CHAPTER ONE

 

Ms. Beverly Johnson, President and CEO, sat behind her desk, a stern expression flitting across her beautiful features. Her right hand stabbed at the keyboard, calling up spreadsheets, her steely gaze poring over the inventory from behind her spectacles, her face disapproving. She pushed the call button on her desk, attracting her secretary's attention. "Jane! Get that punk Mark in here!" she commanded in an imperious tone.

"Yes, Ms. Johnson." Jane's reply was quiet, cowed by the awesome force of her employer's strength of will.

Ms. Johnson brushed a speck of lint from the front of her business suit; its expensive material hugging a voluptuous form. Even in her early 40s, she was still a splendid specimen, conditioning her body with daily doses of yoga and eating a healthy diet, rich in sweet fruits and vegetables. Toned, shapely legs peeked out from underneath her skirt, sheathed in silky white stockings. She casually ran a hand over her hair, reassuring herself that not a strand was out of place from its tight bun.

Mark opened the door and stepped through, coming to a stop a few feet from her desk. His muscular frame was covered with a T-shirt, jeans and heavy work boots. The clothing of a common grunt, Ms. Johnson noted disdainfully. "There are two packages with the same label, Mark," she noted coolly.

Mark said nothing, his handsome features motionless.

"I expect you to find both packages and have them PROPERLY labeled by the end of the day, is that understood?"

"Yes, Ms. Johnson." Mark's voice betrayed no hint of either uncertainty or despondence.

"When you finish, you will go over all the other packages, as well. You may have made OTHER mistakes." Her voice was like ice. Mark made no reply. "Tell me, Mark... how long do you think that will take you?" Ms. Johnson' voice was now sweeter, silkier, deceptively enticing.

"I'll have to work late, Ms. Johnson." Mark swallowed. "Again."

"Then you'll do just that." Her voice sounded positively malignant, in her vindictive glee. "Again, and with no overtime pay, either..." She smiled mockingly, "You pathetic young man."

Mark blinked. Then he replied, tonelessly, "yes, Ms. Johnson."

"That will be all, Mark." He turned to leave. "No, wait." Ms. Johnson smiled. "Bring me my lunch before you get to work."

Mark inhaled deeply. Then he let it out, slowly. "Yes, Ms. Johnson."

"Good boy." As Mark left, Ms. Johnson smiled, anticipating her luncheon of low-fat yogurt, lean chicken and lots of sweet fruit, with plenty of chilled cranberry-apple juice to wash it down. She would need every morsel to be as sweet and tasty as possible, with plenty of energy for after her shift...

She pulled the pin out of her tight bun, grateful for the freedom it allotted her. Irritated, she began tapping her pencil; her patience had run thin. She was famished and Mark still hadn't returned with her lunch. The miscreant he was. Ms. Johnson ran her fingers through her hair just as Mark presented himself at the door with her food in hand.

"What took you so long?" She spoke in a cold tone; her left eyebrow arched a fraction.

He strolled forward then leaned his heavy weight on her desk. He moved in closer so she had no room at all.

"I believe...there was an issue with some packages?" he repeated in the same cool tone.

An electrifying shudder reverberated through her and Mark didn't blink. He unceremoniously dropped her lunch on her desk, turned his back to her and left her office with long purposeful strides. She watched his stiff retreating form as he slammed the door behind him.

Ms. Johnson felt her hands caressing her body and stilled them, lest Mark see. She had to keep herself under control... until after hours, that was...

Five o'clock came and went as Ms. Johnson tapped away at her computer. The pounding of her heart echoed the keyboard's sound. She felt herself shaking in anticipation and trepidation. Had she overdone it this time?

Mark opened the office door, came in and shut it behind him. Her eyes widened behind her glasses as he locked it. The clicking of the bolt resounded in her ears, forever ending any hopes of escape. The muscular young man stepped around her desk, coming at last before her. His eyes raked her beautiful form with disdainful lust, his pitiless gaze stripping her of her expensive raiment, leaving only the woman beneath.

Beverly moaned in submission, her true nature revealed.

"You were very bad, today." Mark's voice was quiet, emotionless.

"Yes." Beverly could barely manage a squeak.

"You've never been such a nasty bitch before."

She shook her head, unable to speak. Tears glimmered in her eyes.

"You must want it VERY badly," Mark continued. "You little slut."

Beverly nodded her acquiescence. "Yes, Mark." She managed a whisper.

"Stand up, bitch." Beverly fairly leapt to her feet, holding herself out for inspection. Mark touched her smooth cheek with one powerful hand than slid it down, cupping her breast beneath her expensive suit.