Page 13 of Objection
And there was only one thing to do with a bratty woman. Especially a bratty woman with amazing red hair and pale skin, who wore pencil skirts, and amazing stockings literally daily. Okay, maybe she didn’t wear a pencil skirt every day, but she wore dresses and skirts. All work appropriate. Each and every one of them pulling out every stupid fantasy that had been planted in my head since the day I first saw the movie Secretary.
This was not that movie. I was not James Spader. She was not Maggie Gyllenhaal. This was not happening. No.
Instead, I had requested my submissives’ time more often. All of them. Each of them. I had tried to satiate that thirst with them. Nothing seemed to work. Even Samantha had taken to teasing me about it. She knew something was up but had no idea what. Hell, I didn’t know what was going on with me. There was absolutely no reason for me to be having inappropriate reactions to Ms. Adams. But, Christ, was I. Strong ones.
“Mr. Wellington, don’t forget that you need to sign the documents in the folder by your computer before noon today.” Her voice broke through my thoughts.
“I’ll get to them this afternoon,” I replied dryly. The Smith case was giving me a headache, and I didn’t want to sign documents right now. It was already 11:30 a.m. and it could wait.
“No, you’ll do them by noon,” she shot back. I made a fist with my right hand, wanting to snap my fingers and have her kneel instead. One hundred percent inappropriate.
“Why can’t they wait until later?” I shot back with far more snark than I had intended. Oh well, better to hit her with snark than with spanks.
“Because you aren’t the only one here who’s time is valuable. If you don’t sign the documents by noon, then it will take me late into the evening to finish the work you’ve required me to finish today. So, in order to efficiently handle the workload, I simply need your signatures on that folder of documents within the next thirty minutes.” Her tone was sharp, but professional. A tone I had used far too many times in this line of work, and she wore the tone well.
She wasn’t unprofessional, not by a long shot. I had worked with people who were. But there was something about her. She was getting under my skin. It didn’t help that the office renovation wasn’t finished. Then at least we would have some space.
“Very well, but you don’t have to be snippy about it, Ms. Adams,” I quipped, flicking the folder open and clicking my pen. I would finalize the signatures, if only to get her off my back. Just as the tip of the pen hit paper, I caught her eye roll out of my peripheral vision. I couldn’t help the way my fist clenched tighter around the pen, the way my teeth gritted together.
“Is there a problem, Ms. Adams?” I gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Not in the slightest, Mr. Wellington.” Her words were professional, but there was that... underlying attitude. Barely there. Nothing I could professionally call her on, but dear god, if she were my submissive.
The thought stopped me in my tracks.
Unbidden images of bending her right over this dining table, yanking that little skirt over her hips and giving her the spanking she so desperately needed flooded behind my eyes. Her pert little ass reddened by my hand. Her bratty comments turned to needy whimpers and surprised gasps.
My cock hardened against the fly of my slacks, and I took several deep breaths to push the images away.
She was not my submissive. She was my employee, and there were boundaries. I put the pen back to paper, making quick work of the signatures before sliding the folder back to her.
“Not so hard, now, was it?” she playfully teased. That wit and that fire that she had, it was something else. I took a moment, under the guise of reading through something on my computer, and looked her over.
She was short, a little over five foot tall, if I had to wager. She was curvy, a little overweight by some standards, but on her, she wore it like a goddess. Her auburn hair was tamed, but I had a feeling if she let loose, those curls would bounce beautifully. The rich, vibrant auburn of her hair set off her impossibly pale skin. Skin that was dotted with freckles across the bridge of her nose. Skin that would likely bruise beautifully under a flogger.
But she wasn’t my submissive.
No matter how badly I may want to spank the hell out of that delicious round ass until she was supple and begging under my hands.
As the days passed, the feeling grew stronger. I found a balance, but the close proximity was making it more and more difficult. She was an enigma, Ms. Adams. She handled herself with a level of professionalism that let me know I had absolutely made the right choice. She had caught some game changing things in our cases in only a few short weeks. Yes, I had absolutely made the right call. At the same time, she wasn’t afraid to stand up to me. That fire inside of her was intelligent, sharp, and it made me want to pull it out more, to claim it, to push it into beautiful, sassy submission.
I sat there, grateful that the week was half over as I finished off the chicken salad sandwich I had prepared for lunch today. The week was going by quickly and I felt stressed. Luckily there were only a few more pieces to this dreadful case to wrap up and we would be completely ready for depositions. It was one hell of a case to take on and I was almost convinced I had bit off more than I could chew without a full team of lawyers to draw ideas off of. Sure, I still had colleagues I could call at any time, but there was something about that office environment with everyone talking and sharing ideas and thoughts. I hoped to get to that point with my own firm, in time.
Across the table, Ms. Adams was engaged in a heated discussion with the paralegal from the opposing counsel’s office. They were being difficult with hearing dates, and she was handling it like a pro. She was a force to be reckoned with when allowed the freedom to work how she chose. While her sassy attitude may get on my nerves, she was incredible like this. Honestly, she’d make a damned good lawyer.
The image of going to court with her, playing the game and bouncing questions off one another as we worked to convince a jury held me captive. It was only pushed aside at the thought of coming back to the office and fucking that deliciously curvy body on top of this very table, covered in legal documents.
The sound of my phone ringing pulled me from my highly unprofessional musings. I needed to get control of these thoughts. And quick.
“Soren Wellington,” I answered.
“My man! How’s it hanging? Still slightly to the left?” Jace’s voice rang out happily. He seemed perpetually happy all the time. I have no idea how he did it, maintaining such an attitude.
“What’s up Jace?” I chuckled back.
“Wanted to let you know that the renovations will be done by tonight. I know you’re gonna love it.”
“Jace, you’re amazing! Thank you. Send me the final bill and I’ll cut you a check. Why don’t we plan on drinks tonight to celebrate?” I offered.
