I wanted his approval. Well, now he’s going to make me beg for it.
Weston Roberts wants me. He wants me as his assistant and he wants me in his bed. He wants me and he doesn’t give a damn that I’m already married. Hell, he wants me because of it.
Right from the beginning it was crystal clear what he had planned for me. Every moment I spent in his presence was a test, a measurement of my limits. Weston wanted to see just how far I was willing to go to please him.
I just wanted to be professional. I wanted to prove to him, to everyone, that I was more than just a pretty face. I wanted to do the job and the job meant keeping him happy. It meant satisfying him, but the truth is that he’ll only ever be satisfied with my complete and utter submission.
And when an unfortunate turn reveals his dark secrets and darker appetites, I realize that breaking the bonds of my marriage might not be the hardest task ahead of me. When I stumble into his den of leather and chains, I only know that I’m in over my head. And when Weston Roberts asks me if I’m willing to submit fully to him, the truth is that my marriage is barely even a reason for me to hesitate.
Weston offers me a new life. Weston offers me excitement and pleasure. Weston offers to push me to my limits and past them. If I take him on completely, if I give him my very last inch, he promises that I will never regret it.
So right now I’m scared, but only because I don’t know if I can be enough for him. I’m terrified because I want to please him, but Weston Roberts demands perfection and obedience from the woman he’ll take for his own.
Can I be that woman for him? Can I leave my husband behind?
Can I satisfy my brutal boss or will he break me in the end?
Excerpt
And then we’re alone, just the two of us. And it’s not the first time we’ve ever been alone but it feels different somehow now.
I stand slowly. I turn my head up and I look at my boss and it’s dark in the room but still his eyes shine like two beams of light turned on me and I’m frozen like a deer.
But I swallow and I step forward and I hold out the cigar box and he plucks it from my hands and flips open the lid. He pulls out a single cigar, running it under his nose and inhaling slowly, then he places it back in the box and closes the lid and every movement he does is careful and deliberate so when he smiles, I know it’s his choice to do that.
“These are perfect,” he says, a simple statement but so rare it’s like a drop of water to a woman dying of thirst and I savor every last syllable.
And then I notice that I’m close, that I’m far closer than I’d ever really been before. I’m in his space and I can smell his cologne, the scent of it mixed with the cigars from the box and the scotch that he’d been drinking and he’s not drunk but he’s not sober either and he’s closer to me than he necessarily means to be and absolutely closer than he should be.
“You’ve done well today,” he says, continuing to make unprecedented strides and that’s made only more evident by the fact that he doesn’t break eye contact with me, that he doesn’t go to those men he’s had meetings with. That instead he meets my eye and he drills into it, staring me down as his breathing goes a little heavy and a little ragged.
I’m the one who looks away, blushing and turning away the compliment even though it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Thank you, Sir, but I don’t know if I deserve that.”
Weston has never touched me. He’s come close but there has always been this slight gap of air between us. He’s never made contact and I know why that is, because even the slightest touch of him on my skin is electric heat to me.
He grabs my chin between thumb and forefinger and he turns me back to him. He holds me there, keeping my chin up and my eyes locked on his.
“Have I ever said anything I didn’t mean?” he asks me.
“No, Sir.”
“Have I ever been generous?”
“No, Sir.”
“Have I ever given you one ounce of praise?”
“No, Sir.”
His eyes narrow finally. He lets go of my chin and I don’t look away from him as he speaks, “So when I say you did well, I mean it. Take it for what it is.”
“But I feel like I could do more,” I protest, feeling like it’s the right thing to do, “I always feel like I could do more. I feel like I could have been better. I feel like I left things undone and I want to be better. I want to… to please you.”
There is a pause and a beat. There is a moment where we both know what I said and know all of the infinite meanings of it. In that moment we are both aware of our closeness, aware enough that when he takes a half step forward I’m hyper-aware of the fact that I’m pretty much trapped between his hard body and the solid wall behind me.
And I wait with bated breath for his response as his eyes narrow and Weston Roberts takes the measure of me and how far I’m willing to go, “You please me. But you could always please me more.”
I feel my breath catch in my throat. I feel my lips part. I feel the ache in me and the draw in him as I nearly tumble into him.
“But that, I think, would require more than you’re prepared to give.”
Weston touches me for the second time, this time taking my left hand in his and twisting the wedding band on my finger around and around as if he was looking for the combination to unlock it and free me from my obligations.
“Go to bed, Fiona,” he says finally, releasing my hand and turning back towards his friends, “Tonight you’ve given all you can give, so until you’re ready to give more I’ve had enough of you.”