Overpowered at the Office Ch. 07

Sandra slowly roused from unconsciousness to the beat of gentle music. Despite the persistent throbbing in her head, she was comfortably supported on a soft surface, but it wasn't her bed. Eyes still closed, she recognised the song 'With or Without You' by U2 playing, and dreamily wondered how much alcohol she'd consumed to warrant such a hangover.

"On a bed of nails, she makes me wait..."

Sandra's eyes snapped open as she recognised Simon's deep voice floating out of the kitchen. Over the next few seconds the night's events flooded back to her, and she sat up with a jerk. It was still night, and by the light streaming in from the kitchen she figured out her surroundings. The tacky, glow-in-the-dark orange clock on her mantlepiece read 2.20am. She was lying sideways on her velvet grey sofa, covered in a light blanket, half propped up with pillows.

Wriggling the blanket down past her waist, Sandra could see her arms had been retied, but not at her wrists. The same summer-coloured silk scarf that had restrained her to the bed was now elaborately wrapped around her elbows, and trying to figure out the complicated pattern to their undoing only enhanced her headache. Her legs were free.

Looking further down Sandra discovered she was no longer naked - she'd been dressed in a tight-fitting white singlet, no bra, and black cotton panties. Leaning back to inspect her hands, she could see the bind marks on her wrists from her struggles before, and that her torn finger had been expertly bandaged, twice. A little overkill, but thorough.

Though her hands were technically free, her movements were extremely awkward. While curled on her side in a traditional sleeping position, her elbows fit together comfortably, but now that she was half sitting up, she learned how limited her mobility was.

"With or without you, whooooaaahhh..." Simon sang, and the sound of his rich, vibrant voice sent a pleasurable thrill down Sandra's spine. In song, his voice was attractively strong, sexy, and infectious enjoyment resonated with every word. Just another thing about him that the girls at work would drool over. Momentarily baffled with reality, Sarah realised how very little she knew about Simon. Who would have thought the guy could sing, and that she could enjoy it after what had passed between them?

Hearing movement Simon poked his head through the doorway. "Awake, are you?" he said cheerfully, before ducking back into the kitchen.

Confused by his good mood, Sandra was speechless. She clearly remembered being half raped, stabbing him with her Chinese hair stick, thinking she was about to die.

The music cut out as Simon finished up what he was doing. Balancing a plate in one hand, he turned off the kitchen light on his way out. In the lounge-room the blinds had been opened, and as her eyes adjusted Sandra could see he'd put his black underwear back on, but nothing else. After running her eyes over his flexing biceps and hard chest, she noted that the injury to his side had been efficiently patched up. Only a faint red stain marked the centre of the large bandage taped over him.

"Took me a while to find your first aid kit," Simon commented, noticing where her attention lay. "I almost gave up. Thought I'd have to run out and buy one. Hope you don't mind the sight of blood, there's a lot of it in the bathroom. I cleaned all of it off you, though."

Setting a plate of sandwiches down on the glass coffee table in front of Sandra, he leaned over and clicked on the tall lamp by the side of the couch, showering them in dull, intimate lighting.

"I didn't think you'd mind if I dressed you, just a little," he said cheekily. "Thought it'd be cute if we had matching coloured undies."

Sandra just stared at him.

Simon stood to his full height, looking down at her thoughtfully. He lifted his large arms in a tentative stretch, not completely straightening to reach full length. Then he dropped his arms half-way, and twisted his toned torso side to side with a small grimace.

"You surprised me, Sandra," he nodded. "I wasn't expecting it. But you didn't even hit inch-deep. You lack stamina, girl, but not guts." He moved around the coffee table and casually eased himself down onto the couch near Sandra's feet, and she quickly drew her knees toward her chest to avoid his nearness.

"For a small flesh wound it hurt like a bitch," he confided, leaning forward and reaching across her to pick up a sandwich. "When I disinfected and sewed up, it hurt like a mother-fucker. I'm surprised my swearing didn't wake you."

Maliciously, Sandra regretted he didn't wake her - she'd have liked to hear him yowl in pain. Having never stabbed anyone before, she had no idea what strength it actually took to penetrate through skin and flesh. When she'd mustered up the courage to try and really hurt him, she was more focused on going through the motions than being effective. Not giving a second thought to consequences or how she'd escape, she was in survival-mode - her only objective was to stop him from impaling her.

"Don't worry, I'm over it. I hold no grudges," he said quietly, before biting into the sandwich. While he chewed, he stared absently ahead, his face was serious in thought. After swallowing, he continued. "Don't be afraid of me, Sandra. I've never struck a woman before. I only hit you because I had to. I needed to check the damage and I meant to temporarily stun you, not knock you out cold." He didn't face her directly, but watched her from the corner of his eye as he finished the sandwich.

The knock to her head wasn't too bad, Sandra knew. After she made her desperate move and saw the awful look on Simon's face, she was 100% sure he was going to kill her, that she faced certain death. Right before he'd struck, she was in the beginning stages of passing out from fear. Given his strength, she reckoned he could have punched her head clear off her shoulders if he wanted to.

"How did you know what to do?" Sandra nodded at his injury.

Glancing down at his side then back at her, his eyes lightened, pleased she was talking to him. "Before I joined our company four years ago, I was a medical intern. I'm no brain surgeon, but I know the basics of tending minor injury."

"You? Helping sick people?" she replied dryly.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Sandra," he said shortly. "You'll realise that once you get to know me better."

"I'm not interested. I've found out everything I need to know," she said, carefully keeping her voice calm. At least he was talking and not acting on his urges. In his current mood he might listen to her.

"Look, I know I've screwed up," he admitted, shifting to face her. "I know I've been a total asshole. Ok," he added, as her eyebrows shot upwards indignantly, "I've been an absolute fucking monster."

"Are you going to let me go?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate.

For a moment he frowned down at his large hands. "I think that ship sailed a while ago." He looked up from his palms and turned to her. "Are you hungry?" he gestured to the plate on the table.

"Not at all. Why can't you let me go?" she tried again.

"I could feed you, you know," he inclined his head toward the plate, and his dark eyes grew warm. "I'd really enjoy that."

"Why can't you let me go?" she repeated, ignoring his suggestion.

Simon pointedly met her eyes. "Because the simple truth is, I don't want to. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I can see now that I went about things the wrong way. I was too fast with you. I went crazy when you almost got away, and I couldn't think clearly. I really haven't had a clear thought in my head since I kissed you at work.

"And honestly, I'm glad you stopped me before it was too late. I know you think I'm nuts, but I want to be with you, Sandra, I'm serious."

As she turned away angrily, rolling her eyes, he persisted. "I don't have to be this guy. I mean, this isn't who I am. It's not fair that you won't give me a chance. It's not as though I don't give you pleasure too-"

"You don't give me any pleasure," she interrupted him.

Simon tipped his head back and laughed. "Sure I don't. That's why you were so wet before. It had nothing to do with my kisses, me fingering you, sucking your tits. It was just that time of night, right?"

Sandra had no comeback and blushed at the reminder of everything he'd done to her, and how her body responded. But it wasn't her fault - it wasn't as though she led him on. How could it have occurred to her that Simon, after already getting his rocks off at the office, would decide to play Tarzan and break into her apartment in full business attire?

"Sorry, I totally forgot," Simon muttered guiltily, more to himself than her, and rose from the couch. She watched his large, half-naked frame disappear into the kitchen and heard her fridge door open and shut.

Coming back into the lounge-room, he pulled the coffee table away from the couch and bent over her face. With one hand he held her chin steady and with the other applied an ice-pack to her head.

"Arrrrrhhh," Sandra shut her eyes and winced as her throbbing temple was unpleasantly encased in chilling, ice-cold pressure. After a moment the pain subsided a little, as the ice numbed the inflammation. She opened her eyes and saw Simon had crouched down in front of her, his face only inches away from her own.

"I'm really sorry about this. Does it hurt?" he whispered in concern.

"Of course it hurts, you dumb prick," she snapped back at him, wiping the worried look off his face and making him grin widely at her attitude.

"God, I love you," he confessed, and pressed his mouth to hers. This time his kiss was gentle, tender. He didn't force her mouth open or make her lips feel bruised. After a short moment he pulled back and looked at her searchingly. No longer overcome by lust, all traces of the disturbing, unstable intensity had left his face. But the affection in his eyes was almost as disconcerting.

"If you really think you're telling the truth," he murmured, holding her gaze, "if you honestly believe you don't want me, I will make you a last deal. Well, not quite a deal. But there'll be no tricks, no strings attached, nothing." He released her chin but kept the ice-pack against her head, and settled comfortably onto his knees beside the couch in front of her.

"Another shitty bargain you're going to film and use against me?" Sandra asked cynically.

"No," Simon vehemently shook his head. "I don't need to blackmail you. I know you're either blatantly lying about how you feel, or you just don't realise it. Personally, I believe it's the former, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Well, what now?" she asked impatiently.

"We'll have sex," he answered her straight away. When she opened her mouth to argue he cut her off. "Don't worry, I'll get you wet and ready. Then you'll go on top, in complete control, at your own pace. I won't force you to take anything you can't handle." Simon's eyes began to heat up as he imagined her straddling him.

"No way," Sandra countered firmly, moving her head away from the ice-pack. 'On top' was her favourite position, and she knew that by instigating the erotic motions herself, she'd be digging her own grave, building her own orgasm with each thrust. Additionally, she didn't trust him not to catch it on film.

"There has to be something else," she argued.

Simon chewed his lower lip as he considered. "I can compromise," he said slowly, "but you'll have to trust me."

"I can hardly wait to hear this," Sandra retorted sarcastically.

"Put yourself in my hands," he replied confidently, his dark eyes alight with mischief, "and I'll show you mind-blowing pleasure without hurting you. I know you're worried about my size, but I won't fuck you like some grunting barbarian. Let me make love to you. If you come, you'll commit to date me for three weeks, and give me a chance to prove I'm worth your time. If you don't climax, I'll leave you alone forever. I'll quit the company and move inter-state.

"If you were being honest with me before, then it should be a no-brainer." He rubbed a hand across his chin, watching her eyes flash as she absorbed his words. "But letting you go now is not an option, it never was, so don't even bother suggesting it. If you choose to fight me, I'll try not to hurt you but I can't guarantee it - this is a fact, not a threat.

"After our tryst, I'll even let you go to the police, that's your prerogative. You might have a bruise on your head, but I have a hole in my side, and friends in high places. So know that if you do go to the police, I'll vigorously fight your version of events, and don't think for a moment that I won't fight dirty. Those are my terms."

"Will you untie me?" Sandra inquired, raising her trapped elbows.

Simon shrugged his broad shoulders. "Sure, I'll untie you, but don't double-cross me again. I can understand where you were coming from earlier, I actually respect you more for it. But if you take another shot at me, I'll truss you up like a turkey and, believe me, you'll really hate it." Lips pursed together, he exhaled through his nose, a little frustrated. "I was careless with you before. I'm not going to lose my head this time."

"B-but you...you're...you've...I stabbed you!" Sandra protested, genuinely amazed. What would it take for this guy to back down? His calculating ability and physical strength seemed unlimited, and her mind was still whirling from the discovery that he was medically trained and could sing. Going by her luck, he was probably best friends with the Pope. What other skills did he have that she wasn't aware of? Circus acrobat? Psychic extraordinaire?

'Is he even human?!' she wondered incredulously.

"Your jab was superficial," he said lightly, as though trying to reassure her. "Actually, it's merely as though a referee called half-time on us. I actually needed a breather, though I would have enjoyed it more without being stabbed. And no, I'm hardly affected by what happened. I have a very high pain threshold."

'High pain threshold, great,' thought Sandra, 'another item on your list of unfair advantages.'

Sandra leaned sideways onto the pillows and covered her face with her hands, thinking. She was exhausted, too tired to fight anymore, and a significant part of her was substantially relieved that he hadn't retaliated with life-threatening violence when she'd stabbed him. Frankly, she was too grateful to be alive to be difficult.

Until she could get the upper hand another way, the best she could do was try and beat him at his own game. If she agreed to his first suggestion, within 5 minutes she knew she'd be stuck dating him for three weeks, plus she suspected he wanted her on top to take the pressure off his injury. Clearly aware of how she felt about his size, he would be gentle with her. All she had to do was hold off an orgasm, how difficult could it be?

"Ok," Sandra's voice was muffled as she spoke through her hands, and Simon eagerly leaned closer to hear her. "You can try, but it won't happen." She raised her head from her hands and sulkily met his eyes. "And I'm not going on top, I'm too tired."

'And when you do all the work, I hope your wound causes excruciating pain,' she thought spitefully.

"Does this couch convert into a sofa-bed?" he asked unexpectedly, leaning back to survey its structure.

"W-What? Why?" Sandra stuttered, confused.

"Because I don't think the bed is a good idea right now," he said smoothly, "you might find the bloody sheets off-putting."

"O-Ohh," she frowned at him, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. "This-this...can be...can be a bed," she said stupidly.

Sandra felt like Alice in an X-rated Wonderland. Her night was becoming more and more surreal. Less than 7 hours ago they were mere colleagues, then he'd abused her humiliatingly, he'd broken into her home and pretty much raped her, and in return she'd tried to kill him. Now, due to both exhaustion and the immense relief that she was still breathing, Sandra was cooperating, and he was treating her like a cherished lover, enthusiastically planning sex with the goal of giving her pleasure. It was an incredibly backward turn of bizarre and unlikely events.

Sandra's reverie was interrupted as Simon stood, pulling her up with him. Her balance was severely affected by her elbows being almost stuck together, and she blushed as his hands supported her around the waist. He directed her to sit on a nearby one-seater, dragged the coffee table well out of the way and went about setting up the sofa-bed.

For a moment her heart stopped and her mouth dropped open as he pulled a small knife out of the waistband of his underwear.

"Don't worry," he said casually, severing the scarf from her arms, "I'll buy you ten more."

Throwing the small blade across the room, it clattered into a dark undisclosed location. Simon, smiling in amusement as she tried to see past him to where it had landed, easily scooped her up and carefully deposited her onto the extended sofa-bed. Once again kneeling over her, he brushed her soft hair from her eyes and kissed her passionately. Unlike before, he wasn't forceful or aggressive.

After a while his lips travelled from her mouth and across her cheek to blow in her ear, gently tugging on her sensitive ear-lobe. He kissed down her neck, while beneath him she gripped the sides of his large arms nervously, wondering what next.

Sandra meekly released her hold on him as he leaned back from her, his hands moving downwards to flatten over her belly, just above the waistline of her panties, warming her with their touch. Then his hands slowly slid up under her singlet, over her stomach and ribcage. They came to rest just beneath her breasts, causing her nipples to harden in anticipation. Again, he leaned over her and his lips lowered to move against the slim column of her neck. Again she felt the heat emitting from his bare skin as he moved in close.

It was very different experience for Sandra, being handled gently, unrestrained, not having him grind into her threateningly. Fairly confident now that he wouldn't hurt her, though she was still anxious, she felt the tension begin to leave her body. Already the pain in her head was forgotten as her breathing increased with her heart-rate. Suddenly, she remembered their agreement.

'Think of something terrible,' she told herself, trying to ignore how much she wanted his hands to move upwards. Her mind worked to distract her body. 'Starving children...death...animal cruelty...'

With Simon kissing her neck, she felt her lower body begin to heat up as his fingertips gently danced along the curved underside of her breasts.

'Rubbish tip...bankruptcy...old age...' her mind chanted lamely.

Suddenly her body took control and without thinking, she put her hands on his wrists and guided his hands upwards, sighing in relief as they immediately complied, cupping her breasts, massaging her, circling her nipples.

'Shit! Shit! Shit!' she thought angrily, realising her weakness too late. Trying to push his wrists down again, they didn't budge, and she heard him chuckle. Her mind rallied behind her, like a cheer-team egging on a losing boxer. 'Don't worry...not a big deal...just breast-play...'

Simon had stopped kissing her neck and Sandra instantly regretted opening her eyes as they clashed with his. His dark eyes intently bored into hers and his lips curved into a small predatory smile, silently telling her that he was in complete control.

"Uhhh..." Sandra couldn't withhold a moan as he caressed her, and stared up into his burning gaze uneasily, stupidly hoping he hadn't heard.

"Yes," he encouraged, watching her expectantly, "it feels good, doesn't it?"

"No," she lied, but she bit her lip and her back slowly arched as she fought to control her breathing. She felt an ache begin to build between her legs, and she shifted beneath him nervously.