LESSON IN BONDAGE
Teagan Rand
Tuppshar Press
Also by Teagan Rand:
A Slave Girl for the Emperor (Xhagia, Book 1)
In the Slave Harem (Xhagia, Book 2)
Slave of the Brothel (Xhagia, Book 3)
Final Surrender (Xhagia, Book 4)
At His Knee
LESSON IN BONDAGE
PRINTING HISTORY
First Edition, 2010
ISBN-13: 978-1-936783-05-2
Copyright © 2010 by Teagan Rand
All Rights Reserved
Cover artwork Copyright © 2010 by Tuppshar Press
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), locations, or events, is entirely coincidental.
www.tuppshar-press.com
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LESSON IN BONDAGE
One
Karl came in from lunch just a bit late, as always, going out of his way to pass her desk because he knew how much it hurt her when he did. Susan was with him, walking close, and his strong arm held her waist possessively. He was smiling, too, his ruggedly handsome face assuming just that bit of arrogance it always did.
As he stepped close enough to touch, Anne’s gaze dropped, but despite her best effort it stayed on him. Silently she wished the office had cubicles so she could hide away, so the burning pain she felt could be hers, private, so no one would look at her and whisper the things she knew they did.
Karl’s ex. Had him but lost him. What did she do wrong?
He was at his desk now and Susan was there with him and even Anne had to admit they made a lovely couple. He was broad-chested, features chiseled, eyes bright and hinting at his charm. His suit was expensive and European and he wore it like someone who knew power and authority. He was, really, everything a woman might want in a man.
And Susan was, well, perfect too, her skirt short and tight, her figure flattering, long brown hair falling down her back in soft curls. She had one of those ideal, tanned faces, delicate and feminine, legs long and made longer by her high heels. She leaned over his desk now and as she did Anne remembered when it was she who had been there, she who Karl had touched and laughed with and held.
But now it was she who he had left, and there was Susan in her stead.
Anne closed her eyes and fought against the urge to weep. She had done enough of that at home, face buried in her pillow, and once or twice here at work, in the ladies’ room. They said that weeping helped, was part of the healing, but each time she had only felt more shame and now the tears came rarely, replaced by a burned-out, hollow place where her soul had once been. He had made it very clear on their last night together: you are not worthy of me.
Now she sensed someone by her desk and looked up.
Karl. He held a stack of files.
“These need to be done by tomorrow,” he said. “Take care of it.”
She could feel all eyes on her, watching, waiting for more grist for the office rumor mill, and for a second she fought the urge to leap at him and tear his perfect eyes out, to scream her hate and anger and hurt for all the world to see.
But she wouldn’t. She was just little Anne, shy and unassuming. That’s what they said, here in the office, when they thought she couldn’t hear. Shy, unassuming, never speaks up. No spine. Karl dumps her and she falls apart, lets him bully her. There were those in the office, several of them, who didn’t like Karl, who had come to her with sympathy when he had left her, who had sat with her over coffee and told her what they thought.
Melanie, two desks over: “He’s a control freak, a jerk.”
Janice in accounting: “You’re better off without him. Don’t let him push you around.”
But Anne did, though she didn’t really know why. It was like talking back to him would be to concede that it really was over, that she really hadn’t been good enough, that she had done something wrong. And there was a part of her, a part she didn’t want to admit existed, that wanted him back and would do anything to get him. Maybe if she just did the right thing, wore that blouse he had liked on her, said what he wanted to hear.
No. Stupid. But she felt that way and it only made the pain worse.
After a while the others quit coming to her, quit trying to console her. That made sense, in a perverse sort of way; she wasn’t good company and there was no reason they should want to waste their time with her. These days no one really talked to her at all.
Except Karl, when he wanted something.
She knew the work he held was his own, that he just wanted to leave early with Susan, and she knew she should tell him that she wouldn’t do it, but her resistance crumbled with the rising hurt and she simply nodded, her gaze down, as he laid the files on her already crowded desk.
“All right.”
Two
For most of her life Anne had considered herself attractive. She was tall and slender, her chestnut hair cut to dance below her shoulders, her features delicate, her eyes a deep brown. Though she was not outgoing she had liked who she was. That changed, though, after the breakup with Karl, because a part of her really believed it was her fault, that she hadn’t been good enough, hadn’t pleased him enough, had done something wrong. She still tried to look good, but it didn’t feel the same anymore.
It was late now. The office was nearly empty and it was dark outside. She had finished all her own work and several of Karl’s files, but the stack that remained was still tall and she knew that meant a late night. She wondered why she let him do this to her.
Do you really think he’ll take you back?
Stupid! Stupid!
Across the room she saw Terence with his cart, gathering the interoffice mail from various desks. She hadn’t ever really paid much attention to him before; he was a quiet man, slender, dressed casually. He never really seemed to say much, his response often being just a polite nod, an unassuming smile. Not a man who caught anyone’s attention, but Anne watched him now as he worked, moving closer and closer to her desk.
He was there, then, before her, looking down at her.
“Good evening,” she offered, handing him her mail.
He took it and set it in the cart with a nod.
“Working late?” he asked.
“I need to finish these by tomorrow,” she said.
He nodded again, glancing at the top file. She turned her attention back to the sheet in front of her.
“This is Karl’s work,” he said suddenly.
She glanced up at him and felt her face redden. There was something about his tone that she had never heard before, and now she saw that he was staring back.
“Yes,” she said. “I told him I’d finish it.”
“Why?”
Anne felt a rush of anger, white hot.
“Because I said I would!” she snapped.
Terence did not react; his stare did not waver. She found it uncomfortable, like he was looking right into her, reading her. She turned her attention back to the papers.
“It’s none of your business,” she said curtly.
She expected him to move on, chastened by her tone, and she anticipated feeling good about having dismissed him so quickly. She needed to feel good just now and so grew angrier still when he didn’t step away.
“What are you looking at?” she snapped at last.
“Nothing pleasant,” he said.
She shot a glare at him and opened her mouth to rebuke him, but found no words.
“A lot of hate,” he went on. “A lot of anger. A lot of pain. You spray it around this office like water from a garden hose. But it never goes away, does it? It festers in you and stinks up everyone else’s life. Are you ever going to let it go, Anne?”
She had never heard him address anyone by their first name before. The sudden intimacy of hearing her own only fanned the angry fire in her further, and she spat her next words at him.
“You men make me sick. I suppose you’re going to offer me something that will make it all better? Some bit of clever male advice?”
He shook his head. “I offer nothing,” he said. “Except maybe a mirror.”
His cryptic reply irritated her further. “Then what good are you?” she hissed.
He stared at her for a moment, and she could feel his gaze running over her. It was like he was appraising her, evaluating her. She crossed her legs defensively, wishing suddenly that she had worn a longer skirt. She felt the urge to slap him, but there was another feeling too, deep inside her, a warm, urgent feeling that she quickly suppressed.