Saucy Side: Today's Rule (Ambrosia Version)

This is a direct follow up to Rosy’s last Saucy Side: www.patreon.com/posts/mind-blind-saucy-47004293

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As punishment for breaking her nameplate, Ambrosia decrees that you have to go the entire day at work without touching her. You agree, if only because agreeing means that next time, it will be your turn to create the rule. Alas, your easy compliance fails to take into account the fact that Ambrosia Kim is a cruel, cruel woman.

She’s spent the entire day making it as difficult as possible for you to follow her no-touching mandate. Rolling up her shirt sleeves and smirking as your stare inevitably gravitates to the definition of her forearms and her elegant hands. Deliberately lowering her husky voice to an even huskier whisper that forces you to lean in to hear. Even dropping a pen and bending over to pick it up, although that last tactic may have been unintentional (or Sally’s finally roped her into watching Legally Blonde).

This latest summons to her office, ostensibly over misfiled mission reports, is just her latest attempt to tempt you into breaking her mandate. But you’re strong enough to resist temptation. You were born into hardship and forged in the fire of adversity. You are intelligent, determined, and more than capable of keeping your hands to yourself. If Ambrosia thinks that she’ll win this game as easily as she did last night’s, she’s in for a cold-shouldered surprise. Maybe you’ll even turn the tables and make her unable to resist you. That way, it will be her loss (although you’d both score).

You open the door to Ambrosia’s office, and your steel-hearted conviction crumples, tissue-soft. Ambrosia sits behind her desk, narrow black reading glasses perched upon her nose. But for a white bra, she’s also shirtless.

The woman is ruthless.

Ambrosia languidly closes her book as you enter. “Our meeting was for noon,” she says. “You’re late.”

Well, she’s naked. Smugly so, her dark eyes daring your gaze not to stray downwards to the curve of her cleavage and that ever-intriguing groove that leads like an arrow to her midriff. Through sheer force of will, you manage not to gape, but you’re unable to resist a quickly approving glance. That you’ve seen her shirtless before makes you no less appreciative of the sight. Ambrosia, noting the direction of your look, gives a lazy half-smile. She thinks she’s already won.

Pointing out Ambrosia’s state of half-undress would venture into dangerous waters, so you instead decide to defend yourself against her accusation of tardiness.

“I ran into Kenna in the hallway,” you say.

Ambrosia crosses her arms, the movement pushing up her breasts and emphasizing her sculpted biceps. Your mouth goes dry. Ambrosia’s chest is a work of art, true. But her arms are and have always been your weak point, which Ambrosia of course knows. She’s doing this deliberately.

You cross your own arms, although your gesture is more so that your hands remain trapped by the crooks of your elbows and are thus unable to make grabby-gestures in your girlfriend’s direction. Because. You. Will. Not. Let. Her. Win.

“Talking to Kenna was more important than meeting me?” Ambrosia’s voice is a throaty rumble, with the barest hint of authentic jealousy.

“Well . . .” Provoking Ambrosia is always too much fun to resist. “Kenna hasn’t forbidden me from touching her.”

Ambrosia stands from her chair. To your relief (or is it disappointment?), she’s still wearing pants. She takes a step towards you, and then another. Soon, she’s close enough to touch.

You don’t, however. You want to, because the curve of Ambrosia’s waist beckons for your hands to pull her close. But touching means losing the game, although it’s becoming harder and harder for you to recall why that would be such a bad thing.

“Is Kenna really the one you want to touch?” Ambrosia asks.

“I didn’t realize my desire mattered more than your rules,” you choke out. Provoking Ambrosia is fun, but she’s a firm believer in payback, and the dark look in her eyes doesn’t bode well for your future victory.

One step closer, and her lips are against your ear, so close that a strand of her hair clings to your cheek through static attraction. But her skin doesn’t touch yours. No, she’ll refuse to cross that threshold first. Her breath tickles as she softly whispers, “Your desire is always my primary concern.”

Want has become a tangible thing between you two. Want or, more accurately, need. You need to pull her close, to wave the white flag of defeat and melt into her embrace. The game’s purpose of exquisite torture has been achieved, and prolonging the distance between you is only unnecessary torment.

Ambrosia pulls back, leaving you cold and blinking. She picks up a folder from her desk and slides it between your folded arms, still careful not to touch you. “You misfiled last month’s mission reports,” she says. “I need them redone by this evening.”

Of all the . . . Ambrosia Kim isn’t just cruel, she’s evil. A cold-blooded monster.

Ambrosia sits back down, opens the top drawer of her desk, and pulls on her retrieved shirt in a brisk, business-like fashion. Her chuckle follows your footsteps as you stomp from the office.

“Remember,” she calls out, the word filled with promise, “the rule ends as soon as we’re home.”