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Authors: Allie Blocker

Tags: #Romance

Gift of Submission

Gift of Submission

by

Allie Blocker

Gelisa is mine. She has been for four years now. I haven’t touched her, not yet. I want her to come to me. I want her complete and utter surrender. All she has to do is say the words, and I will give her the world. But my little Gelisa is a stubborn minx. It is going to take some doing to get her submission. So I’ve decided to force her hand. I’m taking her to my cabin just five days before Christmas. I have five days to get her verbal submission. And I will get it.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

 

© 2014 Allie Blocker

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Editor: Katriena Knights

 

 

eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

Chapter One

 

My boss is a dick. It isn’t the normal boss dickishness that gets me. No, Ashford Barrington Bainbridge, the third, is a Grade A certified prick of the first order. The man invades my privacy, my personal space—every freaking aspect of my life as if it’s his right to do so. Most days I am hard pressed not to cuss his funky ass out. I actually fantasize about waltzing into his office and giving him the cuss-out of the century before announcing I’m quitting. But then I take a long, hard look at my bank account. There is plenty of cushion to find another job, but it is highly doubtful any other paralegal position would pay so well. Nor would I ever be offered the kind of perks I get from working for Bainbridge Law.

One of the best perks of my job is the fantastic downtown apartment, free of charge, located on the nineteenth floor of a snazzy high-rise complete with a doorman, a little grocery downstairs, and a restaurant. And yeah, the restaurant delivers to everyone in the complex, just like a hotel. The place is huge and came fully furnished, with three bedrooms, one of which I use for an office, two full bathrooms, one half bath, and a gourmet kitchen. Of course, it’s located conveniently right under the asshole’s penthouse.

At first, I thought I was incredibly lucky to have found a job that gave me so much. Ha! It was just so I’m easier to summon to his lordship’s palatial abode at any hour. Oh, never at three in the morning or anything truly ridiculous, but the man seems to smell when I’m determined to be social and finds some excuse to need me right away. It’s annoying to the extreme, and has become a habit. He always seems to know when I’m on a date or at least, when I bring a date home, because he never fails to call me up to his penthouse for something that just can’t wait. Whenever I dare to complain, I’m always met with a raised brow and a very calm, completely arrogant retort delivered in that snobbish British accent of his.

“Really, Miss Parker, did you imagine you were given your apartment for your brilliant legal mind?”

So maybe I didn’t opt to go to grad school after getting my bachelor’s, but that’s no reason to treat me like a freakin’ personal secretary. Whenever I’m summoned, I’m usually ordered to make coffee or fix him a drink before hours of boring research on whatever case he has up his ass that day. Isn’t it enough I’m forced to spend hours of the work day in his office? The jerk actually put a smaller desk in the corner of his huge space just so I can be close at hand.

Maybe I am complaining too much, because deep down, in places I don’t even want to acknowledge, I love the fact he can’t seem to function without me. And yes, he is way sexier than any asshole has the right to be.

But seriously, this is getting to be a bit much. I’m currently on the first date I’ve had in months. Allen Biggs is a defense attorney for a large firm that shares our office building. Moderately cute, not quite as stuck-up as most attorneys in my very limited social circle. Social circle meaning the people I run into in the hallways, riding in the elevator, or other paralegals I manage to catch a bite with on the days I’m able to grab lunch in the cafe on the ground floor of the office. When Allen asked me out, I’d jumped at the chance, even though I’m not particularly attracted to him. I just really needed to reaffirm my existence outside of work, away from Ashford Bainbridge.

Things had gone along fairly well until we ended up here at my place. Why, oh why did I even suggest coming here? Should’ve gone to his place, but I felt better being on home turf. I could throw him out any time I felt things were getting weird. We hadn’t even made it through the first glass of wine before the phone started to ring. Not my cell, but my seldom-used landline. So now I’m sitting here, staring at the phone, debating whether or not to answer. If I don’t, he’ll just come down. Heaven help me if that happens—Mr. Bainbridge, Esquire loves to lecture me on how he pays me to be readily available at all times. How does that not sound like I’m his whore? And no, I don’t want to be, just because he looks like he could give a girl one hell of a ride. Besides, if I answer right away, I won’t even get a good night kiss from Allen. I really need one, if just to stop me from dreaming about what my boss’s kisses might be like.

Maybe I have time for a quickie? Generally that’s not my thing, but God, it’s been so long, and if I have another heated night dreaming about the asshole I might go insane. Ashford is not for me. He’s my boss. Plain and simple. Plus, I hate him.

“Ignore it,” Allen helpfully provides, sliding over on the couch so that our legs are pressed tightly together.

Now, why does that make me want to scoot away? In the looks department, Allen isn’t bad. Ashford beats him by a long shot, but Allen’s straight, dark brown hair works well with his greenish eyes. I can’t really tell if they are hazel or not. Maybe greenish hazel? And maybe he isn’t as cut as a Greek god, like Ashford, but he certainly looks as if he takes care of himself.

So why aren’t I more attracted? Allen certainly appears to be attracted to me. More wine. I down my glass, turning to face Allen with a bright smile plastered on my face. Fake it ‘til you make it, I guess. My smile must at least look real because he starts grinning like a Cheshire Cat, reaching out to caress the side of my face. Geez, his fingers feel all cold. Well it
is
in the low twenties outside. I can deal. I wait patiently for him to make a move.

“You’re really pretty, Gelisa.”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Gee, I’m pretty, thanks. Some guys need road maps, I guess. He’s in my place, glass of wine in hand—all he has to do is make a move.

“Thanks.” I manage to keep my smile, but damn, it’s hard. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

URGH! Why doesn’t he just kiss me already? It’s not like I’m being all shy and bashful. I refuse to make the first move. Nothing turns me off more than than feeling like I am the aggressor. I like to feel wanted, like a man can’t wait to get his hands on me. Taking the first step myself makes me feel pathetic.

“Do you think I can kiss you?” Allen leans in, his eyes going all puppy dog.

Really? Do some women like that look? Rule of thumb in the world according to Gelisa Parker—if you have to ask, the answer is no. But damn it, I’m just about as desperate as I’ve ever been, So instead of sneering and showing him to the door, I push aside all my usual rules and answer. “Okay.”

Chapter Two

 

Placing cameras outside Miss Parker’s apartment door isn’t the most ethical of things to do. At least I restrained myself from placing any inside the place. Barely. I really don’t like her going on dates. On some level I know she understands that, given the rarity in which she accepts some miscreant’s request for her company. But she does so love to be obstinate from time to time. I think she does it just to see if I care. Silly woman, of course I do. That’s no excuse to go out on a date with a sorry excuse for a man, and an even sorrier attorney. And now she’s not answering her phone. I’ve instructed her time and again she’s always to take my call. Yet, there is no answer, and I’m all too aware of the sniveling man-child she has inside her apartment.

“Oh, Miss Parker, you do believe in forcing my hand, don’t you?” I mutter to myself, stalking toward the elevator.

I have no intention of allowing some second-rate lawyer with the backbone of a jellyfish to touch what is mine. There’s absolutely no doubt Gelisa Parker belongs completely, utterly to me. She understands that point more than she cares to admit, but that’s of no consequence. Sooner, rather than later, we shall come to an understanding, one way or another. Of course, I’m completely confident in the outcome. The woman seems to thrive on challenging me at every turn, but she could’ve walked away long before now. Usually, her defiance amuses me, but not tonight.

I use my own key on her front door instead of knocking. I never knock. The first time I let myself into her place was when she’d called in sick. I must admit, I’d panicked. Miss Parker rarely misses work, even when she does quite obviously feel like shit. Though she could barely speak due to a severe cold, she’d informed me that although the firm owned the apartment, I was never to use my key again unless invited to. Of course I did it again later that day when I brought her soup and medicine. Testing her. She’d said nothing. When I did it yet again, just to push her, she said she would quit if I did it again. So I went upstairs only to return thirty minutes later. She’d rolled her eyes and called me bullheaded. She hasn’t mentioned it again.

In any other situation I would be called a stalker. But Miss Parker and I have done this delicate dance since she waltzed into my life. She fascinates me, infuriates me, but most of all, she does it for me. While my actions are certainly unorthodox, even criminal, it’s a gentling of sorts. One she acquiesces to, as I have given her every opportunity to get out. For one thing, she has a contract that states she gets full pay for six months should she quit, and half pay for six months after that. I know she read every line—I made her read it out loud then quizzed her afterward. Should I decide to fire her—as if—she receives twice her normal pay for a year. Crazy of me, I know, but I was certain about her from the first moment I saw her.

And it looks like I’ve arrived just in time. The would-be usurper was just about to kiss my woman. That will not stand. Perhaps I waited too late to make my intentions clear. No matter—she’ll understand fully soon enough.

“Miss Parker, how many times must I inform you that you are always to answer my calls?” My timely interruption causes Gelisa to hiss an expletive not quite under her breath. In all honesty, I do believe Miss Parker looks relieved. The little squirrel of a man on her couch is not for her; she knows that as well as I.

“I’m on a date,” she retorts with far more ferocity than I know she feels. I’ve watched this woman, studied her. I know every nuance of her personality, know what every look means, what every sigh indicates. Now she is just being difficult, as she is wont to be. But those deep chestnut-colored eyes glitter with intense glee at my arrival. Gelisa knows me as well as I know her. She’s daring me now. So be it. “It’s a week away from Christmas, and we have no cases to be presented any time soon. I made an
executive
decision as to whether or not you wanted anything important.”

The little minx has risen to her feet as she’s speaking, an intimidating five foot one-and-a-half inches, taking a few steps in my direction. Not nearly close enough. Happy to oblige her, I close the gap, slowly walking forward until I am towering over her. My adorable little pixie woman. Although the top of her head barely reaches my chest, she is lush with generous curves. The short, bobbed haircut she recently traded her braids for frames her russet, heart-shaped face. It makes her look like a fierce fairy. I like that very much, her fierceness. She isn’t a woman easily broken, which is perfect, as I have no desire to break her. Challenge her, yes; take her to the absolute edge of endurance, absolutely. But slaves don’t do it for me. At one time that wasn’t so, but I have learned so much more about myself since then. I desire—no, I require a submissive, one that will challenge me as much as I challenge her. Gelisa Parker is the woman my exacting standards demand. All I need to do is show her, then claim her.

“The law does not pause for the holidays, Miss Parker.” I lean down so our faces are mere inches apart, allowing all my pent-up desire to shine in my eyes as I stare unblinking into hers. The gasp that rushes out in a audible breath isn’t the only indication she sees what I am feeling clearly. Those almond shaped eyes widen, her juicy lips parting ever so slightly. They look delicious. I really need to taste them. Soon, but not yet. Not until she fully understands what I require of her. It is imperative she knows what is to be the nature of our relationship. And there is absolutely no doubt there will be a relationship.

“Ummm, am I interrupting something?” The idiot on the couch has the gross misfortune of speaking.

Sighing is a woman’s weapon as much as tears are. Yet, I allow one to to escape. Centuries ago, I would’ve been able to murder him with impunity. Such a curse to be born in modern times.

“Yes, you are,” I inform him, fast losing my patience. “Run along now.”

“Gelisa?” he dares to question my woman.

I have to turn my head to face him, which thoroughly pisses me off. I don’t want to look at his weasely face. I could gleefully strangle the tosser at this point.

“You will leave,” I speak in a clear, measured tone lest he fail to comprehend. “You can go on your own, or I can make you. Your choice.”

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