he left her, she never wanted to marry again. She started a pet grooming service, and she still does it. I help sometimes when I go visit on the weekends.”

“Cat grooming?” I didn’t even realize that existed.

“Mostly dogs.” She licks the icing from one of her small cupcakes. “But sometimes there are cats. I prefer them because they can be so prickly.”

“You like prickly?”

She looks up, her mouth turning up in a small smile. “The prickliest things need the most love, I find.”

I take a large drink of water. “And now you have a grumpy cat. So you’ve found the prickliest thing on earth to take care of.”

Her smile grows, brightening everything in the room. “One of the prickliest things on earth, yes.”

That feeling rises inside me again, the one that’s akin to heartburn.

“What about you? Do you have any pets?”

“No.”

“Are you close with your parents?” She tries a chocolate mousse.

“My mom and I still talk, but my father’s dead.”

“Oh.” Her face falls. “I’m sorry.”

I sigh. “It was a while back, but that feeling never goes away. Or maybe, I guess it needs more time . . .”

She reaches across my desk and takes my hand. “I’m sorry.”

The employee handbook likely frowns on this sort of familiarity, but I let it go. Maybe because I like the feel of her warm skin against mine. Maybe because I’m turning out to be a bit of a rebel when it comes to my own rules.

“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand then return it so she can finish her lunch. “In any case, I put myself through school and became the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company, so all’s well that ends well.”

“Are you happy?” She nibbles a cherry.

I chew my steak and think about her question. Happy. That’s not something I’ve ever endeavored to be. Wealthy? Yes. Successful? Yes. Envied? Yes. But happy has never entered the equation. Not until … I look her in the eye.

“The lunch hour is over.” I lay my silverware down and push the tray to her, then turn to my computer screen.

“Okay.” She gives me a secret smile, one that I’ve never seen her give anyone else.

After stacking the trays, she turns, and I look up, taking in her peppy little strut to my door. When she opens it, Mr. Grumpy Pants is there giving me a rude stare, then he turns, his tail in the air, and trots away.