Page 30 of Leverage & Obedience

The best one he’s had. He’s no different than any of the other Doms I’ve been with. Best gets you a nicer goodbye, not a longer stay.

I open the closest file on my desk, and my eyes glaze over at the numbers. It’s difficult to breathe with my chest this tight.

The anklet burns against my skin. Three days ago, it felt like being chosen.

All of the tiny gestures—the protein bars, holding me in his lap—I let myself believe it was about me. That I was the one he—

No. I wasn’tthe oneanything.

On Day One, I was sucking his cock before lunch. When he called me his good little slut, I lit up like it was a prize. It wasn’t a prize. It was just accurate. I gift-wrapped every hole I have and offered myself up. He did the obvious thing with a woman who made herself that easy—he took what was free. That isn’t being wanted. It’s being the one who volunteered.

He’s had multiple temps before me. How many of them ended up on their knees in his office? Maybe that’s the entire reason he hires temps. A fresh girl every three months, already scheduled to disappear. A clean supply, no mess to clean up after.

And it isn’t just the rotating door of assistants. He had the color system ready on Day One, the safeword speech, the duffel bag, the aftercare items conveniently on hand. You don’t get that smooth with one woman. There’s a line of subs ahead of me, too. I’m just the newest, but there’s going to be another one.

The anger builds, and I let it, because anger is easier than what I just figured out I am.

Here’s the part he doesn’t get to know. I really like this job. Ten placements in four years, and this is the first one I didn’t want to leave.

He decided I was leaving before he ever met me. He set the job up to be temporary on purpose, so nobody who sat in this chair could ever stay. I would have stayed. He was never going to let me.

Fuck him.

I push back from my desk too sharply, and Dana glances my way. “You okay?”

“Yep, just remembered I left something in my car.” My pretend smile is plastered on again. “I’ll be back in five.”

I go to the bathroom instead of my car and run cold water over my wrists. I try to slow my heart rate down with some deep breaths.You are not crying at work, Lily. And you’re sure as hell not crying over him.

The anger’s doing a job. As long as I’m pissed, I’m not looking at the other thing.

The gold chain tugs at my ankle. My chin’s the only part of me that isn’t shaking. This morning, I was picturing his kitchen and my own pillow at his house. I want to find that version of me and slap her.

I dry my hands and fix my face. Then I go back to my desk and let the afternoon run without me.

My hands answer emails and prep Thursday’s meeting. They take calls in a voice that comes out professional and warm, and I forget every word the second I hang up. Rachel sits with me at lunch. She talks about her sister’s wedding, and I nod every time she stops for breath. I’m not really in the room. I haven’t been since the bathroom.

Bren passes my cubicle at 2:30. He gives me a soft smile, and I give him nothing. I have the personality of a door.

At the end of the day, everyone clears out. I debate making a run for it myself, but I might as well get this over with.

At 5:20, Bren shows up at my desk. “I’m making dinner tonight. Come over. I’ll make that pasta you liked.”

He’s leaning against my cubicle, and I hate how sexy he looks.

My tone is flat. “No thanks.”

His expression sharpens, and he stands straight. “Let’s talk in my office.”

I should tell him why bother and walk out, but I follow him anyway.

When he closes the door, the click of the latch doesn’t go straight to my pussy. It’s just the sound of a locking door.

He leans on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms lightly. “What happened?”

I stay by the door. I don’t plan on being here long. “Nothing happened.”

“Lily.”