M y life has turned into something completely unexpected .

Every day, I live to see what Bentley is going to tell me to do next. He has such creative and unusual ideas for me—daring me to push my limits. And not just in the office. He’s started texting me outside of office hours .

When I told him yesterday that I was going out with Janelle in the evening, he ordered me to wear the sluttiest outfit I have and to send him dirty pictures from the bathroom. And during our drinks, to think about all the things he was going to do to me .

The possessiveness set me on fire. Even Janelle noticed a difference in me, saying I seem more assertive, more awake. I couldn’t explain the depths of what I’ve gotten into with my boss. How could I? It would give away our secret. And I promised that what happened in his office stayed there .

Even if this has branched outside of that. The idea is still the same .

Last night, Bentley called me when I got home and over the phone, he coaxed me into an orgasm. I barely had to touch myself. My body was already so primed for him. It’s crazy how much I respond to him. How much I need him .

Crazy and scary. But here I am, living on the edge and not thinking about what it means for tomorrow. I can’t seem to help it. Being with him is a compulsion. Giving in to his demands…it makes me feel so good to please him .

And yet, even as it makes me feel good, I also kind of…hate it. Not because of the intimacy that I think is growing there—I know I’m dropping my walls for him—but because I worry it’s all just an illusion, a rich fantasy. Bentley keeps me shut out of his real inner world. In fact, I question if anyone knows him .

What are he and I? I don’t know. We’re more than employer/employee, but we’re not dating. But we’re also not just fuck buddies. We’re something way more complicated and intricate, despite the walls that are still up between us—and all because of him. I’m not even sure it has a word .

Whatever we are, it’s strange and confusing and scary, and I crave it like oxygen .

But I still know next to nothing about him. He is a vault of secrets, impenetrable as Fort Knox. And not even the dynamic we have going on is enough to make him crack a little. The thought depresses me a little .

I need to feel like this isn’t just me being vulnerable. Because he’s piercing deep into my psyche, making me face things about myself I never have before. Challenging my views on my body, my sexuality. But what is this doing for him? Anything ?

I shake off these morose thoughts and go about my morning routine. Make him coffee and leave it on his desk, along with notes about what to expect for the day. He’s grown to like this, and I enjoy doing my job well .

This morning, when he comes in, he barely spares me a glance. Goes into his office with a sour look on his face and doesn’t emerge .

No emails to me. No texts. Silence .

I’m restless. I have backburner work that I focus on, but that’s not what I need. I need our dynamic. I need him giving me orders on something to do for him. But I don’t get a word .

Hours tick by in torturous clicks. Kim asks me if I want to have lunch with her. I’m tempted to say no and sit at my desk, but I already know he’s gone out to lunch. There’s no purpose just staying there and looking desperate. So I agree to go. Screw this. I’ve let myself get too hung up on someone who is just playing with me. Righteous anger fills my chest. Indignation .

After putting my cell phone on silent, I shove it into my desk drawer and lock it. Then I enjoy my lunch as best as I can .

We chat about various things in our lives—movies we’ve seen, books we’ve read, what’s going on with our families. Mine isn’t in touch with me a lot, so I don’t have much to offer to that topic, but I listen attentively and ask questions. When our hour is up, we head back to work .

I refuse to check my phone in my desk. No one would text me but him anyway, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m only here at his whim, at his beck and call. Instead, I do emails, filing, other things that have fallen to the wayside .

The afternoon surprisingly flies. People leave, but Bentley’s office door remains shut. Stubbornly so. And I can’t leave work until he does .

I try not to sulk about that fact. He hired me for a job, and that comes first and foremost. Maybe whatever we had going on between us is done now, and I need to move forward and stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about the way he’s made me orgasm effortlessly. How I can’t keep from fantasizing about him and his commanding voice .

He could so easily ruin me. Thank God I’m keeping my heart intact. This was just a physical thing, that’s all. A fling, if even that. We only had sex once. Does that count as a fling? I don’t know anymore. And it doesn’t matter .

Bentley’s door flies open, and he stares at me with a hard look on his face. “Come in here .”

I hear the weight behind the words. The anger. I’m in trouble—real trouble. The question is, what do I do? Am I supposed to respond with the dynamic we established, or just act normal ?

I choose the latter. If he wants to continue, he’s going to have to make that clear. So I straighten my spine and step into his office, leaving the door open. I’m sure as fuck not gonna make anything easy on him. “What did you need? Are you about ready to go home yet?” I let impatience leak into my tone .

“Shut the door.” There is a warning in his eyes .

I pause for a long, long moment. Weigh what I’m going to do. He’s ignored me all day—something that hasn’t happened for a couple of weeks since we started this new phase. Do I just tell him no? What will happen ?

“Samantha. Shut. The. Door.” Oh, there is punishment in his tone now .

And I’m moving before I know it, closing and locking it behind me. Damn my weakness .

“Assume the position .”

I can see that he’s pissed he even has to tell me this. But how was I supposed to know we were still doing that? That I’m always supposed to be “on” and ready for him? My jaw is tight as I stalk over to the wall. I’m not going to just simper before him. No, I’m feeling resistant right now. If he wants my submission, he’s going to have to earn it. I press my palms to the wall and stare stonily ahead, without raising my skirt. I’m so asking for trouble, I know. But I can’t seem to help it .

I’m mad .

I’m mad, and I want his attention. The way he’s been giving it to me before he ignored me all day .

I’m mad, and I don’t want him to take my submission for granted .

Bentley comes up behind me. “You haven’t responded to your texts .”

“My phone has been in my drawer,” I say in a monotone reply .

“You’re not in proper position,” he continues .

I take a moment before I answer. “I wasn’t sure we were doing that anymore.” I was trying to go for offhand, casual, but somehow it came out sounding a little needy. And I hate myself for that .

Bentley doesn’t speak for a few seconds. But I can feel the weight of him behind me. His presence a statue. He’s hard and angry; I can sense the heated emotion radiating off him. “You disobeyed me in not answering your texts and in not properly displaying yourself before me. You will be punished .”

My skirt is then yanked up over my hips onto my waist, exposing my bare ass before him. I stiffen .

When his hand cracks my right ass cheek, I almost howl. The pain shatters through me, a shock. This is genuine punishment, I realize. Not the small, fun things I went through before. He spanks me again on the same cheek, and the burning feeling makes me bite my lower lip. I won’t cry out. I refuse to give in to that weakness .

“Two more. Take two more for me,” he says .

And it sounds insane, but hearing him ask me to take more in that coaxing tone makes me want to. I give a curt nod .

His hand moves to my left ass cheek, a splintering crack on the flesh that forces me forward. The sting is biting, and my eyes flood with tears .

I brace myself .

It’s just as hard as the other hit, and my ass is on fire .

And then his hands are soothing my aching flesh and he’s saying soft words in my ear, telling me how good I was to take those blows, how much he has ached for me today. Before I know it, I’m spun around and my back is on the wall, and he’s kissing me like I’m his air .

His mouth is a drug, pulling me into another plane of existence. I can’t think of anything but him. Even the pain on my ass fades away as he strokes me and soothes me and shows me affection. He’s never been this gentle before. His hands ignite me in a whole new way. I gasp when his mouth trails down my throat to nip at my collar bone .

Dig my fingers into his hair and urge him closer .

I can’t have him close enough. My body is on fire for him. Every cell, every molecule, awakened because of his touch .

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Samantha,” he breathes against my skin, his lips moving further toward my breast. He suckles my nipple through the fabric, and I gasp, arch toward his seeking mouth .

“I thought you were done with me,” I find myself admitting. I can hear the delicate tremor in my voice and I just pray he doesn’t as well .

“I can’t,” he grinds out. He looks at me. “I can’t be done with you .”

The intensity I see there is enough to knock me off my feet .

We fumble to get our clothes off and then drop to the floor on top of our discarded clothing. He rolls on a condom and is inside me instantly. My body is wet and ready to take him in, and I groan and shift my pelvis to welcome him deeper .

“Fuck,” he growls against my forehead. His panting is uneven, matching my own. His body slides along mine, and soon our sweat intermingles .

My thighs fall wide open as I welcome him into me. I need Bentley more than I can say. More than I can find words for. So I let my body tell him. I grip his shoulders, urge him to fuck me faster. Harder .

He obliges, and soon the breath is stolen from my lungs. My body’s inner fire is stoking, his relentless drilling making it hotter, hotter. In this moment, I feel so much. I need so much .

I’m alive .

Bentley grips the back of my head in that way I love so much and exposes my throat. Bites my neck and makes me shudder, never stopping that delicious jackhammering in my pussy. I moan and shake, senseless words streaming from my mouth .

“I need you to come on my cock, baby,” he growls. He slams into me harder, and the angle strokes me in just the right place. My channel tightens and my orgasm builds .

“Yes,” I breathe against him, digging my nails into his back. My pelvis is off the floor now as I meet each thrust of his. I can hear the sloppy wet sounds of my pussy as he pulls in and out of me. And God help me, I love that he can do that to me. Make me so wet and turned on for him .

I’m so close. So close. My orgasm is inching nearer, and my nipples are beaded and rubbing along his chest, and he’s tightening his grip on me, murmuring to me the things he wants to do to me .

And then I’m falling over the edge, and he’s right there with me, his mouth on mine, both of us swallowing each other’s cries as we come at the same time. It’s heady and intense and erotic, and I know in this moment that I am never going to be the same person I was before .

Bentley has changed me .

We ease down from our climaxes, and he relaxes on top of me. Part of my heart tightens, waiting for him to withdraw and tell me to leave the office. He does pull out, but then he comes back to my side, wrapping an arm around me .

We lie on the floor for a few minutes in silence .

Finally, Bentley stands and offers me his hand. I can’t read his eyes, but I can tell from his body language that he’s still feeling relaxed .

“Come,” he says. “I know somewhere a bit more comfortable than this .”

* * *

I exhale hard and roll off Bentley, flopping to his side in his massive bed. We’re both covered in sweat again, our limbs tangled in each other. When he told me he had a better place to go, I never would have imagined it would be his own penthouse. But sure enough, I’m nestled by his side in a California king-size bed, in sheets with a higher thread count than I even knew existed .

Bentley chuckles and whips off his second condom for the day, tossing it, then curls up against me. “So I’m guessing you enjoyed cowgirl-style .”

Enjoyed it? I came so hard I nearly saw stars. Straddling his firm body, his hands gripping my hips, grinding against him…it was almost too much. “Yeah, it was fun,” I finally say with a laugh. “To say the least. I’m pretty sure I may be broken now .”

We lie there in the lap of luxury. The overhead lights aren’t on, so since it’s sunset, the room is dim. I can barely see his face, just the outline. But I can feel him against me. Knowing he’s so relaxed right now makes me wonder, when is the last time he’s been this way? Because he’s never relaxed at work. And I can’t see him being someone who shuts that off easily .

Was he this goal-driven when he was a child? This tense? I can only imagine a little Bentley running around, bossing kids on the playground to do what he orders them to do. A chuckle slips out .

“What?” he asks, pushing off the damp hair from my brow and giving it a small kiss .

The romantic gesture makes me pause, and I warn myself not to read too much into it. This is just physical, is all. Nothing about him has indicated it would be anything more. That’s all I can expect. “I was just imagining what your life was like when you were growing up. What were you like as a kid ?”

I can feel his entire body stiffen. For a moment, it seems like he isn’t going to say anything. Then, quiet words come from him. “I was adopted, actually .”

Wow. I never would have guessed. “How old were you ?”

“Nine,” he grits out. “It’s not something I like to talk about .”

“Why not?” I know I shouldn’t keep pressing, but this is the first glimpse he’s really given me about himself. And I can tell it’s something important. “I just want to know more about you, that’s all. You’re so closed off .”

Bentley gets out of bed, his back to me. Even in the faded light, I can see the muscular planes of his body. “I’m going to take a shower.” His voice is clipped. “Then we’ll drop you back off at your place.” With that, he vanishes into the en suite bathroom. I hear the hiss of water turning on .

I want to smack my forehead. I pushed too hard and it drove him away. Well done, Samantha, I chide myself. I got one opening and I blew it. Now he’s withdrawn from me, and all I can hope is that it won’t do too much damage .

But something is wrong there, something he doesn’t want to talk about. Bentley is adopted. Why does it seem like that’s such a big secret for him? I can’t help but burn with curiosity about this enigmatic man who’s feet from me, yet also miles away .

And I didn’t help the distance, with my big mouth and pushy questions. I had to push, got greedy for more when he’d already given so much today .

I groan and lie back on the bed, closing my eyes. How would I feel if someone was prying into why I left college? I’d clam up the same way. Not want to talk about something that is so difficult for me .

Problem is, this arrangement isn’t just physical for me. At some point, this became more. My heart got tangled up, despite my best efforts otherwise. I want to know everything about this man, what made him the person he is today. Why he was drinking alone that first night I met him. Why he seems so haunted, so in pain .

The shower shuts off. I get up and slide back into my clothes, not wanting to give him another thing to be upset about. Even so, part of me resents that asking him a couple of questions about his past caused him to withdraw so much. Isn’t it natural that people in sexual relationship want to know more about each other? Maybe for him, he literally only wanted this to be just sex. Nothing else .

I don’t know how to do that. And even more, I don’t know if I can, or if I want to. I have snippets, clues about who he is, but it isn’t enough. My heart aches for more .

* * *

B entley drops me off, and I pretend it’s not a big deal. I keep my chin up and offer a glossy “thanks” for the ride. I stroll to my apartment building and get inside. And when I’m in the privacy of my bedroom, I let my emotions uncoil. I’m so confused, so unsure what to do. What will tomorrow be like ?

I change into pajama shorts and a tank and grab leftovers from the fridge. Eat cold Chinese food alone. Shower off and head to bed. Might as well try to shake this off and worry about it tomorrow. I can’t sit here pondering what is going to happen—I’ll drive myself insane .

I struggle to sleep, tossing and turning. I don’t get more than an hour or two stretch before I wake up. I’m plagued by thoughts—not just about Bentley, but about me. About my past. About who I am and who I want to be .

I care about Bentley. That much is true. Maybe tomorrow I can apologize for pushing him too hard. Because he has a right to open up at his own pace. I wouldn’t want to be forced into spilling my own story. It’s part of the reason I left my old college behind .

Three students came out a couple of months after my “affair” with Binkley and said he had slept with them over the course of the last two years. He denied the accusations, naturally, and much of the student body and even employees tried to discredit the girls. He was popular. He was male. And even if people believed their claims, he wasn’t slut-shamed the way they were. The girls stood their ground as best as they could, but once the local media hopped on the story, they were slandered all over social media. Vultures everywhere, tearing their lives apart .

Meanwhile, I was a mess, riddled with guilt, and the pressure was too much. Instead of coming forward and saying he had come on to me too, that we had become involved, I quit school and returned home .

I left those girls to hang and ran away, tail between my legs. And now I don’t know how to forgive myself over it. Thankfully the media furor around the students died down, from my online research. Two of the students left the college and transferred elsewhere to escape the flack. Only one remained enrolled, and she graduated last semester .

I flop onto my stomach and punch my pillow to fluff it up. I’m not even going to look at the time on my phone. I’m sure it’s really late. As I finally drift off to sleep, I remember the feel of being in Bentley’s arms, the kiss he left on my forehead that seems to have imprinted itself on my skin .

* * *

T he next morning, I leave Bentley’s coffee on his desk as usual. But he must have come in to the office while I was in the break room, because I don’t see him at all. I try not to be paranoid about it—after all, he has a busy day, including lunch with his parents. Who are due to arrive any minute .

I don’t know why, but I’m kind of nervous to meet them. Maybe because I’m having an affair with their son. Or maybe because I’m developing feelings for him .

I run to the restroom and when I return, I see two older people hovering near his office. My heart gives a painful skip, and I walk over. “Hi, can I help you ?”

“Oh, hi!” the woman says as she smiles. “Do you know where Bentley is ?”

“He’s finishing up in a meeting,” I tell her. “You must be…Mrs. Strongwell ?”

“The one and the only!” She looks at me. “You’re new here, aren’t you ?”

I thrust out my hand. “Samantha Bridges. I’m Mr. Strongwell’s assistant. Just started working here recently.” I shake her hand and her husband’s. “Pleased to meet you both .”

“Oh, right,” his father says, nodding. “I seem to remember Bentley mentioning he hired someone new. Guess his previous assistant couldn’t handle her feelings for him , huh ?”

I become very still . What ?

My heart’s suddenly racing .

“Shush,” the wife admonishes, elbowing him in the side. “Don’t gossip.” She looks at me. “I’m sure you’re doing great work. Bentley is demanding but fair .”

So his assistant wasn’t fired for not doing good enough work. She fell for Bentley. My stomach twists. Did he do these things with her too ?

“We’re going to that new Italian joint down the street,” his father says, tactfully changing the subject. “Have you been there yet ?”

“No, but one of our coworkers did the other day and said it was amazing .”

“Maybe you can — ”

“What’s going on here?” Bentley butts in. He’s ravishing as usual, his black suit molded to his lean, firm frame. His eyes glance between the three of us. Well, he gives me a cursory look, then maintains his attention on his parents. “I’m ready to go eat .”

My heart is in my throat. It’s insane, but I want him to look at me. I want him to ask me to join them for lunch. But the way he’s steadfastly ignoring me, I can tell that’s a pipe dream .

One that is confirmed when he finally does deign to look my way, all he says is, “I’m sure you have work to do .”

Dismissed. My face burns. I struggle to maintain my professionalism in front of his parents. Give a quick nod then duck down to my desk and stare blindly at my computer. And when he leaves, I feel my eyes burning and a couple of tears slip out .