Chapter 162: Good Girl

Cecilia

Arthur adjusted my skirt, his fingers gentle despite the intensity of what had just happened, smoothing the fabric back into place with meticulous attention to detail. Then, before I could process what he was doing, he retrieved my discarded underwear from the floor.

"Arthur, what are you—"

He pulled my underwear back up for me. "Can't have you making a mess," he murmured, his voice still rough with satisfaction. "You're going to keep all of it inside, understand? Every drop."

My face burned impossibly hotter as I felt the foreign sensation, the way the fabric created pressure that was both uncomfortable and oddly arousing. "Arthur, I can't—this is—"

"You can," he interrupted, already scooping me up into his arms like I weighed nothing. "And you will. Now hold onto me, baby. We're going to my office."

"What?" I clutched at his shoulders, suddenly very aware that we were about to leave my office and walk through the building with me in this state—Arthur's release still warm inside me, held in place by the makeshift barrier he'd created. "Arthur, we can't—people will see—"

"Let them see," he said, but there was something possessive in his tone that suggested he actually enjoyed the idea of carrying me through the building, of everyone knowing exactly what we'd been doing.

He unlocked the door with one hand, keeping me secure in his arms with the other, and stepped out into the hallway.

I immediately buried my face against his neck, unable to bear the thought of making eye contact with anyone we passed. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I could feel his heartbeat—steady and controlled, completely unbothered by the situation.

"Mr. Winston." A voice I didn't recognize—male, probably someone from accounting based on the nervous tone. "Is everything alright? Does Miss Locke need medical attention?"

"She's fine," Arthur said smoothly, his stride never faltering. "Just feeling a bit unwell. I'm taking her to rest in my office."

"Oh, of course. I hope you feel better soon, Miss Locke."

I made a noncommittal sound against Arthur's neck, too mortified to actually form words. Behind us, I heard whispers starting—speculation about what had happened, concern for my health, the kind of office gossip that would be circulating by end of day.

They don't know, I told myself, even as my face burned hotter. They can't possibly know what we just did.

But the way Arthur's arms tightened around me, the satisfied smile I could feel against my hair—it felt like he wanted them to know, wanted everyone in this building to understand exactly who I belonged to.

We passed more people—a cluster of executives near the elevators who immediately stepped aside, their conversations dying as they watched us go by; a young assistant who actually pressed herself against the wall to give us space; Ethan, who took one look at us and immediately turned around to walk in the opposite direction without a word.

By the time we reached Arthur's office, my entire body was trembling—not from exertion but from the combination of embarrassment and the constant awareness of what was inside me.

He pushed through the door with his shoulder, kicking it closed behind us before crossing to the leather couch that dominated one side of his office. He set me down carefully, arranging me so I was half-reclined against the cushions, my legs tucked up beside me.

"Comfortable?" he asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice despite the satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"No," I admitted, squirming slightly as the fabric shifted again, the friction making me acutely aware of every sensation. "Arthur, this is—it's uncomfortable. Can't I just—"

"No," he interrupted, already moving toward his desk. "You're going to keep it there until we get home. Consider it... motivation to behave yourself for the rest of the day."

I stared at him, torn between arousal and indignation. "Motivation to behave? Arthur, I'm a grown woman, I don't need—"

"You need exactly what I give you," he said, settling into his desk chair with the kind of casual authority. "Now be a good girl and stay quiet while I work. We'll deal with this properly when we get home."

The promise in those words sent heat flooding through me despite my discomfort. I shifted again on the couch, trying to find a position that didn't make the sensation quite so overwhelming, but every movement just made it worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

Arthur pulled up something on his computer, his attention apparently shifting entirely to work as if he hadn't just fucked me senseless in my office and then carried me through the building with his release still inside me.

But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched occasionally, the slight flush on his neck that suggested he was just as affected as I was—he was just better at hiding it.

I watched him work, unable to look away from the sharp line of his profile, the way his fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, the slight furrow between his brows when he concentrated on something particularly complex.

He was beautiful like this—powerful and controlled and completely in his element. And he was mine. This gorgeous, impossible man was mine.

The thought made something warm bloom in my chest, cutting through the discomfort and embarrassment to leave nothing but pure affection.

"Baby," Arthur's voice cut through my thoughts, making me jump slightly. He hadn't looked up from his screen, but his mouth curved into a knowing smile. "If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to have to fuck you again. Right here on this couch."

Heat flooded my face immediately. "I wasn't—I didn't—"

"You were," he interrupted, finally turning to look at me with dark, hungry eyes. "And the way you're squirming suggests you want me to do something about it."

"I'm not squirming," I lied, even as I shifted again, the fabric inside me creating friction that was becoming increasingly unbearable. "I'm just—it's uncomfortable, Arthur. Please, can't I just—"

"No." The word came out flat and final. "You're going to sit there and feel every second of what I did to you. You're going to remember that you belong to me, that I can take you whenever and wherever I want, that you promised me complete access."

The possessiveness in his voice should have annoyed me. Should have made me want to argue, to remind him that I was my own person with my own agency.

Instead, it just made me wetter.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of him, trying to think about anything except the way my body was responding to his words and his presence and the constant reminder of what we'd done.

"Good girl," Arthur murmured, and I heard the satisfaction in his voice. "Now stay quiet while I finish this contract review. We'll leave in an hour."

An hour. I had to endure this for another hour.

I wasn't sure if that was a punishment or a promise.