Scandalous Submission

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

LEVI’S POV

The longer I breathe in her perfume, the harder my c**k gets, thick, throbbing, painfully restrained behind my zipper. It’s maddening, the way she affects me. Like every drop of blood in my body has abandoned reason and surged straight to my d**k. And f**k, this is dangerous. Everyone's watching. My father’s rule hammers in my skull, Never sleep with an employee. Never get involved. But rules were made for men less tempted than I am right now.

That scent, sweet, floral, with a hint of something warmer, deeper, maybe vanilla or amber, wraps around me like satin. It slides beneath my skin, coils in my gut, and settles low. My mouth waters. My self-control slips like ice melting in her sun. Then I look at her, those almond-shaped eyes, pupils golden like warm honey, framed with lashes so thick they cast shadows. Her dark hair falls in silken waves down her back, even when she tries to trap it in a ponytail. It begs to be fisted, tugged, yanked while I take her from behind. And her lips, God, those lips. Plush. Tempting. Made for sin. Lips I’ve fantasized about wrapped around my c**k, slick with spit, taking me deeper, inch by inch.

Her skin is like porcelain, pale and flawless, except for the tiny freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose and just above her cleavage, soft, subtle imperfections that only make her more breathtaking. There’s even a stretch mark there, faint, delicate. I shouldn’t notice it, but I do. And f**k me, I like it. She looks like a dream you’re not supposed to touch. A dream I want to ruin.

She’s elegance in motion, magnetic even when she’s doing nothing at all, standing out in a room full of suits and chatter like a flame in the dark.

I inhale her again, deeper this time, and it hits me like a drug. I'm addicted. Already too far gone. She shifts in her seat, clearly distracted, her gaze unfocused. Her mind is elsewhere. And it kills me.

What the f**k happened over the weekend that's got her so distracted?

What’s got her looking like she’s here, but not?

While I’m standing here, rock hard and barely holding it together, she’s drifting away, and I want to drag her back. I want her to feel everything. I want to bend her over the table, rip this brown long skirt off, and f**k the distraction right out of her. I want to punish her for slipping away.

“Sorry, sir, I…” she begins, her voice small, uncertain.

“Apologies don’t fix everything,” I cut in sharply, leaning forward just enough that she can feel the weight of my presence. I plant my hands on the table, one on either side of her. I don’t touch her, not yet, but she’s caught, boxed in. Close enough to hear my breath. Close enough that I can hear the pounding of her heart.

Her nerves are obvious. And they only make me want her more.

The tension is like a wire pulled taut between us, invisible to everyone else but electric to me. I want the room gone. I want everyone gone. I want her alone, shaking, aching, begging.

I can’t take this anymore. I have to have her today.

"Everyone, please excuse us," I say, voice firm and final. “I need a moment alone with Ms. Isabella. The meeting will resume at 2:00 p.m., or shortly thereafter.”

There’s a pause, confused glances, curious eyes, but no one dares to question me. One by one, they file out, leaving only us. As soon as the door clicks shut, I slide her chair back just slightly, enclosing her completely between my arms.

"Where was your mind, Isabella?" I ask, low and deliberate.

“N-nowhere, sir…” she stammers.

“The more you lie to me,” I murmur, my voice dropping further, “the harder I’ll punish you. Is that what you want? A harder punishment?”

She swallows, visibly flustered, her gaze flickering to my mouth. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, nervous breaths, and my eyes trail to her t**s, just visible in the V of her blouse. That delicate stretch mark catches my eye again. God. I’m acting like a f*****g p*****t.

And yet… I wonder if she can feel the weight of the innuendo, the power in that single word, punishment.

The moment is perfect. Charged. Fragile. Then...

My phone vibrates on the table.

Fuck.

The sharp trill slices through the tension like a blade. I groan under my breath and glance at the screen. Nick. Head of Operations.

A call I can’t ignore.

"s**t!" I curse under my breath, frustrated by the interruption. Despite my desire to prolong our interaction, that’s me torturing her, duty calls. Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I glance at the caller ID. It's Nick, my operations head – a call I can't afford to ignore.

I answer the call, and Isabella stays eerily quiet, almost as if she's holding her breath.

"Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, Nick. This had better be urgent," I reply sternly.

"Sir, Kevin, our team lead, was in an accident. He fractured his arm during physical training due to improper equipment operation."

"What! Why am I just hearing about this now?" I demand.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Isabella's breaths out and though barely audible, it strangely soothes me. "Where is he now?" I ask, my tone notably calmer.

"In the hospital, Sir. The media caught wind of the accident, and it's vital for you to fly down here to show moral support, especially since this is your first season as the boss. If you don't, rival companies could exploit the situation to create false narratives. I've received word from a reliable source that MC&A company is poised to spread rumors that our cars are unsafe and that we neglect our workers. We need the crisis management team to act immediately to prevent any damage to our reputation and the trust of our customers. And you wouldn't want that, Sir."

"Got it. I'll take care of it. Have you informed my father?" I ask.

"No, sir. You instructed us not to involve him in work matters, and we've respected that," Nick responds.

"Good. He needs his rest. I'll handle this myself," I assert.

After ending the call, my mood darkens further. Tension and anger simmer within me as I contemplate the situation. My father has entrusted me with this responsibility, and I refuse to let him down. However, Despite the urgency of the situation in Switzerland, I can't leave without Isabella not with all the perverts in the office targeting her. I see the way they look at her breast. I know they want her.

"Isabella, you're coming with me to Switzerland," I declare, straightening up. I fold my arms, watching her squirm under my gaze. She will be a good sub. A very good girl.

"But, sir, I'm just an intern. Shouldn't the public relations team handle this?" she protests.

She's not wrong, but I have my reasons for wanting her by my side. I also have confidence in her abilities, more so than many others.

"Are you challenging me, Isabella?" I inquire firmly.

"No, sir," she quickly responds.

"Good."

"I'll give you the day off. Be back here by 8:00 am tomorrow," I say firmly.

Isabella’s eyes darkens with fury and I want to f**k that fury out of her face, but I compose myself and put my hands in my pocket to hide my bulge. When I’m hard it’s hard to miss because of the size of my c**k, which is why I have to take extra precautions.

"When you get home, write up a draft of the public relations documents swiftly. I'll handle the final modifications," I instruct.

As Isabella stands up, her gaze shifts from my face to my pants, and I worry she's noticed the bulge.

“Sir, are you hard for me?” She asks biting her lips.