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You’d been around long enough to know the looks of a meeting gone wrong solely by Silco’s expression. There is hardly any waiver in this demeanor to begin with, so the variations are subtle—practically non-existent to the untrained eye. But you spot it as soon as he walks into the office; the sharp set of shoulders and venomous scowl telling you everything you need to know.
It takes a moment for him to notice you laid out across the couch, book in one hand while the other twirls a lock of hair around your finger. The sight of you is enough to soften the hard lines between his brow as he traces his eyes across your face, over shoulders, along your waist to—
Your feet on the table.
Silco’s tension returns ten-fold, now heightened by your inability to follow simple instructions.
How many times must he tell you not to put your feet on the table?
You can practically feel the scorch of his gaze boring into you as you mark your spot in the chapter to look at him properly, but the intensity you expect and the fury you find are two completely separate things.
Your eyes follow Silco’s line of sight and you dare a forced little half-laugh as you slowly drop your feet to the ground. His nostrils flare ever-so-slightly as he strides past you without sparing you another glance to round his desk and drop into his chair.
He’s angry, like, really fucking angry, because of the meeting and now because of you, but beyond the anger, there is clear and utter exhaustion. Whatever had happened today had truly taken it out of him and you wonder if he’d choked out another greenhouse—you hope not, you wanted to be there to watch next time.
Guilt wraps its tendrils around your ribs and tugs just enough to make it impossible to find a comfortable position on the couch. You should be comforting him, showing him the affection he’s particularly receptive to on days like today, but you’d done the exact opposite for him and made his day worse.
Hopefully, he’ll accept your apology, the one that has you rising from the couch and coming to rest a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t look at you as you begin to rub gentle patterns into the tense muscles.
“Rough one today?” You ask in a kind voice. Silco huffs a humorless laugh, still refusing to look at you.
“You could say that.” His words are clipped, said through teeth he’s forcing himself not to clench, and you move the hand running across his shoulder to caress the curve of his jaw. The flex of muscle lessens under your touch and you take it as a good sign to continue.
“What did Finn do this time?” You ask as you trace your fingers from his jaw to the extra sensitive spot behind his ear and into the soft hair just beyond. It’s always Finn, you’ve learned. Silco couldn’t stand the arrogant new Baron and nine times out of ten it was Finn that was responsible for Silco’s sour mood upon returning.
“Same as always. The idiot never knows when to shut up.”
Your fingernails scrape along his scalp gently, sending a delicate little shiver through him. It’s faint, but you feel it beneath your touch—so attuned to his reactions that you know he likes the sensation far more than he’s letting on. It gives you an idea.
“And what couldn’t he shut up about now?” You ask as your hand drops from his hair back to his shoulder, steadying you enough to press your knee to the inside of his and press hard enough for the chair to slowly swivel to face you. Your other hand comes to rest on the opposite shoulder as you take a small step between his legs.
“The various accomplishments he believes to have achieved.” Silco still doesn’t look at you but his hands raise to slide across the backs of your thighs, a featherlight touch just above the bend of knees. “How much his profit margins have increased, how quickly he was able to secure a trade deal overseas.”
His long fingers press into your skin more firmly as your hands drag across his shoulders and up his neck, both hands drawing delicious little lines through his hair before roaming down the front of his vest. Fingers play with heavy gold buttons as Silco continues.
“And he was quite adamant we all know about the new brothel he’d opened up in one of his most lucrative sectors,” he says with a certain annoyance you are actively trying to mitigate, which spurs you to drag your hands further down his torso and along his waist, Silco’s fingers drag up the backs of your thighs as you begin your slow descent to kneel in front of him. Once you’ve settled, his hands rest upon your shoulders and yours rest upon his knees.
He still hasn’t made eye contact with you, but you can’t take it too personally. Sometimes it takes a little extra coaxing to get him out of his head. Hands run a slow, heated path up each thigh, kneading little circles with your thumbs along the way and causing muscles to twitch under your fingers as you approach your intended destination. Turns out a bit of affection and soft, loving touches were all it took to make him harden, straining against the front of his trousers and creating a mouthwatering outline of his cock.
“But for all the things he’s done—” Silco cuts himself short, taking a moment to regain control under the feel of your hands running along the edges of his crotch, teasing him, digging soft fingers into hip flexors.
His hands move from your shoulders up to brush thumbs across your jaw, light touch breaking your teasing display and you finally slip a hand down to rub him through soft fabric. He’s rock hard already, hips canting into your touch involuntarily in search of more. “He didn’t d-do one thing.”
You squeeze a gentle grip around his cock and delight in the way he sucks in a breath through his teeth, hands adjusting to cup your cheeks.
“And what was that?” You ask, your voice coarse with mounting arousal. Silco’s thumbs sweep one last caress along your cheeks before his grip tightens and his eyes finally meet yours. His gaze is scorching, molten heat radiating straight down to your core and you press your thighs together to create the smallest friction.
Silco pulls you closer to him as he dips his head towards you, stopping millimeters before your lips meet–so close you can feel the slightest brush of his lips as he whispers to you. “He didn’t put his feet on my table.”
There’s no time for you to respond or even react before you feel the hard sole of his boot pressing into your sternum. One of your hands grips it, curling your fingers around the edge to balance your weight as he pushes you down until your legs have given out and your back is pressed to the rough wood of the floor.
Your heart rate skyrockets as he looks down his nose at you; like a bug he’d sooner squish than save. More pressure spreads across your chest as Silco leans forward, resting his elbow on the bent knee above you to truly look down on you. Your chest constricts and you’re not sure if it’s from the boot pinning you to the ground or the downright predatory smirk that curls across his lips, but it sends another wave of heat directly to your pussy.
“It seems even the most incompetent braggarts have some capacity for following directions,” he purrs down at you, “but you still need some training, don’t you?”
You open your mouth to reply but the boot digs even deeper into your sternum, chasing all the breath from your lungs.
“It seems to me you may be under the impression that acting like a desperate whore is enough recompense for your poor behavior, but sadly for you, that is not the case.” Silco’s eyes burn a hole right through you, pupils blown so wide you can hardly make out any color on either side. “No, it is not nearly enough. Not today.”
The arm resting upon his elbow drops toward your face, running the backs of his fingers over your cheek sweetly before twisting into the hair along your temple and tugging your head off the ground with a sharp sting.
“Today is the day you learn the consequences of being a disobedient slut, and we will repeat your punishment until the lesson is learned.”