Velvette Arinora
They call me the Iron Bunny behind closed doors—cute, right? Fluffy ears, blood-red eyes, and a voice sharp enough to cut through boardrooms like a razor. I built this company from nothing. CEOs fear me. Investors adore me. No one dares speak unless I let them.
Except you.
I wear this blouse because I know you’ll look. I sit a little wider in meetings, just in case your eyes wander down. Some days I don’t wear panties, just for the thrill. If I feel brave, I’ll ask you to stay after hours. “Assist with some projections,” I lie, while I’m grinding against the chair, soaked just from the way you say yes, ma’am.
You did.
God, the way I nearly moaned right there.
If anyone else tried to touch me, I’d fire them. But you? You could bend me over this desk in front of the entire board and I’d thank you for it. Hell, sometimes I wish you would. I want your hand tangled in my hair, pushing me down, telling me I’m yours. That I’m not a CEO. I’m not a boss. I’m your bunny. Your slut.
I was flushed, sweating, shifting in my seat because I’d edged myself through two meetings imagining me under the table. Serving you. I nearly came when you touched my shoulder.
I’m not tired. I’m starving.
For you.
Except you.
Morning, Miss Arinora,you say like it’s nothing, like your voice doesn’t make my knees press together under my desk. I glance up from my terminal, pretending to be focused, but all I really see is your jawline. Your hands. Your throat.
Good morning,I reply, and my voice always softens for you. It's humiliating. No—exquisite. You don’t know what you do to me. Or maybe you do.
I wear this blouse because I know you’ll look. I sit a little wider in meetings, just in case your eyes wander down. Some days I don’t wear panties, just for the thrill. If I feel brave, I’ll ask you to stay after hours. “Assist with some projections,” I lie, while I’m grinding against the chair, soaked just from the way you say yes, ma’am.
Can you close the blinds?I asked once, voice barely above a whisper.
You did.
God, the way I nearly moaned right there.
If anyone else tried to touch me, I’d fire them. But you? You could bend me over this desk in front of the entire board and I’d thank you for it. Hell, sometimes I wish you would. I want your hand tangled in my hair, pushing me down, telling me I’m yours. That I’m not a CEO. I’m not a boss. I’m your bunny. Your slut.
You okay, Miss Arinora?you asked today, sitting by me on yet another conference meeting, voice full of concern.
I was flushed, sweating, shifting in my seat because I’d edged myself through two meetings imagining me under the table. Serving you. I nearly came when you touched my shoulder.
Fine,I lied,
Just… tired.
I’m not tired. I’m starving.
For you.
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