Bend you over

Chapter Fourteen 

~ Camilla

Was. Pantyless.

I wasn’t wearing any panties. My breath hitched. Oh, God. I stopped dead in the hallway. It wasn’t just that he had torn them off like some entitled, domineering bastard. I had let him. I stood there, breathless and shaking, while he ripped them down my thighs, his grip rough, possessive, merciless.

I had just walked out of his office without panties.

I let him tear them off.

I let him.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

No. Don’t think about it.

And now.

Now I was outside. In a hallway. In an office building with no panties on. My hands clenched into fists, my nails biting into my palms as a hot, suffocating embarrassment swallowed me whole.

Don’t think about how his hands had been rough, how he had muttered dark curses about the buttons before ripping them off like they were nothing.

Don’t think about how he had pinned me there, his breath thick with hunger.

Oh, hell.

I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. I had to keep moving. Had to pretend like I wasn’t standing in a hallway in a professional setting with my bare ass under a thin-ass skirt. I swallowed. Act normal. Walk like a person who still has their dignity intact.

Head high. Stride steady. Pretend.

What if someone could tell? What if my skirt wasn’t covering enough? I pulled at the hem, desperate to make it seem longer.

"Hey, Camilla!"

I nearly screamed.

The janitor waved. I froze in place, heat crawling up my neck.

"Uh—h-hi," I choked out, my voice a complete mess.

He gave me a polite nod. "You okay? You look kinda..." He tilted his head, searching for the right word.

Exposed? Humiliated? Freshly ravished?

"...flustered."

Great.

I forced out a dry laugh. "Long day."

He chuckled. "Tell me about it."

I gave the weakest, most awkward smile known to mankind and turned toward the exit. I needed to get out. That was when I heard it.

A buzzing noise. A phone. My phone.

I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, dreadfully, I turned my head. And that’s when it dawned on me.

My bag.

Still on his desk. Inside his office. And Stephano?

He was still there. Sitting in his chair. Arms crossed. Waiting.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Oh, God.

The silky fabric of my skirt brushed right against me. My thighs clamped together instinctively, heat flaring through me.

I took a step forward. And then I heard it.

A buzzing.

A phone.

My phone.

I pushed open the door, slowly.  And there it was.

My bag. Sitting pretty. Right on his desk. With Stephano.

Still. In. There.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Then my gaze dropped lower.  And my soul left my body. He was holding something. Something small. Something delicate. Something mine. A thin, lacy scrap of black fabric… spinning between his fingers.

My. Panties.

I almost died on the spot. My lungs stopped working. My knees felt weak. This was it. The moment the Earth was supposed to open up and swallow me whole. But no.

No, that would be merciful.

Instead, Stephano leaned back in his chair. Smirking.

One hand resting lazily on the armrest, the other twirling my panties like a prize. And then, the worst part. His gaze flicked to me, hot and knowing.

And that deep, lusty voice of his greeted my ears.

"You were really gonna leave me like this?" I clenched my fists. My body was still betraying me, still tingling, still humming from everything he did to me. And now, this bastard had the nerve to look at me like that?

My mouth parted, but no words came out. I had no words. So I did the only thing I could.

I glared.

Hard.

Like my sheer hatred would somehow force him to stop being so... so... Stephano.

"You tore my buttons off," I snapped. His smirk didn’t budge.

"They were in the way."

"You tore off my panties."

His dark eyes dropped to my skirt. Then back to me.

Then, he smirked.

"They were also in the way."

I hated him. I hated that my thighs clenched. I hated that my body still burned for him.

"Just give me my damn bag."

Finally, finally, he handed it over.

But not before dragging my panties across my palm. I snatched them back, stuffing them deep into my bag like they were evidence of my poor life choices.

I turned on my heel, rage simmering under my skin.

"Sweet dreams, Camilla," he murmured, mocking me.

I stormed toward the door.

"I hate you, Stephano," I bit out.

His voice stopped me cold.

"It's Mr. Maddens."

I turned back so fast I nearly lost my balance.

"Excuse me?" I hissed.

"You heard me, sweetheart." He leaned back in his chair, rolling my name across his tongue like he was savoring the taste.

"Say it right."

I wanted to slap him. Right across his perfect, smug, infuriatingly gorgeous face. But before I could, his gaze dragged lazily down my body.

Like he was considering something. Then, that damn smirk deepened.

"If you're so desperate to leave," he mused, low and teasing, "you could at least put that pretty mouth of yours to good use first."

My breath caught. He wasn’t done humiliating me.

"Or," he continued, unbothered, "you could get on all fours, hike up that little skirt, and let me take you from behind. Quick and dirty."

My face burned.

"Or maybe..." he trailed off, considering. "Maybe I just push you back against that desk and see how many more buttons I can rip off before there’s nothing left between us."

Bastard. Absolute, arrogant, cocky bastard.

I clenched my jaw, my fists trembling with restraint.

"Pissed, sweetheart?" His voice was pure mockery.

I wanted to scream.

He had just tossed me out. Just told me to get lost.

And now, now he was acting like I should be on my knees for him?

I was seeing red. I forced my lips into a tight, thin smile.

"You’re disgusting, Mr. Maddens." I spat his name. But not before I heard his deep, wicked chuckle.

"You say that now, sweetheart."

I hated him.

I hated him so much.

"But seriously, were you really going to leave me like this?"

I froze, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. 

My dignity? Also torn to shreds.

"Camilla," he drawled. "If you were a decent assistant, you'd at least take responsibility for this mess."

I turned sharply, glaring at him. "Excuse me?"

His lips curled into a slow, wicked smirk. He was still leaning against his desk, legs spread, shirt disheveled, two buttons missing, thanks to his own impatience.

"You heard me," he said smoothly. "There are plenty of ways you could make it up to me before you walk out that door. You could drop to your knees right now. Or—" he let his gaze drag down my body like a slow caress, "—you could climb onto this desk, spread those pretty legs, and let me finish what I started."

I sucked in a sharp breath, my face flaming. "You are disgusting."

He chuckled, dark and husky. "Am I? Because a few minutes ago, you weren’t exactly resisting, sweetheart."

My pulse pounded in my ears. I hated him. I hated how he looked at me like I was something he owned, something he could toy with. I hated that my body still betrayed me, still ached for something it had no business wanting.

"Go to hell, Stephano," I snapped.

His eyes darkened.

"Again, it’s Mr. Maddens," he corrected smoothly. Then, tilting his head, he studied me with something that made my stomach clench. "Though, since you seem so fond of moaning my name, I'll make an exception."

"Ugh!" I turned to leave, absolutely done with him, with this whole nightmare of a situation.

"Finally found your tongue, did you?" he mused behind me. "Who knew the little stammerer could be all fire when she’s properly riled up?"

"Look at you," he murmured. "All flustered, blushing like some innocent little thing when we both know how wet you were for me."

"Shut up," I snapped, but it came out weaker than I wanted.

That smirk of his deepened.

“What happened to the girl who could barely string two words together earlier?”

My nails dug into my palms. "I—I don't stammer."

His brow arched. "Oh, but you do, sweetheart. It was adorable, really. All that nervous little lip-biting, that shy little Mr. Maddens." His voice dipped, mocking. "Please, Mr. Maddens."

I stiffened. "I never said that."

"You would've, if I’d had more time," he said smoothly. Then, his eyes dipped lower, and he exhaled sharply. "And fuck, I wanted more time."

I swallowed hard.

"You know, you could stay," he murmured, voice rough. "Get on those pretty little knees and take my cock in your mouth."

My breath hitched.

He smirked. "Or maybe I should just bend you over that desk and fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk out of here."

A strangled noise left my throat.

"Oh, what's that, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?" He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the desk. “No snarky little comeback now?”

I wanted to say something, anything, but my brain was short-circuiting.

His gaze dipped to my exposed cleavage, his smirk turning wicked. “Bet your nipples are still tight for me. Wouldn’t mind sucking on them for a bit.”

"You're horrible," I blurted out.

His grin widened. "And yet, your thighs just pressed together."

I stiffened but didn’t turn around.

"Oh, don’t act so scandalized, Camilla." His voice dropped. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Maybe next time, I’ll remember not to rip them, so you’ll put them back on."

That was it. The last straw.

I turned on my heel and shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel.

But he only smirked. Smug. Unbothered. Knowing exactly what he’d done to me.

And I hated him for it.

Hated him.

And hated myself even more for still feeling the ghost of his touch as I walked away.

I hated him.

I turned sharply toward the door, but his voice stopped me cold.

“Walking out of here without panties on, Camilla? That’s bold.”

My face burned hotter.

I had to leave. Now.

I yanked the door open, stepping out quickly, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs.

God.

I pressed my hands to my burning face.

And yet, I’d just stood there, watched him tear them off like I was some eager little plaything.

What the hell was wrong with me?