Just then, he felt the vibration in his pocket.

Natalie: Mr. Pearse. Your journal is sitting on your desk, right in the middle. You must have forgotten it there when you left last evening.

He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he didn’t want to have to punish Charlotte so soon.

Declan: Thank you Ms. Ward. We will be finishing here shortly.

Back at his office, Declan carefully closed and locked the door and reclined in his leather desk chair. The journal was sitting there, begging to be fondled. Its supple leather skin reminded him of Ms. Flynn’s soft, buttery flesh. He opened the journal, taking in the smell of the paper and ink mingling. He brushed his hand over the script of her words. Her handwriting was lovely, and it looked as though she had tattooed the page with precision. He read the words she inscribed on the first page.

If my Master is lost, I’ll find him. I’ll lead him back to himself, because to serve does not always mean to follow. – Joey Hill.

He gently closed the journal, returning it to its exact position on his desk, and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes. He thought again of last night. He began so softly, making sure his hand landed in a different place, but not too high, focusing more on her sweet spot—that delectable spot where her thighs met her butt. He could tell when the strokes moved from pleasurable to painful because she sucked in a breath and cringed before he delivered each one. When Charlotte’s ass blushed pink, Declan began to spank her harder. After a few minutes, he ran his hands over her skin, feeling the warmth and admiring the deep shade of red her ass had turned.

Declan allowed his mind to wander a path he’d closed off for years. He unlocked the gates of his imagination and let the images of her flood him. Charlotte naked and bound to his bed. Charlotte on her knees before him. Charlotte begging for another spanking by his hand. He ached to train her in how to please him, to show her the pleasure she’d never known. He craved running his hands along the curves and contours of her body, memorizing each beautiful inch of her. He wanted to watch her bloom as she surrendered to her true submissive nature. He hungered to be Charlotte’s Master.

He composed himself and called for his assistant. “Ms. Ward, could you please contact Ms. Flynn in Research. I need a meeting right away.”

“Yes, Mr. Pearse. Your schedule is clear at five thirty this evening. Would you like me to schedule the meeting for then?”

“Please do, Ms. Ward, and make it a dinner meeting. Have dinner brought in from Cure. You know what I prefer.”

“Right away, Mr. Pearse.”

***

Friday morning found Charlie at her desk, knee deep in Internet research about the proper usage of C-clamps. When she was in college, dreaming of a career in the publishing world, she fancied herself editing beautiful prose, wonderful literary fiction, and poignant women’s fiction. Instead, here she sat researching different types of nipple clamps to illicit both pain and pleasure. She bit down on the end of her pen, a nasty habit from high school she never quite broke, and blushed, feeling thankful for the privacy of a new office space. Luckily, no one would sneak up surreptitiously as she perused the different styles of nipple clamps. The author had the book’s Master use gator clips to bring his submissive to new pleasurable heights, but Charlie felt they were too pedestrian. They reminded her of stoners and seemed like they would fit better in a pot-hazed plot than in the toy box of a tenured college professor and his eager, but novitiate servant. The tweezers didn’t seem to be a match either. Decidedly, the goldilocks of nipple clamps, she felt the C-clamps would be the best choice. The online catalog described them as “providing the perfect pinch.” The metal chain would swing providing just the right pull. Charlie felt her cheeks grow warm and decided if she were going to continue researching this particular work of fiction, she would need to keep the door open to get some air. She padded in stocking feet, to the door and opened it gently.

Glancing at the clock and realizing it was almost four thirty, she figured it might be wise to do another email check. Charlie relaxed back into her chair, happy for the distraction from the manuscript for the time being. Clicking on her little mail icon, she discovered five new messages. Two from the Research Department, one from Mr. Eric Wheldon, and one from Natalie Ward. The one from Natalie was in view in the preview pane, so she read it first.

Ms. Flynn –

Mr. Pearse requests your presence in his office at 5:30 PM for a working dinner. He would like to discuss your research progress on the current manuscript.

N. Ward

Executive Assistant to Declan Pearse

Charlie blushed instantly. How was she going to handle this? How were they going to maintain a professional working relationship while their private relationship would most likely make Rhianna’s song about S&M sound vanilla? Her embarrassment quickly morphed to peevishness. She had placed the journal on his desk just before seven Monday morning. She knew him to be an early riser, so to ensure she placed there before his workday began; she rose at zero-dark thirty to travel to the office and sneak in. What the hell took him so long? Was he going to bring it up during the meeting or ignore it completely? Of course, he made her wait not hours but days. It was the delicate duel between them that had to occur for her to give over more than just her body to him, but also her soul and mind. She remembered her first training, and how she cherished the back and forth, the give and take to achieve submission. Would it be different with Declan? Would he push her too far or worse, not far enough? She swallowed hard at the thought.

Charlie arrived in front of Declan’s office at 5:28 p.m. She fussed with her skirt and blouse before knocking. It was open slightly, and she could see candles flickering. Candles? What kind of meeting was this going to be? He didn’t answer, so she crept in quietly as if she were a church mouse or perhaps a cat burglar. Her movements lithe and nimble until she tripped over something in the middle of the floor. Son of a sugar … Damn. She bent down and picked up something silver. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a fork. She could imagine Declan cursing out the unfortunate soul who had to bring him the utensils. The office was devoid of Declan’s presence but filled with something else. The burning candles, wine chilling, and a beautifully catered dinner set out on the low table in the corner of the room created a strange, seductive ambience. She stepped closer to the table, examining the dishes. It looked like some sort of delicious pasta in a beautiful sauce, and it smelled heavenly. Unsure where to wait, she turned around to move closer to the desk area when she ran smack into a wall of hard chest. A suited wall. A wall of delicious Declan Pearse.

“Ms. Flynn, thank you for being so punctual.” He breathed in deeply. “I’m sorry I was a bit delayed for our meeting.”

“I … I was a bit early, Mr. Pearse,” she apologized for being prompt. What was it about Declan that drove her to the point of complete nonsensical behavior?

She knew suddenly that the original agenda of the meeting would have to wait. Charlie felt his heat, and she tensed as she waited for his touch. It didn’t come. Instead, Declan brushed his mouth against the shell of her ear.

“Make yourself comfortable, Charlotte,” Declan growled as his words enticed. “Take something off.”

Charlie burned to say something sharp-tongued in response, but she was speechless. All of her vocabulary suddenly replaced with a fevered anticipation of what was to come.

“Your shoes, Charlotte.” Declan smiled teasingly. “Take off your shoes.”