CHAPTER FIVE
Daisy
I haven’t seen Mr. Marks for about a week now but I hope he remembers our meeting with Mr. Ranger tonight. It’s weird, after that dinner he disappeared again and I ate several meals alone in the big dining room, the silence deafening, chewing silently, miserable in my own company.
And because I haven’t seen him, I haven’t gotten the chance to remind him in person about our meeting. So earlier that morning, I’d called his office hesitantly.
“Is Mr. Marks available?” I’d asked Penny, his secretary.
“And who is this?” asked a clipped voice.
“Oh um, it’s Daisy,” I mumbled. Why, oh why, was I shy all of a sudden? It wasn’t even him on the phone.
But his secretary’s voice warmed ever so slightly.
“Let me check,” she said, her fingers clacking away at the keys. And she was back in a sec, efficient and business-like. “Yes, you and your guest are expected at Marks Holdings at 5:30 p.m. today. Please be on time,” she said in a clipped voice.
This didn’t bode well. I thought we’d have a meeting at home, something short and informal in the drawing room by the front door. That way Mr. Ranger could get a glimpse of the amazing Marks mansion but leave as soon as it was over.
But it seems that Tristan had pulled the rug out from under me and turned this into a full-on business meeting at the company offices. Calm down, I scolded myself, the meeting will be over in five minutes, it’s no big deal. Tristan’s a busy man, it’s nothing.
So I got ready slowly before taking a cab to the imposing corporate headquarters of Marks Holdings. And once on the forty-fifth floor, my nerves jangled. In my skirt and button-down shirt, I looked hopelessly like a student, awkward and geeky, my heels clacking uncomfortably loud on the waxed floors. Why hadn’t someone told me that stilettos would be so loud in these imposing corridors? This was so over my head, I was an imposter, someone who didn’t belong among these busy professionals.
And minute by minute, the tension only grew, a serious case of nerves. Bland muzak buzzed in my ears, the air conditioning droning, a freezing blast of air blowing down the back of my blouse. I could feel a cold trickle of sweat trailing down my back, chilly and uncomfortable. Where was Mr. Ranger? Where was that goddamn English teacher when you needed him, to get this over with? But that was unfair, and I knew it. Get with it, I scolded myself. It’s just a meeting between two men, you’ll be out of here in five, I reminded myself. But it was more than that. It was seeing Tristan again, and my body was already going into over-drive with anticipation.
Nervously, I tiptoed to reception.
“Hi, can I use the bathroom please?” I asked, voice wavering, teetering a bit in my heels.
“Oh sure honey,” said the older lady. “It’s just around the corner.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, and tottering off, I made my way to privacy. Another trail of cold sweat slid down my back, and my temples were slightly moist, hands clammy. Was I having an allergic reaction of some sort?
But when I got into the restroom, my worst fears were confirmed. Instead of coming across as cool, confident and poised, I looked exactly the opposite – a high school student completely out of her element, sweaty and overheated with wet blotches under my armpits.
Shit! I couldn’t go in looking like this. Checking to make sure there was no one else in the restroom, I whipped off my blouse. Maybe if I held it under the hand dryer, I could get the wet stains out or at least dry it so that they weren’t so visible. Stretching the material out as best I could, I held the fabric under the machine as it roared to life, powerful gushes of air blasting.
Stay with it, I calmed myself. Stay with it. And maybe it was the white noise of the dryer, the feel of warm air reassuring, but as I waited, my nerves began to ease. What was I so worried about? It was a meeting between two alpha males, sure, but they could handle themselves. I just had to sit and be there, nod at the right times, and everything would be fine. What was wrong with me? Why was I questioning myself?
As my confidence began returning, I checked myself in the mirror sideways, eyeing my cleavage. Although I’ve stopped wearing underwear, I haven’t had the luxury of going bra-free. It’s impossible given that my girls are so huge now, it’d be positively obscene to go without some support. So I turned to the side, admiring how my girls were like the prow of a boat and winked at myself in the mirror, mentally reminding myself to buck up, things would be fine.
Suddenly, an idea came over me. The best thing to do before the meeting, to get myself into a self-possessed, assertive state of mind, would be to orgasm. I needed to let myself go for a bit, let the heebee-jeebies out, and then I’d be fine. It was only 5:20 p.m. now. I had ten minutes still, no one had shown up and maybe Tristan would be late. Could I do it? Biting my lip, I spread my blouse out on the counter, noting with satisfaction that the wet spots were almost gone and tip-toed over to the restroom door, locking it with a quiet snick. Could I?
Slowly, oh so slowly, I gazed at myself in the mirror, licking my lips, still a little nervous. But the image of Tristan filled my mind, his dark hair, those massive shoulders, the knowing gleam in his eyes. And before I could stop myself, I’d slipped my bra straps over my shoulders, setting my girls free, and hitched up my skirt so it was bunched up around my waist. Oh god, that was already better. My pink pussy lips gleamed in the mirror, a drop of arousal visible at my slit and I slipped a finger to caress it, to smooth the wetness into my skin.
Balancing in my high heels, I spread my legs as best I could and began running my fingers over my pussy, running up and down my soft labia before pushing deep into the wetness, stimulating myself while my other hand tugged at a dusky nipple.
“Ohhh, ohh,” I moaned, my eyes closed, mouth half-open with pleasure. “Ohhh Tristan,” my breathy cries came.
And the image of my handsome, imposing guardian was enough to make me come. With a sudden jerk, my pussy snapped and clenched around my fingers, a gush of cream running out onto my wrist, dripping off hotly. My snatch pulsed, spasmed and shivered, tingles running through my body until I was limp, my legs wet noodles, backbone like mush. With a strangled sigh, I propped myself up against the counter, pulling my fingers out with a wet squelch. Oh god, oh god, it’d been so good and all I’d done was think about Mr. Marks, imagine him in my mind’s eye.
But time was a-ticking. I glanced at myself in the mirror, hurriedly rinsing off my hands, pulling down my skirt and fixing my hair again. Was there a difference? Was it obvious that I’d just touched myself, had a blast dreaming of the billionaire? There was a flush on my cheeks now, a sudden dreamy aura, and I hoped to god everyone would attribute it to my love of school, my natural enthusiasm for books. It was go time … and I hoped my guardian was ready too.