Slave To Love
Synopsis:There are risks to mixing business with pleasure...
IF A MAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, HE'S A STUD.
He was a royal prick.
The night we met, he ignored me.
Then Mr. Big Shot CEO grabbed my ass in a business meeting.
My boss just loaned me out to this guy.
Now, we’re working on a major project together.
And our chemistry is dangerous.
If I allow it to ignite, I’ll risk losing that promotion.
Worse, what if I lose myself in him?
IF A WOMAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, SHE'S A SLUT.
From the moment I saw her I knew she was trouble.
It was the combination of her fresh face, smart mouth and nipples that seemed to know my name.
This woman could satisfy my needs both in the boardroom and the bedroom.
But there was more to it than that.
I wanted her.
Really wanted her.
And I was in the position to change the course of her life.
But I’ve got secrets, secrets that could destroy her.
And either make her mine or drive her away forever.
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Slave to Love: Chapter One
By Julie A. Richman
© 2015 Julie A. Richman
I am a slave. Seriously, I am. My shackles may not be what you’re envisioning, as unfortunately, they are not crafted from leather with a hot, sexy dominant on the other end, flogger in hand. But they are trendy and cool and golden. Yes, my handcuffs are golden and they come with stock options, a 401(k), oodles of frequent flyer miles and hotel points and an Admiral’s Club membership at the airport. I wear my handcuffs 24/7.
And I have no freaking idea where the key is.
Eight-twenty A.M. and I already need an effing shower. Ugh. Running late for an eight-thirty A.M. meeting. I thought a cab ride would be the answer and certainly cooler and quicker than walking, or God forbid, taking the dreaded subway on a sweltering Manhattan morning. But no. I emerge from the cab, with my now translucent white silk blouse pretending it’s a soggy second skin gearing up for our fabulous win in today’s “Who’s Got the Perkiest Nipples” contest. Shoot me. Just shoot me.
As I slide sideways into an elevator, the doors already half closed, I have the distinct honor of joining two techy nerd boys returning from their eight-fifteen A.M. smoke. Lucky me. The unkempt duo reek of cigarettes, yet I can’t decide which is worse, that, or the stench of their general shoddy hygiene and filthy jeans. Nerd Boy #1 is enjoying my transparent, wet tank blouse and my not-shy nipples. I catch him and he pretends to look at my necklace, a gold mermaid, just grazing my cleavage.
The door opens on my floor. Eight twenty-six. I’m not late yet. On my way out of the elevator, I lean over and whisper to Nerd Boy #1, “Great necklace, isn’t it. Would be better if it were pearl.”
I hear him choke as I exit. Schwing.