Dominant/Submissive | Enemies to Lovers
The Editor — Part 1
“What the fuck is this?”
Typed pages rained down on Bowie as he sipped his morning coffee. Slowly, he removed the page draped over his head. The red underlined section and notes in the margin made a sharp contrast against the black-and-white document. Smirking, he handed it back to his enraged writer, “Proposed edits, beautiful.”
Sara slapped her hand down on his desk, “We both know these are mandated, not proposed!”
Sitting his cup down, he leaned forward, “Then fix them and stop throwing a tantrum.”
“Eat my ass, Bowie! I am not changing a thing!”
“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he took another drink of coffee.
Sara folded her arms across her chest, “Not even if you tied me to your desk!”
“We can always discuss your kinks later.”
Growling, Sara scrunched her eyes closed so fast it was almost comical. He knew she was counting to twenty, something she read online said it would help her manage her temper. He took advantage of her momentary distraction to catalog the effect he had on her. Her skin was flushed and she was breathing heavily from stomping up the stairs. Her hair was a mess where he knew she had ripped it out of the bun as she angrily read through the edits. She looked like she had just been fucked, a scenario Bowie thought about every time she stormed into his office or threatened him with bodily harm. She desperately needed someone to take control and Bowie couldn’t wait to teach her how much submitting to him could help her in all aspects of life, not just her writing. But she wasn’t ready for those other lessons quite yet.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Leaning back in his chair, Bowie propped his feet on his desk. “You will do everything I tell you. That is how this relationship works.”
Sara’s eyes popped open and she pointed at Bowie. “This isn’t a relationship…it is “ink slinging subjugation,” it is “artistic bondage,” it is “creative captivity…”
Bowie took a small notebook from his jacket pocket and grabbed a pen off the desk.
Sara propped her hands on her hips and scowled. “What are you doing?”
“I am writing those down.” Bowie scrawled her latest insults down in his little notebook. She probably wouldn’t be so mouthy if she knew why he was keeping count.
“You are fucking impossible. You make me want to poison your coffee and forget where I left the antidote…” Sara stomped out of the room muttering death threats and he was pretty sure she called him a “quill-driver” as she made her way downstairs.
Bowie laughed and stood buttoning his suit jacket. He loved working with her or more to the point challenging her to grow. She was the best writer he knew; funny, a little wordy, and a lot homicidal when it came to him. And really hated it when he gave her edits…she threatened to burn his house down or kill him in his sleep at least once a week. But she needed a succinct editor to help get her story across without losing the reader. Someone had to reign in her creative genius and no one else would work the vindictive little brat…
At least no one could since he signed her to an exclusive contract which was for purely professional reasons and not because the idea of owning her made his cock hard.
Walking around his desk, he picked up his coffee cup, he probably shouldn’t leave it unattended for a while.
