‘I just wanted –’ I began eagerly, but he held up a finger and shushed me.
‘Sarah, you have to write that piece,’ he said. ‘It could make your career. You said so yourself. And the deadline is tomorrow.’
‘I can do it afterwards.’
‘No, you can’t. I’m not saying a word about anything to you until that thing is written.’
‘But Jasper –’
‘Go into my study,’ he said, pointing towards the door. ‘You can use my computer.’
‘My notes …’
‘I know you. Everything’s in here.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Isn’t it?’
He was right. I’d written the damn thing a dozen times over in my mind already. The facts were all at my fingertips.
‘Pretty much,’ I admitted.
‘So go on, then. Two thousand words. I’m giving you three hours. If it’s not done in that time, well …’ He sucked in a breath between his teeth and shook his head. The wicked glint, absent until now, re-established itself. I felt a surge of optimism, along with the Pavlovian surge of lust. He didn’t hate me. Things would be all right.
‘But we’ll talk afterwards?’ I said. ‘Please. I have questions that need answering.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk. But just now, you have work to do.’
He took me by the shoulders, turned me in the direction of the study and sent me on my way with a pat on my bottom.
I sat at the desk and switched on his computer, but as I didn’t know the passwords, I had to call him in to help.
He set up a blank word-processor page for me, then opened one of his drawers and rummaged inside. I heard a clinking sound and looked up at him in consternation.
‘You’ve heard the expression “chained to the desk”, I suppose?’ he said, drawing out a length of slim silver chain.
‘Jasper!’
‘I just need to make sure your focus is … optimised,’ he said, wrapping the chain around one of my wrists, then the other, before securing its end in an eyebolt inside the bottom drawer and padlocking it. Once the drawer was shut and locked, I had no way of stepping more than a few inches away from the desk. My hands were free to type but they could do very little else.
‘What if I need the loo? Or some other emergency?’
‘You’ve got your phone, haven’t you? Call me. Besides, I’ll be coming in every half-hour to check on you. I expect at least four hundred words per half-hour.’
‘What if I can’t do that?’ I wailed, knowing my propensity to stare out of the window for one hour and then put on a tremendous burst of last-minute speed.
‘You can,’ he said firmly, and with that he left.
I tugged at the chain, enjoying the way it dug slightly into my wrist. I tried to unloop it from my other wrist but I nearly broke my fingernails in the attempt. The drawer, when I rattled it, was well and truly locked. I could stand up, I could take half a step back, an even smaller step to either side. I was locked into position.
This, coupled with the promise of a real talk with Jasper later, worked better than any amount of stimulants to kick-start my writing. It seemed I’d been wasting my time with caffeine and omega oils. What I needed was bondage and mild optimism.
Half an hour flew by and I was surprised to hear the door click and Jasper enter the room. I did a double-take when he did – he had changed out of his rumpled lounge wear and now wore a rather sharp suit with very shiny shoes.
‘You’ve got changed,’ I blurted.
He ignored my outburst and bent over my shoulder, peering at my document, before taking the mouse from me and clicking on the word count tool.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘A little reward for you.’ He kissed and nipped at my neck, long and luxuriously, breaking off now and then to breathe into my ear. His hands cupped my breasts and massaged them so that the lace of my bra chafed at my nipples. Just at the point where I had to catch my breath and try not to beg for a kiss, he drew back.
‘Carry on then,’ he said.