Hot On Demand (In His Debt Book 2), page 1
Hot on Demand
Lacey Swells
Copyright © 2024 by Lacey Swells
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
1. Alyson
2. Evan
3. Alyson
4. Alyson
5. Evan
6. Alyson
7. Alyson
8. Alyson
9. Alyson
10. Evan
Epilogue
Connect with Lacey
About Lacey
Also by Lacey
This novelette tells the story of a spirited assistant in a tough spot and her boss, who might seem aloof but doesn’t hesitate to step in when she needs help. If you’re not a fan of stories where help is exchanged for more than just a ‘thank you,’ this might not be the one for you. But if you enjoy a tale where a boss secretly harbors romantic feelings for his assistant and tries to express them in his own awkward, endearing way, then this book is sure to draw you in.
Excerpt:
“How often? Every day?”
I smile at her slowly, “It will be on demand, Miss Dupree. Whenever the mood strikes me. Our encounters will be entirely at my whim. However, if you find yourself lusting after my cock, you can attempt to seduce me from afar, but you don’t ever come in here and demand sex from me. Understood?”
She’s clearly trying to think through everything I just said, but we both know she’s in no position to negotiate. I doubt she has the means to pay the loan back immediately.
Why am I being this miserable asshole? I really don't know.
“Take a seat on my desk, Miss Dupree, in the same spot you were leaning yesterday. You're about to be fucked sitting on my desk.”
Chapter 1
Alyson
Glancing toward Evan’s door for the tenth time this morning, I try to force myself to get up and ask him if we can talk. My palms are clammy and my heart hammers against my chest so hard that I'm worried I’ll pass out if I don’t manage to get my nerves under control very soon. I am out of options, otherwise I would never even have considered asking him for a loan. When he hired me two years ago, straight out of community college, to be his bookkeeper, he didn’t sugarcoat it—he told me I got the job because I was the only qualified person willing to work for the low pay he could offer.
It's not like I had twenty other job offers to pick from. Everyone either wants someone with at least ten years of experience or a CPA. This small electronics business back then was the only place willing to hire me, and I couldn’t afford to keep job hunting, hoping for something better. I needed income right away. Dad had just been diagnosed with liver cancer, passing only weeks later, leaving me drowning in debt. The house was mortgaged to the max, and the bank took it back before I even had a chance to finish arranging Dad’s cremation. Mom is now in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s and has been in a care home for months now. Hospital bills, student loans, and payments for Mom’s nursing home—I'm buried in it all. Now they’re threatening to kick my mom out in a week if I don’t come up with two months of back payments and the next six months in advance.
My credit is shot to hell, and I have no family to turn to for help. I know the business is doing well. It has come a long way since they started. Evan isn’t getting rich, but the company is thriving. He’s covering all the overhead, drawing a solid salary for himself, and he even gave me a pay raise recently.
He could loan me the money, and I’d pay it back diligently, setting aside almost half my salary every month to settle the debt, but Evan isn’t exactly the most approachable guy. As attractive as he is, he’s quiet and broody. Not so much an introvert as he is a grouch. He never jokes around with any of the staff and keeps the five of us at arm’s length, treating everyone with the same cool indifference. When I first started here, I tried my best to befriend him—bringing muffins to work, asking about his interests and weekend plans, trying to include him in conversations with the other staff. He shut me down three times before I gave up.
Evan is a decent enough boss. He pays our salaries on time, gives us a year-end bonus, and we get two weeks of paid leave. In return, he expects his orders to be followed and doesn’t tolerate any slacking. As long as you do your job, he pretty much ignores you. I’m lucky I haven’t found out what happens if he’s unhappy with your work because I’d probably crumble like a cookie if he ever scolded me.
Evan owns the business, and he prefers not to interact with customers directly, which is just as well since he’s incredibly intimidating. Most people would probably grab whatever they brought in and bolt if he spoke to them. He’s not rude, exactly, but he gives off this strong vibe of disdain, like he thinks you’re wasting his valuable time with your babbling. But he’s a wizard at fixing anything electronic. In the time I’ve been here, there hasn’t been a single thing he couldn’t repair. I hate to admit it, but watching him work is… arousing. He focuses so intensely on the object in front of him, and his large, strong hands are so deft and gentle, in complete contrast to his personality.
Dominick, the manager, handles the customers. He’s a smooth-talking, persuasive guy who dresses sharp and flirts with everyone. I doubt he could change a light bulb, but Evan doesn’t need another technician, and Dominick is perfect for his role. And yet, I’m stalling out of fear. Evan intimidates me, even though he’s never so much as raised his voice. He’s just… larger than life. An utterly dominating figure who makes me want to roll over and play dead. If—or once—he says no, I’ll have nowhere left to turn, and I’ll probably have to quit my job to take care of my mom at home. My place is barely big enough for me. I recently moved into a tiny studio apartment to save money, and the bed is about five feet from the kitchen. The only privacy I have is in the tiny bathroom. My mom would be in constant danger if left unsupervised. But then how long could we survive without me having a job?
Ugh.
Deep breath in and out, repeat five times, and then I have to put my big girl panties on and march over to Evan’s office, knock on the door, and just get it over and done with. The worst that can happen is that he’ll say no. Which would be very bad, but I’ll never know unless I ask. I’ll be brave for my mom.
“Come in,” his voice is deep and husky, and his eyebrows rise when he sees me standing there.
“Miss Dupree, how can I help you?” He insists we call him Evan and not Mr. Ellis, but he always addresses me this formally. He doesn’t do it with the others, and I have no idea what to make of his refusal to use my name.
My voice is shaky, despite my best efforts. “Evan, I need to ask a favor, please. I need an advance on my salary.”
He tilts his head to the side, a small frown appearing between his hazel eyes, his strong eyebrows pulling together. “How much are we talking about?” he asks.
My voice squeaks as it struggles to squeeze past the lump in my throat. “Forty thousand dollars,” I manage to respond.
He sits back in his chair, eyes widening in shock momentarily before he responds firmly, “No.”
Not even a single question about what I need it for, or any explanation about why he can’t risk giving me such a hefty loan, just no.
Despite my determination not to become emotional, my eyes fill with tears. I have no idea what else to do. Seeing my distress obviously makes Evan feel very uncomfortable, which comes as no surprise, considering he can’t even deal with his own emotions.
“I pay you $4,000 per month; $40,000 isn’t an advance; it’s more than a year’s salary. How will you pay it back? You do our books, Miss Dupree; you know I’m not swimming in money.”
My fists are balled at my sides, my nails cutting into my palms. “I’m aware of that. You can dock half my salary every month and keep my full bonus at the end of the year until the debt’s settled. I’ll pay the same interest rate the bank gives you on the savings account.”
Leaning back in his chair, he looks at me piercingly until I want to squirm under his heavy gaze. He’s over ten years my senior, but I can’t deny that I find him extremely attractive. His dark hair is short and always a bit messy, with no signs of gray hair yet. His straight nose complements the granite hardness of his features, and his generous mouth often snags my attention, making me wonder whether dimples would appear in his cheeks if he ever smiled properly. More likely, his face would crack and crumble to dust.
“The answer is still no,” he finally says, turning his attention back to the diagram he’s been studying on his desk.
He’s dismissing me; that much is clear. I should hang on to whatever dignity I have left and leave his office, but the stakes are too high, and I’m far too desperate. “Please,” I find myself begging, “I’ll do anything.”
He looks annoyed, and then the corners of his mouth just barely curl upwards. “Fine. How about you bend over my desk and let me do whatever I want with you?”
His tone is taunting, and I assume he’s trying to prove a point, but outrage washes through me along with a wave of heat that makes my body glow. How dare he say something so crude to me? Surely that constitutes sexual harassment? In fairness, I started it by offering to let him do anything he wanted, so maybe not. I have no control over what comes out of my mouth next. “Deal.”
Evan’s face registers shock and then he’s up and out of his chair, striding over to m
e quickly. “I don’t have much time, Miss Dupree, get that pussy out and ready,” he growls, his voice full of smoke and lust.
What am I doing? This is crazy. I’m bartering my body in exchange for a loan. I’d have to be his toy and still pay him back at the end of the day. I hate the way my body’s reacting, tingling with anticipation, my core pulsing needily. I don’t want this, I’m only doing what I have to.
I head to his desk and bend over as he instructed. In seconds, the pencil skirt I'm wearing is hitched up around my waist, and my lacy underwear falls to my ankles. “Step out of those sexy little panties and spread your legs wider,” he tells me gruffly.
Sweet heavens, why am I turned on by this? Something has to be wrong with me.
The sound of his jeans zipper being pulled down echoes in my ears, and I have to remind myself not to turn around and look. He’s a strong man—gruff but incredibly well-built. Sure, he’s made his way into my fantasies before, because, physically speaking, he’s like a Greek god. But his bluntness and bad mood always seem to spoil the moment. My heart is racing, and I really wish I could turn around and get a look at him. Is he already aroused, just from this?
Bracing myself on my elbows I stare at the wood of the desktop with my ass sticking out toward him and my legs wide apart.
God, his silence is disconcerting.
Since telling me to take my panties off he hasn’t said a word. All I can hear are his deep, even breaths behind me. Then his large hand lands on my ass cheek with a muffled thud, before sliding down toward my vagina. I stifle a scream at the unexpected sting of his slap, then clench my teeth in an effort not to moan when his long fingers start stroking gently over my center. His middle finger dips in between my folds repeatedly and the sensation of being fingered by him is making me giddy. A noise of satisfaction issues from him and then I hear the ripping of a wrapper. Oh thank God, he’s using a condom. I hadn’t even thought about that. My mind is a swirl of desperation, lust and shame and all I can focus on is how much I want him inside me and how wrong that is.
I guess he doesn’t bother with any foreplay once he knows how wet I am. And this is all about his enjoyment, not mine. I keep telling myself I just want him inside me quickly so we can get it over with. Yeah, that’s right. I keep reminding myself: I’m not enjoying this. I’m not enjoying this.
His hands settle on my hips and his cock is pushing at my entrance, sliding in slowly.
He’s big. God, he fucking is. Much larger than either of the other two men I’ve ever slept with. The discomfort of his cock stretching me open to capacity is pleasurably uncomfortable as he inexorably tunnels deeper until he’s finally seated all the way inside, his crown brushing against a sweet spot that nobody else has ever touched before. With my eyes closed tight against the unexpected gratification of being taken by him, I promise myself that I won’t climax.
I won't.
Telling myself that I hate him for forcing me to do this. Yes, I hate him.
Evan still doesn’t speak, but he groans in satisfaction once he’s fully penetrating me. What the hell must he be thinking? Correction, men don't think. He's not thinking. He's just taking. Taking his pleasure from his defenseless employee. There's nothing I can do but let him take it. His arms fold around my body, his large hands fondling my breasts through my blouse, squeezing and kneading them roughly, sending more liquid gushing from between my legs.
My heart flutters when he pulls out nearly all the way, before slamming back into me, pinching my nipples hard each time he repeats the action. His thrusts are hard, deep and intense, but the pace between each fierce plunge is agonizingly slow.
If he keeps this up I’m going to orgasm. I’m already more than halfway there. It’s ridiculous that I want to come so quickly from this forced encounter, when I've had to fake it in the past just to get it over with.
Evan’s everywhere, taking up all the space inside me and I’ve never felt so full.
“Why aren’t you going faster?” I gasp out.
“You don't call the shots here,” he responds blithely. “And your tight, wet, little pussy tells me you’re loving every moment,” he continues, maintaining that same unhurried pace, driving me closer and closer to the edge of sanity.
The pressure in my abdomen is unbearable, my breasts are heavy with need, my clit throbbing persistently as my walls spasm and grip him tighter. He must be able to tell that I’m on the verge of coming because he suddenly picks up speed, hips pistoning fast, slapping against my ass with each violent thrust. The moment I go careening over the edge, my entire body convulsing while my pussy clenches around him, Evan groans loudly, staying buried inside me until he stops pulsing, climaxing with me.
Whoa, I’ve never come this hard in my life.
I turn to face him in wonder when he pulls out of me. I want him to look at me and confirm that he felt that too, but Evan busies himself with removing and tying off the condom and pulling up his pants, before going to the adjoining bathroom to dispose of it.
He doesn’t even look at me.
Like I was just a handy hole and we hadn’t just shared something earth shattering.
I feel like an idiot when he sits back down behind his desk and stare at me coldly. “Was there anything else, Miss Dupree?” he asks pointedly and my face ignites.
His indifference upsets me after we just shared something so intimate and erotic, but I know I have no right to expect more. To him this had been transactional.
“I’ll transfer the money into your account tonight,” he says while I’m pulling my panties back on, struggling, and failing, not to pull my skirt up too high.
Considering what we’ve just done, I’m feeling strangely shy about letting him see any intimate part of me. The gusset of my underwear is soaked immediately, moisture still seeping from me every time a small aftershock rocks through me. “Make sure you follow the repayment plan you suggested.”
What the hell is the matter with him? Surely he doesn’t just go around having amazing sexual encounters like this on a regular basis?
“I will,” I mutter before rushing from his office, realizing when I yank the door open that we hadn’t bothered locking it. Anyone could have walked in. I grimace, realizing the chances of anyone just storming into Evan’s office, without knocking first, is ridiculously slim. I’m reeling from the conflicting emotions coursing through me and an unlocked door barely registers in the midst of all that.
Chapter 2
Evan
Iknow Alyson will come breezing through the door any minute now. She always arrives between 7:45 and 7:50. Her official hours are eight to five, but she likes to get a pot of coffee brewing and be settled at her desk before everyone else starts arriving. She’s usually hard at work by the time we open at 8:30. It shouldn’t be something I look forward to so much, but here we are.
When Alyson entered my office for her first interview, my heart nearly stopped. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on and her shy, insecure nature only made me want her more. All my instincts roared at me to claim and protect her. Instead, I hid behind my icy mask, ignoring the way her cornflower blue eyes stared into my soul, and the tightening of my pants when she demurely tucked her long, wavy locks behind her ear. It looked like flowing sheets of dark chocolate with caramel ribbons threaded through it. The urge to run my fingers through the silky strands was inappropriate and undeniable. She was far too young for me and looking for employment. I knew I shouldn’t hire her, that the temptation would be constant, and an itch I couldn’t allow myself to scratch, but I went ahead and did it anyway, setting into motion two years of exquisite pain every time I looked at her.
She’s petite but blessed with very large breasts for her frame. I’ve spent enough time staring at them to know they’re real. They bounce and sway naturally under the button-up shirts she wears with her short, tight pencil skirts and block-heeled pumps, which make her appear a little taller and also accentuate her shapely calves. The white shirt days are my favorite. They’re slightly see-through, and she always wears a lacy camisole underneath, which is just about the sexiest thing I can imagine. I want to rip her shirt off and push those thin little straps down her shoulders until her nipples become visible. Alyson is temptation personified. Everything I want in a woman. Feminine, beautiful, efficient, sweet, full of life, and eager to please. Jealousy often has me stomping into my office and closing the door behind me when I can no longer stand watching Dominick or one of the customers or reps flirting with her. She never encourages it, responding mildly in her friendly, vivacious way, and I can hardly blame anyone for coming on to her, considering the things I dream of doing, but it drives me crazy.
