as she had been told to do this morning, as he had looked into her eyes sternly, holding her chin in place so that she couldn’t help but gaze steadily the long way back up at him, her bottom lip actively worried between her teeth.
“Because you know that if you don’t insert them, the entire floor is going to hear them buzzing in your purse.”
Ginger had frowned. She hadn’t thought about that. Not that she had been planning to circumvent his order. . .necessarily. But she wasn’t much of a fan when he occasionally asked her to do things like this, mostly because she knew that he really wasn’t asking. He fully expected that she would do exactly as she was told, and somehow, he always knew when she hadn’t. Whether she had disobeyed in a big or the smallest way - and she knew he would point out to her, as he always did, that the size of the indiscretion didn’t matter much to him - he was able to look into her eyes and somehow intuit just how obedient she’d been.
Or not.
And she had to admit that he was depressingly accurate.
Very depressingly, because, although she had been submissive to him practically from the moment she’d met him - to her considerable alarm at first - she was far from perfectly behaved, even almost a decade later.
In this he had been very right: there was no way she was going to take the chance that anyone at work was going to hear those two not so little metal capsules buzzing around - louder than any cell phone vibrated and clanging together noisily in the bottom of her purse. She knew her best friend Charlene would be like a bloodhound if that happened, and Ginger didn’t feel like having to explain their presence to anyone - especially not to Charlene, who could be a bit of a nosey body when she wanted to.
When she got back to her desk - after wondering with every step how she was going to get any work done with those things nestling intimately inside her; and they weren’t even on yet - she texted him back “ done, ” then put her phone back in her purse, where it lived while she worked. Her boss was pretty laid back about cell phones as long as you didn’t spend much work time on them. And Ginger was enough of a type A that she barely ever saw Rafe , since she certainly didn’t need to be coached to finish her work. She often completed her own and then offered to help others.
Ginger wasn’t quite sure how she’d lucked into this position, but, as unambitious as it sounded, she intended to retire out of it, if possible. It was the perfect job for her: people left piles of work on her desk and she mowed her way happily through them, mostly on autopilot, which freed her mind to think of anything else.
Luckily there wasn’t anyone at work who was as attuned to her mind as Sean was or they’d be very thoroughly mortified by what they saw most times, she was sure.
Hell, she’d bet a year’s salary that no one here would ever begin to guess that she was submissive to her husband. If anything, those who hadn’t met Sean would probably think she was his domme , because at work she was completely no-nonsense. She didn’t spend her time hanging around the copier, the lunch room or in the bathroom, like most others did. Her breaks were exactly fifteen minutes long, her lunch thirty and not a minute longer. She hadn’t missed a day in seven years, and she didn’t intend to start. If there was something that she thought could be done in a more efficient manner, she shot the boss an email, and then let it go, never agonizing about whether her suggestions were implemented, although the majority of them had been.
Ginger had been offered multiple promotions and had flatly declined each one of them. She knew from previous experience what management was like and refused to sign on for those headaches. They didn’t need the money, and she didn’t need the stress.
She’d been forbidden, anyway, for the latter reason. Sean had come
“Because you know that if you don’t insert them, the entire floor is going to hear them buzzing in your purse.”
Ginger had frowned. She hadn’t thought about that. Not that she had been planning to circumvent his order. . .necessarily. But she wasn’t much of a fan when he occasionally asked her to do things like this, mostly because she knew that he really wasn’t asking. He fully expected that she would do exactly as she was told, and somehow, he always knew when she hadn’t. Whether she had disobeyed in a big or the smallest way - and she knew he would point out to her, as he always did, that the size of the indiscretion didn’t matter much to him - he was able to look into her eyes and somehow intuit just how obedient she’d been.
Or not.
And she had to admit that he was depressingly accurate.
Very depressingly, because, although she had been submissive to him practically from the moment she’d met him - to her considerable alarm at first - she was far from perfectly behaved, even almost a decade later.
In this he had been very right: there was no way she was going to take the chance that anyone at work was going to hear those two not so little metal capsules buzzing around - louder than any cell phone vibrated and clanging together noisily in the bottom of her purse. She knew her best friend Charlene would be like a bloodhound if that happened, and Ginger didn’t feel like having to explain their presence to anyone - especially not to Charlene, who could be a bit of a nosey body when she wanted to.
When she got back to her desk - after wondering with every step how she was going to get any work done with those things nestling intimately inside her; and they weren’t even on yet - she texted him back “ done, ” then put her phone back in her purse, where it lived while she worked. Her boss was pretty laid back about cell phones as long as you didn’t spend much work time on them. And Ginger was enough of a type A that she barely ever saw Rafe , since she certainly didn’t need to be coached to finish her work. She often completed her own and then offered to help others.
Ginger wasn’t quite sure how she’d lucked into this position, but, as unambitious as it sounded, she intended to retire out of it, if possible. It was the perfect job for her: people left piles of work on her desk and she mowed her way happily through them, mostly on autopilot, which freed her mind to think of anything else.
Luckily there wasn’t anyone at work who was as attuned to her mind as Sean was or they’d be very thoroughly mortified by what they saw most times, she was sure.
Hell, she’d bet a year’s salary that no one here would ever begin to guess that she was submissive to her husband. If anything, those who hadn’t met Sean would probably think she was his domme , because at work she was completely no-nonsense. She didn’t spend her time hanging around the copier, the lunch room or in the bathroom, like most others did. Her breaks were exactly fifteen minutes long, her lunch thirty and not a minute longer. She hadn’t missed a day in seven years, and she didn’t intend to start. If there was something that she thought could be done in a more efficient manner, she shot the boss an email, and then let it go, never agonizing about whether her suggestions were implemented, although the majority of them had been.
Ginger had been offered multiple promotions and had flatly declined each one of them. She knew from previous experience what management was like and refused to sign on for those headaches. They didn’t need the money, and she didn’t need the stress.
She’d been forbidden, anyway, for the latter reason. Sean had come
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