The Dare (Truth or Dare Book 1)

I have a morning meeting the next day, leaving Elle to arrive on her own. Not that I think she can’t handle that, and honestly, a separate arrival might even be the safer course of action, but I feel a twinge that perhaps I’m throwing her to the wolves.

What is it with the animal idioms in America?

Though tossing Elle to this Wolfe would be fine and dandy with me, I think as I smack my lips.

“Everything good?” The waitress has mistaken my taste for Elle as delight for the passable eggs and bacon breakfast. I’d hoped the fruit salad would be better, but it’s all honeydew and cantaloupe, my least favorite and in this quantity, virtually gag-inducing.

“It’s fine,” I say generously. It’s not her fault the food is mediocre at best. Nor did I choose this establishment.

No, my meeting location was the call of the man across the table from me.

‘Any questions or concerns I could clear up, Mr. Wolfe? We’d really like to collaborate with Fox. We can really help streamline processes for you, and that’ll have a really positive outcome on the bottom-line figures.”

The man sitting across from me is wearing an off-the-rack suit that has not been tailored in the least, though it is freshly dry cleaned. His hair is swept to the side in an attempt to cover the increasing amount of pink skin visible through the thin strands. He uses corporate babble as if the words actually mean something beyond being trendy catchphrases. And most annoyingly, he says ‘really’ approximately every fifth word . . . for the entirety of his presentation. Really.

“I don’t believe so, Michael.” But then I think again. “Tell me how you got on my schedule.”

I’m not some elitist prick who thinks my time is simply too valuable to deal with the day-in and day-out of operations. They are my main purview, actually. But for me to meet with what equates to a cold-call salesman is not the best use of my time by any means.

“Of course. I met with Mr. Givens, and he seemed really keen on the potential impacts we could have by partnering together. He really helped grease the way for me with your assistant, who was really hesitant at first. But Mr. Givens assured her that I could really help Fox. And bing, bang, boom . . . here we are.”

Michael emphasizes his speech with finger guns, an American gesture if ever there were one.

Tom Givens. I had that discussion with him about his behavior only yesterday, so for this meeting to have already been on my calendar, it can’t be retaliation, though that’s my first thought. Instead, perhaps it’s a telling sign that Elle’s assessment was correct. Tom is a dinosaur douche canoe who’s unable to perform his job to even mediocre standards. Because this meeting has been a complete and utter waste of my morning, without even a good cup of coffee to show for it.

“Indeed, here we are.” Michael’s salesman smile melts at my dry delivery. “Please feel free to send your proposal to Helen. She is rather adept at knowing where my attentions are best spent.” The compliment to my assistant is in direct rebuttal to his complaint about her. “Good day, Michael.”

I don’t bother offering a handshake, not after I saw him lick the bacon grease off his fingers, but I do give the waitress a fifty-dollar bill as I pass her. “Thank you, Miss.”

She calls out after me, “Have a nice day!”

The trip to the office is quick, but not fast enough for my racing heart. I’m excited to go to work, not for the usual reasons but for Elle. I know she’s there, waiting in my office. No, not waiting . . . working. She’ll be busy this morning, just like I’ve been. But surely, she’s as anxious to see me as I am to see her?

I hadn’t wanted her to go last night, but I’d understood her reasons. Still, I’d kissed her senseless before putting her into the car I called to return her home. Which was her request, even though I’d offered to take her home in my Lotus.

“This has been perfect. Let me run off like Cinderella before the clock strikes midnight. It can be our fairy tale.” She grins as she says it, light laughter in her eyes.

“It’s two in the morning, Elle. Let me take you home. I won’t even get out of the car if you don’t want me to.” My argument hadn’t been enough.

“I dare you . . . to order me a car, Colton.” Her raised brow had said this was a test and I’d damn sure better pass it. She set the rules at the beginning of the evening, and if I didn’t uphold them, she’d know that I played dirty. And not in the good way.

So I’d relented. Letting her ride away in that car had nearly been my undoing, though. I knew my Lotus could chase her down and catch her by the first stoplight, but I hadn’t, wanting to prove that she could trust me.

And now, after a few hours’ sleep and a useless meeting, I’m ready to see her.

“Good morning, Mr. Wolfe.”

The voice calls out rather loudly as I approach the elevator, and I follow the sound to see one of the front desk workers eyeing me carefully.

Realization dawns. “Good morning . . .” I should use her last name, but I find that I can’t find it in the filing cabinet of my mind, which only serves to prove Elle’s point of my obliviousness. “Tiffany,” I finish lamely.

“Young.” At my look of confusion, she clarifies, though the disappointment in the set of her mouth is obvious. “Tiffany Young. I work for you. Well, not like other people do, but I’m in your leg of the org chart. It’d be nice to know you at least look at my name before signing off on Miranda’s annual evaluation.”

She’s a ball buster, just like Elle. Though Elle has said that Tiffany is the devil on her shoulder, I suspect it’s a bit symbiotic. Equal opportunity devils spreading trouble, merriment, and wild, crazy fun wherever they go.

“Yes, Miss Young.” I use her name as if I remembered it myself and am all too familiar with her annual review. “Good morning.” I add a charming smile, expecting it work as it always does, but she simply scowls.

“Don’t play her.”

She says it so quickly I almost think I imagined it, but the bold way she meets my eyes tells me she both said it and meant it. She’s protective of Elle, something I can understand and support.

“I have no intention of doing so,” I promise solemnly.

I turn, walking briskly toward the elevator, presuming the conversation is over. Tiffany is under no such compunction.

She appears at my elbow, holding a file folder which seems to be a cover story.

Her voice is low, her eyes dark. “To be clear, that wasn’t a request. I will gut you like a second-rate fish from the market and spread your entrails across the seven seas as shark chum and deny ever having this conversation if she so much as sheds a single tear over you.”

I force my mouth to close from its shocked gape. “That was rather . . . graphic and thought out. Been waiting long to use that?”

“Busted.” A smile. “But that doesn’t make it less true.” Another scowl. Her face is like a menu of emotions, bare and unfiltered.

The elevator doors open and I step inside. Tiffany puts her V’d fingers to her eyes and then flips them around to me, mouthing, “I’m watching you.”

As the doors close, I can’t help but chuckle. That is definitely not a scene I would’ve ever had before Elle. No one but her—or her friend, apparently—would dare talk to Colton Wolfe that way.

Upstairs, I bid Helen a good morning and enter my office with high hopes of seeing Elle, only to find the room empty even with the additional furniture of Elle’s workstation jammed up against the east wall.

Seems the girl really does have a presence.

And without her here, my gut drops in fear. She didn’t bail after last night, did she?

“Helen, where’s Elle?” I consciously keep my voice steady.

“Oh, she ran down to make some copies for me, work on the Harrigan project since she wasn’t sure what you needed this morning on the HQ2. She’ll be back shortly.”

My heart starts beating again.

Of course, she’s just working. Not bailing on me, not running after one night of magic.

“That’s fine, of course,” I tell Helen, who’s already moved on. No, she never stops moving, always working hard to keep up with my busy schedule. “You were right about that Michael chap, and I told him as much. Useless waste of my time.”

I can’t see her, but I hear the pleased smirk in her answer. “Mmm-hmm.”

I get to work, sitting at my desk and clicking my way through my morning emails. Just as Helen predicted, Elle is back shortly. It’s like she’s brought the sun back with her.

Somehow, she’s even sexier than yesterday in a cerulean skirt that’s a little tight, a dark sweater with a V-neck that doesn’t cut down low enough for my unprofessional side’s taste but that accentuates her curves, and . . .

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Elle smiles, plucking the frames off and setting them on her desk. “I don’t really need to except when I’m doing a lot of paperwork. Helps avoid eyestrain headaches.”

I smile, taking another moment to look her over in her outfit. She’s accentuated her cheeks with just a touch of blush, and her lips . . . well, I know of only one place I want to see them right now, and that’s fastened around my dick. She’s having none of that.

“Good morning, Mr. Wolfe.”

Back to professionalism. I would’ve expected nothing less from her.

“Good morning, Miss Stryker. I trust you slept well and are ready to get to work?”

“Yes, sir.” The slightest smirk graces her lips, teasing me.

“List for the day is in your email now. Let me know if you run into any issues.”

And so it goes for hours. I work, she works, and I find some comfort at just her presence in the room.

“Can you create a pie chart of the potential profit margins for year one of HQ2 under my proposal? The first year is always skinny financially with the upfront investment, so I want to make it look good without being misleading. I want it polished but honest.”

She dips her chin, acknowledging the request, and spins to her computer.

I watch for a moment. We’re being productive, and I like having someone at my side through the grunt work, but we’re not necessarily having any fun.

“Miss Stryker?” I wait for her eyes to meet mine. “Open up.”

I hold up a grape from the barely touched lunch still sitting on my desk, a grilled panini sandwich and a tastier-than-breakfast fruit cup.

One of Elle’s brows arches high and the other drops, giving me a ‘seriously?’ look.

“I dare you . . . open up.”

Her victory is written on her face. “I think I’ve created a monster. You’re really getting into this.” And then she drops her mouth open, her tongue sticking out and giving me much filthier thoughts than tossing a grape for her to catch.

I growl at the sexy sight but continue with the light fun. I close one eye to aim, giving the grape a few practice arcs before letting loose. It’s a little wide as it flies through the air, but Elle leans forward, catching it perfectly. She smiles and chews it open-mouthed, no attention to manners. Somehow, I prefer this to a well-mannered Elle.

Around the mouthful, she roars. “And the crowd goes wild . . . ahhhh!”

It breaks the nose-to-the-grindstone feel, and from there, we work and we play.

Luckily, the door is closed or Helen would probably think I’ve lost my mind.

I prefer to think that perhaps I’ve found it.

“I dare you . . . to send me a silly selfie.” I maybe would’ve preferred a sexy selfie, but I rather enjoy the delight on her face when she sees my goofy smile on her phone and saves it as my contact photo.

“I dare you . . . to do the chicken dance. And again with the American animal idioms.”

She does it, even singing the song quietly.

And that’s when things get a little riskier.

We promised to keep things professional at work, and we are working hard between dares, but professionalism seems like a rule to be rebelled against.

“I dare you . . . to sit in my lap for sixty seconds.”

“Mr. Wolfe . . .” she warns. But then Elle glances at the door, double checking that it’s secure, and a sly grin takes over her expression. I’m pushing her big time, but I can see the gears in her head turning. She blinks, somehow making her eyes look wide and innocent as an angel when I know she’s anything but, and then she reaches under her skirt. She fiddles around for a moment and then slips her panties out.

“If I’m sitting in your lap, I’m going to drive you crazy too.” She stuffs the panties into my hand, and I’m only able to resist the urge to sniff them by putting them securely in my pocket to indulge in later. Then she turns oh, so slowly, knowing damn well what she’s doing, and inch by inch, she lowers her ass to my lap.

I lay one hand on her thigh and the other cups her ass. And we sit, staring into each other’s eyes.

I read once that eye contact becomes awkward after ten seconds for most people because it implies a level of intimacy they’re unaccustomed to.

But our gazes never waver. Her blue eyes are shot through with flecks of gold and full of mischief and pure, unadulterated happiness. I wonder if she sees as much in my eyes as I do hers.

Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. Forty-five seconds. Sixty seconds. And still she sits, and still I don’t want her to move.

There’s a noise outside the door, and Elle jumps up, but when the door doesn’t open, she stills and calms. Her bright eyes pin me in place too.

“I dare you . . . to not touch me or yourself for the next twenty-four hours.”

“What? That’s not . . .” I pause, realizing what that smirk means. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

The innocent angel act reappears. “Why, nothing, sir. Just what I said, hands to yourself but not yourself.”

I’m intrigued by what she might be up to, so I agree, all the while imagining my hands behind my head as Elle sucks me, rides me, doing all the work, so to speak.

She claps and scampers off toward her desk. She grabs a pen and then meets my eye boldly . . . and drops it to the floor. “Oops, how clumsy of me. I’ll get it.”

She bends at the waist, putting her curvy ass on display as she picks the pen up. Still upside down, she looks back at me, and I tilt my head to force my eyes to hers. It’s agonizingly difficult to break my enjoyment of her assets.

It hits me just how difficult of a dare she’s presented because I think she’s going to taunt me at every turn.

I can’t wait.

She sashays back to her desk and sits down, the swish of her stockings as she crosses her legs driving me mad. And then she sighs lightly and uncrosses them before crossing them with the other leg on top.

I am so fucked. I look at my watch, setting a mental timer for twenty-four hours even though I have zero expectations of making it the full time.

Elle’s a godsend again . . . or maybe sent by the devil because she takes advantage of her dare to tease me mercilessly for the rest of the day as we work.

I click away at my computer, comparing strategies and locations by dollar sign, by potential, and by tax benefits and making some decent headway on my goals for the day. Surprisingly, though we do goof off, I get quite a bit done. It seems I can have fun and be productive. Who knew?

Elle did.

“Oh, my,” Elle says, drawing my attention. She deliberately swirls a finger through the whipped cream of the Frappuccino she grabbed on a mid-afternoon break. She meets my eyes before sucking it clean, moaning lewdly the whole time. “Mmm.”

“You’re a naughty fucking lass, you know that?” I finally complain, trying to stop myself from just flogging the bishop under my desk. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Of course . . . but that’s what makes dares so much fun,” Elle says. “The challenge and the conquest.”

“We’ll see who gets conquered,” I mutter, forcing myself to look down at the spreadsheets on my desk. Elle’s throaty chuckle sends another tingle down my spine, and by the end of the day, I’m hanging onto the dare by a whisker.

My poor dangly bits are aching, and I need to wank so badly to the point I’m worried I’m going to need an ice pack just to be able to eat dinner.

“Mr. Wolfe?” Elle says, catching my attention.

“Yes, Miss Stryker?”

Elle gets up, giving me another show of legs and hips and swaying breasts before laying a final file folder in front of me, bending down and showing me the deep, cream-colored valley between her breasts.

“I finished my work for the day. I hope you’re . . . satisfied?”

I growl, unable to look away as she gives her shoulders a little shimmy and my balls start aching again. “You know damn well that I’m not satisfied.”

“Well, sir, I’m sorry about that,” she purrs, sounding not the least bit sorry at all. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She’d told me throughout the day that she had plans with Tiffany tonight. I’d asked her to skip and come to my place again, even dared her to do so, but she’d refused, saying she wouldn’t break the date with her friend because Tiffany ‘needs’ her. I can respect that, even if I am disappointed at not seeing her tonight.

“If you need help, call me,” I order, glancing at the clock on my computer. Six oh five . . . nineteen hours and fifty-five minutes until I can let off this pressure inside me.

If I can make it that long without busting a penis artery.

Elle leaves, giving me a satisfied smile at the door before opening it up. A minute later, my mobile dings, and I look to see it’s a message from her.

Thank you. For . . . a lot.

There’s so much in her five words that I’m not sure how to reply. I know she enjoyed teasing me, and even more the fact that while I am her ‘boss’, she had so much power in the office today.

At the same time, she wants freedom and support on her quest to prove herself. That’s something I can understand firsthand. Though she hasn’t had to run halfway across the globe to have a shot at her freedom the way I have.