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CHAPTER 5
Riley
I emailed the spreadsheet to Mr. Steele before standing and crossing the room to his desk. He didn’t look up from his laptop as I knelt on the cushion beside his chair and kept my head bowed. I was proud of how much more graceful I was at this attempt, and I wished he’d been looking at me when I knelt so he could see my quick improvement.
Already, my desire to please him, my yearning to hear another ‘good girl’ from his deep voice, was a burning fire in my belly. It made me a little ashamed… how fucked up was I that I craved this depth of praise from a practical stranger?
It’s just a kink, Riley. Nothing more.
Right. Just a kink. Besides, now was not the time to armchair psychology myself about my need for praise. I was here to do a job I desperately needed the money for, and if I didn’t please Mr. Steele, I’d be forced to work with a different client. One of those older, stone-faced men who made me nervous just looking at them.
“You finished this quickly. Are you certain it’s correct?” Mr. Steele’s voice washed over me.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I sounded the most confident I’d been since I got here, but I was confident. I might not know much about how to be a man’s ‘good girl,’ but I knew administrative work like the back of my hand, and the data entry spreadsheet he’d given me was child’s play. I was detail-oriented and meticulous and had no doubt that I’d entered everything exactly as required.
I tilted my head slightly, just enough to see Mr. Steele’s screen. He opened my email, and when he opened the spreadsheet, I stared at the floor before he caught me peeking. I’d already broken one of his rules by being late, and I didn’t want to break another.
I jerked wildly when he placed his hand on the back of my skull. For a moment, I thought he meant to tug me forward, to bury my face in his crotch and make me suck him off while he looked over my work. Anxiety flooded my body, the resulting adrenaline rush making me tense.
But I couldn’t deny the tinge of excitement under that anxiety. Giving Mr. Steele oral sex wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Is that why your pussy is throbbing?
I ignored my inner voice, even if she was right about my pussy.
Those thoughts went through my head in about five seconds flat, and it took another five seconds for me to realize that Mr. Steele was not, in fact, pulling me forward to give him a blow job but simply stroking my hair as he reviewed the spreadsheet.
His blunt fingers threaded through my dark hair, tugging lightly at the scalp before combing through the strands. He petted me repeatedly until the tension eased from my body. When his big hand cupped the back of my neck and kneaded lightly, I couldn’t stop my soft groan of pleasure. I immediately pinched my lips shut, but the sound was already out there.
“Sorry, sir,” I said quietly.
His mouse clicking was his only reply as he cupped the back of my neck and tugged me closer this time. Before I could panic, he was pressing my cheek against his firm thigh, urging me to rest my head against him.
Confused, I obeyed his silent request as he almost absentmindedly stroked my hair again before tucking it behind my ear. His warm fingers grazed my cheek, and I closed my eyes when he traced the curve of my ear with those blunt fingertips before petting my hair again.
This was actually kind of nice. The soft and thick cushion protected my knees nicely from the hardwood. Mr. Steele’s office was delightfully warm, and this close to him, I could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne, and how he stroked my hair was very calming. I relaxed fully against him, my body slumping a little to the side, but he didn’t reprimand me for not being on my knees. I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of his fingers threading through my hair.
I hadn’t slept well the night before, too keyed up about tonight to get any real sleep. I was seconds from dozing off against Mr. Steele’s leg when he said, “Excellent work, Charlotte. The document is perfect.”
He released my head, and I straightened, keeping my gaze on the floor as I said, “Thank you, Mr. Steele.”
I waited with shameful desperation for him to tell me I was his good girl, and when he didn’t, disappointment nearly crushed me. I had done exactly what he asked. Why wasn’t I his good girl?
He cupped the back of my neck and gave it a light squeeze. “The hallway to the left of the foyer leads to the kitchen. There’s a coffee station in the pantry. Make me an espresso and bring it to my office.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I stood and hurried out of his office and down that grand staircase. Coffee this late at night seemed crazy to me, but maybe Mr. Steele was a night owl, or he wasn’t affected by caffeine like I was. I found the kitchen and only briefly marveled at the high-end appliances, quartz countertops, and stunning island before I opened the pantry door.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “His pantry is bigger than my kitchen.”
I stared at the shelves, the food neatly organized and labelled. I wasn’t surprised by that. This might have been my first time meeting Mr. Steele, but I knew a fellow Type A personality when I met one. Also, how happy his neat and tidy pantry made me was a little ridiculous. Clutter made my teeth itch.
I ran my hand along the food shelves as I made my way to the coffee counter near the back of the pantry. My stomach growled. I wasn’t starving myself or anything, but I did keep my food budget as low as possible, and I hadn’t eaten a name-brand anything since the moment I found out my mother had cancer.
I stopped before the coffee station, my happiness fading to be replaced by familiar anxiety. The gleaming espresso machine in front of me looked expensive and complicated.
