Brianna Olivia walked into Roger’s office expecting the conversation she had rehearsed for weeks. A raise. Something modest, something earned. Instead he sat behind the desk and told her the numbers would not stretch. No increase. No bonus. Not this year.
She did not argue at first. She simply shifted in the chair so the hem of her skirt rode a little higher and the black stockings caught the light. The movement was deliberate. She wanted him to look.
Roger did look. Then his expression hardened. The idea that she thought a glimpse of her legs could buy what the budget would not allow struck him as an insult to the way he ran things. He stood, took her by the wrist, and pulled her across his lap. Her skirt went up. The stockings stayed. His hand came down on bare skin, firm and repeated, until the shock of it left her breathless and furious.
Brianna twisted free. She shoved him backward onto the bed and climbed onto his chest, pinning his shoulders with her knees the way a schoolgirl might pin a rival on the playground. Weight settled. Her hips dropped. She sat fully on his face, then shifted so the curve of her backside sealed over his mouth and nose. She stayed there, bearing down, until the pressure became a crush.
When she finally lifted, it was only to turn. Her thighs closed around his neck from behind, thick and unyielding, a reverse scissor that made him strain for air. She held it. Then she faced him again, sat down once more, locked her legs around his head from the front, and after that leaned forward so her bare breasts pressed over his face and stayed there.
By then the power in the room had changed hands. Roger was no longer the man who had refused her. He was the man under her, agreeing to whatever she asked.
Whether he will actually do any of it once she lets him up is another question.
