At Mr. Cartwright's Command (5 page)

His hips begin to pull back farther from me and he thrusts into me, harder and faster each time.  He groans, sexily, as I wrap my foot around his ankle, barely being able to move any other part of my body.  He's holding my body tightly against his as I climax into him.  Losing control with him is absolute
ecstasy.

He comes not long after I do, his body propped up and arching over mine.  His hands come to my shoulders and he moves my hair to place a kiss on the back of my neck.  “You are delicious, as always,” he says.

He moves to set my wrists free from the restraints and pulls me up to my feet.  

I see him move to adjust his clothes and pick up his belt.
Fuck no. 
He's leaving again, like that? Almost literally leaving me hanging?

“Where are you going?”

“What's it to you?” he replies rudely.

“Nothing, I'm just wondering.  Every time we....you just ...run off.”

He smirks.  “And? I'm a busy man. I have things to do.”

Yeah, and probably other
people
to do. 
My lip turns up into a pout and I cover my chest with my arms.  “Fine.” And it is. We both got what we needed out of this situation.  It is a business deal, and nothing more.  I'm fine with that.

Or at least that's what I tell myself...

He takes my chin between his fingers.  “Be waiting for me in here – and naked – tomorrow, by 6.”

My eyes narrow and I say “By 6 you mean 10 pm again?”

His smirk fades and he grabs me tightly by the ass, pulling me against him.
That fucking hurts.

“Don't sass me or I'll make you pay for it tomorrow.”

I gulp, without saying another word.  He was as intimidating as his was sexy.

He lets me go, watching me intently as if to warn me, silently, with his eyes.  He turns and exits the room without as much as a goodnight.

I'm left naked and alone in his torture chamber.

H
ey Tamara,

Thank you so much for submitting your wonderful resume! We here at Fanciful Flourishes think you might be a good fit for our team, and would like to meet with you  ASAP.  We will be interviewing possible candidates at our studio tomorrow, between 3pm and 6pm.  Hope to see you there.

Xoxo,

Melissa Fredrick

FANCIFUL FLOURISHES FLORAL STUDIO

The email came at 8am sharp, and was there and waiting for me when I awoke a few hours after.  I've deleted plenty over the course of the past couple days – it's crazy just how many businesses and offices want you when you have a fancy zip code.  I'm so used to rejection that I almost didn't even bother applying to this fancy Soho flower shop, it seemed too far fetched.  But then again, so did the Cartwright Agency, and look where that got me.

I scroll over all the emails on my phone, most of them spam, but I keep scrolling back to this one.  The pay is great, it's in a nice neighborhood, and most of all it sounds
fun
.  Jobs aren't meant to be fun, right? I mean, do people honestly get paid to play with flowers all day?

With a sigh I pull the mail up again and hit reply.

Dear Ms. Fredrick,

Thank you so much for your consideration. I am more than honored to be considered for a position on our team, however at this time, for personal reasons, I must respectfully decline.

And I can't bring myself to type anything more than that.  I need my own money, I need to control my destiny.  Mr. Cartwright just didn't understand – maybe he would understand it better if I explained it better to him? No, no he wouldn't.  We're from different worlds and he would never understand.

I sigh as I discard the draft.

Dear Ms. Frederick,

Thank you for your consideration and for extending me the opportunity to interview for a position on your team.  I look forward to meeting with you first thing at 3pm tomorrow.  Have a wonderful day.

Regards,

Tamara Pierce

I hit send.

Fuck, what did I just do?

Everything will be fine.  How will he ever know? He never calls me or drops in in the middle of the day anyways, and I don't need a driver to get there after all, I have my old standby – the subway.  This is going to be a piece of cake.

Finally I have something to get my mind off of Mr. Cartwright.  Time to plan a professional, yet stylish, outfit for tomorrow.

*

I get so distracted with planning for tomorrow that I forget about time – I'm sitting at the laptop googling possible interview questions while Netflix blasts in background. I almost don't hear the door creak open.  I look at the time – it's 6pm sharp. And Mr. Cartwright is on time.

I barely get a chance to click the browser off when he appears in the door frame, his sturdy frame fully erect with a fitted tan suit hugging his body just right.  He looks delicious, but his eyes are wild.

“What are you doing?”

I jump up and reply, “I—nothing, I'm sorry I just lost track of time.”

He glares at me out of the corner his eye, suspiciously – hell my face must look suspicious now and I can't help it. 

“I thought I told you to be in my room and naked when I got here?”

“I'm sorry I--”

“Do you not take the things I say seriously?”

“I do, I do, I'm sorry,” I say as I move towards the hall, but he stays planted firmly in the frame, not letting me pass.

His eyes soften and he places his hand around my neck, thumbing the skin lightly. “How should we remedy this, Tamara?”

I swallow hard. 
God no, not again.
  “It won't happen again.  I swear.”

He sighs and turns to his side, placing the key in my palm.  “You have 1 minute.”

I nod nervously and shuffle to his chamber, hastily unlocking the door and leaving it slightly cracked open for him.  I strip off my clothes and throw them in a pile in the corner right before I hear the door shut.

No way was that a full minute.

I turn around see Mr. Cartwright standing in he middle of the room, his jacket stripped off in a pile on the floor behind him.  He beckons me with nothing more than his eyes and I move to stand directly in front of him.  Nervously, I reach for the buttons of his collar and he grabs my hands, stopping them.

“No, that isn't how this works, you know that. Get on your knees.”

Now this – this I can do, and it's a million times better than any punishments. I kneel down, eye level with his crotch as he removes his belt. I don't dare touch his bulge, as much as I want to, secretly getting satisfaction out of the fact that he's already obviously half hard just
thinking
about me. He bends forward and I feel something slip around my neck.  It's his belt. 
What?
He fastens it like a collar firmly around my neck and I don't like it one bit.  It's not too tight, but it certainly isn't loose nor is it comfortable.

“You'll wear this our entire time together,” he tells me. It could be worse.

He leaves my presence for a moment and my eyes follow him as he moves behind me.

“Turn around,” he bellows, and I obey without hesitation, but it doesn't stop my curiosity.  I can still hear him fiddling with things back there – what the hell is he going to do to me now?

I hear his footsteps come up behind me – grabs my arms and thrusts them behind me. 
Click. Click.
I'm bound by the handcuffs again.

He's in front of me again and he slowly unzips his pants – it's like torture.  He pulls out his cock – it's long, thick and delicious, as usual.  He puts the slick head against my lips and I look up at him.

“Open.”

He doesn't have to ask me twice and I part my lips and feel his length slide over my tongue.  Mmm, he even
tastes
delicious. 

I hear him groan like he never has before.  His hands get lost in my hair and he rocks into me, bringing my head closer to him with each stroke.  I wrap my tongue around him, flicking the tip of his cock as he pulls out and I feel him pull my hair tighter.  He continues to fuck my mouth, deeper and deeper as I take in his full length, lapping up every inch of him.

With a loud erotic groan he comes and I swallow every last drop.

He looks down at me and doesn't say anything but I know that he's pleased.  Did I just succeed in making Mr. Cartwright speechless?

“Get up.  Get on the table,” he commands, and I follow, moving across the room to the cold metal table on the other side.  It's freezing and not comfortable, but I try my best to perch myself on it's edge.

“No,” he says, pulling me off and spinning my body in the opposite direction.  He uses his weight to pin me against the tables edge, pushing over it head first, and his feet kick mine wide apart.  With one hand in my hair he holds my head tightly in place and uses the other to position his cock against my entrance.  I moan as he pushes into me, hard, with one full thrust.  His other hand grabs the end of his belt and I gasp as I feel tighten around my neck. Did I do something wrong? Yesterday was a walk in the park compared to this.  I start to panic and wonder if he somehow knows about the email.  Is this how he's punishing me?

He fucks me hard and rough, relentlessly thrusting his hard cock into my body.  The pain of it quickly turns to pleasure as I feel the most intense orgasm rising up inside of me, and then exploding like a million different colors. God, the high is so intense; even more so than the times before.

He jerks inside me as he comes, and falls resting on top of my back with his hand still tangled in my hair.  His chest heaves and I feel the heat of his body against mine.  His tongue traces the side of my face as my heart rate begins to settle.

“Stay,” he says before he removes himself from me, and I feel exposed standing there naked with my ass in the air yet again.  He returns seconds later, removing me from my handcuffs and lifting my body up off of the table.

He removes his belt from my neck, gently caressing his hand in it's place.  I'm still breathing hard from what he just did to me.

He stands there looking at me awkwardly, as if he wants to say something but won't. I'm not sure how to read his expressions, usually this is the time that he leaves abruptly, so I didn't come expecting anything different.

“What?” I ask softly.

His features settle and he leans into me, nuzzling his face against my mine.  His lips linger on my cheeks, his hands cupping the sides of my head, and I don't understand how this man can go from dominant and rough to gentle and loving in 4.5 seconds flat.

Loving?

His hand falls to my shoulder and he pulls back, looking me in the eye again.  I don't say anything this time.

Then he turns, retrieves his jacket, and leaves. Just like he always does.

I
can't think about Mr. Cartwright today; today is all about my interview – looking the part, sounding the part, and ultimately, nailing it.  The former is the easy part – with a closet full of designer clothing I have more than enough choices that will surely impress my potential boss.  Ultimately I decide on a conservative but rather stylish yellow silk dress – it's bright and cheery, and the color of sunflowers.

I continue to go over possible interview questions in my mind during the subway ride in to town. I have a list of almost 100 on my cell phone, but clearly some of those are for more corporate jobs and wouldn't pertain to me.

Still I can't help but get distracted, checking my messages once in a while.  I haven't heard anything from Mr. Cartwright all day.

After the train reaches my stop I walk a few blocks, past all the luxury showrooms and designer shops.  It takes me a minute to realize I can actually shop in these places if I want – deep down I still feel like an outsider, regardless of the color of my credit card.

I finally find the flower shop again, taking a deep breath before entering.

The sweet aroma of the florals wafts around me as I step inside.  There are a few customers browsing throughout the shop, and a woman frantically fiddling with an arrangement at a desk towards the back.

I move towards her, noticing that she's having issues securing a bow around one of her arrangements.  “Do you need some help with that?” I ask. She looks up at me through her long, brown hair that's fallen casually in her face.  I grab the edges of the bow and hold them in place for her before she can even respond. 

“Thanks,” she says with a friendly smile.  “You'd think I'd be a little better at this considering I own a flower shop and all.”

“Are you Melissa?”

Her smile and eyes grow brighter.  “I am, it's nice to meet you.”

I shake her hand and say.  “I knew because you emailed me yesterday. I'm Tamara, I'm here for the interview.”

She looks slightly surprised – but pleasantly so – as she steals a glance at my clothing.  “Oh, hi Tamara!  You're early,” she says.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“No, no, you're fine!  We appreciate that.  I'm not
used
to doing arrangements but Connor insisted on interviewing all the potentials today.”  She sounded playfully annoyed.  “He says I've only hired duds so far,” she said whispered with a smile.

“Did someone call my name?” I hear a male voice call out from the other side of the room.  Standing in a door way I see a rather tall man dressed in slacks with a teal sweater over a white button down and tie. 

Melissa laughs and says, “Speak of the devil. Tamara, this is Connor. He'll be interviewing you today.”

I move across the room towards him.  He reaches for my hand and says, “Connor, Connor Fredrick.  Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I reply.

“Just follow me.  Since you're here before anyone else I can go ahead and take you first.”

It pays to be the early bird.

I follow Connor into the back of the shop, where he leads me into a well decorated office and beckons me to take a seat across from his desk.  I wait patiently for a moment as he pulls up my resume on his Mac and studies it with furrowed brows.

“There isn't much on your resume,” he starts, and I try not to take it as a blow to my confidence, “but Melissa really likes you.”

I smile.

He turns to me and says, “I'll admit, my sister is a little bit of a snob.”

My brows narrow in confusion   “I don't quite understand?”

“I mean, I have to ask myself, why does an obviously well kept woman like yourself need – or hell even want – an entry level job like this?”

Oh, right.  The address, the clothes, the lack of work experience – he probably thinks I'm some sort of socialite, and the fact that the opposite is true is morbidly amusing.

“Well,” I start to speak before I realize that trying to explain this situation would be more complicated than I bargained for.  And how exactly do I tell a boss that I'm sleeping with a rich guy for an apartment?  “I've always wanted to get into this industry,” total bullshit, “so I figured why not now?  I do have the time, after all.”

Connor smiles and nods.  It's working.

“Cool, very cool,” he says and proceeds to explain the ins and outs of his business, what my role would be and how many hours I would be working.  He tells me that their wedding season is right around the corner, which is the main reason why they're bringing on a couple more people. It doesn't sound particularly glamorous, or even exciting, but it doesn't bother me – a job is a job, I knew a good one when I saw it.

After that he asks me a few questions about myself, which are pretty much the generic interview flair – what are your strengths and weaknesses, what do you bring to the table, how would you handle a conflict between your co-workers.  I surprise even myself at how well I handle them.

“So, Tamara, do you have any questions for me?”

“What made you decide that you wanted to do this?”

Connor leaned back and laughed.  “Well I was lucky to have really supportive parents who encouraged me to follow my dreams. I mean, I was going to be an accountant, can you imagine that?  I had this idea in my head that I needed to be practical.  But Melissa wouldn't stand for it – she's the brains behind this organization.  She got us a great investment and, well, the rest is history.”

I smile and nod.  “That's an awesome story.  How do you guys balance work life and married life?” I ask. 

His face goes blank.  “Did you think?  Oh god.  Melissa is my
sister
.”

I feel my face flush with embarrassment.
Good job Tamara, you just had to go and fuck a good thing up, didn't you?
“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I--”

He laughs nervously and cuts off my sentence.  “It's okay, honest mistake!  And we still like you,” he says with a wink. 
Thank God! 
“In fact I'm sure Melissa wouldn't mind if I hired you right now on the spot. So what do you say?”

My face lights up and for a second I question if I heard him right.  “You—I...but the other applicants...” What the hell I wrong with me?

“Hey, do you want this job or not?” he jokes.

“Yes! I do, of course. I absolutely want it.”

He stands up from behind the desk with a laugh.  “Great. We're happy to have you on board, and I hope you can start this weekend?”

“Absolutely. I'll be here.”

Connor flashes a grin at me.  “Perfect.”

I leave ecstatic.

*

Things are good. I'm 4 days into my new job, it's fun and fulfilling and my bosses love me.  I'm still living in the penthouse, and I haven't seen or heard from Mr. Cartwright since the last night in his chamber.

I'm not sure if that last part is good or bad. Let's just say it's something I'm content with.  For now.

Today I'm opening the store on my own – trying to tidy up in the back a bit before any customers arrive, and of course, I hear the door open just seconds after I officially open up shop.

“Can I help you?” I call out to them as I rush to the front of the store.

A petite woman stands in the doorway wearing a cream colored designer coat and heels.  Her sleek high ponytail bounces behind her a she turns towards me and greets me with pursed lips and wide eyes that are framed with fake lashes.  It's Veronica – the last person I ever wanted to see again.

Her eyes narrow and flutter when she sees me.  “Do I know you from someplace?” she asks in a completely unconvincing manner – if she weren't a customer I would totally roll my eye at her.

“From the agency,” I respond flatly.

“Oh, that's right. So how did your little audition go?” she asks with a smug smile.

“Actually it went very well,” I respond with a bit of smugness myself.

I watch my eyes travel down me – I'm wearing my smock now but she stops at my boots and I see a flash of something in her eyes – envy? 

“Are those Valentino?” She sounds shocked and almost appalled.

“Um, I don't know?” It's not like I checked the label.

She looks back up at me with contempt. “That collection isn't even in stores yet. How the hell did
you
get them?”

Okay, now this bitch is getting me heated and I fold my arms defensively across my chest.  Who the hell does she think she is walking in here and questioning me?

“Oh, I have my ways,” I reply slyly.  “Like I said, my interview with Mr. Cartwright went well – very well.”

Her mouth opens in shock, but she doesn't say anything.  I only smirk at her on the outside, but I'm howling with laughter on the inside.  She turns quickly on her stiletto's and heads for the door. 

I laugh and say, “I think you forgot your flowers?”

She stops in the door, silent for a moment before she turns back to me. The look on her face catches me completely off guard – her features are softer and she almost looks sad?

“He'll only break your heart,” she says quietly, “trust me, I know.”  And then she leaves.

She's just trying to fuck with me. 
Although I tried not to focus on it
,
in the back of my mind I always assumed that I wasn't Mr. Cartwright's only girl.  I'm too much of a pessimist not too, and too much of a realist to pretend like it didn't bother me.  But now it absolutely burns me.  A nameless faceless woman in another continent is one thing.  A woman I actually know of is another.  But Veronica of all people?  That was a whole different level of unacceptable.

I wanted to run after her, pull her by her little blonde ponytail and extract the truth from her, but I couldn't.  It wouldn't just look petty but it would prove that she succeeded in getting under my skin, and that's something I refuse to acknowledge.

I spend the rest of the day in a bit of a trance, even to the point where Melissa asks me if everything is okay.  I force myself to snap out of it before the day ends.

After I get home I relax and lollygag around the apartment without anything especially important to do.  It isn't until I’m already curled up in bed that I can't find the urge to contact him.

TAMARA: Hey we need to talk.

MR. CARTRIGHT: Why are you txting me?

TAMARA: Refer to my first msg

MR. CARTRIGHT: I’m not even in the country

do NOT txt me unless I txt you first

TAMARA: When are u coming back?

MR. CARTRIGHT: that’s none of your fucking business

TAMARA: A little rude dont u think??

MR. CARTRIGHT: ...for your own sake Im going to pretend like

this conversation never happened

good night tamara

Ugh
. He is impossible, and I want to throw my phone against the wall, but I don't.  He demands to know everything about who I am yet he refuses to reveal even the smallest things about himself to me.

Oh, right.  It's all part of the deal.  A deal he never laid out the rules for, yet he expects me to follow them to a tee. 

TAMARA: This is exactly why we need to talk... you

have this deal of urs but you never 

explain how it works.

It takes around 15 minutes before he replies to me, but I see the ellipses show up on the bottom of my screen several time and I know

MR. CARTRIGHT:  U put out, I pay for all your shit

How hard is that for you to understand? 

YOU should just be happy your

not sleeping on the STREET

We will discuss this when I get back

Dont fucking txt me.

I'm not sure if it's because I like to torture myself or not, but I read over his words multiple times and they just make me more and more angry each time – so angry that I want to cry.  I can't understand what I said to tick him off to the point of being unnecessarily mean.

I don't text him back and I drift off to sleep the unhappiest I've been in a very long time.

*

Melissa comes in the back as I'm fiddling with the arrangements.  She looks slightly disturbed.  “Hey, some guy is here to see you,” she says. 

“To see me?” I reply.  It's not like I knew anyone in the city who would just drop by and say hello.

She nods.  “Yeah and honestly, he seems kind of pissed.”

I'm speechless and I feel as if my heart stops in my chest.  It couldn't be him. But how could he know....
shit.  Veronica.
Nervously, I remove my apron and stall for a moment.  I look up at Melissa and she shifts in the door frame looking concerned.