"Excellent. Oh, and Maxime? Wear something... accessible. You never know where the evening might lead."
I raised one eyebrow slightly, a gesture perfected in a thousand boardrooms. "I'll dress appropriately for a business discussion. Anything else would be... premature."
His smile widened at the challenge. "Of course. Until tonight, then."
The call ended. The screen went black.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I sat frozen at the desk, knowing he remained against the wall, knowing he'd heard every word. The silence stretched between us like a held breath.
The makeup on my throat suffocated me, a plastic film over the bruises. It itched and pulled at my skin, denying the marks their right to breathe. I wanted to claw it off, to display his ownership properly, but I dared not move without permission.
"Turn around," he finally said, his voice soft but commanding.
I swiveled the chair slowly to face him. He hadn't moved from his position against the wall, but his stillness threatened more than any aggressive posture could.
"Stand up."
I obeyed, my legs unsteady.
"Come here."
It took only three steps to cross the room, but he made me wait before each one. His eyes tracked my approach like a predator stalking prey.
"Insufferable, am I?" His voice dropped deadly soft.
I opened my mouth to explain, to apologize, but his hand shot out, grabbed my collar, and slammed me back against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs.
"Say it again," he commanded, pressing me harder against the wall. The pressure awakened the bruises, and I couldn't suppress a gasp. "Every lie you just told. Say it to my face."
"I—" My voice cracked. The silk collar pressed against the marks, each heartbeat making them throb. "It was just the performance. What you asked—"
"Say. It. Again."
His eyes burned into mine, green fire seeing straight through to my soul. His scent surrounded me, his breath warmed my face. The hand gripping my collar pressed against my throat, fingers finding the exact spots he'd bruised. The pressure blurred my vision, made my cock leak.
"You're paranoid," I whispered, the words cutting my tongue like broken glass. "Controlling. You don't trust my judgment."
His other hand cradled my jaw, deceptively gentle. "And?"
"You're becoming insufferable." Each word burned like acid. My throat worked against his hand, and his pupils dilated at the movement.
"And?"
"I... I pick up men at clubs when you're not watching."
The lie sickened me physically. My body trembled against his, caught between arousal and revulsion at speaking against him.
His thumb brushed over my lips, and I fought not to open my mouth, to suck it inside, to show him how desperately I needed—
"Good," he said, voice dark and dangerous. "You lie so well. Years of practice."
"I had to," I gasped. "For the mission. You know I had to—"
He silenced me with pressure on my throat. Not choking, just... claiming. Reminding me who held my life in his hands. The bruises sang with pain-pleasure, and pre-cum soaked through my briefs. My hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking friction, and for one mortifying moment I thought I might come just from this, from his hand on my throat and days of pent-up need.
"You'll meet Shaw tonight," he said, each word measured. "You'll play your part. You'll give him the information we discussed. But Maxime..." He leaned until his lips brushed my ear. "If you let him touch you, really touch you, I'll know."
I shuddered violently. "How?"
