I walk into what I know is his office. I noticed how spacious it was the last time, but this time, the details sink in. It has to be triple the size of the apartment I share with Mira.
Floor-to-ceiling windows cover one side, and I can see the Thames and the large imposing building which houses the MI5 on the opposite bank of the river. In the distance, the London Eye gleams in the evening sunshine. He props a hip on the massive desk that is set against another bank of windows. There’s a laptop, three screens, and a couple of papers stacked one on top of the other in a neat pile. Other than that, the surface is spotless. On the far end of the room is a bookcase—or rather shelves of a bookcase which are empty—that lines a wall, and in front of it is a seating area. There’s a sofa with its back to the bookcase, a coffee table in front of it, and two chairs on either side. Next to it is a door which I assume leads to an ensuite bathroom. In another corner is a long table with chairs, and a screen on the wall—a space meant for more formal meetings. Next to that is a wet bar, and adjoining the room is a kitchenette. Whoa, it’s a self-contained unit. A self-contained, not very lived-in unit. There’s no art on the walls, no empty coffee cup, no pictures. Except for the papers on top of his work desk. It’s a sterile room, with a stunning view dominating the space. Unable to resist the view, I walk over to the window and glance out.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I know he’s watching me. I tighten my hold on my bag and continue to stare ahead. If I turn to him, I have to face the fact that I’m at his mercy. And would that be so bad? What the—！ I did not think that. I did not! And I can’t hide away by looking at the view, either.
"So,"—I point at the MI5 headquarters—"is it true that, though you were in the army, you were on a secret mission for the MI5 when you were captured?"
The silence in the space seems to deepen. The temperature seems to drop until it’s frigid in here. I wouldn’t be surprised to see my breath forming puffs of condensation in front of me. Goosebumps rattle up my skin. I mentally slap myself. Nice one, you went and said the one thing that he didn’t need to hear. The one thing that’s probably giving him flashbacks to his capture and to whatever was done to him there, and I had to bring it up.
I draw in a breath, then square my shoulders. "Okay, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean to constantly bring back memories of your time as a prisoner of war. It’s just—"
Heat sears my back. I turn and gasp, for he’s standing right behind me.
12
Knight
"You want to know why I have this unrestricted view of the MI5 building from my office?"
She gulps, her bag slips from her shoulder, and I catch it, then lower it to the ground next to her. When I straighten, the color bleeds further from her features. Her fear is a visceral scent that zips straight to my groin, and my cock grows harder than it’s been since I’d first seen her standing at my reception. Fucking woman. Can’t stop myself from thinking of all the dirty things I want to do to her. Not when I’m away from her, and not when she’s standing in front of me, all big eyes and blonde hair and pink lips parted in surprise. "Do you, Little Dove?"
"Do… Do I what?" she stutters.
"Don’t make me repeat my question."
She pales further; her eyes dilate. She glances at the door, then back at me.
"I’m not letting you leave without answering," I drawl.
She manages to get a hold of herself and draws herself up to her full height, which still means, she’s only at eye level with my chest. Not a surprise, considering how tall I am. Most women are diminutive in front of me. But I don’t want to drop to my knees and press my face into the apex of their legs and draw deeply of their pussy scent, the way I want to with her. And if she doesn’t speak soon, nothing is going to stop me from doing it right now, either.
She must read some of the intensity on my face, for she takes a step back, only to freeze when her shoulder blades touch the windowpane. She gulps, "N-no."
"No, what?"
"No, I don’t know why you have this unrestricted view of the MI5 building from your office." Then, she flashes me a bright smile because, of course, that’s what Ms. Sunshine and Happiness does.
"Let me enlighten you." I twirl my finger in the air.
She blinks, then slowly follows my lead and turns around to face the window again.
"Good girl."
She shivers, then a small cry escapes her lips, for I’ve grabbed one wrist, then the other, and shackled them behind her with my fingers. I kick her legs apart—good thing she’s wearing a dress with a wide skirt that allows for movement— then I fasten the fingers of my free hand around her neck and push her cheek into the glass.
A trembling grips her. "Wh-what are you doing?"
"Do you want me to stop?"
She hesitates.
"Say the word, and I’ll release you."
"Can I keep my job?" she says in a breathless tone.
"Are you accepting the job?"
"Isn’t that why I’m here?"
"Is that not why you’re here?"
She huffs. "Why do you have to answer every question with a question?"
"You know the answer to that."
She groans. "Okay, fine. I admit it. I came here to accept your job offer, though it was presumptuous of you to expect that when you saw me and"—her chest rises and falls—"and I don’t want you to stop," she mumbles under her breath.
"What was that?"
She narrows her gaze and looks at me from the corner of her eyes. "You heard what I said."
"I need you to state it clearly."
"You’re a bastard."
"Not legally, but in every other way, yes."
"I hate you."
I yawn. "Still not hearing the words, Little Dove."
"Don’t call me that," she protests.
"I’ll call you want I want, when I want. Better get used to that."
"You’re not selling this—whatever it is—so you know."
"What I do know is that your breasts are aching, your nipples are hard enough to cut through the glass against which you’re plastered, and if I cup your pussy, your panties will be wet from the evidence of your arousal. So, can I hear from your lips that you want me to continue manipulating your body? Otherwise, I’m going to release you on the count of three, two, on—"
"Fine, I don’t want you to stop," she bursts out.
"And what is it you want me to do you?"
She squeezes her eyes shut. "Why are you making this so difficult?"
I lean in until my breath raises the hair on her head. "The more difficult things are to attain, the sweeter the reward."
The pulse at the base of her throat beats faster. "Is that a military saying?"
"Doesn’t matter. The only thing of relevance is that you put yourself in my hands and now, you will be rewarded." I push my knee forward so the ridge of my thigh chafes against the crotch of her sodden panties.
She gasps, "Oh, god."
I release my hold on her wrists, only to flatten one of her palms against the glass, then the other. "Hold on."