It was no secret that Tracy was addicted to coffee. She was surely, without a doubt, suffering from caffeine withdrawal. Nonetheless, she tore her thoughts away from Folgers and hit the intercom button on her desk phone.
“Yes, Tracy?” Kim responded on the other end.
“Come into my office. We need to have a little chat.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right in.”
Tracy wasn't exactly angry with her assistant, but she did need to lay out her expectations. If Kim couldn't be an assistant that she could trust, her very own ally, then Kim needed to be replaced with someone that fit the bill.
****
Tracy picked up her desk phone and dialed Francis. She’d just had a lengthy conversation with her assistant about discretion, and now she would have the same conversation with Francis.
“Is everything okay, donna?”
“Well, everything except for the fact that you've corrupted my assistant. I realize that I work for you now, but Kim works for me. Stay out of my business, Francis. I won't ask again.”
With that said, she ended the call before Francis could respond. As always, he would try to rationalize his intrusive behavior under the guise of safety.
Tracy tossed her phone on her desk and flipped through the file of one of the accounts that had been neglected while she was on, yet, another lockdown. With all the drama going on throughout the last few years, Tracy was amazed that she managed to get any work done. Hell, she was amazed that she still had a job at all. And for Tracy, losing her job wasn't an option. At times, her work was the only thing that kept her sane.
When Steve was killed, Tracy had buried herself in work in an effort to avoid haunting memories of their love. She knew that her friends and family were concerned by her workaholic tendencies, but staying busy was her way of dealing with her grief.
Unable to concentrate, Tracy closed the folder and placed the file on her desk. She stood and walked over to the window. Francis and Steve couldn't have been more different. Whereas Steve was definitely the take charge type, Francis was a total alpha. He seemed to have the need to take control in all things, even her job. Though his behavior was frustrating, Tracy had to admit that there was a significant sense of security that came along with being with Francis. However, there was also the guarantee of danger and chaos. But, lying to herself, she couldn't do. She wanted him; wanted him bad. When Francis wasn't near, her body and her spirit ached for him. She could, somehow, physically sense him when he was close, and suffer when he was far. So even as she faced the window, looking out at a busy Michigan Avenue, Tracy knew as soon as her office door flew open that it was Francis. She slowly turned to face him, knowing that he wouldn't be smiling. When her eyes landed on the big man, her assumption was confirmed. Displeasure donned his normally handsome face. Francis was pissed. He slammed the door shut, causing Tracy to jump. She cringed inside as he closed the distance between them, but when he was close enough to look down at her, Tracy straightened her spine and attempted to appear unintimidated.
Francis narrowed his angry eyes and studied her for a few seconds before wrapping large fingers around Tracy’s neck. She gasped for air, surprised by his aggression. Normally, her reaction would have been to fight, but something in his eyes halted her natural instinct. It was indescribable. Besides, Tracy knew in her heart that Francis wouldn't hurt her.
“That was rude, bella,” Francis admonished. “Hanging up on me…rude.”
“Fran—”
Tracy’s attempt to respond was cut off when his fingers tightened around her throat. And by the throat, Francis led her across the room, backing her against the front of her desk.
“Look at me, bella. What do I look like to you?” Francis gritted. “Do I look like a fucking woman?”
Tracy attempted, frantically, to shake her head, but Francis had a good grip on her neck.
“No? Then I look like a man?”
When her breathing became restricted, Tracy clawed at his fingers and nodded, but Francis was unwavering in proving his point.
“Ahhh…so you do understand that I am a man?” he said in a low, threatening tone.
“Y—” Tracy attempted.
“Don’t disrespect me, donna, ever again,” Francis warned, just as Tracy was becoming light-headed.
One would think that such actions, after everything that Tracy had been through, would be traumatizing. Strangely, Tracy wasn't afraid. She was, however, horny as hell.
Francis used his free hand to violently swipe every single item off of Tracy’s desk. He forced her on her back and ran a single finger up the inside of her thigh. Thankfully, he released her throat. Tracy swallowed much-needed air as he leaned over her weak body and looked her in the eye.
“I would die for you, bella.” His voice was filled with emotion. “I would kill for you. I deserve your respect, no?”
“Y-yes,” Tracy croaked.
Francis slid his hands under her pencil skirt until he reached her warm center. He massaged her mound over the thin material of her panties. Tracy gasped, not because she had been deprived of oxygen, but because she was wanton. Her desire for Francis was blinding.
He yanked her skirt over her hips and worked, feverishly, to rid himself of his slacks.
