HARDER: An Erotic Romance Read online

  HARDER

  An Erotic Romance

  All characters and content are property of the author, J. Tabu Publishing, trademark 2012. Any unauthorized recreation or distribution of this content by said author is in direct violation of said copyright. International rights are reserved by the author.

  Copyright 2012

  This book contains explicit sexual imagery and adult situations. The purchaser is responsible if the material within is prohibited by law in the area in which it is purchased.

  Several of these situations could be considered dangerous or unethical; this is a work of fiction, not depicting any persons living or dead, and is not intended as a manual or instruction. Please do not attempt to recreate scenes from within, as they are merely works of fantasy, intended for recreation and entertainment only.

  Lisa arrived at work as usual: bearing coffee and a reasonable facsimile of a good attitude. On her way up to the twenty second floor, she watched her face in the reflective surface of the elevator, and lamented that this was the best smile she could come up with.

  Like most days, it wasn’t exactly a smile.

  Lisa did not love her job, but she’d worked hard for it and anything she worked hard for, she kept. Her two beloved children, Zoey and Jarris, were attending the best schools in the city because of her hard work--which translated to because of this job. Her apartment was fastidious and filled with their homework and collegiate catalogues that she and Zoey rifled through over dinner, and she could boast the same figure she’d had since high school because of her home gym--which she could buy, because of this job. She’d purchased one piece of art per year for the past four, and she could do that...Because of this job.

  Lisa went through this every morning lately, internally cataloguing the long list of benefits and bonuses that came from being employed by Ken Yamamoto. She wound through the folded corners of her life, examining each vivid detail, each sweet moment, and it’s inevitable link to her job.

  Even so, it was hard to watch her life passing from behind a desk.

  When she was young, she’d been reckless. Lisa had come up on the Southside, and her introduction to the world was the topic of many an afternoon talk show--divorces, paternity difficulties, abandonment...She didn’t think about that stuff now, though. Lisa’d gotten two beautiful children for the price of understanding what it meant to be responsible, and after getting her GED, getting out of Southside, and getting good at all the tiny tasks that made her such a valuable employee, she became Mr. Yamamoto’s most consistent, trusted worker. No one said this fact out loud, but his constant demands--and her constant employment--let her know. She brought coffee every morning to smooth things over with all the girls in the office that owned framed bachelor’s degrees and made half as much as she did. Sometimes, they made it clear that wasn’t the source of their resentment; their eyes followed her as she walked back and forth down the long corridor leading back to her boss’s roomy corner office, and seethed over what they thought of as his personal attention.

  No one else had lasted as his secretary for more than three weeks. Lisa lasted four years. She suspected a large part of the reason why is that she didn’t misunderstand his personal attention.

  He was exacting. Highly critical. Detail oriented. Some might say obsessive, even fanatical. His passion for perfection spilled over into minutia, such as which pair of shoes his secretary wore--hadn’t he told her no red shoes? Where was the file on Monarch Butterflies he’d demanded three weeks ago? He needed it for the Portman profile. Now. Why hadn’t his windows been cleaned this week? Where was his ledger? Did someone touch his abacus? The other women in the office didn’t hear these questions, but they saw her, running back and forth, back and forth. And they saw him.

  Reportedly, his mother was a Swedish beauty, and there seemed some truth to it; the man was massive and gave his commands through bee-stung lips. Well over six feet tall and leanly muscled, he stalked through the building like a tiger. Culturally, he was an uneasy blend of his father’s Japanese refinement and American independence. The first time they’d met, Lisa was immediately struck by his overwhelming beauty; his dark eyes, his wicked cheekbones, the feline grace with which he pulled out her chair. That was what the girls in the office saw. But they didn’t hear him speak, very often. And Lisa heard him every day, all day.

  He was never rude...Exactly. Just...Precise. Specific. And overly personal. What business of his was the color of her shoes? To the other women, they thought that meant he had some kind of investment in his secretaries; they whispered that he’d had affairs with all of them, that they’d fled his office in tears, hearts broken. Lisa knew better. He didn’t fuck his secretaries. He was just...Precise.

  But the whispers continued, and occasionally they’d become very unkind. How else would she, a black woman who’d never been to college, retain such a coveted position? Lisa rolled her eyes at herself in the long reflective mirror, thinking about enduring another endless round of speculation. If she wasn’t a black woman from the Southside without a prettily framed diploma on her desk, would they still be whispering about her and Mr. Yamamoto? Lisa doubted it. But the fools down in HR hadn’t exactly been private with her information, and the office ladies had to latch on to some rationalization for Lisa’s climbing career while they stalled out in Cubicle Land.

  She hoped the coffee stayed warm, and gave herself one final glance in the mirror as the elevator doors opened. White silk shirt? Fitted wool pencil skirt? Black two inch heels? All very precise. Lisa patted a stray hair behind her ear and hoisted her bag over her shoulder, carefully balancing the coffee tray. She was ready for battle, and in this office that meant offensive maneuvering with the catty ladies of floor twenty two, and a lot of defensive wrangling with Mr. Yamamoto.

  My apartment, Lisa thought, walking down the hall with her head held high. Zoey’s college fund. My new treadmill. Painting number five.

  She stepped into the office. “Hello ladies! Good morning, everybody,” Lisa sang out, slowing down to drop off her coffees, drinking in their insipid smiles.

  My apartment. The kids’ tuition.

  My retirement fund.

  -----

  “There is a typo on page three,” Mr. Yamamoto said, his voice a velvet drape over the hard words. “Unacceptable.”

  “I apologize, sir,” Lisa said, knowing that her protests would be both fruitless and regarded as insolent. Still, it was hard not to roll her eyes, this particular morning. For some reason, she’d had to say her list twelve times already today. And besides, hitting the space bar twice instead of once wasn’t what she called a ‘typo.’ How he’d even noticed, she’d never know. “Would you like me to fix it now? Or is the Camen account a higher priority?” Her words were simple, her face blank. It was just inside her head that she kept the list echoing.

  “Fix it after you find the Camen file. Before you fax my request to Severs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “My lunch yesterday arrived eleven minutes late.”

  “My apologies, sir.” Only he would blame her for a late delivery driver. My apartment. My savings account. My sister’s hospital bill.

  “I want you to schedule a late meeting with Marvin Esters for two o’clock this afternoon. Email him again at one forty-five, I don’t want to wait for him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Send that card out today--it needs postage, and I want you to double check the address for me. I’m sure it’s in the address book.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And don’t call the doctor for it. I hate bothering doctors.”

  “Yes, sir.” Whatever, sir.

  “My sister’s flight is arriving at four. Schedule a limo.”
/>   “Yes, sir.”

  “Not that cheap company you called last time. Call the one that’s in the address book, with the doctor’s information. I want cold champagne in the back.” The brand went without saying.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Ms. Tyrell...” His eyes went over her from top to bottom. If he were a different man, she’d almost believe that he was drinking her in, that no one would pay such deliberate, blatant attention to her body unless they wanted her. But he was Mr. Yamamoto. He steepled his long, elegant fingers under his handsome jaw and firmed the line of his mouth. “I don’t like those pumps with that skirt.”

  It must have been an accident--something inside her ran out of new items on the list, maybe. The little clock hands counting down the hours until retirement held still just a second too long. She must have been emptied out, her mind in flight, and her body possessed by someone else. It couldn’t have been her that said, “I do. I’m not changing.”

  They both froze. “What did you say?” He didn’t move a muscle, his eyes unflinching.

  “Nothing, sir,” she backpedaled. Lisa stood up, her mouth dry. She couldn’t believe herself. What was she doing? Her list! Her insanely high salary--oh my God, what would he do-- “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know--”

  “--Yes you do,” he said, his voice rumbling out from his chest. The man still hadn’t moved an inch, his massive form like a granite statue of pensive thought, outlined against the stark white sky behind him. He had the highest corner office, an incredible view, and her whole life in his hands. “Let’s try this again.” This time, he cocked his head to the side as he lingered over every curve of her body. “I. Don’t. Like. Your. Skirt.”

  You know what? Lisa knew she was screwed. She’d done it--after four years, she’d finally fallen. The office harpies would be delighted. She squared her shoulders, pushed her chest out, and slid one foot along the floor as she settled a hand on her hip. “Too. Bad.” Lisa wasn’t going to go out of that door crying and biting her lip because he didn’t like her skirt. She was going to see what he would do when the women he bossed around didn’t have hysterics over his nonsense.

  She almost lost her nerve when he didn’t say anything right away, but instead, Lisa just held her pose and met his eyes.

  The seconds ticked by.

  Suddenly, the big man stood up behind his desk; Lisa kept herself from flinching. What was the worst he could do? Fire her? Fuck it. She’d known this couldn’t last forever... “Take it off,” he said, his voice a hoarse growl.

  “I quit,” Lisa snapped, and abruptly turned her back to stride out the door. There was something so liberating, so wonderful about the exchange--it was almost as if he’d been desperate, or even greedy sounding. She’d never heard that tone from him before. Oh, it was a sweet victory to win in her last minute here--

  “Don’t,” he said, and it was the same tone, but...There was an ache buried in it somewhere, an unfamiliar desperation. Lisa slowly turned around, letting go of the door handle as she looked at him. “Please--don’t quit.”

  “Why?” She knew it was hard for him to find new secretaries. He had a reputation as demanding, intense... Rude. But he didn’t sound like he was asking his secretary not to quit; he sounded like he was pleading with a lover. “Mr. Yamamoto, are you all right?” Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was possessed; after all, he’d just told her to take off her skirt.

  Her question seemed to take him aback. He came around his desk and faced her squarely; in his giant office, there was still fifteen feet of floor between him. The bright light coming from the wall of windows threw his profile in stark relief. “I don’t want you to go,” he said slowly. “I’m... I know I’m difficult to work for.”

  “Yes,” Lisa said. This was absolutely true.

  “But I’m fair. I’m never a liar, never manipulative, and I appreciate the best.” She waited. “And you’re the best.”

  “You don’t treat me like it,” Lisa said, turning back towards the door.

  “I can’t,” he said, and once more his tone stopped her hand upon the door. She slowly turned towards him again, her hands returning to her hips. This was not the turn she expected her life to be taking today--she didn’t expect to quit, or for him to beg for her to stay. She certainly hadn’t expected the rush of emotion coming from him, as he stood there, gazing at her, his hands clenched tightly into fists. “It’s not the way I’m made--”

  “--And I’m apparently not made to be treated like shit.” Lisa faced him full on, and crossed her arms over her chest. No matter how badly he might feel right now, he certainly wasn’t feeling bad enough to change this behavior ages ago, when it should’ve become apparent the way he treated people was uncalled for. “I’ve put up with this for four years, and I thought it wasn’t getting to me. Frankly, I’ve had a harder time putting up with the catty comments from your horde of admirers out there than ignoring your constant tiny insults. But I guess in the end you got to me. I’m not changing my fucking skirt--I only wear things this simple and unassuming because they’re usually all that pass your ridiculous inspections. Today I just happened to wear something simple and unassuming and fitted. So kiss my ass, boss man. That’s the way I’m made.” She spun on her heel and put her hand on the handle.

  A heavy hand slammed down on the door, and Lisa jumped back, startled by the sound. “I’m begging you,” he said, his handsome face suddenly directly in front of her. Mr. Yamamoto had the perfect, crisp lines of a model, and his strong, lithe body struck a dramatic pose as his chest rose and fell. “I can’t...I can’t...” His eyes clenched tightly as his fists did the same, and it took him a moment to compose himself. When he did, the rush of feeling that had surged out of him was carefully contained once more, hidden in every way but the intensity of his gaze. His eyes bore into her, the light from the windows casting them in amber. “Ms. Tyrell. You are an exemplary employee. Virtually perfect. Uncomplaining, thorough, enterprising, unerring. I would, I am sure, find you quite irreplaceable.” Lisa was utterly taken aback. “I apologize for my outburst. I apologize for my...demeanor. Primarily, I apologize for startling you, just now.” She crossed her arms again, and he took another deep breath. “Because I am not a liar, I find I should disclose to you the true reason behind my reaction.”

  “It might be a waste of your breath,” Lisa said, shrugging. “As long as you understand there’s nothing that can keep me here--”

  “--Except you. You can decide to stay.” His amber lit eyes flickered over her face. “I realize I do not and should not have the power to decide for you.”

  “Good,” Lisa said, and put her hands on her hips.

  “The things I am about to tell you are the reason for the privacy clause in your contract,” Mr. Yamamoto said, his voice dropping towards the husky register he’d used earlier. The desperation in his voice took on a darker edge. “Do you remember asking me about it?”

  “Yes,” Lisa said. “I thought it was to prevent former employees from spreading the word about your rudeness.”

  “No,” Mr. Yamamoto said, turning towards the light and briefly closing his eyes, as if to consider what he was about to say. “No. I prefer those applying for employment to understand that I am exacting, even difficult. It culls the herd.” It truly did, Lisa knew; even the staff that didn’t work with him directly had a high turn-over rate, relatively speaking. “No, the clause was put in per my lawyer’s suggestion, many years ago, due to a certain... An incident.”

  This was not looking good. Lisa knew he could read in her face that she didn’t like the sound of that, but the shame on his own made her prod him forward, rather than run. “An incident?”

  “Of a particular nature, yes.” Mr. Yamamoto walked towards his windows, slowly, turning his head to take in the vast panorama below. “I have a very particular nature, as you know.”

  “I do, yes.”

  “At heart, I am not as sterile as I must appear to you.” The register of his voice dropp
ed yet again, the lower tones echoing back to her from the glass. “I am perverse, Ms. Tyrell. Ruined. A deviant.”

  Oh Lord above. “I’ll be going now,” Lisa said, but his next words held her fast, her hand on the knob.

  “Have you ever heard of bondage? Domination, submission...In a sexual sense?”

  Yes. On talk shows. As a joke. And, most importantly, as whispers between excited, white faced women in this very office over hot cups of coffee. I’d love to spend some time bent over his knee. “Yes,” Lisa said, not turning around.

  “When I find a woman attractive, it is not in my nature to caress and say sweet things to her all the time. It doesn’t please me to constantly drape her with velvets and soft touches.” He was slowly walking towards her. “When I want a woman,” he said, his voice right behind her, “I want to...” Hit her? Hurt her? Lisa bit back the fear in her belly as she turned to face him again. His lips were suddenly so close to her own, she could smell the mint on his breath. “Devour her. Possess her. I must... Know all of her. What good is a gentle love on this planet, in this life, which is never gentle with us? Such a thing is incomplete, a phantom. Worthless.” His amber eyes held hers. “I must know her endurance, her patience, and yes,” he inhaled, gazing at her, “her passions. No matter how dark they may be.” Lisa gazed into his amber eyes. They had never been this close in proximity before.

  “The incident,” she breathed, unwilling to let his beauty distract her from the heart of the matter. She thought she’d become immune long ago, but his proximity overrode her hard-won resistance, and she felt herself growing hot.

  Better to take a step back, she told herself, and did.

  “I didn’t know this about myself, as a young man,” he said, softly. “I just thought I was hard to please--every relationship, for me, culminated in boredom. But I was taught who I really was by a woman who worked for this company, in this very office.”