Something Stolen

**This story contains some upsetting themes, so read with caution and care for your wellbeing. You can, however, expect a happy ending!**

...

It had been stupid. Desperate. Naïve, even, if Cora was being honest with herself. Her job at Scarecrow Coffee was far and away better than anything else hiring people her age with her level of experience; she madefifteen dollarsan hour. Her best friend, John, was making thirteen interning at his brother's company. The work wasn't even hard; it was just making drinks and talking to customers and cleaning, mostly. The dumb uniform really wasn't even all that bad for her; the shop was Halloween themed—something that made it an absolute hit with the artsy college girls with black-painted fingernails—and while her coworkers hated the little witch dresses and aprons and the knee-high socks, Cora really didn't mind because it came in black and either purple or orange, the latter of which was her favorite color. She'd had it made.

It was a moment of desperation, really. Rent and tuition that month had left her with thirty dollars to her name, and while the food bank was enough to keep her from starving, they didn't exactly hand out textbooks, and she needed them by the end of the week or she'd start failing assignments, and then her student loan debt would have been for nothing, so—

So she'd slipped a couple of bills from the drawer while closing up shop. Not much. Not even enough to cover all of her textbooks, plus shesworeshe'd figure out some way to put it back by the end of the week. The camera was broken, she'd been told by her coworkers, had been for forever, but when the till came up short the next day, Sophie wasn't called into the boss's office, nor was Anna.

Just Cora.

He knows, she was screaming in her head, her knees gelatin and her hands sweaty and her head hot.There's no way he could know, she tried over and over again to remind herself as she wiped her palms on her skirt, unable to look the man in the eye as she crossed the store towards his office, gaining sympathetic but distracted grimaces from her coworkers.

The boss was scary. Mr. Crane, though Sophie insolently called him by his first name of Silas, something that always earned her a crooked, sardonic smile. He was a strange guy; quiet, young though his dark hair was already starting going dramatically grey at the temples, tall and strong, built like an athlete, and he covered his face all the time as far as she knew, with a dark grey mask covering him from the nose down and a band of the same covering his eye. Anna said he lost it overseas and that he was an ex-marine; Sophie said he'd lost it in a bar fight; Devon, the graduate student who'd trained her during his final weeks of working at Scarecrow, had told her that he lost it in a game of poker.

None of those stories made it easier to slide past him into his cramped office in the back, next to the storage room. He didn't move out of the doorway, forcing her to squeeze past him, brushing his hard stomach with her elbow, and she crossed her arms defensively as she stood with her burning eyes on her feet and her face bright red, listening to the doorclickshut. For a moment, neither of them moved; she took the opportunity to glance around, having never been in before, and was surprised to find that the theme of the shop—ghosts and graves and jack-o-lanterns and black cats and fake cobwebbing—continued into the small, darkened space of his office, lit at the moment only by the glow of his computer and a string of white and orange holiday lights hung back and forth off of the bottom of a mounted bookshelf. There were books about hauntings and cryptids mixed in with ones about finance—maybe ones he'd pulled from their library shelf in the main area—and a beautifully hand-carved and painted pumpkin sat on his desk; the walls were covered with the same odd mixture of spooky news clippings, famous photos of 'ghosts,' and tacky Halloween decorations that lined the walls of the rest of the shop, too. There was even a corner of the ceiling with fake cobweb and a large, unsettlingly realistic spider settled in the middle.

His wooden desk—old-fashioned and beat up, probably a thrifted antique like the rest of their furniture—was neat, with piles of papers sorted into stacked trays, any clutter confined to his overstuffed pencil holder that held much, much more than pencils and a series of post-it notes stuck to his computer and to the wall beside his desk. The only other furniture of note were the filing cabinets covered in Halloween magnets and an ancient-looking, high-backed red armchair, so old it was practically threadbare at the seat and along the tops of the arms. He gestured her into it, and she went willingly, collapsing into it in a breathless heap as she bowed over her lap, knees pressed tight together, regret rolling through her over and over and making her shoulders tremble.

She wouldn't cry. It was her fault, she didn't get to cry.

Mr. Crane rounded his desk, sitting down without a word and beginning to click around on his desktop. It was barely five seconds later that he was turning it so that they both got a sideways view and hittingplayon security footage that was clearly taken by the 'broken' camera.Fucking Sophie. She looked but didn't watch as the tiny version of herself on the screen glanced around nervously, then opened the register, flinching at the loud sound it made, and took a random handful of bills from it, shoving them down her bra before sliding the drawer back shut.

Why?Why had she done this? She should have just gone and seen if Caleb was still willing to pay to see her tits; it would have been less humiliating by half.

"I... thought the camera was broken," Cora heard herself whisper, the words faint, almost shell-shocked.

"I fixed it a few months ago," Mr. Crane told her smoothly, the exposed portion of his face betraying nothing; she couldn't help but shiver. His voice was deep and rich, always sort of woke her body up. It wasn't like she was the only employee that thought he was hot, though; it didn't mean anything. "Figured there was no point in letting my employees know." Suddenly, his exposed eye scrunched up into a smile; he leaned forward, setting his crossed arms on his desk, and told her secretively, "I like listening to you three gossip when the shop is empty. It's cute."

Cora's stomachdropped. With a cut-off groan of despair, she buried her face in her hands, digging her palms into her eyes as she wished fervently for the ground to open up and swallow her whole; she barely noticed Mr. Crane interacting with his computer again before she heard her own voice coming through the speakers, laughing as she insisted, "God, Sophie, please, trust me. I went there with John junior year, he'sterrible. He kept rubbing my pelvic bone instead of my clit, and he 'accidentally' shoved a finger up my ass thinking it was my pussy." There was laughter, then a giggling, "No, no, I'm being mean, it really was an accident, he was doing his best, just nervous. We hadzerochemistry, probably didn't help."

"Please turn it off," she whined, but she was ignored.

"How was it?"

"I just told you how it was."

"No, the finger in your—"

More giggling. Cora wanted to die, curled in on herself so far that her forehead was almost pressed to her knees.

"Honestly, I kind of liked it, but I wasn't going to lethimknow that. I haven't really messed around with anybody since, but I might be willing to— You know."

"Please, Mr. Crane, please, I'm so sorry—"

"Hush," the man soothed her, mercifully hitting pause on the video. She didn't look up or unfold herself as he went on in a low, gentling rumble, "I just wanted to make sure you understand the position you're in. I have everything I need to fire you, everything I need to make you unhireable, and everything I need to humiliate you publicly." He cleared his throat as her heart pounded in her chest, her blood ice in her veins, her stomach threatening an encore of breakfast. "You're a sweet girl. Pretty. People are going to take advantage of you if you give them power over you like this. Do you hear me?"

She managed a chokedyes, sir, her tears threatening to spill over as a flicker of hope sparked in her chest. Was he going to give her another chance? He sounded awfully—awfullypaternal, like he cared about her, and—

"I'm going to make sure the lesson sticks, here." She nodded miserably, straightening up a little but keeping her gaze fixed firmly on her lap, on the gap between her skirt and her socks that showed a few inches of thigh. "I'm offering you two options, Miss Cora. The first one is that I let you go, and you bring me the stolen money and your uniform by end of shift tomorrow. If you forfeit your paycheck, I'll even delete the videos and give you a good recommendation for your next employer." A silent sob shook her shoulders; the pay period was almost up, she wascountingon that check Friday or she wouldn't make rent, and if she didn't make rent, there was no way her crotchety old landlord wasn't going to kick her out; he'd been threatening it for months and she'd already been late with rent twice, and she didn't have anywhere togo, she'd be on the street by the end of next week— "Or option two, my personal favorite. You keep your job and the money, and in exchange, you do me a favor."

It was like someone had poured ice water down the back of Cora's dress. She went stiff, her eyes going wide and unseeing, the hair on her arms standing straight up as she tried to imagine what that 'favor' was going to be. It couldn't be anything good. Was he cooking the books, or something? Needed someone willing to get their hands dirty with some financial fuckery? She couldn't get involved in that, she couldn't afford a lawyer. He'd probably pin it all on her, and she'd go to jail. "A... favor, sir?" she forced herself to ask, fisting her hands in the hem of her skirt.

"A favor," Mr. Crane repeated, his tone artificially bright. "An easy one, I promise. No tricks, and you're welcome to walk out the door if you'd rather not. Do you want to hear it?" Tentatively, Cora looked up, surveying her cold, distant, handsome boss and his shark smile as she jerked her chin in a tiny, hesitant nod, already regretting it before he steepled his fingers together on the desk, sat back, and told her bluntly with a challenge in the set of his brow, "Oral sex, twenty minutes. I'll set a timer, and when it goes off, your debt is paid." As she reeled, stunned, feeling her jaw drop open, he shrugged, turning half away from her as though disinterested in their conversation. "Or not. I'm sure you can find other employment. It's a college town, after all; plenty of part time positions to go around."

None that paid fifteen an hour and worked with her school schedule, Cora thought helplessly, trying to wrap her mind around what was being asked of her, whether she thought she could stomach getting on her knees for the handsome older man that was so much stronger than her, that could make her keep going so easily if she wanted to stop. She swallowed hard, half of her brain occupied by the remembered taste of John coming in her mouth after like three seconds, half on the fact that there was nowayshe'd be able to pay the money back by tomorrow evening and that meant he might still tell other business owners in town that she was a thief, and— "Okay."

"Okay?"

She had no other choice, did she? Her hands were shaking as she forced herself to nod, unable to look at him, squeaking out a delicate, frightened, "I'll— I'll do it." Then, unable to help herself, she asked weakly, "Are you sure you want that... from me? You're very, um, a very attractive man, I bet you could get it from someone a lot, uh, prettier, and who knew what they were doing, and—"

Her boss laughed, and she flinched. "Cute," he commented lazily; she heard his chair roll back away from his desk and tried to conceptualize herself on her knees in front of him, seeing hispenis, putting it in her mouth— "I always forget how insecure teenaged girls can be. I've noticed that you never clock it when the customers hit on you. Poor self-esteem? Daddy issues? Is that why you're stealing, for attention?" She blinked, and tears finally spilled down her cheeks; she scrubbed them away, shaking her head, because she didn't have low self-esteem, she was just ugly, and she didn't have daddy issues because she didn't have a daddy, or any other family for that matter, and she was only stealing to try to go to school, and— "I don't mind being the man taking advantage of that, Miss Cora. I'll be the one that tells you that you're a very attractive young woman. The one that tells you that you walk a line between sensual and sweet so cute and coquettish that it trips up half of the men you speak to. The one that tells you how damnedibleyou are in that dress, with your tits threatening to pop your buttons and that apron showing off your sexy little waist. I'll even tell you that every time I see you, I want to leave love bites all over the perfect skin between the lace tops of your socks and the hem of your skirt."

Shocked was insufficient to describe the feeling of being talked about that way by a hot older man. Cora's face was on fire, her ears burning hot, and she couldn't breathe or look up at him. She couldn't figure out how to respond to him, how to process how wet she'd just gotten, how to put a lid on howbadlyshe wanted to be wanted, and what came out of her mouth was a small, ashamed, "What do you want me to do?"

Come over here and get on your knees, that was what she was expecting to hear. She was unprepared for a dark, demanding, "Take off your panties and sit on my desk."

For a moment, her senses were overtaken by a powerful intrusive thought, seeing herself held down on her boss's desk, getting fucked whether she wanted it or not, and she didn't know if she wanted it, if she could handle losing her virginity in an uneven trade for a hundred and fifty bucks. "I—I thought you just wanted..."

Mr. Crane hummed, the sound amused. "I can get a blow anytime I want, Miss Cora, but the kind of women I usually sleep with aren't the kind you put your mouth on. I've missed it, and ever since I hired you a few months back, I've been craving it. So come here, take off your panties, and get on the desk. Or walk out. It's your choice."

Not much of a choice, Cora lamented, feeling perversely excited just the same as she felt dirty and violated. More tears threatened to fall as she managed to push herself up onto her unsteady legs, taking uneven, stilted steps around the desk as she swiped at her eyes, angry with herself, angry that she'd done something sostupid.Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Crane set his phone on the wooden surface of the desk, open to a timer set for twenty minutes that had yet to start ticking down. When she got close enough, his hand wrapped around her wrist—the sight of it making her shiver with a little thrill between her legs that was half fear and half desire, thinking about how strong he was, how big he was—and he guided her to stand between his spread knees, looking numbly down at the bulge in his slacks as he released her.

"Panties off," he commanded low and quiet, and Cora shut her eyes against awaveof wishing she'd worn something cuter, that it wasn't one of her ancient polka-dotted pairs with the bleached gusset and the fraying elastic band that she'd been wearing since seventh grade that she was slowly, reluctantly sliding down her thighs, careful to keep her privates concealed from him despite how pointless that endeavor was going to be. When they reached her knees, she let them drop with a sharp inhale and a flinch, looking down to watch her boss's shiny black leather shoe shift to pin the garment to the floor as she stepped out of it, trying to ignore the breeze between her legs that made it impossible to pretend that this awful situation wasn't getting her hot. "On the desk, Miss Cora."

Mr. Crane tapped where he wanted her, and with one final, panicked glance towards the door, she took a deep, steadying breath, braced her hands on the edge of his desk, and lifted herself onto it, immediately trying to close her legs only for her boss to roll his chair towards her, prodding at the insides of her knees to keep them open.

He looked up at her, his single dark eye so heated and dark that it made her gasp, made arousal clench behind her navel, and assured her in a low, secretive whisper, "Don't worry, I'm going to take care of you. Show me, honey."

Her heartbeats felt like physical blows to her ribcage as Cora tried to remember how to breathe, how to swallow, how to move. Her hands fisted in her skirt, a whimper escaping her lips as his hungry gaze flickered down to where she was edging up her hem, showing him more and more of her thighs until—

Suddenly, Cora had her wet pussy out in her boss's office, when fifteen minutes ago she'd been stressed about trying to figure out how she was going to afford the online access code her used textbook hadn't come with. She felt outside of her body, almost dizzy, as Mr. Crane gently cupped her knees, spreading her legs further with a near-silent groan of appreciation. "You can lay back if that's more comfortable," he murmured without looking up at her, and then he reached over, started the timer, and pulled down his mask for the first time in her presence, revealing an unfairly handsome jaw and what Sophie had called 'exceedingly kissable lips' when she'd seen him take it down while talking to law enforcement after the shop had its window broken last summer, an assessment Cora found painfully accurate.

It was suddenlywaytoo much, too real, too intimate, and she took him up on his offer, lying back and hiding her face in her hands and trying to pretend she wasn't there, wasn't exposed, wasn't whoring herself out fortextbooks, but then Mr. Crane guided her thighs to rest on his shoulders, wrapped his thick, powerful arms around her, and locked his fingers together over her navel with his thumbs hooked in the hem of her skirt, and she could feel his breath on her, hot and humid, and—

"Oh,fuck."

God, she hoped that little involuntary, whimpered exclamation was less pathetic and desperate to his ear than hers, but she couldn't help it, couldn't help squirming and making humiliating little noises, either, as a hot, wet pressure teased at her entrance, dragging through her folds, as the man licking her let out an appreciative sound and pulled her closer, so that her hips were half off the desk, supported by his grip on her. She couldn't help it; it wasgood, the eroticism of light suction sliding up and down her labia nothing at all like John's awkward prodding with his tongue, and it took no time at all before she'd given up on hiding and had instead locked her hands in her boss's thick hair, struggling against his hold to try to roll her hips against his talented lips and tongue.

"Oh—oh my god," she heard herself stutter, overwhelmed, when he trailed that light, teasing suction up to her clit, arching her back off the desk for more. Nobody had ever touched her like that. She couldn't touchherselfhalf as well. He was going to make her come. Somehow, she hadn't anticipated that, hadn't conceptualized yet that she might enjoy her boss's attentions thismuch, might like getting eaten out by a man more than a decade her senior, a real adult with a business and a car and—and oh god, he wasn'tmarriedor anything like that, was he? She didn't want to be a home wrecker or anything, she just needed—