You're Late, Doll

Special thanks to Stark_69 for editing this story!

***

As she watched the numbers on the display lighting up, indicating the steadily climbing elevator, she felt the nervosity growing with each passing second. Like a balloon, it swelled, until it took up all space in her, the pressure uncomfortable and threatening to pop any minute.

Two businessmen stood in front of her, chatting away pleasantly, but even she couldn't concentrate on any of the words they said. It was as if she were underwater, all sounds other than the rapid beating of her heart and her shallow breaths were muffled by the pressure surrounding her.

Try as she might, she just couldn't stop worrying, and tapped her foot impatiently. She closed her eyes, and willed herself to travel one hour in the future, when she would be back home, happily finishing whatever task she'd abruptly abandoned upon noticing the time. She had completely forgotten the time, only to see that it was an hour later than the time she'd promised him to be at the office, and had then been stuck in traffic for another hour trying to rush here.

Holding her breath, she counted to three before opening her eyes. Of course, all that greeted her was the sleek, wooden interior of the elevator.

Feeling foolish, she mentally reprimanded herself. She got herself into this by not setting an alarm, and no amount of wishful thinking would get her out of this.

She glanced at the watch strapped to her wrist and cursed under her breath. She was almost two hours late by now; well over his lunch break.

She wondered whether he was extremely angry with her. After all, tardiness was one thing he loathed, and this wasn't even the first time she was late.

She cringed as she recalled the time she'd fallen asleep and had arrived half an hour later than agreed, two years ago. He'd been mildly irritated then, but had been understanding since she had just come down from a grim bout of the flu. She didn't imagine telling him that she'd lost track of time due to her painting her nails would go over well.

Gripping the lunch bag tighter, she glanced at the two men. She wondered if they ever felt as anxious as she did at that moment, whenever attending an important meeting. She grimaced. She could hardly compare the two situations. For one, they had nothing to worry about, except for not pulling off a convincing performance, whereas she knew she was already in trouble.

The elevator continued ascending.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, glanced at her watch yet again, but then refrained when she noticed the ticking of the second pointer was doing nothing but heightening her nerves. Finally, she smoothed out the skirt she'd haphazardly thrown on while rushing out the door. Dismayed, she noticed that the length was a bit too short for comfort.

She started tugging at the hem, but it only caused her to lose grip on the folder clenched under her arm. Mortified, she watched as it clattered onto the floor, and blushed furiously when the conversation between the two men stopped abruptly. She made a grab for it, and avoided eye contact with anyone, and the men resumed their conversation. Still embarrassed, she stared at the floor until the elevator slid to a halt.

The bell dinged, and the doors smoothly glided open. The remaining two men stepped out. When the doors slid back in place, shutting out their voices, she realised that she was all alone. The silence that now surrounded her, jostling her like a mass crowd, was deafening.

Shivering, she watched as the numbers rose. She felt like a gladiator being released into the colosseum, about to face a bear or a tiger. Just that the only weapons she donned were the flimsy, plastic folder and the lunch bag that was slowly growing slick from the sweat gathering in her palms. She sighed. Far from the lethal weapons she'd need to defend herself with.

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Ding!

The opening doors gave way to a tastefully designed reception area. On the left, the wall was made of glass. The afternoon sun sat high in the sky, casting a golden glow on both the room, and the bustling city 42 storeys down below.

Inhaling deeply, she stepped out and nodded at the young, pretty girl behind the reception. She smiled back at her, but it did nothing to soothe the fluttering in her stomach. Placing one foot ahead of the other, she steadily walked past the reception and down a dimly lit hallway, a stark change in looks and atmosphere from the sunny reception area. At the end of it, was a heavy, mahogany door. This was it.

She stopped just outside and stared at the almost black panels indecisively for a moment. She'd probably get away with it if she just handed the things to the receptionist and told her to pass them on to him, and she was tempted to just turn around and do just that.

But that would mean risking him being even more irritated later on.

She wanted to scream. If only she'd remembered to set the damn alarm!

Taking a deep breath in, she raised her knuckles and knocked gently at the door. Knowing that she wouldn't get an answer, and even if she did, she wouldn't hear it, she waited a few seconds before pushing the door open and stepping in.

She saw the desk first. The huge, imposing desk she personally theorised was made to intimidate anyone sitting across from him. And evidently, she thought, shivering, it worked.

Behind it, he sat, tall and confident. Slightly gazing down at him as he comfortably sat in his plush leather chair, she felt as if she'd just walked into the lion's den.

Despite her being taller than average, and the fact that he was sat, she still felt so small. It wasn't just the matter of difference in height, it was his presence in general; Simply gazing at him was intimidating.

He was just like a mountain, oozing cool confidence and indifference. She felt as if her knees were about to give way just by being in his proximity.

Stepping further into the room, she closed the door behind her. She gulped. Despite the receptionist sitting not even 10 metres down the hall, she knew firsthand that no sounds could breach the heavy walls of his office. If she screamed, nobody would hear her.

She was fully on her own now.

A chill full of dark pleasure raced through her, but she shook it off and tentatively stepped towards him.

Eyes cast downwards, he paid her no mind as he continued typing away on his computer.

She ran a gaze down the length of his body. The pristine white shirt did nothing but enunciate his lean, but defined, muscled arms, and she watched them flex while typing. She guessed he'd laid his black jacket on the couch in the corner of the room, like he always did whenever he was working. The navy tie he wore drew her eyes lower, but the heavy desk obscured the tipped end of it.

Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips to wetten them. Raising her eyes, she quietly observed his concentrated face. His dark brown hair was immaculately styled, as per usual. A single lock had escaped, and she resisted the overwhelming urge to cross the room and run a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more.

She gulped. How could someone so intimidating still look stupidly attractive?

Not sure on whether or not she should say something, she awkwardly continued standing in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for him to address her.

She finally opened her mouth to say something, but abstained when the telephone rang. He picked up, barked out a few blunt commands into the receiver before hanging up.

Gripped by a new wave of nervosity, she opted to stay silent. He didn't seem to be in a particular good mood, and she didn't want to ruin it any further.

Slowly, her mind drifted to other things. It was a while before he cleared his throat, snapping her out of her daze. Fixing her posture to stand up straight, she finally noticed the ache in her legs from standing in place for too long.

Raising her eyes, she started when she met his dark gaze. He was staring intensely at her, seeming to drink up her appearance. He reminded her of a wolf sizing up his prey before pouncing, going for the kill.

Her throat went dry. Still, she never broke eye contact, steadily matching his intrusive stare. For a while, neither one said anything, just watched the other in silence.

Defiantly, she cocked her head, feigning confidence she most definitely did not possess in that moment. For a second, she could've sworn that the corners of his lips turned up at this, but then he refocused his gaze on his computer and began typing anew.

Another chill ran through her, stopping at her core. Did he see through her bluff? He always seemed to be able to, anyway. Had he been mocking her with his almost-smirk? He could've been. It was too brief, a fleeting moment she didn't have enough time to judge.

The silence stretched between them, heightening each and every one of her senses. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a possible way to get out of this, to stop her legs from shaking like leaves on a branch during a harsh storm.

"You're late."

Two words, spoken in a completely apathetic tone, as if he couldn't care less about her delay. And yet, it did nothing to tamper down her fight or flight senses. She knew better than to trust his lies. Her mind was working in complete overtime now, trying to form an appropriate response that would not anger him. For she knew that, despite the indifferent appearance, he was boiling under his skin, that he would utilise his every opportunity to make her tremble in turn for riling him up.

"I know. I'm sorry." Her heart dropped. Her voice was shaky, betraying her feigned confidence. She knew that he would revel in it, would even pride himself in being able to inflict fear in her, even after all this time.

He didn't glance up from his typing while talking to her. Probably better. She was already wracked with perturbation, and trying to maintain eye contact with him would reduce her to nothing more than a stuttering mess, so she looked down at the floor ashamedly.

She heard him sigh, then the sound of the wheels of his chair rolling back on the carpeted floor.

"Come here." Wanting to instead bolt out the door and rush back into the safety of her car, she obliged. Eyes still firmly fixed to the ground, she shuffled around the desk, till she was standing between his spread thighs. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, wishing she had something more modest on.

"Eyes up here." She shivered at his commanding tone, and slowly raised her gaze. She let it drift fearfully up his form, starting at the tent in his black trousers. Blushing, she stared at it, not able to press down her own wave of desire rushing out, almost making her keel over from the sheer force of it.

Almost.

"Look at me", he repeated with a firm voice.

Breathing in deeply to regain some sort of calm and not to throw herself down at his feet, she lifted her gaze. She peered, awe-struck, into his onyx coloured eyes, which were fixed on her own, watching her intently.

He was utterly beautiful. The strong bridge of his nose, the furrow of his brows. He looked like a sculpture Michaelangelo had been commissioned to create; a statue that belonged in the Accademia Gallery in Florence. What was he doing here in this office, writing emails and attending emails, when he should've been the artwork everybody admired, illuminated by golden sunlight on his very own marble pedestal?

He raised his hands to place them on her hips, drawing her in even closer.

"What did you bring?"

His husky voice sent yet another shiver to her core, and she struggled to form a coherent thought at his proximity.

"I- uh, what?"

Nodding to the lunch bag she still clutched like a lifeline, he smirked devilishly. "What did you make me today, pet?"

She opened her lips, noting that her mouth had gone dry. "Just spare ribs with some mashed potatoes I made this morning."

Her voice sounded hoarse. God, as if she hadn't been obvious enough.

She licked her lips. His gaze flicked to them, and he lifted one hand to cup her chin gently. Languidly brushing his thumb across her lips, something dark flashed in his eyes. Desire pooled in her stomach, and she felt her core becoming wetter and wetter each second.

Wet and needy.

For him.

Damn.

His eyes were hooded with a hungry look as he licked his lips.

"Mmm, sounds delicious."

His voice sounded deeper, huskier. So gravelly and rich. She wanted to bathe in it, let it caress and wash over her for all of eternity. But she knew that comfort was something she wouldn't ever receive whenever she found herself in his presence. How could she, when the air between them crackled perpetually with a sort of electricity she couldn't seem to ignore?

Volatile and dangerous, a warning to her to never turn her back on him, to always be on her guard.

And those warnings rang true, when just a second later, his thumb dug into her lip, pressing hard.

"Too bad that lunch has been over for well over an hour now."

Her eyes widened, and in her haste to grip his wrist, she dropped the folder and the lunch bag. The papers in the folder sprung loose, fluttering to the ground, and landing in an array of chaos around their feet.

He paid them no mind.

While she tried to yank his hard grip off on her chin and lips, the hand that had previously rested on her hip tightened, before he moved it to her neck. Encircling her throat, he pressed his fingers into the delicate skin.

Fear gripped her like she'd never felt before. Every single one of the warning bells in her brain were blaring at her to get away, to fucking run, but she couldn't. As much as she struggled, she couldn't seem to loosen his grip on her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she rasped. "I wasn't paying attention to the time, please, I-"

"I was sitting here for an hour, waiting." He shook his head in mock disapproval, and yet, she could so clearly see the menacing heat in his eyes that told her that he wasn't actually joking. He was fucking pissed. The fact that she could so clearly recognise that look made her shake even harder in his grasp.

"Waiting for you to turn up with not only my lunch, but with the urgent documents I needed for the meeting that concluded half an hour ago."

She gulped, and he traced the movement with his eyes. Using his thumb, he stroked the pulse beating erratically.

"I'm sorry," she tried again with a soft voice. He showed no reaction, other than his thumb stopping to press harder into her skin.

"Have you eaten? Are you still hungry?" she asked instead. His eyes were still fixed onto her pulsepoint for a few more seconds, but then he lifted his gaze to pin her with a husky stare.

"No, I'm starving. But not for steak and goddamned mashed potatoes," he circled his hand behind her neck and yanked her face towards his, so that his mouth was just a breadth away from her ear.

"And besides, I think my little toy needs some punishment, since she obviously hasn't yet learned from her mistakes from the last time. What do you think, hmm?"

She shook her head frantically and pushed against him, gaining a little more space between them. Desperate to grab onto that last shred of sympathy in him before he morphed into the cold creature she'd had the displeasure of encountering a few times too many in the past, she dropped to her knees and brought her hands together.

"No, please, I didn't mean it, I've learnt from last time, please, don't do this, I just wasn't paying attention to how late it was getting, pl-," she should've known that her words wouldn't have any effect on him whatsoever, if not by experience. Still, she rambled on, knowing deep down that it wouldn't change anything. She had to try, though, even though his sadistic smirk grew with each plea, while her hope dwindled.

"Doll."

The low growl shut her up instantly. "Did you do something wrong, yes or no?" Ashamed, she tried averting her gaze, but his hand, still placed on the back of her neck, held her head still, preventing her escaping his stare.

"Yes," she whispered after a couple of seconds.

"And what happens when you misbehave?"

"I get punished."

"Exactly. Now, is it the first time you've heard of my rules? Did you not know beforehand what would happen should you break them?"

She stared at him, silently pleading for him to let this go, to let her go. But of course he wouldn't. In his eyes, he was only doing what was fair, punishing her for something she was specifically told multiple times before not to do. And for that, she could only blame herself. As much as she didn't want to admit it, it was true; she messed up. So, she shook her head. Well, she shook it as best as she could since he still had her neck firmly in his grasp. Raising one eyebrow, his grip tightened.

"I need words, doll, not a mere shake."

She shivered, but grit her teeth and bit out an answer. "No, I already knew about them. It's my fault, I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

He regarded her for a few beats, before releasing her. Hesitantly, she stood up.

"Good. Now strip."

"What?"

He cocked his head.

"What, you didn't actually think that an apology would get you out of this, did you?" She shivered at the amused tone, but didn't respond. When he saw that she was making no moves to obey his order, his lips tightened.

"Don't make me say it twice."

Apprehensively, she raised her hands to the blouse, but halted before fingering open the buttons. A flash of rage flashed in his eyes, and before he could say anything else, she hurried in unbuttoning her shirt. She let it drop to the ground. He nodded at her to continue, eyes still firmly fixed on hers. The lacy bra came next, and to her dismay, her nipples were puckered and hard.

Suddenly feeling shy, she brought her hands up to cover her breasts, and bashfully averted her gaze. She could still feel his white hot stare on the side of her head, and belatedly, she remembered his words.

Lifting her face, words of a desperate apology right about to spill from her lips, she realised her mistake the second he shot out of his chair.

He towered over her.

Her heart dropped down to her stomach, but before she could back away, he already held her throat firmly in his big hand. Locked in her position, she gazed up in fear. His hard eyes bore back into hers.

His grip tightened, and he pushed her down by her throat. Her knees buckled, and she went down. Landing on her knees at his feet, she looked up at him, eyes wide and full of anxiety.

His one hand still firmly encircled her neck, while he brought his other hand up to stroke her silky locks.

The juxtaposition of the two ways his hands handled her only made her heart thump harder against her ribs.

With an almost serene expression, he gazed at her. The only thing betraying his fury was the ever-present glint in his eyes.

He leaned down, invading her personal space. Mind unravelling from fright, she shrank back. His expression suddenly revealed his true emotions, his mask of calm evaporating. The grip around her neck tightened, and she whimpered when she felt his hand in her hair clenching, painfully pulling at the strands.

"You truly are in need of punishment, aren't you? I guess I've been too lenient with you lately."

"No, please!" she gasped, trying desperately to loosen his fingers on her neck. It only caused him to chuckle darkly, amused with his toy's pointless pleas.

Suddenly, he released his iron grip on her throat. Dazed, she tried crawling backwards, but the grip of his other hand didn't let her get far.

"Take it out," he demanded.

She knew what he was talking about even before flicking her eyes downwards to confirm her suspicions. His hard bulge was now directly in front of her face.

Gulping, she brought her hands up to unzip his black slacks. Silently cursing when she saw how much her hands shook, she flicked her gaze up to watch what he was doing, then quickly averted it when his heated gaze met hers.