Page 22

RAEKON

I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and let my gaze travel over her.

The latex clings to her like a second skin, the translucent material leaving little to the imagination.

Her nipples are already hard, pressing against the fabric, and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the tight skirt. She’s testing me, and she knows it.

“Apropos, you say?” I arch a brow ridge, my voice low and deliberate. “And what, pray tell, are these duties you’re so eager to perform?”

She steps closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor, and places a hand on the edge of my desk. Her fingers tap lightly, a rhythm that feels like a challenge. “Well, Mr. Keong, I thought I’d start by helping you with these spreadsheets. You seem to be struggling.”

I glance at the mess of numbers on the screen, then back at her. “Struggling is a strong word. I’m merely… recalibrating.”

“Recalibrating,” she repeats, her lips curving into a smirk. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

I narrow my eyes, but there’s no real heat in it. She’s too clever for her own good, and it’s one of the things I admire most about her. Still, she’s pushing her luck.

“Ms. Christian,” I say, my tone sharp enough to make her straighten slightly, “you seem to have forgotten your place.”

“Have I?” She tilts her head, her red hair catching the light. “Or have you forgotten that I’m not just your assistant anymore? I’m your wife. Your partner. Your equal.”

I stand, my height dwarfing her, and she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she looks up at me with those green eyes, daring me to make the next move. I reach out and trail a clawed finger along the edge of her latex blazer, feeling the smooth material and the warmth of her skin beneath it.

“Equal, perhaps,” I murmur, leaning down so my breath brushes her ear. “But never in charge.”

She shivers, but her smirk doesn’t falter. “We’ll see about that.”

I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Little Flower.”

“And you’re enjoying it,” she counters, her voice steady despite the way her pulse quickens under my touch.

I can’t deny it. She’s always been able to see through me, to push my buttons in ways no one else can. It’s infuriating. It’s exhilarating.

“Very well,” I say, releasing her and stepping back. “If you’re so eager to assist, let’s see how well you handle these spreadsheets. But remember, Ms. Christian, if you make a single error, there will be consequences.”

She grins, clearly undeterred, and slides into the chair beside me. “Bring it on, Mr. Keong.”

I watch her for a moment, the way her fingers fly over the keyboard, the way her brow furrows in concentration. She’s a force to be reckoned with, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But she’s also mine, and I’ll be damned if I let her forget it.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” my voice comes out as a growling command. “This isn’t over.”

She glances up at me, her smirk returning. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

This assignment is clearly too simple for her talents. A smirk crosses my face as I decide to make things more... interesting.

"You're finding this too easy," I say, not a question but a statement of fact.

I step behind her chair and slowly open her latex blazer, exposing her flesh to the cool air of my office.

My scaled hands cup her breasts, kneading the soft flesh with deliberate pressure.

She moans softly, the sound triggering a primal response deep within me.

I increase the pressure, letting my claws graze her skin—not enough to break it, but enough to remind her of their sharpness, of what I am.

I roll her nipples between my fingers, feeling them harden instantly. The contrast of my golden scales against her pale skin is mesmerizing.

"Your mind is not on business, Ms. Christian," I rumble. "Get back to work."

Her head falls back against me, her red hair spilling over my forearm. Her small hands clutch at my wrist, not to push me away but to keep me there.

"Please, Mr. Keong," she whimpers, her voice thick with need. "I need it so bad I can't stand it."

I release her abruptly and spin her chair around to face me. Placing my hands on the armrests, I lean down until my face is inches from hers, dominating her field of vision.

"You need what, precisely, so bad you can't stand it?" I challenge, watching her squirm under my gaze.

Her eyes dart away, unable to meet mine, and her cheeks flush a delightful shade of crimson.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" she growls with unexpected defiance, grabbing my hand and pressing it between her thighs. The heat emanating from her core is scorching, even through the latex. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to rip the material away and claim what's mine.

"That didn't sound very respectful, Ms. Christian," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the fire in my veins. "And that's the second time you've tried to move my hand where you wanted it to be...as if you were in charge. What should I do about this situation?"

"Well," she replies with a sarcastic lilt that makes my blood simmer, "maybe if you tied my hands to the armrests, I couldn't touch you anymore?"

I click my tongue against my teeth, feeling my control slipping. Her bratty behavior is deliberately provocative—she knows exactly what she's doing, pushing me to take control, to dominate her completely.

I yank open my desk drawer, the contents neatly organized but no less intimidating for their order.

Bundles of silk rope, each a different color, lie coiled like waiting serpents.

My fingers brush over them before I select a bright red one, its color as bold as her defiance.

I place it on her lap, the silken length pooling there as I roll up my sleeves, my scales catching the light.

“Is that supposed to intimid me, SIR?” Willow asks, her voice dripping with cheek. She glances down at the rope, her lips curling into a smirk. “Putting the rope in my lap so I can ponder how I’m about to be restrained with it?”

I let out a sharp exhale, my gaze narrowing. Her insolence is as infuriating as it is exhilarating. She tilts her head, her green eyes locking with mine, and the look she gives me is pure challenge. Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it? The unspoken words hang in the air between us.

I don’t bother responding. Instead, I open another drawer, my claws clicking against the polished wood.

Inside lies a ring gag, its design as unyielding as my resolve.

I grab it, the cold metal biting into my palm, and without ceremony, I shove it between her teeth.

She flinches but doesn’t resist as I buckle it tightly behind her head, the leather straps digging into her skin.

Her mouth is forced open wide, her lips stretched around the unforgiving metal. Her breathing quickens, and I can see the flicker of unease in her eyes, though she doesn’t let it show in her expression. Not yet.

I loop the red rope around her neck, the silk sliding effortlessly against her skin.

I tie it off into a choke leash, the knot firm but not cruel, and use it to pull her to her feet.

She stumbles slightly, her balance thrown off by the sudden movement, but I don’t give her time to adjust. I grab the other end of the leash and secure it to a beam in the ceiling, forcing her to remain standing unless she wants to choke herself.

Her arms go behind her back without prompting, and I pull them into a right angle, lasering the rope around her wrists and welding them to her torso with meticulous precision.

The latex protects her skin from rope burn, so I pull the ropes extra tight, savoring the way her breathing quickens with each tug.

Her chest heaves, the ropes constricting her torso, and her eyes widen as I pull out yet more rope.

“I’ll bet you’re regretting that smart mouth now,” I say, my voice low and triumphant.

“Fuck you,” she mumbles—or at least, I think that’s what she says. It’s hard to tell with the ring gag stretching her mouth wide open. Drool pools at the corners of her lips, and her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breaths shallow and labored.

“Very well, if you insist on firmer discipline, I can oblige you, Ms. Christian,” I say, my voice calm but laced with menace. I grab another length of rope, my claws flexing as I prepare to tighten her bindings further.

I chuckle darkly as I find the zippers hidden in the seams of her latex blazer.

With a sharp tug, I pull them open, baring her breasts to the cool air of the office.

Her nipples harden instantly, dark and pebbled against her pale skin.

I don’t waste time—I grab the red silk rope and begin winding it around her chest, binding her breasts into swollen, taut balloons.

The ropes dig into her flesh, making her gasp behind the ring gag, and I can’t resist dragging a clawed finger across one nipple.

She squeals, her body jerking in the bindings, and I smirk.

“Are you ready to behave yet, Little Flower?” I ask, my voice dripping with mock innocence.

Her response? She lifts her leg and kicks me lightly in the shin. I burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the room. “You are really putting me through my paces today, you know that? Very well.”

I grab another length of rope and kneel in front of her.

She’s still balancing precariously on one leg, her body trembling with effort and arousal.

I wrap the rope around her right thigh, pulling it tight before looping it down to her ankle, effectively immobilizing her leg.

She wobbles, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, but she doesn’t fall. Good girl.