Dirty Bad Wrong (18 page)

“What happened to
he’s a motherfucking jerk
?
He
cheated on
me
, remember?”

“I know he did! But he feels awful for it, Lyds, I promise you. He was a jerk, an absolute jerk, but he knows that. He’s desperate to make it up, hun, he really loves you.”

“Love doesn’t do that, it doesn’t sleep around in an alleyway at a work conference.”

“I can’t argue with that, but I promise you, the guy’s crazy about you. Maybe it was just a stupid mistake?”

“Have you heard yourself?” I spat. “
Maybe
it was
just
a stupid mistake? He fucked some little slut and got her pregnant...”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, piss off, Steph, of course he did. It’s totally over.”

She looked crestfallen, and it annoyed the shit out of me. “Ok, I’m sorry. I thought I’d try. You two were good together.”

“We weren’t good together. Honestly, my eyes have been well and truly opened. I’ve never been happier.”

She broke the tension with a smile. “And this is because of suit man, is it? This spring in your step?”

“He’s part of it. A
small
part of it.”

“Or all of it,” she let out a low laugh. “I never saw this coming, Lyddie Marsh, I really didn’t.” She leant in close across the table. “So, tell me... is he, you know... is he good?”

At that exact moment I saw James’ outline stroll past the window on the street outside. His hair was wild in the wind, face flushed from his hour at the gym. I lowered my head, avoiding any chance of eye contact. My skin tingled with life, excitement blooming in my stomach.

“He’s better than good,” I grinned. “He’s goddamn-fucking amazing.”

***

James

I knew her knock; the dainty little rapping of the knuckles against my door. It always made my pulse race, my dick twitch, my fucking mouth water. I played ignorant.

“Who is it?” My voice was gruff, dismissive.

She turned the handle. “It’s Lydia, have you got a sec?”

I beckoned her in, keeping my eyes fixed on my monitor and pretending to be engrossed in development-team appraisals. She took a seat in the chair opposite, shuffling papers in her lap like a true professional.

“And what can I do for you, Miss Marsh?”

Today she didn’t play along. “James, please, can we really talk. Just for a minute?” She was biting her lip, fiddling with her chin. She looked thoroughly awkward, in fact.

My heartbeat pounded in my stomach at the thought of the bruises under her skirt. “What’s the problem?”

She kept her eyes firmly on the paperwork in her lap. “It’s Salmons,” she said. “The deal’s landed, right?”

“Yes, it has,” I confirmed. “Frank’s calling a meeting about it later on today, sharing the good news. We got it on the back of WHM, Lydia, you should be proud.”

“I am proud.”

“So, what’s the issue? Spit it out, you look wretched.”

She finally met my eyes. My pulse raced, adrenaline pumping. Those fucking eyes, every fucking time. Weeks of fucking her senseless at Explicit had only made it worse.

“I just got accosted by Emily Barron, by the photocopier. You know Emily?”

“Emily Barron.” I pretended to think, an inkling of where this was headed creeping up my spine. “Blonde girl, yes? From your team?”

“She was angry, with me. Do you know why?”

I shook my head, smooth. “I have no idea.”

“She told me you’ve blown her out of the Salmons project, that I’ve been assigned to it instead.”

“And?”

“Is it true?”

“So what if it is?”

She sighed. “Emily’s been working on the Salmons’ deal for weeks. She did all the pre-sales prep work with Tony Carter. It’s her deal, James, she wants to project manage it.”

“I don’t give two shits what she wants, I’ll pick the team
I
want for a deal that size.”

Her eyes widened. “So, you
are
assigning me to Salmons? With you?”

I choked back irritation. “
Yes
, I’m assigning you to Salmons. Frank’s already signed off on it, we’re good to go once phase two of WHM gets wrapped up.”

“I think you should give it to Emily,” she announced, arms folded.

“On what grounds? That she’s worked hard? Give me a break, Lydia, that doesn’t mean shit.”

“It means shit to her. She hates me for it.”

“Let her hate you for it. It’s not your call, and it’s not your fault.”

She looked behind her, checking the door was closed. “We’re supposed to be playing this cool, yes? Keeping things really low key, no waves, no personal relationship. You wanted that just as much as I did.”

“Easily as much as you did,” I snapped. “And you shouldn’t be talking like this. We had an agreement.”

“Then why are you ruining it?” she hissed. “Putting me on Salmons is a dumb move, it draws attention, makes us look closer than we should be. Explicit-only, you said. Now Emily’s mad with me and the whole fucking team know about it. Don’t think I don’t realise WHM is almost up, no more cosy coffee mornings and nights over in Brighton. If you wanted more time together you could have just said. You didn’t need to pull Emily off her project, James, it was unfair.”

My hackles were smoking, breath fierce. “Have you quite fucking finished?”

She smoothed her skirt down, nodded her head. “Yeah, I’m finished.”

“For your information, Miss Marsh, this decision had nothing whatsoever to do with our personal relationship. I picked you for Salmon’s because
you’re
the best, because
we
work well together, because
you
have experience on large personal injury case-management implementations.” I shot her a look of fire, jaw tense. “Emily Barron is scatty and disorganised. She worked with Tony because she had an ideal personality for a rapport-build with the Salmons team in the early stages. I never had
any
intention of letting her live with the implementation, and neither did Frank. Not even Tony wanted her to handle it, if you must know.” She flushed beetroot, eyes like saucers. I was on a roll. “And as for your little monologue about coffees and hotel nights, I’m Chief fucking Technology Officer, Lydia, I make decisions that are best for this whole fucking company. If you think having you on the other side of this desk takes priority over me doing a good job for this business, then you are way off the mark. Way, way off the fucking mark.”

She rubbed her temples. “I don’t think that.”

“That’s not how it sounds.”

“Really, I don’t. I was just stressed, she kicked off at me, ok? And I didn’t know anything about it. I felt like an idiot.”

“Frank was going to tell you, since
he’s
your boss.”

“I’m sorry, James.”

I rubbed my palms against my thighs, clammy hands. “Your minute’s up, Lydia, I’m really busy.”

She stood without a word, edging her way to the doorway. I didn’t look up from my screen, cock rising at her humiliation, despite my anger.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” she said, letting herself out.

I didn’t indulge her with an answer.

My email sounded a few minutes later. My cock responded in its usual fashion, jumping on sight of her name in the preview box.

From: Lydia Marsh

Subject: Professionalism

James, I’ve offended you. It was unintentional, and I assure you it’s much more about feeling bad for Emily Barron than it is about you. I would never question your professional integrity. You conduct yourself faultlessly.

Lydia Marsh

Senior Project Co-ordinator, Trial Run Software Group.

I smiled despite myself. My own fucking email spouted back at me.

To: Lydia Marsh

Subject: Re: Professionalism.

I know that’s my email. Switching the names doesn’t make it an original piece of work.

In light of this fact, I feel entitled to plagiarise yours:

Do you mean ‘sorry’?

James

James Clarke

CTO, Trial Run Software Group.

Her reply was through in a heartbeat.

From: Lydia Marsh

Subject: Re: re: Professionalism

Yes. I mean
sorry.

Nothing like making someone work for it.

You said you’d remember, should the boot ever be on the other foot. I guess you did.

So, how does it feel to be the injured party?

Lydia Marsh

Senior Project Co-Ordinator, Trial Run Software Group.

I stroked my cock through my suit, the thought of her smug little smile driving me to insanity. I was pissed off, fuming, but still she amused me.

To: Lydia Marsh

Subject: Re: re: re: Professionalism.

Come and find out.

James

James Clarke

CTO, Trial Run Software Group.

I waited for it.

From: Lydia Marsh

Subject: Re: re: re: Professionalism

???

Lydia Marsh

Senior Project Co-Ordinator, Trial Run Software Group.

I must have been fucking insane, but my fingers took on a life of their own.

To: Lydia Marsh

Subject: Re: re: re: re: Professionalism.

You heard me. Get up here, now.

NOW, Lydia.

James

James Clarke

CTO, Trial Run Software Group.

She didn’t dally around, at my door within the minute, leaving me just enough time to close the window blinds. She rapped, faster than usual, slipping inside before I’d even had time to react. She closed the door behind her, then stared at me, keeping her distance.

“James, look, about what I said...”

“What happens to bad girls, Lydia?” She raised her eyebrows, floundering for words. I raised myself from my seat, grabbing my dick through my trousers. “Look what you’ve done to me, Miss Marsh. I think this requires a disciplinary.” I threw her the key to my door, and she caught it in nimble fingers. “Lock it.” She did as instructed, and I caught her hands shaking. It sent a shiver down my spine. “Come here,” I hissed. “I want you over my desk.”

She approached without hesitation, placing herself between me and the desk. I pushed her down by her shoulders, slamming her flat into the desk top. My pens went skidding away, order scattered.

“The noise,” she wheezed. “This is a mistake.”

I pressed into her ass. “It’s certainly a mistake, Lydia, certainly.”

She sucked in her breath as I hitched her skirt, yanking it roughly around her waist. She was wearing white panties, cute little things with a lacy trim. I slid them down around her thighs, groaning as I saw the results of the weekend. Big, dark circles of bruising, one on each ass cheek. The middles were still a beautiful park purple, rimmed with black and green.

“I bruised well this time, didn’t I?” she whispered.

“You should have done. I hit you hard enough.” She rocked back against my fingers as I prodded her. Her flesh still felt ridged, the bruises hard to the touch.

“That feels good,” she breathed.

“You will stay fucking silent, Lydia. Do you understand me?” I growled. She nodded, reaching forward to grip at the edge of the desk. I raised my metal ruler, trailing the cold edge down the crack of her ass. She flinched. “This will hurt.”

I slapped the ruler hard against her thighs and she lurched forward. Still she was silent, only the raspy sound of her agitated breathing loud in the room. I kept an ear out for noise in the corridor. Frank was out golfing, I knew that much, and Vanessa downstairs for the support team meeting with any luck. Just us on the floor. I didn’t share my knowledge with Lydia.

The next blow was harder, in exactly the same position. She was still jiggling around on her toes when I hit her again. I landed short, sharp thwacks over the purple heart of her bruises, and her hand came up behind her, instinct breaking through her discipline. I pressed the swell of my cock against her bare ass. “Hands on the desk, Lydia. You move again and I swear you’ll regret it.”

“Sorry, sir,” she rasped.

Three more blows and I paused, soaking in her ragged breathing. “You deserve this, Miss Marsh, for trying my patience.”

“Yes, sir.”

I landed another five without hesitation, and her body pressed flat to the desk, white knuckles gripping tight. “Cry for me, Cat, show me how sorry you are.”

She didn’t even whimper, and frustration flared in my nostrils. I’d been pushing her as hard as I dared, weeks of testing her limits, but still she wouldn’t fucking cry for me. She’d go quiet, shaky, pale as a sheet with chattering teeth, high on adrenaline and right on the edge, but she wouldn’t fucking cry. It vexed her as much as it did me, I knew that, but still the beast raged on. “Cry for me, Cat, let me taste your beautiful fucking tears.”

I gave her three in one spot, so hard she lifted her feet from the floor. “Thank you, sir,” she whimpered.

Her ass was bright red, the tiniest fleck of blood where one corner had caught her particularly viciously. I gave her another for good measure and watched the blood pool darker. “Why won’t you cry for me, Cat? Why won’t you fucking cry for me?” Five more and she was shaking, her forehead tight to the table.

I could hardly hear her answer. “I can’t, sir. I’m sorry, I don’t know how.”

My dick strained for release. I pressed down onto her, my mouth in her ear. “You have to break to cry, Cat, and you won’t break. What are you holding onto?”

“I don’t know, sir, I promise.”

“So much pain, Cat, and still you won’t break for me.”

“I’m trying, sir.”

“Not hard enough.” I raised myself back to standing. “On your back, spread your legs.”

She did as I asked, shimmying out of her panties and laying her whole weight on my desk. She looked so beautiful there, presented so pretty for my viewing. I changed position, retreating to the opposite side of my desk where I yanked her forwards until her head lolled over the edge. I unbuckled my belt, sliding down my zipper. “Look what you’ve done to my cock, Cat.” I rubbed the swollen head over her mouth, and she opened wide to let me in, gagging as I pushed all the way into her throat. She kept it down like a good girl, cheeks straining. This time I didn’t even attempt to fuck her face, I kept still, enjoying the tension of her gag reflex. “Hold your knees, legs spread wide.”