Yn

Elliott hadn't moved an inch, his stance set, eyes intense. My own caught the way the corner of his lips quirked and a strange anticipation slithered through my core. My heart was racing. I slid a hand over my chest, attempted to regulate my breathing. It wasn't right that he had such influence over me.

This wasn't some simple request. Elliott was asking me to be his submissive. I was already his chief secretary - already in a position that put me at the mercy of his direction. To think that I would be surrendering what little control I still had was no small matter. We were talking complete and utter forfeit. Not to mention compromising our professional relationship.

I wasn't ready. I could barely understand what I even felt towards him. Half the time I wanted to slap him, and the other half he dazzled me so severely that I questioned his very existence. How did he expect me to make a decision in such a fucked up head-space?

"I need time to think about all of... this. Whatever this is?" I could tell just by looking at him that although he wasn't pleased, this news didn't upset him either. Thoughtfulness reflected in his gaze in spite of the set of his jaw; this, I realised, was Elliott being patient. Besides, I was still trying to fathom at what point he'd really taken an interest in me. Had my salt blinded me to the cues or something?

Instead of arguing or insisting, he tucked his hands behind himself, feet set in a neutral stance. "Fair enough. I suppose it's also only proper to warn you that should you make the decision to be mine - I won't go easy on you." He meant it, too, and that much was clear as day.

Elliott was not to be fucked with, unless it were on his terms.

"Right. I'll think carefully about it." Fates help me. "I'm not sure." I admitted, torn. Throwing myself into this blind was an option, but it didn't seem like a safe one. If I was going to sign myself up to be at the mercy of someone like Elliott, I needed the time to ensure I wasn't making one of the worst decisions in my entire life.

That evening, he took me home and walked me all the way up to the loft door. I didn't know what to say, so for the first time since my birth, I kept my mouth shut. If he noticed anything was off, he didn't mention it, and I was grateful to not have to explain.

"Thanks for the ride." I murmured, distracted by the keys I'd been toying with since our arrival.

"There's no need. I'll be in touch. Call me when you know. We'll discuss the terms in more detail."

"Okay." I heard myself say this, but it was clear that I was still dazed from all that'd happened that day. "I will."

"That's what I like to hear." He chuckled playfully, seemingly returned to his earlier mood.

Elliott spun to leave as I unlocked the door, but he stopped the moment I spoke his name, half-turning to me.

I paused, hesitant. I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but some sick, masochistic part of me wanted the potential mental anguish. "If I'd said yes, back at the penthouse, what would have happened?"

He turned to me completely again, rounding effortlessly on his heels, a smile playing on his lips. When he leaned forward, I pressed myself flat to the door.

"First, I'd have you beg." His thumb tucked into the waist of my pants, implying in no uncertain terms that he had plenty of ways to make it happen.

Oh, God... the memory of stage one back at his place flashed to the forefront of my mind.

"Then, I'd have flipped you over," He continued, leaning in close enough to kiss. "And torn those cute little jeans off you."

My heart was pounding hard enough that I wondered if he could hear it- if he could feel the heat suddenly radiating off my skin.

"And then I'd have fucked you until your pretty little bones were feeling it." He said this as if it were a promise, fingertip tracing over my lips. "And by the end? You would have been begging me for more."

Holy shit.

"Goodnight, Ezra." He said, slipping away just in time for Jung to open the door, a dark chuckle fading with his retreat. I nearly fell back into him, lids fluttering, swallowing hard.

"Who was that?" Jung queried, leaning out to get a better look. "Was that him?"

"I need a drink." I said, brushing past him to bee-line for the kitchen. Thankfully, I chose water. I was grateful for the coverage of the breakfast bar because Jung would've known all too well what I was thinking about, and that wasn't a conversation I was ready to have with him.

That night when I'd at last settled into bed, Elliott's words had still been in the forefront of my mind. I knew I'd done this to myself. I had done the unthinkable deed of asking Elliott for any kind of explanation and he had simply complied with my wishes.

Bitterly, I thought to myself about the reality of my circumstances. He knew precisely what he did, and I suspected that was why he did it. He'd riled me up and left me with my frustrations to get myself off. He'd known it wouldn't be nearly as satisfying, and that I would sorely regret not having accepted his proposal right then and there.

Still, I had learned two very important facts that night. One, Elliott could not be trusted to play fair. And two, that his presence ignited something indescribable in me.

I was so fucked. . .

* * *

My morning had been a busy one, by choice. I'd spent the entirety of my day from seven until precisely one avoiding Elliott. I refused to let him corner me like last time, knowing it wouldn't have ended well; so far I'd been succeeding. When we brushed shoulders in the hall, I hadn't lost a step. When he'd opted for glowering at me from the doorway of his office, I hadn't paid him an inkling of mind.

I had told him I needed the time to think over his request, so I was going to think it over. Whether he had the patience to deal with it or not was of little concern to me. I needed to weigh the pros and cons of my decision to be his, and while the consequences presented complications such as our work relationship, his status in the eyes of the public and other such bullshit, the pros were looking pretty damned nice.

Put simply, I had to ask myself the most important question. Could he give me what I needed? I didn't want to be abused and undervalued. I'd had my fair share of that already, and I never wanted to be there again. I wanted to be able to trust that he wasn't going to take advantage of me, and I barely knew anything about him besides what the inside of his home looked like and the skill with which he sailed a boat. Maybe his personality was gradually coming into better focus, but there was still so much I hadn't learned about Elliott Grimme.

Still, I guessed we had to have some discussion - a real discussion in a space where he couldn't undress me - about the terms of our arrangement.

Now I just had to work up the courage to actually enter his office. He was probably pissed. I'd avoided him the entire day thus far, and while he might not have said a word about it, I figured something might have been better than nothing. At least then I'd know the degree of his upset.

Once I arrived at the doors to his office, I knocked twice and let myself in the moment he permitted me.

Elliott was behind his desk, looking remarkably bored with the document in hand, jaw half-nestled in the 'L' of his thumb and forefinger. He didn't look up as I shut the door, and even when I'd seated myself, hadn't bothered to shift his attention.

I waited, annoyed. Irritated. Maybe I should have just walked out right then and there, but I instead held my peace, crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to look unbothered by the lack of acknowledgment.

When at last he tossed the document aside and his steel blue gaze had shifted to me, he'd raised his brows in expectation. "Ezra, what a surprise. What brings you here?"

Annoying.

"Thanks for noticing. I came here strictly on business. To discuss your proposal."

For several moments Elliott said nothing, but soon his fingers had come to lace over his blotter. It was a gesture I was steadily becoming familiar with. "Go on. You have the floor, Ezraeil."

And you would have me on it. I wasn't sure where this thought came from, but I coughed it, and hopefully a bit of my nervousness, away. "I would like to know what the terms of this agreement between you, the specified Dominant, and myself, the specified submissive, would be."

I wasn't sure if he'd been expecting this or not, but he didn't seem fazed in the least. Instead, he reached down to unlock his desk drawer, drawing out what looked to be a freshly printed document. That or the state of his drawer was simply that crisp. Regardless, he offered it to me across the desk, and I took it wordlessly to examine.

"These are my terms, on paper." He explained, woefully prepared for this occasion.. "Every last detail is there, from hard and soft limits to the expectations of fulfilment both on the parts of you and myself."

I perused it silently, eyes flitting over the various activities described. "Fisting is a hard limit for me. I'll tell you now."

"Noted." He smirked.

"I also will not be agreeing to have any sort of pointed objects pierce my skin. The only sharp edges I'm okay with are teeth."

"Again, noted."

I read it through again, flipping between pages to ensure I hadn't missed anything. "What's with the whole diet and exercise regimen?"

"Just one of the aspects I prefer to be cautious about. It's nothing obsessive, just basic self care. Balanced diet, keeping yourself in shape, getting enough sleep. If you're not keeping healthy, then I'm afraid we can't play." He said 'play' so innocently. I almost wanted to believe that Elliott Grimme could be.

"Understandable."

"Okay, now I have a question for you. Several, in fact, because I want to make sure that we are on the same page." He explained, rising from his high-backed leather swivel. When he came to sit before me, as he had so many times before, he was completely serious. "I want you to tell me what sorts of concerns you have, what your expectations of me are, and your expectations for this relationship."

Did he want fries with that, too? Way to pile on the heavy right when I was getting comfortable. They were all valid and absolutely fair demands, but I'd never actually openly discussed these things with anyone before. At the very least, I could see that he was prepared to wait, and the patience was appreciated, but it did little to quell the sudden apprehension stirring in my gut.

"Well," I began, clearing my throat once - twice.

"Go on." He encouraged gently.

"I don't want to be just a sex puppet. I want...I want everything to be out in the open. If this is just going to be a sex thing, then I can't say that I'm okay with that."

For a very long time, Elliott just stared at me. I had no idea what he was looking at or why, but it was making me feel restless. I shifted several times until I could settle again, waiting for him to say anything to break the silence.

"Okay," He began at last. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"To an extent. It'll take time for us to become more familiar, of course." Oh, So we were on the same page, after all. "Though, something about your expression strikes me a bit lost."

I didn't know why I was so offended, because it was true that I felt a little lost, but I was. "What makes you say that?"

"It's in your eyes. You're doubting everything. It's clear you don't trust yourself to make the right decision. There's really no rush, my offer will still stand."

He read all that in my eyes? He was good. . .

"You crave intimacy but you lack trust. We'll have to correct that cynical perspective of yours - eventually." He said matter of factly. "Nothing that isn't repairable." He assured me.

Gee, thanks.

"As for our relationship, I can't promise anything, but I can clearly see that you have certain needs that must be met. I'll do whatever I can, within the realm of my capabilities, to fulfil those needs."

Wait a second. Why did this sound so good? This sounded like it held actual promise. Since when had Elliott become so valiant?

"Okay." It was all I could say. I didn't know how to react to something like that.

"Anymore questions?"

"For now, none that come to mind." Yes, this was what I wanted. I desired this, and much more. I wasn't sure if Elliott could give me that, but I was willing to at least try.

"Familiarise yourself with the safewords, and if they don't stick for you, come up with some of your own."

I looked over the second page. "Understood."

Elliott offered me a pen and I accepted, setting the tip at the signature line. He watched me pen Ezraeil Lilou Mordecai across the line and slide the document forward when I was done.

The next signature to go onto it was his, and we signed a second copy that he later kept in an envelope for me.

I rose, straightening out my clothes, and turned to leave. I assumed we were finished. "I'll see you tonight at eight. Don't be late."

"Yes."

He cleared his throat, clearly amused with himself.

"Yes, Sir." That much I had been aware of. It was stated right there in the contract, but I had a feeling I'd be violating that term fairly often.

"Has a nice ring," He smiled, a gesture that almost reflected in his gaze.

When I left Elliott's office at last, I felt the tension drain from my shoulders. Holy hell. I'd actually done it. I'd actually fucking done it. I was ...claimed? For the first time, I was actually someone's sub? This realisation had my stomach doing little flips. From this point forward, I was going to belong to Elliott Grimme. If I thought I'd been in deep shit before, this was an entirely new hallmark.

* * *

I arrived by 8:16. Traffic had been a bitch, and with the added element of rain, it had only been worse. I honestly wasn't all that concerned with being slightly behind on time, though. I called Elliott when I was at the lift and he came down to retrieve me, nothing about his demeanour betraying disappointment. Maybe this was a pass?

The doors parted before me, in my black jeans, boots, and slick raincoat. Elliott was wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black cashmere shirt. Bourgie fuck.

"You're late."

"I know." I said, somehow feeling guiltier when he acknowledged it aloud. "Traffic."

"Have you eaten dinner?"

"Not yet." How could I have? I'd hardly managed to sit down, let alone chew my way through a proper meal that evening.

We made the ride up and I was very much aware of the way Elliott was eyeing me. He stayed to the corner, and I stood, anxiously, in the centre, sure I could feel his gaze sweeping me from head to toe. Stepping out the moment the doors whirred apart, I hurried forward and temporarily out of reach. He was right behind me up until I'd stopped to take my boots and coat off, his hands sliding the article the rest of the way off my shoulders and hanging it on a nearby hook.

My eyes wandered, searching for anything that wasn't Elliott, and the second I caught sight of the living room, the memory of our last encounter there shot to the forefront of my mind. I felt Elliott's hand slide into the crook of my arm and turned, half-expecting him to complain about the fifteen minute wait.

Instead, he'd begun to lead me off, planting me at a beautifully polished breakfast bar. Sliding my ass up onto a high chair, I waited patiently for him to speak, but Elliott had yet to say a word. Was he really so upset? His face betrayed nothing in our shared silence.

"Wine, Ezra?"

"Please."

Elliott fetched our drink of choice, the label faded as though it must've waited a hundred years for our lips. Long fingers placed a single glass between us, and began to pour, his lips parting as if to speak. My eyes transfixed on his mouth, imagining all of the places I wished he would put them-

"Drink,"

I sipped and he cooked, for the time being his attention elsewhere as he put together two nicely balanced plates. I couldn't help but to appreciate how gently he placed my meal before me, utensils and napkin quick to follow.

For some time, we ate in silence. I nibbled mostly, too nervous to really eat. More wine than actual meal passed my lips. It probably would've been a hell of a lot easier to get through each bite if Elliott hadn't insisted on gawking at me. I reached for my wine again, eyes averted to the nearest anything.

His eyes never left me, though, watching as I nervously sipped and returned the glass to the bar before his hand crept into view, sliding the glass aside by its base.

He reached for me, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over my lips, affectionately, sliding between them until he had wedged my mouth open, teeth and all, pressing my tongue down. He coaxed me into parting them wider, kissing me, sucking my tongue in between his. I felt every inch of myself begin to warm beneath my clothes.

The delicious tension that had begun to coil at my very core pushed me closer to him, hands reaching to cup his face. His kiss was more demanding, one hand drawing my hips up against his, fingers sliding from my nape to my shoulder blade, the feeling of plush carpet beneath my feet alerting me to our transition. From here, the breakfast bar looked so far away.

"Kneel for me." He whispered against my lips, breath mingling with mine. I knew what he wanted... I could feel him through his jeans. Lowering myself before him, I reached to undo them, breaths quickening. Elliott was watching me, his gaze burning holes into my existence as I sought him out, his fingertips first brushing my hands away, then across the scarlet flesh of my cheek.

My breath caught at the gentle contact, pulse spiking, and all I could think of were the myriad ways I wanted him inside me. He caught my face between his hands, the heels of his palms pressing until my lips had parted where he lay a soft kiss before straightening. My hands reached for his wrists, but he commanded I drop them.

I obeyed.

Elliot circled me for a moment, as if deciding what he wanted to do with me first. All the while, I could hardly get a breath in, heart pounding so hard I was sure it would explode.

When at last his fingers moved through my dark tresses, a shiver licked my spine.

"You're sure?"

This shocked me, enough that my eyes snapped up to meet his. "I am."

He lowered from his full height to a squat, steel blues more intense than I had ever seen them. "You're sure?" Something about the way he repeated this loosened some of the fearful tension I hadn't realised had even been there.

"Yes." Though my voice had failed me, I hoped the resolve in my gaze was enough to convince him.

"You can say no." He reminded me.

"I know I can."

"At any point."

"Yes, I remember."

Slowly, he extended his hand, palm up, long fingers inviting mine. I slid my own over his and allowed him to lead me off down the hall. He was surprisingly controlled for as wound up as he had been moments before. It put into perspective for me that he wasn't some sort of animal.

The hall he led me down was tastefully outfitted with art pieces I was sure cost more than my car, but they somehow seemed fitting for Elliott. Maybe this was the place he reserved for parts of his personality to peek through.

He took me up to the second floor and led me past a small lounge area to what I assumed was going to be some sort of torture dungeon. Instead, when he pushed one door ajar, the room slowly came alight to reveal his bedroom. It was done in muted tones - dark woods, black silk, elegant drapes, a ridiculously gorgeous wooden canopy bed. Something you'd expect more of a medieval king or something.

Elliott shut the door behind us and gave me time to take it in, ever patient as I wandered his room, studied his things. He never once overstepped. And that's when it hit me. He actually gave a shit. The conversation back in his office wasn't so long ago, but I guess I hadn't really taken it for anything more than empty reassurances.