Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland Page B

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    “I’m just the human resources girl, Pete. Sorry.”
    He studied her for a moment. “Make sure you keep your nose to the grindstone, Nell. I would hate to see it get in the wrong business.”
    What did that mean? She cleared her throat and smiled. “Nice to see you, Pete. Good luck.”
    She moved away quickly. The last thing she wanted was to introduce a business reporter to Mark Conners. It was clear that Mark’s early experience with the media had been traumatic and ugly. He kept his identity a secret and valued his privacy. Nell wasn’t going to risk exposing him.
    She headed in the same direction Mark had gone and put distance between the reporter and herself. She glanced over her shoulder and plowed right into Mark coming back for her.
    “Oooph.” She staggered, and her foot slipped out from under her. She would have landed in an undignified heap if Mark hadn’t caught her.
    “Gotcha.” He smiled at her, and the flash from a camera lit up his face.
    She whirled around to see Pete give her the thumbs-up and disappear. “Damn him,” she muttered.
    “Who was that?” Mark’s tone was cold.
    Her heart pounded, and she turned to face him. “I’ll take care of it.”
    “Anelda,” he said in a warning tone.
    She sighed. “His name is Pete Dawson. I know him. I can get the picture back.”
    Mark frowned but took her luggage and led her to the private plane. Nell followed him and tried not to worry. Pete didn’t know who Mark was and had no idea if this was her new boss or some stranger. She would get the picture back.
    The airplane was private but small, which was a little nerve-racking for Nell. She headed for one of the six seats and started to buckle herself in, but Mark called her. “We aren’t taking off for another twenty minutes. Come here.”
    He had taken a seat toward the back, and when she came close enough, he gripped her wrist and pulled her into his lap. “I want you to get on your knees beside my seat, head bowed, eyes down, hands behind your back.”
    She swallowed and bent her knees. The aisle of the plane’s interior was carpeted with a scratchy material that scraped her skin, keeping the fact that she was kneeling at the forefront of her mind. Mark had said they would go to the office from the airport, so she was dressed for work. A black pencil skirt, a loose, collared white blouse, and her black pumps was her typical attire. She’d worn her hair in a severe French braid to keep it contained for the trip.
    When she clasped her hands behind her back, he leaned forward and flicked open the buttons of her blouse at her throat. Then he yanked on the rubber bands that held her hair and flicked through the braids until her hair cascaded down her back.
    Out of his briefcase, he removed a medium-size bullet vibrator with a wireless control. He lifted her skirt and pulled off her underwear. When his fingers pressed on her clit, she rotated her hips, helpless under his domination.
    He slid the bullet vibrator inside her pussy and flicked the control to an agonizing setting that kept her near the edge but not enough to take her over. Her nipples beaded, and she began to sweat from the effort of holding back an orgasm and not whimpering her need.
    Without another word, he opened his laptop and began to work.
    She gasped for breath, the vibrator rocking against the walls of her pussy and her clit aching for his touch. To keep her hands away from her greedy nub, she gripped her own wrists hard, straining against her own restraint.
    Even at the low setting, she could feel the wave of pleasure building and started to pant. It was the strangest sensation. So close, it was almost painful to hold back. Yet she loved obeying him, letting him control it all, being back in that place of nothingness.
    She relaxed and let the vibrations flow through her, slowed her breathing, lived second to second.
    Time had no meaning. She was only aware of the pulses from the bullet inside her controlled by