Breaking the Rules

After a day of indulgent pampering and shameless shopping, I returned to my corner office in Iconic bent on taking on the world. There was little I craved more then the thrilling rush of success. The whip of adrenaline, and the heady rush of victory were my drugs of choice. Weeks of strategic coercion, of dancing on eggshells, of skillfully maneuvering and corporate ego stroking, all culminated in a killer morning.

Literally.

In a matter of hours, I had slayed giants and conquered kings. My mood soaring, I decided there was only one way to spend all of this exhilarating energy.

During my shopping venture yesterday with Jacqueline, I'd purchased some pretty spectacular lingerie, and wore one of the more choice selections beneath a plum hued wrap dress. All with the intention of having Tristan unwrap me later.

Too hell with later. Why wait?

I reached for my phone to punch for Paul when I had to remind myself, for the millionth time before noon, Paul wasn't here. In fact, according to an email from Michael, their flight wasn't due to land until much later this evening. I sat for a moment, decided whether to dial in to Tristan's assistant, then decided, the scent of war still thick in my lungs, where's the fun in asking?

As I swung off the elevator and set off with a sashaying stride, I saw the dour headed woman snap up at the sound of my approaching heels and was out of her seat, heading me off.

"Ms. Pierce." She spread her arms, barring my path. "You don't have an appointment."

"Don't I?" I shook back my waves of auburn hair. "Huh." As I veered left, she kept hot on me in a skirting shuffle that bordered on ridiculous.  

"Mr. Shade said he didn't want to be disturbed."

"Oh well." I shot her a cheeky smile, enjoying the way her mismatched features darkened.

"Mr. Shade is prepping for his meeting with Members of the board," she said, the gleam of battle in her brown eyes. "You can't—"

At five-four, stumpy on those short legs and unaccustomed to running in high heels, getting around her wasn't difficult. I feinted right, and taking the bait, she skidded to keep up, leaving the left wide open. I reached the door seconds before she could blockade my path and the pair of us burst through. 

Tristan's face—a quiet storm of displeasure—lifted from his computer screen and behind me I could hear Monica's frantic, intake of breath. 

"Sir—Mr. Shade...I am so sorry but," huffing, she gestured towards me helplessly, "Ms. Pierce insisted, I tried to tell her and—"

"It's alright, Marcia." Tristan pulled back from his desk, waved a hand in absent apology. "I completely forgot I'd asked Ms. Pierce to squeeze in before my eleven-thirty."

Flushed, Marcia brushed at her skirt. "Shall I get you anything, Ms. Pierce?" Voice cheerful, she turned to me, her face set in mutinous lines.

"No. Thank you."

Bobbing a polite nod, she paused to cast me another disapproving leer before slipping out and shutting the doors behind her. Finally alone, I smirked, pleased to have my solid knockout streak of the day go unbroken. And I wasn't about to start losing now.

I turned back to Tristan and set my eyes on my prize. Or prey, depending on how the next few minutes went.

"Busy?" I moved towards him in the long, leggy strides of a lioness on the hunt.

"Extremely." Tristan toyed with the pen in his hands, twisting it round and round as he surveyed me in quiet interest. "You look pleased with yourself."

"I am." Sitting on the arm of his settee, I crossed a leg. The slit in my dress revealed a length of sheer stocking. His eyes landed to the lace border held up by a slender black garter. "Nishi agreed to a preliminary contract negotiations and expressed keen interest in our latest proposal."

He stopped twirling the pen. Set it down. "I know. I was copied on the email."

"And," I rose to my feet, continuing my approach, "I've just spent the last hour cleaning up the Malaysia Airlines mess. Thanks to our solid campaign, the tide has turned and investors are once again on board. I've single handedly brought the account on track." Rounding his desk, I leaned against it, bumping his thigh with my knee.

"You have been busy." Tristan sat comfortably in his chair, the black leather framing his body like a throne. Beyond him spread the concrete spires and towers of New York's beating heart and my blood began to thicken and throb.

Here, I thought, right here, I am going to f-ck you.

I hooked a finger under the knot of his tie, ran it down a ways while I locked eyes with him. And let my gaze do all the talking.

Tristan inhaled sharply, licked his lips. "What happened to boundaries? Never during office hours? No exceptions?"

"So I feel like breaking a few rules." Rising, I turned around and spread my legs straddling one of his thighs. Between my knees the tense muscles bunched and I salivated. He had the body of an athlete—rock hard and disciplined lines. And right now I wanted that body beneath me.

Over me. Behind me.

I wanted him in a hundred different ways and all of them with Tristan screaming out my name.

"Sue me," I taunted, lifting the hem of my dress in a slow, tantalizing tease. "Or spank me." I bent over and heard the sharp intake of his breath.

His hand curled into a fist, shot to his mouth, his teeth sinking into his knuckles. "You're not wearing..." The rest of his statement died in a hot groan.

"I was, but thought I'd take them off," I said while arching my back, giving him a better view before turning back around. The folds of my dress settling around me. "Save you the trouble." I pulled them out from where I'd tucked them into my bra for safekeeping and tossed them in his lap.

A tiny, pitiful scrap of sheer, black lace that now draped over the impressive bulge between his legs. I ran my shin along the seam of his inner thigh, felt that muscle tremble.

"I..." His voice was strained, coarse as high-grade sandpaper. "I have only ten minutes. I can't—the Directors...only ten minutes."

"Well then." Unknotting the belt of my dress, I revealed the wicked little secret I wore beneath. "I suggest you quit wasting time."

I heard an audible snap—his control, I assumed—as Tristan leapt to his feet, and pushed me back onto his desk, one hand fisted my length of hair, the other my throat.

God, how could I not have known such a thing could be so sexy? A man on the edge, trembling against the last tether of control while the prospect of discovery and interruption only heightened the delicious thrill. Time raced past us—a bomb set to explode. And we had only two options: beat the clock or perish.

Tugging the dress aside, his mouth fused to my shoulder, his teeth sinking in until I gasped, arching hungrily against him. The jab of his erection against my thigh was torture and my hands dove between us, struggling to undo his belt, his fly while Tristan's hands scored over my body, tearing at wisps of lace and silk to free my breasts.

Soft, lush cream against the deep gold of his tanned fingers.

His mouth descended, a swirl of his hot tongue against my sensitive nipple, the impatient nip of his teeth. My hands threaded his hair, greedy for more.

In the chaos and commotion, his papers scattered to the floor and—with a curse—he let go of me to make a mad grab for his phone and computer. Saving them both with seconds to spare.

His body rippled over mine with restrained laughter. "A hand, please."

"Sorry," I giggled reaching for the phone so he could get a better grip on the laptop dangling precariously at the edge. My giggles quickly bloomed into snorting laughter as our entwined position made for a rather awkward production. "I...oh god, this is too good."

"Stop," he commanded but he himself could barely contain his own hysterics, wrestling me back into his arms. For both practicability and efficiency, he tossed me over his shoulder and strode over to the cream rug between two settees reserved for meetings. A tangle of limbs, we tumbled rather ungracefully to the plush carpet.

Another laugh sneaked out of me as Tristan landed rather ungracefully on top of me.

"Keep quiet." His head popped up, warning and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Not a peep, Ms. Pierce. Or else I'll have to gag you with these." He twirled a scrap of black lace around his fingers.

"Shut up." I dragged him closer, hooking my legs around his waist. In a swift movement I rolled us over, reversing our positions. "And before this is over, we'll see who winds up gagging whom."

His hands streaked over me, hot and rough, cupping and kneading my body from breast to hip. Rising over him, I slid that wonderful erection of his into me—one swift and delicious thrust of hips that shocked me with delicious tremors at the fierce, sudden connection.

I arched into him and his eyes rolled back in a silent, soundless groan. Biting my lip, I circled my hips, savouring the bite of his fingers into my naked thighs as he struggled to breathe, to control his pleasure.

Oh yes, this is what I wanted. To watch the glory of Tristan Shade, beautiful and sexy and wild between my legs—helpless to do anything but take. And take more. Leaning back, I fisted the fabric of his slacks and took him fast. Deep. Setting a frantic, rabid pace with the intention of destroying us both.

Riding him to rapture and ruin, I watched the spectacle of his face as he lost himself, blinded by passion, overcome with lust. I savoured that whip of triumph, every bit as satisfying as any orgasm could ever be. The rumble of a moan reverberated in his throat. He struggled to hold on to it.

Lost.

Reaching over him, I balled up my panties. Stuffed it in his mouth right as his climax erupted, fierce as a wayward hurricane.

My own climax washed over me, and together we lay utterly spent. The entire episode only lasting a couple of minutes. It had been quick and gloriously dirty, leaving just enough time to right ourselves.

Finished belting my dress, I reached for my underwear only to find Tristan tucking them into his pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"Spoils of war," he said, entirely nonchalant while straightening his tie. Running my fingers through my hair, I cast a glance at the clock mounted on the wall facing his desk.

"You look like you could use another minute," I said as he fastened his cufflinks. "I'll head them off." Winking, I blew a kiss over my shoulder. "Thanks for the quickie."  

I heard his snorted laugh and smiled but carefully composed my face to all business by the time I was through the doors. Closing them behind me, I didn't bother meeting Marcia's disapproving glance. Let the dour cow think whatever she wanted, I thought.

Impeccable timing, as always, the elevator doors pinged open and the bodies crammed into the slender car poured out. White-haired Nigel and hunchbacked Charles, both engaged in loud conversation, Bob and Jim a few paces behind, the others obscured behind them.

"Laura," Jim drew up short as I approached, the large curve of his forehead giving way to a continually receding hairline, despite all the small fortune he'd spent last year on holistic hair growth pills. A little tidbit of information Paul had shared with me one morning. "What are you doing here?"

"Just butting heads with Tristan over a few...things," I said, casting my glance past him to smile at a kind, familiar face I hadn't seen much of in the last few months.

"Hello, George."

"Kiddo." George Wyatt, former CEO and founder of Iconic Communications, my predecessor and still majority shareholder spread his hands for a hug. I obliged, heedless of the eyes of the directors. Those arms banded around me in a fierce embrace, his belly larger then when I'd last seen him.

"I didn't know you were in town?" I said when he let me go.

"Ah," George shrugged large shoulders. "Things come up at the last second, you know. Besides, gotta get my fix of the city at least once a month. Otherwise I'm doomed to die of boredom."

"Speaking of getting a fix," I leaned in close, nudging that growing girth with my elbow. "You may have heard I've landed a whale." 

"Actually, I did. Shade called me an hour ago with rather impressive news." George's kind face folded into smiling wrinkles. "Way to go, kiddo. I knew you had it in you."

"Nishizawa?" Jim's voice cracked behind me. "You have been courting Nishizawa?"

I turned around, cool and controlled. He and I were the youngest members to sit on the Board, and over the course of the three years we'd worked together, he'd never made it much of a secret that he, for whatever reason, didn't like me. "Yes," I said, answering his accusatory question.

"I thought he was being snapped up by Diverse?"

"They were circling, as vultures are known to. But I got my foot in the door. Now I'm about to close the door and lock in the deal."

Jim's blue eyes flashed, sharp as the point of a needle. "I thought the Board agreed to—"

"Shade felt it was worth revisiting," I interrupted.

"And so did I," George chimed in, looping an arm around my shoulders like a proud father. "He called after you made the pitch, and with your revised numbers I had to agree it was worth taking a gamble. A gamble that apparently is going to pay off. Huge." Reaching into his breast pocket, George found a length of cigar, ran the thick roll of tobacco under his nose.

"We should have dinner tonight to celebrate. See that something is set up for seven. The Board will toast to your success and Iconic Shades bright future."

"Of course. I'll email the details within the hour."

A chorus of congratulations and glad-handing unfolded around me, and I basked in that single, glorious instant, watching as the collective mass of corporate bodies proceeded to Tristan Shade's office. Punching the call button, I slid on to the elevator.

Today, I thought, could not go any better.


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