Submission {UNFIN}

Chapter Seven.

1:37 p.m., New York City, New York, Vogue National Offices. Top Floor.

My hands combated the tantalizing impulse they had to clutch that man by his tie and tow him to my office, for the eyes of my vigilant counterparts had refrained me from such actions. The way that heady cologne of his steamed its scent off of his velvety skin made me sweat with rising fever, and as I granted my nostrils permission to mutely get another whiff of it, I noticed the way that his hand fidgeted with something in a minuscule pocket on the side of his slacks. Time soared by as I had reached the door of my office, which I hastily unlocked and shoved Shawn through. The door closed itself with a bumping clunk whilst I simultaneously satisfied that craving to draw him closer to me by the scarlet tie that wouldn't hang rigidly and freshly-pressed around his neck for much longer.

We eyeballed my turquoise nails when they slathered the physique of his chiseled chest, and the buttons of his starched, white shirt slid beneath the pads of my fingers with ease as I considered removing the one thing withholding that blessed, muscular upper-body from me.

"Beyoncé," he had said. His tone told me that it was more of a statement than a question, and in acknowledgement of such, I hoisted my head to see his irises that weren't a midnight black as I'd expected, but instead, a soft, toffee-resembling brown.

"You can't take orders," I declared, my fingers toying with the buttons now, but still neglecting to undo them. The distinct bounce of sound that was his chuckle played a sweet melody to my ears like no delectable laugh I had ever heard before.

"I'm not made to." Hesitation a foreign concept, I took a gait forward, my right leg intruding in the space between his legs. My grip on his tie manifested itself again, and I tugged it, forcing his face down toward mine, though I still boosted my chin to meet him halfway.

"Then what are you made for?" There was no possible way of blundering my tone; It was low, raspy and sensual. My desired answer was already implied. The only task badgering him now was to form them with those sizable lips that made me wonder what tricks they had up their sleeves. Our gaze halted in each other's traffic, and all movement ceased. My lips made their way against his and settled into the place where his lips parted with increasing comfortability. His tongue rustled against mine and swirled its mischievous tip around my mouth with a sense of exploration. Lethargically and reluctant in nature, we parted, the taste of the other lingering on our nearly slobbered over lips.

"I was made for many things." I could feel my lips furling into a contented smirk that resembled something of a manipulative, rich child. Lord knows I had grown up within protracted distance of that lifestyle. The assets I had secured at that moment in time as editor of Vogue were perhaps the finest things I had ever owned. No, they were the finest, without doubt.

"Why don't you show me some of them," I chided, sauntering, with him in tow, toward my white, rustic styled desk. "Please," I whispered, my own chilled breath giving me goosebumps, "Show me." As if he felt the need to appease me, he bent down and connected his mouth to my neck, sending a surge of heat down my spine that somehow oozed to my woman hood (s/o @iamcarterian) that so desperately called for attention. Shawn continued to entertain my wishes when he proceeded to nip around in search of my soft spot, which he learned promptly after his journeying began.

Then, like someone had suddenly turned off a stove spouting with heat, he stopped. He halted. He did not continue.

"Shawn..?" I thought he wanted it as much as I did. In fact, I knew that he did. His actions perplexed me and left me with an unsolved riddle that I would spend the next five nights trying to figure out. My fingernail brushed underneath his stubbly chin and raised his face to mine from where it had been frozen against my neck. "Shawn," I repeated, much more imposing and flinty. Though his features remained flat and seemingly without dimension, his eyes sparkled with taunting amusement.