Page 37 of At His Beck & Call

She hovers, appearing uncertain, and I check the time. It’s only thirty minutes or so since she came in. Maybe I should have taken my time with her and drawn things out. But I can’t afford to invest too much time in her. I still don’t know if this is going to work long term, and I’d rather keep things short and sweet.

Either way, I’m paying her handsomely. That was the hottest thing I’ve done in a very long while.

“Thank you, Lissa, you can head home whenever you’re ready.”

She gives a little nod and walks noiselessly across the room, collects her jacket, and leaves.

Once the door closes, I rise and walk over to the chaise. It’s made by a company that specializes in sex furniture, but I’ve never used it before. The restraints make my cock twitch as I imagine tying Lissa up and ramming my cock into that tight, perfect pussy.

Am I really considering penetrative sex so soon?

Apparently, I am. Full sex isn’t something I usually indulge in, but with Lissa, I would absolutely make an exception.

A bolt of anxiety passes through my body as I consider what happened the last time I tried to go ‘all the way’ with a woman.

She had been willing and very accommodating, but when I told her I wouldn’t remove my shirt, she looked at me like I hadgrown a second head. Her confusion and obvious disdain had been an instant turn-off, and I’d sent her away.

The idea of getting naked in front of a woman, and the inevitable questions about the scars all over my back, makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Shaking off the feeling, I bend down, pick up the used toy, and take it to the bathroom. I clean it thoroughly and place it back on the shelf.

I organize the rest of the office, moving a chair a few inches back to the correct position, and place a thin cover over the pleasure chaise. It might look innocent, but I don’t want my boss to see the restraints and ask questions.

Heading back to my desk, I sit down, opening my banking app and transferring ten grand to Lissa’s account. It’s more than double the going rate, but I couldn’t care less. I have more money than I know what to do with, and I have a feeling it’ll mean a lot more to her than it does to me.

Closing down the app, I scroll to my contacts and call Pippa Grooman, confirming that I will keep Lissa on for at least another two weeks. By then, I should have a good idea of whether this will work.

The second I put the phone down, my office door opens, and excitement buzzes through me as I wonder if Lissa has come back. But instead, my jaw clenches when Thomas Burton, the managing partner, strolls in.

I make a mental note to triple-check that I lock the door when I’m with Lissa tomorrow.

Apparently, when you’re a managing partner, you can just wander into anyone’s office without knocking.

“Hello, Tom,” I say evenly, watching him swagger inside with his usual arrogance. At thirty-eight, I’m one of the youngest partners in the firm, and he treats me as such. They all do. As if I’m some rookie who doesn’t know what I’m doing, despitehaving brought in two of the biggest clients this firm has on its books.

“Oliver,” he says, his eyes moving all about the room, lingering on the sculpture with a little frown. I’m not concerned. He isn’t looking at it because he thinks it’s a sex toy; he’s examining it to see if it’s worth anything.

Thomas Burton has a painting behind his desk worth two million dollars, and he’s one of the biggest art snobs I’ve ever met. It gives me a little thrill to think of all the dildos hiding in plain sight on the shelves around my office. He’s probably stupid enough to think they’re worth something.

“Working late?” he asks.

“Yes. What can I do for you?” I don’t get up as he rocks onto the balls of his feet, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I had a call from Carmen Reynolds this morning,” he says, with a tone I know well. There’s more work coming my way, as if I don’t have enough to do.

“Richard Reynolds’ wife?”

“That’s the one. Only she’s not his wife anymore. He’s met a younger model, and she’s filed for divorce.”

“Okay.” I don’t say any more, his eyes glinting at me.

“She asked for the best divorce lawyer I have, Oliver. And I recommended you for the job.”

I clench my fists below the desk. This is fucking typical. Warren Sutcliffe, the other partner on my team, is far less busy than I am and would have the capacity to take on a case this size.

But Warren has a wife and kids at home, unlike me, and it’s becoming increasingly common for these massive projects to land on my desk instead of his. The senior team acts as if this is a big favor, as if they’re helping my career, but I know it’s because Warren plays golf with Tom every Saturday and they’re buddies.

“I see. I’m in the midst of the Clarendon settlement at the moment,” I attempt, “it’s taking up a great deal of my time.”