She had a perfect transference of fear onto her prettiness, the girl in flight. Maybe they could have been dancers in that moment, if their trust had not been so false - his supposedly not applied, and hers seemingly not detracted - with her hands so suddenly on his shoulders. It was a wonder he refrained from spinning her playfully before setting her down to feel silly. Embarrassment visited her face well, too, though her retreating digits made for a shameful display of it, cheeks bloodless, since she'd been frightened.<br/><br/>The seated Ms. Lanning came to her own defense at his accusations. Her despair as she went on with her own situation, that he knew well, was sustenance enough for his heart that wanted her misery. His eyes were on her complacent knees when they parted. He almost laughed when his own conversation about her lack of marks on her skin roused her, like it was a normal topic. He quieted deeply when her breasts were mostly exposed. The fox in him wanted to tug at her hand to have the roundness completely revealed. But she'd grow wise, then, so he refrained. Standing between her legs in broad daylight, while she was debating her worth to him was enough before lunch. Her lowered spirit fit well into her open top. What a lovely, submissive thing she became.<br/><br/>She didn't hear it herself, when she promised she'd be exactly what he wanted, didn't pick up the perverse nature of willingly petition for that title, Good Girl. The body she met when she tried to show gusto was steady. It didn't meet hers with malice, but the hardness of an immovable object is always daunting if you don't expect it. He didn't move in the aftermath of her little bravado, either. "Of course you will," be a good girl. "because I'll see to that you are." he agreed and then held her jaw. It wasn't hard, but it was absolute, like her head was the bulb of a wineglass, his smallest finger supporting her chin, climbing up to press against her lower lip, and his thumb and index finger teasing both columns on either side of her throat.<br/><br/>"You do look like much, though." he corrected. A compliment, finally, after all that lashing. It let her know he was not impossible. "I think it's quite pleasant to look at you." with his other hand he pulled at her top again, to render it where it was when they were counting nonexistent freckles. "It's your saving grace." he promised and turned her head this and that side to see it from all ways as his freer hand trailed along a collarbone. "Next time you dress, I want something more revealing. I suppose you'll have to earn your modesty in my office. For now, without any real skill, you could at least be pleasant to teach, couldn't you?" It was cruel, to suggest she pay with her skin what she couldn't make up for in productivity. The stern of his deep voice was caring though, like she was wayward, but that he was determined to set her right.<br/><br/>"For now, I have this for you." he said and lead her a little rougher than  before toward a desk that had been outfitted with their state of the art appliances to help her. He'd spoken about some of it over the phone. "Get acquainted, it's intuitive. And then maybe we could see about some filing jobs." he shrugged as he led her hand to the edge of her own desk, not far from his. "I'd like to inspect you more, to see what I've brought to my company, but that'll have to be later, when you've proven yourself at least a little."<br/><br/>He let her go so she could find the side with her chair on her own. "And Skye." he added, hand coming back firmly below her shoulderblades to straighten her. A curled finger on her front softly touched the dip of her tit, lifting it to suggest she stand with prouder posture. It was all to condition her to let him touch whatever he wanted on her body. "Think about your gait."