Private Secretary Read online

  Private Secretary

  Sindra van Yssel

  Iron Butterfly, Book Three

  Carrie has the hots for her former employer, Blake Andrews. Blake wants her back as his secretary. She’d much rather serve his whims in bed rather than in the office, but that doesn’t seem to be an option.

  Then she spots Blake at Iron Butterfly. Blake doesn’t recognize her in her mask, and she sets about seducing him. Finally she has a part of Blake she’s always wanted, but only as long as she can keep up the masquerade. Carrie wants more, leading her further into submission and causing her to take more risks. If Blake finds out that the woman he’s having rough sex with is his employee, he’s not going to be happy. She wants to have all of him, but if he finds out about her double life, she could lose her job, her Dom or both.

  A Romantica® bdsm erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  PRIVATE SECRETARY

  Sindra van Yssel

  Chapter One

  Carrie Keller sat in a yellow leather chair on the other side of a large oak desk from Blake Andrews, her once and former boss. Blake was tall and handsome, with wavy blond hair he wore longer than the corporate norm. His three-piece suit was pressed perfectly as always.

  “What happened to your previous secretary?” Carrie asked.

  Three months earlier, Blake had left Quinn Cosmetics, her employer, to start his own financial consulting agency. She didn’t believe for a moment that he’d gotten through that without someone to keep his schedule in line. Blake was a big-picture guy who could get into details when they mattered, yet needed someone to handle the trivial but necessary things he couldn’t be bothered with. When he’d been her boss at Quinn, she’d always taken comfort in the fact that she was essential to him.

  “I fired her,” Blake said. “She claimed I was unrealistic in my expectations. I know better.”

  Carrie picked up the contract sitting on the desk and pretended to look at it while she thought. It was for a substantial raise over her current salary, and Blake knew it. She didn’t need the money. She made enough to be comfortable and to put a little in the bank each month. Her needs were simple, anyway. The question was whether she wanted to work for Blake again.

  She’d been with him for two years. When she’d started, she’d been in such emotional pain she just wanted to lose herself. She’d thrown herself into the job, working extra hours. It helped shut everything else out. Somewhere in the mix, she’d fallen in love with him.

  He’d always been politely appreciative of her efforts and had never hesitated to demand more. She had needed that. It gave her something to focus on besides the loss of her child and the betrayal of her ex-husband, Clive. She’d entertained the fantasy that if she did a good enough job, he’d fall for her in return. That maybe he’d admire her ass as she bent over in a tight skirt or notice her cleavage when she leaned forward. At some point she’d realized that Blake was the kind of man who wouldn’t have an affair with a subordinate, no matter what, and she’d consoled herself with that. She liked being his subordinate. She liked having him in charge.

  When he left, the fantasies had started again in force. That barrier wasn’t there anymore. But she’d heard nothing from him until now. He wanted her back as his secretary.

  Her job with Quinn had been fine, but not engaging, since he’d left. Something was missing. The new guy, Ken de Camp, was efficient enough and nice but didn’t drive her the way Blake had. He’d sent her home a couple of times when she’d wanted to work overtime. He was good at his job, but he wasn’t driven to excel. She couldn’t admire him the same way.

  “Did you talk to anyone at Quinn before you made me an offer?” she asked. There was probably a clause in his contract with Quinn that stopped him from competing with them. Hiring their personnel would be in violation.

  “Talked to Meg herself, and when I told her the package I wanted to offer with you, she said she couldn’t hold you back.”

  Carrie nodded. She knew a few things about Meg she suspected Blake did not. But even Meg didn’t know Carrie knew that Meg was a collared submissive, so Carrie kept her smile private.

  What I would give to be collared by Blake. Her heart beat faster when she was around him. She got wet in his presence. She loved working for him, whether it was taking dictation or making sure he had a cup of coffee at just the right temperature when he got in. She supposed she’d spoiled him for anyone else he might employ. Not very nice of me. It would be good service to tell him that, but how could she without explaining that she was in love with him, and that she’d gone above and beyond because of that, not because she was a good employee.

  Going back to work with him would mean all of that. It would mean long hours, which she didn’t mind but no longer needed the way she once had. It would mean her fantasies would be full of him again, day and night. It would mean arousal and frustration in equal measure, but she would be serving a man she loved.

  And who did not love her back and never would.

  She couldn’t just walk away from him, could she? Her experiences in the BDSM world had led her to an understanding of what drove her and her need to submit. For two years, without him knowing, Blake Andrews had been her Master. But only in my own mind.

  Now he called her to serve again. With a raise.

  “Well?” he said.

  I am stronger now. And I have other outlets for dealing with the pain. “May I take this and think about it?” she asked.

  He nodded, clearly disappointed. He’d taken her for granted. Much of the last two years, she’d taken pride in that. Now, after three months apart, it annoyed her.

  “Of course,” he said. “Take the time you need. But I’ll need to know in a week or I’ll have to hire someone else.”

  “You won’t find anyone like me,” Carrie said with conviction.

  He blinked, surprised. She rarely spoke to him so directly. “I know that, Carrie. You are and always will be the best. I frankly don’t know how you do it. If compensation is the issue, we can discuss it.”

  Maybe if the compensation included you bending me over your desk and fucking me on a regular basis. But she wasn’t going to say it. She didn’t want him to pay her that way. She wanted him to take her because he wanted her, because he enjoyed it. As her service to him, not as his to her. “There’s nothing wrong with the compensation. I just need to think about it.”

  “You’re worried that your job at Quinn is stable, and this is a start-up, and might fail.”

  Carrie shook her head. “No. I know you’ll make a go of it, Mr. Andrews. You’re that kind of man.” And with me at your side, it would be even more certain.

  “I need you aboard. But yes, I’m determined to make it work. I can show you our first three months, and it’s very promising. We’ll be making a profit within another month.”

  I need you. It tugged at her. She wanted him to need her. She’d needed him for a long time.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “And I will let you know within a week. Sooner, if I can.” She stood.

  Blake stood too. He reached out and offered her his hand, and she shook it. It felt odd to be treated as an equal, if only for a moment. He even got the door for her.

  She walked out into the warm afternoon. Quinn Cosmetics was only a few blocks away.

  She knew her answer already. She wasn’t going to go back to work for Blake. It had been good, but she had changed, gotten stronger. She still had a long way to go, but she had other ways to deal with the emotions that still haunted her. She didn’t want to be pining after him all day long, and she knew she would be if she spent that much time in his presence.

  She would get out of work on time, brave a few hours on her own, then find someone to play with at I
ron Butterfly that evening.

  Nine hours later Carrie adjusted the mask on her face and checked one last time to make sure the long blonde wig was firmly in place. She looked in the rear-view mirror and smoothed her lipstick, the garish shade of red far different from the soft pinks she favored at work. Satisfied, she adjusted the mirror back into place.

  She opened the door and stepped out. She was short and curvy and wore a little black dress, spiked heels, and silk opera gloves. The mask and the wig would stay on; the dress was optional. This was her escape. Love had never served her well―either with her ex-husband or the unattainable Blake Andrews. She wanted something intense, and the discussion with Blake had strengthened that desire. Pain and sex got her through the weekend like hard work got her through the week and kept her from thinking about what she’d lost. The memory didn’t fade with time, but at least she could grow numb.

  It had taken her a bit of wrangling to get an invitation to Iron Butterfly, the area’s best play party, held at the mansion of Hart Wolfe and his sub Vanessa, but she had managed it. Now she was there for the third time.

  “Hi, C,” said a big man who guarded the door, checking off names of people as they came in. He was tall and muscular and dark.

  “Hi, Chuck. Where’s Sandra?” Sandra usually helped Chuck at the door. Chuck and Sandra weren’t exclusive, but they played together more often than not. Carrie wasn’t sure if they lived together. She liked having friends in the scene, but since she didn’t want people inquiring too closely about her life, she tended not ask too many questions.

  “She’s home sick with a migraine.” Chuck frowned.

  “Sorry to hear that. Poor dear.” Carrie meant it, too, but she also saw that it was an opportunity. “Do you think you might want to play later on?”

  Chuck usually stood outside for a couple of hours and after that he was free. Everyone who came to Iron Butterfly knew that the doors would be locked around midnight. Hart might take pity on someone stranded on the doorstep, but then again, he might not.

  “I might, C, I might indeed. I’ll look for you.”

  Carrie grinned and blew Chuck a kiss as she entered the door. The soft sounds of Enya were barely audible over the conversations inside. There was no chance of Chuck falling for her, and that was good. He had the skills to send her flying into subspace, and the temperament not to hold back. With any luck, she’d be feeling the effects of any scene she did with him for days.

  Unless someone else got to her first. She grinned. So I’m a slut. What’s wrong with that?

  She hadn’t always been that way. Once she’d been monogamous, happy and faithful. She pushed away the thought. Remembering happiness didn’t necessarily make one happy. Sometimes it just hurt, in a way that made even a cane seem like sweet relief. And faithfulness wasn’t always returned.

  She’d look for Jannah. Or Tyrone. Or maybe Ahmed. They were all single and played hard. Karl would have been on that list once, and so would Hart Wolfe. But they were taken.

  She saw Karl, a stocky man, on a couch with a topless and collared Meg Quinn on his lap. Thin, beautiful, Meg had everything. Including, after a fashion, Carrie. Meg Quinn was the CEO of the company Carrie worked for, and when Meg had entered the scene any thought Carrie might have had of removing her mask had disappeared. It still amazed Carrie that Meg was a submissive. Of course, she had to outdo everyone at that, too, snagging two of the best Doms in the local scene. Meg’s other Master, Garrett, was far too gentle for Carrie’s taste, so Meg was welcome to him at least.

  Garrett was at the bar, serving drinks.

  She wondered what Meg would think if she knew Carrie was watching as Karl tweaked and pinched her nipples. She supposed if you owned the company, you could do whatever you wanted and not worry what other people thought. Meg had shown up for the office Christmas party with both men on her arms. Still, a submissive. Meg was so in control at work that when Carrie had first seen her in Iron Butterfly she was sure the other woman would be a Domme, and even at the party most people had thought the two men were Meg’s boy toys. I know your secret, Meg. But I won’t tell.

  She gave that corner a wide berth and descended the stairs to get to the racquetball court where the serious dungeon equipment was set up. She might have to wait in line for one of her favorite Doms, but it would be worth it.

  Sure enough, Tyrone, a tall, rangy African-American man, was starting a scene with a voluptuous brunette he had tied on the X-frame. It looked like fun, too, judging from the array of implements he had arranged in front of him. There were several floggers, but there was a riding crop and a quirt too. She knew from experience that the long popper on the quirt stung and could leave very narrow marks.

  The brunette was still in her underwear, which would deaden the effect a little, at least on her ass. Since she was tied up already, it probably wasn’t coming off, at least not elegantly. She’s missing out on some of the fun that way. And maybe afterward, it means Tyrone will be hungry for something else. But that would be a while.

  Jannah, a sexy Domme in a black vinyl cat suit unzipped down to her navel, was doing a suspension scene, tying up a twenty-ish boy she seemed to play with a lot lately. They were well underway, but their scene would likely take even longer. Carrie wasn’t attracted to Jannah, and she didn’t think Jannah was attracted to her either, but for a beating Jannah would do nicely and was often happy to oblige. The endorphin rush was good either way. Guys were always telling her how hot her scenes with Jannah were, which was fine but beside the point. Jannah just plain knew what she was doing. BDSM didn’t have to be about sex, as long as it was intense, and Carrie could give it her all.

  Because only intensity could take the darkness away. Only her full-on concentration on the present moment would stop her from playing the crash back in her mind, and the look on her daughter’s face as the light faded from her eyes. Or the aftermath―her husband blaming her for the accident, then cheating on her ever more blatantly.

  She turned away. Maybe it was time to find someone new to play with. New could be exciting. There was always that little touch of danger with a new person that at one time she had sought out. Maybe she had even been seeking some kind of destruction when she had first gotten into BDSM, but now she wanted her thrills to be safe. Lately, though, that line had been slipping again. Perhaps that had something to do with the departure of Blake Andrews from her life. I’ll get through it. I’ve gotten this far.

  She climbed back to the living room. She saw a short redheaded Dom she’d seen play a few times before, standing alone on the edge of the room. She’d been impressed by his flogging and ropework, even if she didn’t feel any more attraction to him than she did for Jannah. She adjusted the collar of her dress for a little extra cleavage, and wandered over.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello, mysterious masked lady,” said the Dom. “Does that ever come off?” He had a slightly too strong, musky scent.

  “No.” The leather mask had been crafted for her face by an artisan in Philadelphia. Purple, with cheap but beautiful jewels around the edges, it was her trademark. Without it, she would never have the courage to strip and be flogged in front of a crowd. “It’s part of my fetish,” she said. It sounded sexier than just being shy.

  “Ah. I have a fetish for women’s faces.”

  This isn’t going well. Still, I don’t need him to like me. I just want him to play with me for a bit. At least until Chuck is free. “Sorry about that. But I think I might be able to offer other things. I’ve seen you work. You’re good.”

  “Thanks. I’ve seen your body. It’s nice. Maybe you can offer other things, at that.”

  She smiled. “Always happy to serve. What would you have in mind?”

  “A flogging, in exchange for a blowjob.”

  Well, that was certainly forward. “With a condom,” she made herself say. In her self-destructive phase, there had been more than a few occasions for unsafe sex. Now she was careful.

  “For o
ral?” The redhead looked incredulous.

  With a Dom she trusted, she might have followed up with a question of how recently he’d been tested. But she wasn’t there yet. “What’s your name?”

  “Sprague.”

  “That’s unusual.”

  “You just deflected.”

  “Hmm?” She knew full well what she’d done.

  “You deflected my question. I asked if you really insisted on condoms for oral sex.”

  “I really do. Safety first.” At least with you. No, it’s not sexy. And the more we argue about it, the less sexy it is. But it’s smart. And frankly, a fruit-flavored condom tasted better than most guys.

  “Well, then I want to see your face.”

  Carrie shook her head. She almost blurted out that her boss’s boss was here, but she held back. She didn’t owe an explanation.

  “You’re married, aren’t you?” guessed Sprague. “Keeping a secret from your husband? Well, fair enough.”

  Yeah, this definitely isn’t going well. But even if I’m not going to have a scene with him, the conversation is distracting.

  “Hey, so glad you could make it!” The voice was familiar, and right behind her. Carrie didn’t like talking around Meg if she could help it, for fear Meg would recognize her voice. This would be a very bad time to be outed with a job offer in the air.

  She turned, looking to see who was being greeted. There, immaculately dressed as always, was Blake Andrews. He was wearing pressed black pants and perfectly starched white shirt with obsidian buttons and matching gold cufflinks. She knew the buttons were real obsidian, because he’d sent her to buy them a year ago.

  What the hell is he doing here? Other than hugging Meg. Aren’t two men enough for her? She used to be his boss and she’s half naked and in a collar. Maybe he left the company to romance her. Although I can’t see him settling for being one of three men. He’s more likely to have three women fawning over him.

  Her mind was racing too fast. He looked over at her, and she froze, first forgetting she had the mask on, then fearing it wasn’t enough. Meg knew her, sure, and didn’t recognize her. But Blake worked side by side with her for two years. His look lingered and then moved on.