Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(35)

“Your theory?”

“No, no, it’s yours. My theory is that your theory isn’t working out for you. You let him take control, do the things he tells you to do, let him touch you in ways and places you think you should be ashamed of all in the hope that you’ll be able to enjoy it without the guilt. But your guilt is a little more tenacious than that. It enslaves you, like it always does.”

“I’m a slave to my guilt?” I snap. Somehow this accusation more than all the others pisses me off. “Tom is gone. I haven’t campaigned for him to get his job back. I haven’t let Mr. Costin shame me. I haven’t apologized to anyone—”

“You just apologized to me.”

I stand there with my mouth slightly open. She’s got me there.

And she knows it. She stands up, crosses to me, takes her hands and pulls my hair back off my shoulders. “Why the fascination with me? Is it because you want to be me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Because I live without guilt. I know what I want, and I don’t agonize over it. Sometimes I don’t get it right away, sometimes it takes a while, but I can be patient and when I need to be, I can be ruthless while smiling.” She drops my hair, steps back, and lets her eyes move up and down my body until I cross my arms over my chest protectively. “If I had been in your position during our last meeting, I would have made you call Daemon your superior, too. But I wouldn’t have felt bad about it. Then I would have found a way to arrange yet another meeting, just the three of us.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I’d want Daemon to see what I could do to you.” She reaches out again, lets her fingers rest against my throat, slide down to the curve of my breast. I step back.

I step back . . . but not away. I’m not shouting at her or threatening her. I simply step back. If fear is my lover, then here in Asha’s office it masters me, makes my heart race, keeps me there with its dark allure.

“Can you imagine it?” Asha asks. “If Daemon was sitting right there”—she looks back at her desk and seems to make eye contact with eyes that aren’t there—“imagine how he’d react if he saw you jump when I do this.” Her hand moves forward again, between my legs; again I jump and step back.

“Imagine if he saw that,” she says again. “He’d never leave you alone, not your superior, Daemon. He’d be calling you into his own office every day, just to test you, touching you in a different place each time. Sometimes he’d brush his hand against your breast, seemingly by accident. That’s probably where he’d start. Then he’d give you a pat on the butt on the way out, maybe even give it a little squeeze. The next meeting would be worse. He’d see your nipples get hard under your blouse as you anticipate his next move, just as they’re growing hard now as you imagine it.”

“They’re not—”

“And he’d ask you to take off your blazer, you know, just to make yourself comfortable. He’d insist . . . as your superior. He’d walk around the chair, massage your shoulders until his hands slipped a little lower, still massaging but now the top of your breasts, then his hands would slip inside your blouse, play with those hard nipples while his other hand slipped between your legs. You’d start to protest and he’d stop you, tell you to call him sir. And you would because this is what you want, isn’t it, Kasie? To be led to debauchery? To be fondled in public places without the guilt? And really, what could you do? He’s your superior. You would have already fessed up to that much, in front of me, in front of everyone you work with. I bet just thinking about it is making you wet. I bet he’d slide his hand into your panties, feel the wetness before slipping a finger or two into your pussy while his thumb played with your clit. I bet he’d make you come right in that chair as you squirmed and called him sir.”

“Why are you saying these things? I could—”

“Fire me. Yeah, yeah, I know. But you’re not.” This last part she sings. “You’re not going to fire me because you need to study me. I’m the woman you want to be. Or perhaps more importantly, I’m the woman Mr. Dade wants you to be, the woman he’s training you to be. If he only knew there was a premade version right here in this office . . . well what would he do, Kasie? Would he toss you aside? The missionary’s path is hard and riddled with rejection and setbacks. Why not take the easy route and preach to believers?” She leans in, whispers in my ear. “Like me. I’m a believer. I walk the walk, I’ve embraced this gospel. I’m the real thing, and you?” She laughs lightly, shakes her head before walking to her desk.