From: [email protected]
You know, you're probably right. But I dunno. The thing is, I know he's not a bad person. As much as I want to poison his coffee sometimes, he still makes me laugh every damn day, and that's more than I can say for a lot of the guys I've dated.
From: [email protected]
I'll answer you properly later, I'm swamped at work. But I have to ask before I forget again: why "megatron?" And who would dare put you on a leash? ;)
From: [email protected]
Haha, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I've had this email forever. I guess I thought it sounded cool and sci-fi. As for the leash, I don't know, but I'd like to find out. You think there's a real-life Dirk out there somewhere for me?
SAVED DRAFTS: UNSENT
Account: [email protected]
Step into my office, Meghan. We need to have a talk about your productivity.
***
By Chapter Three, Dirk's got Amanda chained to a pole in the middle of the room. I don't remember the pole being there before, and I'm also not sure exactly why or how that's the thing I'm fixated on. He's clamped either end of a delicate little chain to her nipples, with the pole in the middle, so in theory she can move, but…
I've never had my nipples clamped. It sounds horrible. But Natalie - Mr. Risinger - just has this way of writing about things that makes them sound so goddamn hot. I used to love that about her (HIM!) but now it makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit.
I'm trying to skim the steamiest parts, but my body's betraying me anyway. It's like Na - Mr. Risinger has this direct line to my libido, and knows exactly what to say to rev my engine.
One bottle of wine down, and I'm actually laughing about it. How big would his ego get if he ever found out that he turns me on better than any of the guys who've actually touched me? He could work me into a frenzy from a million miles away, just with a few choice words.
Thank God for the wine. It's dulling my embarrassment just enough to appreciate how terribly, terribly funny this whole situation is.
I'm seriously considering calling in sick tomorrow, or possibly fleeing the country. But it's not like me to run from a crisis. I will retain my dignity in this situation, even if it kills me.
Amanda writhed on the floor, pressing her thighs together, her body instinctively seeking the stimulation it so desperately needed. How long would he leave her like this? Her head was swimming with arousal, and she could no longer be sure if she'd been here for seconds, or minutes, or hours.
I toss the manuscript down on the bed and storm into the bathroom. Switching on the shower, I let it run. Cold. Colder than cold. Arctic cold.
Then I jump in, pajamas and all.
I shriek as soon as the frigid water hits my skin. I'm hyperventilating instantly, and I jump back out again, splattering water all over the bathroom with my sopping clothes.
I'm finding it hard to believe this is a thing that anyone ever actually did. Maybe "take a cold shower" has always just been a euphemism. A euphemism for the one thing I am determined not to do right now, considering what I now know about Dirk and Amanda.
Of course I could try diverting my attention to something else and just getting it out of the way, hopefully clearing my head for the rest of my task. But I know that's not going to work. For one thing, when it comes to these books, my libido is a renewable resource. For another, I'm pretty sure I will never be able to have an orgasm again without thinking about Mr. Risinger.
That's it. I'm finished. I am officially a completely ruined human being with nothing left to live for.
Teeth chattering, I pick up the manuscript and start to read again.
***
"It's nine-oh-five, Ms. Burns."
Those are the first words Mr. Risinger says to me, when I walk into his office with a cup of coffee.
Bite me.
Even though I only think it, the insult instantly backfires in my mind, as I picture him sinking his teeth into my shoulder, scraping them along my neck, nibbling on my earlobe. God damn it, what happened to me? How have I managed to transfer all of those feelings about Mr. Risinger's books to the man himself, less than a day after learning the truth?
Of course he's incredibly sexy, if you can ignore the scowl, but the fact that he seems to have some kind of psychic connection to my ladyparts is no reason to go nuts.
"Nine. Oh. Five," he repeats, his lips forming carefully around each word. I stare at them, and I hope it looks like I'm paying attention. He missed a spot shaving this morning, and that's highly unusual for him. It's a distracting little strip of stubble along his jaw, creating the illusion of a shadow that makes his face a little more angular.
"Sorry, Mr. Risinger. My clock must be running slow," I mumble, setting his important mail down in front of him.
"That's all you've got? Really?" He takes a sip of his coffee, and makes a face. "No well-timed jabs? Are you running a fever?"
I sigh. "Is there something wrong with your coffee, Sir?"
He licks his lips, frowning. "Is this the Sumatran roast?"
This fucking guy and his fucking coffee. "Yes," I say, slowly, even though I know I can't be sure. I let one of the interns do the coffee order again, in a desperate bid to keep my sanity. The rinky-dink company that Mr. Risinger insists we patronize only takes them by fax, and their lines are usually tied up or completely down for hours at a time. I just can't afford to spend my day dealing with it, so I outsource whenever possible.
And then, this happens.
"This is not," he says, my mouth drawing into a thin line, "the Sumatran roast. Who put in the order?"
There's no winning in this situation.
"I did." I fold my arms across my chest. "They must have sent the wrong one."
"Right." He sets the mug down. "This isn't A Tale of Two Fucking Cities. Don't put yourself on the chopping block for some intern who will be gone in a month anyway. Why do you always lie?"
"I'm not lying. But even if I was, I think you know why." I can feel my heart start to beat faster, the adrenaline of confronting him twisting with something new and unfamiliar in my chest. "I know how to deal with you. Those poor kids still have some joy and hope left in their lives."