She sat in the chair in front of Jakob’s desk. He hoped she felt small in the chair which dwarfed her. Without saying a word, he watched as she shifted uneasily under his steady look.
“You look nervous, Fae.”
“Nah, just wonderin’ why I’m here. Maybe you’re lookin’ for a new girl?”
The last was spoken with a hint of coyness, accompanied, by a slow eyed wink.
“Actually, you’re here because I watched your little show on my security camera’s footage last night. I sat here and scrolled through quite a scene. And not one that Nettle’s is proud about playing a part in.”
“What? Scene? Show?”
She looked genuinely puzzled for a moment, until he began to clarify.
“The show where you teased one of my employee’s about her position here. The scene where you demanded that she take care of pee in the upstairs bathroom? Pee, incidentally, that you left for her, as you were the last person in there.”
There was a sharp in-drawn breath and she leaned forward in her seat, but his raised hand forestalled her words. She was too well trained to ignore a direction order by a Dom.
“You did piss on the floor. I can easily do a DNA swab, you know. But there isn’t a need for that. Do you know why?”
He paused a moment, holding her now-fearful gaze with his steely eyed stare. More than one slut’s eyes had fallen before that look. He could see that she was holding her breath.
“Will you confess then?”
He paused, giving her one more moment to ‘fess up. One moment of leniency. Her gaze fell to her lap, but her mouth remained stubbornly silent.
“Very well then. I know it was you because there is a cam in the bathrooms. Look, slut. Look for yourself.”
He turned the computer monitor so that she could see it. The cam showed the inside of the bathroom. In moments, it also very clearly showed her entering the room, peering around a moment, before entering the middle stall. For a moment, there was nothing, then her toes came into view, splayed wide apart, until the stall door swung open. She stood there–or rather, half-squatted there for a moment, her short skirt pulled up. A thin stream ran from between her legs to land on the floor. She gasped as she watched herself, her face turning an ugly shade of deep red.
“You know, I thought it was a waste of money, putting those cams around the club. But, my lawyer suggested it, actually, to avoid lawsuits. This way I can be sure what’s going on upstairs. Surprised the fuck out of me that I’d actually need it after all this time. And I sat here last night reviewing my tapes, trying to find out who set up Kitten. And there you were, pissing your way out of the stall.”
She fell back in her seat, her face blotched. Tears were starting to run the thick liner around her eyes.
“And then you sought out my staff. Specifically, Kitten. Why? And how much did he pay you?”
She shook her head.
“No no no no…he didn’t pay me. Just asked for a favor. I thought he w-was just gonna make her suck him off, or feel her up or something.”
“Geezuz you’re not that stupid. You know what the 2nd floor is about, slut.”
“I swear…Sir Malcolm just asked me for a favor. I didn’t know…” her voice slid into a whine, which grated on his nerves. He held up his hand to silence her again.
“Consider yourself lucky that Kitten did not choose to get the police involved. She was encouraged by me to do just that, but she preferred that I handle this internally. If I hadn’t then you could be charged with accessory to rape. Instead, you’re out of here. For two full months.”
“But…but…” she sputtered, her mouth opening and closing almost comically. His stern face never wavered.
“Two months. Not a day sooner or it will be permanent banishment. Find another dom, another club, I don’t care. But I won’t hold with that sort of maliciousness in my own fucking club.”
She rose quickly. For a moment he thought she’d try offering him a blowjob, a free fuck, or some other equally annoying thing. Instead, she stormed across the room and whipped open the door.
She threw one last fulminating glare over her shoulder, and slammed the door behind her. He watched on the cam to make sure that she left the club, was pleasantly surprised when she did. Just enough of a submissive to do as she was told. Unfortunately, that meant by any one in authority where ever she was at that moment.
He rose from his desk and went to check inventory. He needed to clear his fucking head, and counting bottles–with a glass of scotch in hand–was the best solution.
They argued in the kitchen. It continued through breakfast, and into dishwashing. Lifting one soapy finger, she stabbed it into his chest.
“Fine. So you slept on my couch. Fine. So you got me into bed and didn’t do anything. Fine. So you drove me home.”
“I think your timing is a bit ass-backwards there..” he interjected, deeply amused at the finger that was creating a big wet spot between his pec’s.
“Fuck that!” She turned her back on him, intent on finishing their dishes. Always best to clean oatmeal pans and dishes promptly–removing it was next to impossible later. She scrubbed and then whirled again. It was like the thoughts circling in her head were in a whirlpool that occasionally disgorged from her lips.
“And okay, so FINE, you “rescued” me.” She mimed air quotes, her brows furrowed, her face dangerous in her outraged pique. Soap dripped from her fingers, to splat unnoticed between their feet. They were nearly toe to toe, though he towered over her. He was glad that she wasn’t cowed by yesterday’s experience. And a bit exasperated by that, too.
She slapped both hands on his chest and pushed back. Ten wet marks soaked through his cotton shirt, the heat and wetness sending an arrow of lust right to his cock. Damned if the woman didn’t get to him, big time.
“I’m not some helpless female”, she uttered between clenched teeth. “I can rescue myself. And I’m going to work today. Just like I did yesterday. And like I will tomorrow.”
He had no recourse, he decided. There was just one way to stop this woman from raging at him. The wet spots on his shirt were cool at the edges where the moisture had spread, and hot where her fingers pressed him back, back.
He took a step forward, cupping her head with his hands, and kissed her hard. Her mouth opened, to yell at him more, he was sure. His tongue slid inside, caressing the hot velvet space. She didn’t resist, but her fingers tightened against his chest. He bent further, arching her back as his mouth began to explore hers. What had been started in annoyance ended in heat. She got to him. Lips mated, teeth nipped, tongues swirled. He wasn’t sure which of them moaned first, but his cock rose at the sound, pressing painfully against the restricting zipper of his jeans.
His hands itched to reach for her tits, to caress and weigh them, but he held onto his sanity, though his screaming penis begged him to forget it, and just take her. He was a dom, she was willing…
But she wasn’t a slut, not like one of the girls from his world, anxious for his company and his physical attributes. He didn’t ‘take’, and she wasn’t offering.
He broke the kiss, stepping away. Her eyes were deeply blue, her lips pinkened by his.
She began, then licked her bottom lip which felt dry as dust now.
She shook her head, feeling remarkably like she had last night, drunk on a few sips of very nice whiskey. But people didn’t get drunk on kisses except in romance novels. Which was stupid, when you thought of it. She thought of the stash of just those sort of novels in the under-bed storage box. But that didn’t mean she believed in that stuff in real life.
“Go. I have dishes to finish before work and YOU have to drive me.”
“Nice duck and cover, kitten.”
He flicked a finger down her cheek, making her try to nip it, which made him chuckle. She had no idea what he was doing to her. But he sure as hell gave good kiss. Wicked kiss, really. She turned back to the dishes with a perplexed smile. And a racing heart.