"I like your hair," Kassandra Worthington's heart had ceased to beat when she heard the silky voice...his silky voice utter those four little words.

She had scurried to her seat, frightened by the thought of his potential punishment for arriving thirty seconds too late to the morning briefing. She pulled up the agenda on her handheld, pushed her black frames up off her nose, and tried not to climax from the illicit images on loop in her very dirty mind. He was a Senior Vice President. The brown - eyed, single, well distinguished man from across the pond had been the subject of countless speculations and rumors. Andre Bellamy, French expatriate charged with steering her employer from bankruptcy to profitability. She had referred to him in conversation with co - workers as the sexy beast capable of igniting her panties into flames with one brooding look. She had studied him as he sat at the head of the mahogany table in the executive boardroom and laid out expectations and demands. She loved the way his long, slender fingers pointed at the target in his sights. He was passionate about financial analysis and fourth quarter predictions; she could only imagine how that same intensity would translate in the bedroom. He faced her, a wry grin curving his thin lips as he made plain her part in the success of her department's latest assignment. The list was long and he insisted upon her full compliance. At the same time Kassandra had a few demands of her own that she cared to share with the international god of sex, "In due time," she whispered as she twined her fingers around the fresh pink tendrils of her hair.

She was still lost in her daydream as she gathered her tablet and iPhone, in preparation to leave the room. Consumed and distracted she had not noticed him laying in wait at the door, one hand on his hip, revealing the expert tailoring of the blue oxford paired with his pale grey suit. Her mouth slowly began to water as she recalled a prior night's fantasy, which featured his frame, bound to her bed, and all the interesting places that proved a perfect fit for the handle of her riding crop. He remained silent, the intensity of his less than appropriate gaze ignited a fire, the same flames Kassandra spoke about around the water cooler, and they threatened to mercilessly singe her skin.

"Ms. Worthington," His voice traveled the contours of her body becoming well acquainted with the curves hidden by her professional attire, "Are you available for an after hours meeting?"

Kassandra had a pedicure scheduled at six, dinner with a soror at seven - thirty, and a date with at least three of the fingers on her right hand around ten. All of that could wait, "Of course Mr. Bellamy."

No one ever told Andre Bellamy no.

Mr. Bellamy nodded, "Very well." He took a step backwards and paused. Kassandra immediately felt scrutinized, she tried to ease through the space he created. She was successful until his hand wrapped around her bicep and stilled her movements, "By the way, please call me Andre." He released her, extended his fingers, and played with the same curls he had complimented earlier. His lips moved but she was uncertain if her ears heard him correctly until he repeated the phrase again, "Ma belle femme."

~`~

Kassandra's pens were arranged by color and tip; razor tips in black, fine tips in blue, roller balls in red and even felt tips in green. She organized her paper clips by size and configured the thumb tacks on her cork board in an intricate design that was both symmetrical and numerically equivalent. Once she had scrubbed down her desk with Lysol wipes, she allowed her excitement to blossom.

An after hours meeting with Andre Bellamy could lead to not only career advancement and if she so desired, an end to her drought of intimacy. The crowd in the office began to wane, as workers said their goodbyes and made plans for drinks at the small pub on the corner. Not Kassandra, she continued to check and recheck emails, categorizing her Lotus Notes folders by sender, date, and subject until he appeared in front of her cubicle.

"I've reserved the conference room down the hall for our discussion," Nervously Kassandra met his gaze and he continued, "I will be expecting you," He eyed the face of his watch, "In five minutes."

Andre Bellamy turned on his heel and left a burst of oriental spice and wood lingering in the air upon his departure. Kassandra inhaled and prepared to join him. She did not hurry as she had that morning. She studied the vacated offices of colleagues as her fingers trailed along the walls. She knew the meeting wasn't about business. There were too many tears that had been shed in the Ladies Room by naïve interns and hard pressed administrative assistants over the man's antics.

He was an opportunist and this evening she was his very willing prey.

Those women, and Kassandra used the term loosely, had not been enough for him with their perky breasts, overly processed blonde hair, and submissive natures.

He needed her.

He wanted her.

She would deny him no longer.

Kassandra was not surprised to find the room dark, the reflection of a single candle playing against the tinted glass that enclosed the 10x12 space. The musky scent of his arousal overpowered the expensive cologne he wore. It was repulsive, however her committal to the evening was part of a larger plan, and she could tolerate Bellamy and his funk for the night. She played her role well, stammering an expression of thanks when he offered her a flute filled with champagne and strawberries. She tucked her hair behind her ear repeatedly and tortured her bottom lip with her teeth.

Insecure...

Vulnerable...

Harmless...

That was who she became. Her hand trembled when she took the glass from his grasp. She kept her eyes trained on her feet, until his finger lifted her chin and forced her to meet the dark abyss that doubled as his instruments of sight.

"Thank you for joining me mon cheri."

She shivered and quickly regained her senses. This was a game, he was the pawn and she was the queen. She gushed at his sentiment, feeling the familiar rush of blood to her cheeks.

"Why did it take me so long to extend this invitation to you?"

In her mind she answered his question. He was too busy dipping every inch of his penis in gaping, undeserving holes. Instead she batted her lashes, "I'm glad you finally did." She hoped that her response hadn't sounded too cocky. Evidently to Andre it had not, he took her hand and led her deeper into the room. He deposited her in a chair as he paraded around. A part of her, desired his acceptance, and the remaining half, wanted nothing more than to rip the unctuous, vainglorious, pretentious look from his face.

"Tell me Kassandra, what fuels your dedication to the organization."

Kassandra smiled, she had practiced her response to his question on more than one occasion, "An overwhelming propensity to please."

Her answer impressed and titillated his senses. He moved closer, his fingers stroked the exposed skin of her neck and she cringed internally.

"You like to provide pleasure, Kassandra?"

Andre Bellamy's tone oozed saccharine sweetness that threatened to force her to vomit.

"Yes," She stood, snaking her arms around his neck, "Nothing pleases me more." She allowed her lips to brush the contours of his jaw before they dipped and closed around the Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat, "Shall I show you?"

~`~

It took little effort on Kassandra's part to encourage Andre Bellamy to disrobe. A simple peck of her lips on the smooth skin of his chest sent the man tugging, pulling, and shedding his finely tailored threads. With a single glance she had to admit that his body and his package were extraordinary but she did not fully understand the admiration that had been bestowed upon the man by the simple minded women of their office. She had joined in their discussions about his undeniable physical beauty but one glimpse of his true personality and desires drifted from salacious to vengeful.

She teased him as she played with the band of her black pencil skirt before deciding to release her modest bosom from her simple white shirt and the pale pink bra beneath the material. She watched as he salivated.

"You're not as shy as I thought my friend."

Kassandra shrugged, "I'm not your friend either."

She saw him harden once the edge in her voice connected with his ears. He grabbed for her and she smacked his hand away.

"You don't get to touch me."

His eyes, the same ones, which previously held an overwhelming quantity of confidence, now radiated confusion, but his body understood her position fully. His excitement was more than evident and he literally purred as the tension in the room thickened with every new revelation of her skin.

"Lie down."

Andre Bellamy obeyed her two word command with fervor. He balanced his weight on his elbows and watched her move closer. When he dared another touch, she smacked him hard in the face.

"Do not touch."

She saw it then, his rage and embarrassment, stemming from the control she employed. He opened his mouth to speak and she shoved her lacy thong deep into his mouth until he gagged.

"No talking."

Kassandra climbed on the table and straddled Mr. Bellamy's waist. She circled his wrists with her fingers and raised them high above his head, before she tied them together with the belt from his pants.

His anger evaporated and she clearly recognized the sensation of fear that shadowed his features. It made her clit come to life and the juices at her core began to flow.

"Do you remember Nicole Berringer, Mr. Bellamy?"

He shook his head in the negative and she tossed another name in the air as her hands moved lower and gripped his source of baseless pride. She twisted it and toyed with the idea of snapping it off at the balls. She didn't of course, there was no pleasure in relieving his pain.

"Vanessa Ayres?"

Again he dissented, sheer terror clouding the whites of his eyes, and Kassandra continued with her tortuous interrogation.

"Kennedy Shell?"

She watched as tears streamed from his eyes. He was a pitiful excuse of an alpha male reduced to an average, everyday little bitch. Each name Kassandra called belonged to a woman who once held a position in her office. They were guilty of juvenile infatuation and misguided trust in a man with a velvet tongue and a cold heart. They had given themselves body and soul over to his desires and had been tossed away like trash once his seed filled the condom and the sweat dripped from his brow.

Andre Bellamy was perspiring and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. Her tongue retrieved a particularly salty bead from the base of his neck, "Tonight Mr. Bellamy you finally get yours."

Slowly she descended, allowing her walls to encase him in her heat. Her grip tightened and her nails dug deep into the pale flesh of his chest, "I always enjoy a little pain with my pleasure."