I wasn’t angry. Pissed maybe, but not angry. Who was I more pissed at? The little mouse or me? The jury was still out on that.
It didn’t take much digging to find out about Paige Matthews. She was a recent graduate from Emerson. She’d won several awards and had a promising career, so what I wanted to know was: why was an obviously talented journalist answering letters about cheating husbands and unrequited love?
After I’d found her phone, I scrolled through her social media apps for about thirty minutes until the lock screen kicked me out. From her bookmarks and notes, the young journalist was obviously working on a story on Expose and had somehow managed to sneak a phone in. Her snooping would uncover too many people’s secrets, including mine, and that wasn’t an option.
Since last night, I’d left countless messages for Vivian, but she hadn’t returned any of my calls. She had, however, sent a text message asking if I had missed her, and informing me that she was enjoying the money she’d gotten from the sale of the invitation.
I would deal with the scorned sub later because right now, I planned to find out what Miss Matthews’ deal was. Since she worked for The Reporter and had somehow gotten her hands on Vivian’s invitation, I believed she wasn’t a plant from a competitor. At least that was some good news.
But the fact that I had done what I had done with an intruder was eating at me. I couldn’t remember a time when a woman had gotten under my skin as fast as she had. Her body filled my every thought along with guilt at my actions.
I knew better than to act like a junior and untrained Dom unable to control his urges. I still wasn’t able to justify to myself why I’d acted the way I had.
My cock hadn’t stopped throbbing, and no matter how many times I’d jerked off, my need for her hadn’t sated. The memory of the sounds she made when she climaxed was sweet music to my ears, and something I wanted to hear again and again and again.
I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do when she arrived. Would I confront her about her phone or would I let the interview go ahead as planned?
Alec had been furious when I’d demanded that Paige, and Paige only, be the one to interview me, and he had had every right to be. But I promised him I would give him an exclusive and soon. For now, that seemed to mollify him.
Having the mouse come to my apartment was my way to unnerve her and maybe to make her sweat in more ways than one. Sure, I could’ve invited her to my office, or somewhere less personal, but I wanted her alone and in my fucking territory.
With my clothes on and mask off, she wouldn’t recognize me. The light in the room last night was purposefully dim. Plus, we were in two completely different environments.
A devious idea popped into my head, and I searched for an episode of The Office. When I found a Christmas special, I put it on and left it playing in the background. Her choice of a safe word still brought a smile to my face despite my best intentions to feel nothing but anger towards her.
How would she behave during the interview? Would she still have the same quirky sense of humor as last night? I hoped so. Or would she find interviewing me intimidating?
In my everyday life, I was as intimidating and as driven as the next investment banker, but I wasn’t as intimidating as when I was at the club. I saved that side of my personality for my subs.
The doorbell rang, and my balls tingled. She was here.
I strolled to the foyer, and when I opened the door, my breath caught. Standing in front of me wasn’t the masked vixen in the little black dress from last night, but she was just as stunning.
She wore her hair back in a tight ponytail and a flash of yanking her head back while I took her from behind, crashed into the forefront of my mind. She wore black-rimmed glasses that accentuated her green eyes. Last night, I hadn’t been aware of how vivid they were. Her skin was fresh and scraped free of makeup, and the Manhattan wind had reddened her cheeks and nose.
She stood there, biting her inner cheek the way she had last night. As if my cock wasn’t already hard enough.
She held out her hand and said, “Mr. Palmer, I’m Paige Matthews from The New York Reporter. You were expecting me? Sorry, I’m a little late.”
She gave me a dimpled smile, and I wondered how I’d missed her dimples the previous evening.
“I’m not a fan of lateness. I usually make people pay in some way to teach them a lesson, but I’ll let it go this one time.”
Her smile faltered a little. “Um, thanks and good to know. Can I come in, or would you like me to interview you in the hallway?”
She grinned, and my heart stuttered. I hated myself for loving to see her smile. She glanced down at her fingers, and I realized I’d ignored her outstretched hand.
I took her small palm and enveloped it in mine, and the second our hands touched, it was like she’d reached down and caressed my cock. Inviting her to my apartment could turn out to be a bad idea for both of us.
I had iron willpower, but this little mouse could possess enough power to bend it.
A flash of something ran across her eyes. Was it recognition? Did she feel the same thing I did when our hands touched?
She quickly blinked and stepped into my apartment— like everyone who entered my home always did. Her eyes widened, and her jaw slackened at the view of Central Park from my living room windows. It was something I would never grow immune to. From my vantage point, I could see the entire fucking span of the park.
“Wow. Just wow.” She turned to face me, her face filled with awe. “You live here alone?”
Not giving me a chance to answer, she continued, “How big is this place? How do you get any work done with this view?”
I smiled at her childlike enthusiasm.
“Almost 4000 square feet. And to answer your other question, yes, I live here alone, and I get a lot of work done that way. You should see the view of Central Park when it’s covered in snow. It’s breathtaking.”
“I bet. When I was a kid, I used to dream about having the ice rink all to myself. I’d imagine gliding across the ice with the skyline in the background.”
She lost herself to her thoughts, and a happy sigh floated from her lips, reminding me of how she’d sounded after her second orgasm.
“If you’d like to see the view at night, you’ll have to stop by some evening.”
I was flirting and enjoyed the way her cheeks reddened at my not-so-subtle invitation. I stood behind the sofa, hoping it would hide the hard on straining against the crotch of my jeans. I wanted to order her to strip her clothes off, so I could view her body in the daylight to see if it was as exquisite as I remembered from when we were in the dimly lit club.
But if I wanted to find out more about this little mouse who didn’t seem so mousy today, I had to bide my time. She dropped her bag onto the sofa and shrugged off her coat. I noticed she didn’t take as much care of her things as she had last night. Probably because she didn’t have a phone hidden anywhere.
Her tight jeans accentuated the curve of her ass. The ass that had been on the end of my hand, but her sweater sadly only showed a hint of her beautiful tits.
She tilted her head, and a perplexed expression crossed her face. “You don’t decorate for Christmas?”
I shrugged. “There’s no point since I’m the only one who is usually here and when I am, I’m working. No one would get to enjoy it.”
“Shame. You could fit a twenty-foot tree in here and still have room for more.”
“I’ll take it under consideration,” I said with a smile.
“Ready?” she asked.
I grinned— it was the same question I’d asked her last night.
“Ready,” I replied. “Promise you’ll be gentle.”
She gave me a lopsided grin. “If I get too tough, you can use a safe word.”
She giggled, and it was a delightful tinkling sound.
I did a double take and raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me.”
“Sorry.” She said, taking a pad of paper and pen from her bag. She pointed the pen towards the TV. “Looks like you were watching The Office before I got here. It’s one of my favorite shows. Michael and Jan’s safe word is Foliage.”
“I know,” was my only reply.
She sat a voice recorder in the center of the table and pressed record. And once I had my dick under control, I sat down on the sofa directly opposite her.
Paige began her interview by asking, “Wouldn’t you prefer someone who’s much more experienced than I am?”
“Is that your first question?” I asked, startled.
“Yes.”
She pursed her lips at me, and I wasn’t sure if she meant the question to be a double entendre. This little Paige Matthews was full of big surprises. Oh, how I wished I could tie her up and teach her that I was the one in charge. Instead, I had to act professional and answer her questions, but she was making that task— and my fucking cock— very hard indeed.