VALENTINE’S DOM
by
Erika Masten
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright © 2012 Erika Masten.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Erika Masten
Published by Sticky Sweet Books. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored on, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental.
Warning: Explicit content. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted herein are 18 years or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.
This is a work of erotic fantasy. In real life, please protect yourself and your lover by always practicing safe sex.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Excerpt From
Military Maledom: An Officer And A Dom
Excerpt From
The position of junior administrative analyst at The Meyer Institute doesn’t come with an office, but I don’t mind that at all. Sitting at a broad cherry wood desk roughly equidistant from the smallest of our three conference rooms and my supervisor’s office has advantages I wouldn’t willingly surrender. First, of course, is the fact that senior policy analyst Troy Gaspar, to whom I report, has to pass me whenever he comes or goes. And the view is exceptional in either direction.
The second advantage is that I can hear a fair amount of what’s said in the conference room, even with the door closed. The institute is an environmental policy think tank advising decision-makers from local government all the way up to U.N. subcommittees, which comes with a fair amount of stress, political red tape, and last minute scrambling to deal with rapidly changing situations on a global scale. Today I can hear our organization president giving his senior analysts hell about failing to anticipate a power shift in a small Southeast Asian province that’s dead center in one of our climate and wildlife hot spots.
While a couple of my fellow junior analysts are chattering about their Valentine’s Day plans for tomorrow night, pausing occasionally to gape at the raised voices, I’m in my zone. As soon as the conference room door opens and the senior staff scatters for damage control, I fall into step beside my Troy. He’s much taller than I am, six-foot-two to my five-foot-one, and takes longer strides. And I’m in stilettos, to boot. It doesn’t stop me from keeping up, though.
Troy is peeling off his gray suit jacket and loosening his tie, meaning he’s about to dig in for several hours of working his contacts and updating briefing reports. It never fails to amaze how a man who spends ten hours a day behind a desk can have a gym rat body, with pumped, rounded biceps and pecs. Then again, I know he’s not dating anyone right now. Gotta work off tension somehow. If not good sex, the weight machines, then.
“I pulled up your U.N., embassy, and E.P.A. contacts,” I tell him, watching the tension on his handsome face give way to a moment of surprise and then a trace of a smile. After a year with me as his junior, he’s less astounded at my ability to anticipate all his needs. It used to make him stop and gape. “All related files are on your desk in hard copy and on the shared drive if you need to take your laptop. I took the liberty of calling Senator Ogden’s chief aide in D.C. It always takes at least two hours to get a callback from her, so your wait is now down to ninety minutes.”
As we pass my work area, I grab a paper takeout cup with plastic lid off my desk and follow Troy into his office. As my delectable, sandy-haired boss settles into his chair, folding back his shirtsleeves, I set the cup beside his computer mouse. “Double expresso. I had them add steamed milk this time.” I flip a few strands of my light brown hair out of my eyes and tilt my head down slightly. Looking over my delicate, gold-rimmed glasses, I say, “It helps when all you’ve had for lunch is stress and a look at Mr. Kitsen’s bad side.”
A broad smile finally breaks over Troy’s face, accentuating his All-American, golden boy looks. He grabs up the cup and sits back in his huge black leather chair to enjoy a couple of sips of the hot, bitter coffee, softened a little this time by the milk, of course. “I’m not going to ask anymore how you always know what I need, Claudia. It’s clear by now that nothing happens around here without your knowledge.” With a boyish curl to his grin, he adds, “If I was smart, I’d keep an eye on you.”
No, I think, if you were smart, you’d have me bent over your desk by now, gagged with your tie and riding your dick.
I fold my arms, cock one hip, and pointedly raise an eyebrow at him. “Yes, you would.”
A bold thing to say to a man who makes his living analyzing body language and subtext as much as hard numbers, but I’ve never pretended to be a sexless office mouse. My pinned-up hair is a little too wavy and tousled for the plain librarian look. Deep rose lipstick offsets the gold glasses. Tight little pencil skirts are the only kind I own, and if I jogged, I’d even do that in five-inch stilettos.
Today’s are a deep wine red, to liven up the black cashmere sweater and skirt. I glance down admiringly at them, wondering if Troy has noticed them yet and if he likes them. When I look up, his gaze is finishing a slow slide down my stocking-clad legs, coming to rest on the sharp-toed fuck-me heels. He swallows the coffee in his mouth with obvious effort and licks his full, pale lips, just as his deep green eyes shift upward to catch mine.
This happens about twice a week now, a few seconds when we get quiet around each other, when eyes roam to places better for hands and lips. I say something I shouldn’t, something restrained by any other standards but too forward for this place. He pretends not to hear me or gets a faraway look in his eye before turning the comment into a jest.
I try another tack today, slipping around the edge of Troy’s desk. As I look him in the eye, I twist my arms behind my back, wrapping each hand around the opposite arm just above the elbow. This pushes my full chest out and up, in offering. It’s a submissive’s position, popular at several of the city’s half-dozen sex clubs, the best ones. Then I lower my gaze demurely.
“Don’t do that, Claudia,” he mutters low, but sharply and with a hint of anger. Surprised, I look up into his face, at his hard-set jaw and tight frown. “That’s not funny.”
It’s not meant to be, but I can see now how he’d misinterpret my meaning. A few too many women in the office know his personal business, ever since he broke up with Renee, another of the senior analysts. She told a few of her friends, who told a few of theirs, that Troy was into kinky sex, into tying her up and making her call him sir. After that, I heard him mention to one of his buddies from Accounting that he was instituting a strict personal rule against office dating. I’d like to strangle Renee with her understated pearls.