“You know what to do,” he said and I felt strangely humbled by his quiet and friendly confidence. It was this more than anything else that had me sink to my knees. Because it made him smile like that. He reached over and smoothed his hand over my cheek, freeing it from any stray strands; then his thumb found my lips and he traced them slowly, taking his time with his careful exploration. I couldn’t quite suppress the way my thighs trembled and my hands fidgeted in my lap, but he didn’t seem disturbed by it.
“Tell me what made you most curious, Iris.”
I swallowed and thought about it, the images mixed with the warmth of his body right next to mine, the rough texture of his hands and fingers—worker’s hands even though he was a writer.
“I...” my voice failed me and I looked down at my own hands. For the first time, he seemed momentarily displeased. He clicked his tongue and then moved the knuckle of his index finger under my chin, lifting my gaze back up at him. My cheeks felt on fire.
“When he... bent her over the table,” I breathed. It must have been an unintelligible mass of whispered consonants but he let me get away with it, smiling and patting my cheek.
“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I shook my head, even though it had been, and my heart was still drumming in my chest as though trying to burrow its way out like a sledgehammer. And before I could compose myself, he went on, “When he spanked her or when he came on her ass?”
My breath caught audibly in my throat and this time I know my eyes were wide as saucers. A few times, my mouth opened and closed without expelling any sound at all, but when he raised his brows, I quickly whispered, “Both.”
“Good girl.” He smiled, and his hand tightened gently on my cheek. It felt like a long time that he let me rest there, but maybe it was just the pressure that started to bear down hard on my knees. However long it was, I did calm while he stroked my hair and face.
“Do you want this?” he asked after a long time, and where his voice had been demanding before, so much so that the mere tone had been enough to make my cunt ache, he was quieter now. He was the man with the charming way of resetting his glasses, the one who loved broken things. “I won’t go on if it’s not what you want, what you really want...”
I stayed on my knees and watched his face.
“If I ask you something will you tell me truth?” I asked. I realized that my throat was raw from silence.
“Of course,” he replied without any hesitation. He reached over the table for my tea but it was empty and so he handed me his. I cradled it between my hands and sat back on my heels, watching him. He was so handsome, his strawberry blond hair falling into his face just at the height of his prominent cheekbones, his strong jaw slack and without tension. I took a deep breath, gulped down some tea and when I spoke again, it was a little easier.
“Did you manipulate me here?” Our eyes were locked and I trusted he knew what I meant: on my knees by his side. He narrowed his brows in concern and then raised them.
“I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “I hope I did not. Do you feel like I did?”
“I don’t know.” If anything could still shock me, it was that this strange and jarring exchange should make me want him more, should make my breasts and clit tingle and should make me lean in closer as though I could land on his lap by sheer force of need.
“How could you know? You don’t know me.” He reached over and brushed a finger over the bridge of my nose. He touched my lips and a tiny, nasal sound filled the air between us as I whimpered.
“As it happens,” he went on, still thinking about it, “the qualities I look for in an interviewer easily coincide with the ones I find attractive sexually. Dedication, honesty, open-mindedness... intelligence. Curiosity.”
I swallowed.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
My mouth opened but I needed a moment to gather my thoughts and then my words. I drew up my shoulders and bit my bottom lip. “I suppose in the end, it only matters in my head.”
“Everything only matters in your head.” He smiled. “That’s why it matters. If this weighs on you, you won’t enjoy all the rest we could do the way I want you to enjoy it. It matters.” Put that simply, I found myself staring at him again and then I nodded.
“I’ve never done this before—I mean, this... like in Secretary,” I knew the right words but I couldn’t say them yet.
He nodded, smiling still. “It does require a certain amount of trust, which because I haven’t earned it yet must feel a little bit like a loan you are asked to hand over to someone you hardly know. But especially the first time, nerves and fear may heighten the sensation—it isn’t all bad. And like with everything, you start slowly and… if you allow me to be frank, Iris, I can see how much you want to try.”