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**Note: the previous chapter in this series is [here]( so you may want to read that first.**

*Tell me what you want tonight.*

I look at your ceiling to avoid eye contact, then close my eyes before you can call me out. Your cheek on my thigh feels white-hot by comparison: all heat where our bodies connect / all chills elsewhere. I blush to the roots of my hair, but you’re patient. You’ll push buttons that make me the best worst sort of embarrassed, but you’ll do so on your own time. You’ll toy with me. You’ll mock me running out of words despite being articulate elsewhere. Maybe you’ll pull out the *I’m not mad, just disappointed* voice. But for now? You wait.

*What do I want tonight? Everything. I’ll probably want a drink, a dinner, and a hot bath in roughly that order.*

I bring my hands to your hair. When you neither move them away nor scold me, I know I’ve done something right.

*I want to be beaten until I try to crawl away from you. I want to say “thank you” each time you slap me, with your wife thoroughly horrified in another room. And after your hand or the toys give out, I want sex that leaves me crying from relief. So…everything. I want it all.*

A smile floats across my face when you begin to talk: relief, finally, that you’ll do more than listen.

*I have trouble telling whether you speak from experience or frustration.*

*I’m speaking from both, and you’re not helping either right now.*

I pull your hair to underscore the point. You stand up, taller than me even though I sit on your desk. The kiss surprises me but you pull away before I can adjust. Your fingers are still inside me and your amusement at my flushed face is apparent.

*What sort of drink?*

*Tequila or gin-based.*

*What sort of dinner?*

*Indian, spicy.*

*And what sort of bubble bath do you like?*

*Bath bombs, actually, and something floral-scented.*

You move your fingers, slowly, coaxing my legs around your hips. I’ll be damned if I let you stop here and I like knowing that you’ll never wear these pants again without remembering our entanglement. Looking at you momentarily renders me mute, dumb, dazed. If you ask me a single additional question I’ll crumble.

Your nose grazes my ear as you lean down.

*Do you think I should fuck you now?*

It’s a terrible idea but at this point we’re both to blame. We may be obeying the letter of the rule but we’re blatantly disregarding its spirit. So I figure out why you rebuffed me earlier. Some dalliance in an office is one thing; a beating that leaves marks for weeks takes patience and trust. Despite my earlier promise to be louder, I discover myself biting my lip. Your fingers speed up. Your other hand removes my right hand from your hair. Our hands remain at my throat until you see I’ve gotten the message. Your thumb, skipping across my throat, is more caress than threat.

*Since you seem too distracted to answer, I’ll help you along. Would you like that?*

*Stop treating me like a child.*

Immediately, the fingers that were inside me get shoved in my mouth before my lips close on the last word.

*I’m treating you like a consenting adult who enjoys being degraded by someone significantly older than her. If I was treating you like a child, you wouldn’t be here.*

With some reluctance, I suck your fingers rather than bite them. You resume talking when all I can taste is the neutral texture of your hand.

*Now, you could be late and I’m sure it would be fine. Unprofessional but fine. Would you say I taught you better than that?*

*No.*

*Open.*

You hold my chin and at first I think you’re gonna shake my head back-and-forth. When I don’t immediately obey, you plug my nose until my mouth gasps open.

*Swallow,* after spitting in my mouth, holding it closed, and pinching my nostrils shut again.

I wish I was a better liar. Wish you couldn’t read my face and see right there, plain as day, how badly I need you to ruin me. Resolving NOT to show you will goad you into action, I think, so I do nothing. I hold every damn brick in my façade together even as I’m aware the whole mess is crumbling. Your tone changes: cautious on the edge of a vast abyss.

*Knock on the desk if you want me to stop.*

I roll my eyes. You sigh.

*Swallow, and thank me.*

You release your hands once I swallow.

*Thank you.*

*Back to my question: would you say I taught you better than to arrive late to a professional event?*

*Yes.*

*Do you think you’ll have time to shower after I use you?*

*No.*

*Will you have time to redo your hair after I mess it up? Or your makeup, after you cry it off?*

A sinking feeling spreads from my groin up to my throat. My croaked *no* is all the answer you need. You sit down, finally, all perverse smile in your raised lips and eyebrows. You’re still clothed as you lean back in the office chair. I fix my gaze an inch to the right of your ear.

*Then it would seem we’ll need to wait.*

*Excuse me?*

*You are asking me to take a very big gamble. I want to be absolutely certain that you want this. Wait ten hours or so and I’m confident you’ll be desperate enough at that point to convince me.*

*Convince you?*

I’m reduced to parroting your words in shock. You pull my arms through my bra straps, moving my limp limbs easily. You nudge me off the desk.

*I’m impressed that your stockings didn’t rip. You’ll have to give me a brand name so I can pass the recommendation to my wife.*

*Fuck your wife.*

*Your presentation isn’t until 11, so yes, I have time for that.*

You zip my dress back in place. I feel like a doll being moved and manipulated into poses. You pause, kneeling, as you slip my shoes back on.

*Do you have a safeword, or would you rather I assign one?*

*Crown.*

*Hmm?*

*My safeword is ‘crown’, but best of luck dragging that out of me.*

You pull me close before opening the office door. It’s the first time this morning that I’ve actually felt your erection against me.

*Oh, if that’s your goal I don’t think we’ll have a issue. Good luck with your presentation. Elizabeth and I will be there but please be discreet.*

There’s that word again, discreet. Discretion means taking an Uber when you could easily drop me off. Discretion means no public displays of affection and no leaving events together. You’re not my boyfriend nor do I want you to be, so secrecy suits me just fine.

You stay with me in your foyer until the Uber arrives.

*Satan himself couldn’t tempt our secret from my lips. I’ll see you there.*

**********

When the time for my presentation actually arrives, I let you approach me. Your voice carries across the floor but I don’t look up until you call my name.

*Hello professor. This must be your wife, the other Doctor—*

*Oh, call me Elizabeth. William has told me so much about you.*

*Only positive things I hope?*

*He speaks very highly of you.*

You exchange smiles and I can only imagine what you’ve told your wife. Guess it’s better than the alternative.

*Good luck today; we’ll see you in a bit.*

You disappear around a corner. My cellphone pings as soon as you’re out of sight.

*Have you wondered about how you’re gonna convince me?*

I switch my phone into focus mode. You’ll figure out, I figure, and if not then you’ll vocalize your displeasure.

**********

The actual presentation goes quite well. I make eye contact but avoid lingering; I pause between sentences and enunciate clearly and do my best to keep a neutral expression. I definitely don’t think about your text from this morning. I definitely don’t count the hours until I’ll have the chance to beg. When you emphasize *convince* in your question, I certainly don’t let my mind wander. I make a show of gesturing whether I can sit next to you afterwards, and we remain in amicable silence through the other speakers’ presentations.

We linger outside the room once the session ends.

*Excellent job. Please keep me informed about how the awards ceremony turns out.*

A retort simmers just below the surface of my frustration. Pausing, mindfully, I swallow it.

*Of course. Glad you and the other Dr. Marston could come.*

Your wife hugs me just long enough to whisper:

*We look forward to having you for dinner later.*

She nods and pats my shoulder. Then, louder, for the advantage of passerby:

*Nice to meet you as well.*

For a second time today, you text as soon as you’re out of view.

*I want an answer before you come, tonight.*

The text and its double entendre weighs on my mind all day. I took today off work, leaving me free to explore other conference sessions, but you aren’t easily forgotten. You enjoy making me uncomfortable. Push me beyond comfortable until I squirm at your mildest suggestion. I’ve played with people who enjoy pushing my buttons but you’re on another level. I’m not your equal and it’s dumb to pretend otherwise. Old enough to see through any empty flattery; young enough to feel flattered regardless. Experienced enough that the whip in your closet made me seize on your attention like a claw-machine grasping its toy.

I text as the award ceremony starts.

*Did you fuck your wife this morning?*

Your response comes almost instantly:

*Yes. Are you jealous?*

*Not at all.*

A second speaker assumes the stage before my phone buzzes again.

*Why do you ask?*

*I like the wondered of my partner fucking someone else instead of me. Putting a pillow over my face while they think of a prettier woman, rubbing it in that they’ll fuck someone else with me bound and blindfolded, that kind of thing.*

You read my text, begin typing, then delete your response. Nothing comes. I wait for you to begin typing again but nothing happens. Perhaps you need prompting.

*I’m exactly what you accused me of being: a consenting adult who enjoys being degraded by someone significantly older than her.*

The second speaker drags on longer than anyone wants to hear. Midway through an award announcement, my phone buzzes and then buzzes again. I read your texts although my poker face is wearing thin.

The first: *tell me more.*

The second: *do you want me to ignore you tonight, or was that something I should file away for later use/lack thereof?*

Someone calls me to the stage and I have you to thank for this. Years later, my first wondered will be *tell me more* when someone shows me this photo. I helped plan this conference but you crowd out thoughts of the award, the committee meetings, the PowerPoint, the oral presentation. Not even my shoes are safe: your touch from this morning is seared into the patent leather. Reverent and somehow filthy, sending a blush over my entire face at the memory.

I down a cup of ice water before replying.

*Really gonna make me say it?*

*Yes.*

*Fine. Press how turned on I get at you thinking about someone else while fucking me.*

*I look forward to pressing that and other buttons tonight.*

*Sadist.*

You don’t respond, because I’m right and because your shame is out to pasture with my modesty somewhere. I chug more water while waiting for my Uber. My morning makeup is faded; my perfume is more ghost than blatant invitation. It’s broad daylight. I could still back out.

Then you text me again, when I’m halfway to your neighborhood.

*When you get here, I want you to take a bath. Relax, breathe, etecetera. There’s no agenda and I just want you to be comfortable. Dinner will arrive around 7:30 and there are cocktail ingredients in the fridge.*

Then, as an afterthought, as I approach your street:

*Thank you for being brave.*

My response, sent as I’m already unlocking your door and returning the key to its hiding spot:

*Thank you for taking a gamble.*

NSFW: yes

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