How I Met My Submissive 5: The Second of Us

People say that what's important is to participate. What a nonsense. What's important is to win, and anyone who says otherwise has never won anything. Another thing is that mediocre people are satisfied with mediocrity. You can see it clearly with "The Impulse Awards," one more way our government wastes European funds with a national competition for "innovative ideas." A damn nonsense, but one we could win, and it would look perfect on our budding resumes. And I, who had planned every damn detail to the point of obsession, who had reviewed every line of code until it was perfect, who had made Alex stay up late polishing details... had just lost. Okay, technically we came in second. But losing is losing.

The conference room had turned into a kind of impromptu party. Some people were applauding, others taking photos of the damn diploma, and the useless president had brought a bottle of cava from the corner store. As if there was anything to celebrate.

"It's historic!" said the intern while taking photos for LinkedIn. "We've never won anything!"

I wanted to explain the difference between winning and coming second to him, but I refrained. Instead, I kept watching Alex, who was in a corner trying to stay unnoticed while people congratulated him. He was wearing a blue shirt that was too big for him and a timid smile that didn't help my mood.

"A toast to M and Alex!" someone proposed.

"To the winning team," added another idiot who apparently didn’t understand the difference between winning and losing.

I watched as Alex accepted his glass of cava with trembling hands, how he blushed when people congratulated him, how he looked for my gaze every few seconds as if he needed my approval even for this.

"M, a few words," Laura asked, and I had to hold back a grunt.

"The project is good," I said dryly. "But it could have been better."

I saw Alex shrink slightly. He knew perfectly well why we had lost. A mistake in the damn paperwork. A poorly filled-out form by the useless president, and all our technical excellence down the drain.

I couldn't take it anymore. I approached Alex and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, noticing how he tensed under my grip.

"We're leaving," I growled, loud enough for everyone to hear me. "I need a damn piña colada."

The surprised looks on everyone's faces were a poem, but Alex simply nodded, as if he understood perfectly why I needed to get out of there. And he probably did, the bastard. He had been working with me long enough to know that I hated losing more than anything in the world.

The bar was two blocks away, one of those places with "premium" cocktails and prices that justified putting quotes around the word premium. Alex silently followed me, practically trotting to keep up with my pace.

"Two piña coladas," I ordered the bartender. "And make sure they have real alcohol, not that watered-down crap you serve to tourists."

"Actually... I would prefer something lighter," Alex murmured.

I stared at him. "Have you seen the crap day I've had and you expect me to drink alone?"

He blushed and looked down. "No, sir."

The "sir" caught me off guard. We were out of the office; there were supposed to be no hierarchies here. But Alex still held that submissive attitude that drove me crazy, and the alcohol wasn't helping my self-control.

"Do you know why we lost, Alex?"

"Yes, sir. The form..."

"The damn form," I growled, taking a long sip from my glass. "All the work, all the overtime, all the effort... down the drain because of a poorly filled-out piece of paper."

"The project is still brilliant," he said softly. "Everyone says so."

"The project is perfect," I corrected. "And yet we lost."

Alex took a tentative sip from his glass and wrinkled his nose. He looked adorable, the little bastard. "It's very strong," he murmured.

"As it should be," I replied and ordered another round.

By the third piña colada, Alex's cheeks were flushed and he had a silly smile on his face. By the fourth, he had unbuttoned one of his shirt buttons and loosened his tie. I was still furious, but in a different way. More... contained.

"M...", Alex said, leaning forward. "Can I tell you something?"

"Technically you just did," I replied, but I gestured for him to continue.

"You're the best boss I've ever had," he blurted out, and his sincerity hit me like a punch. "You're tough and demanding, but... but you always know what you're doing. And even though you're scary sometimes, you..."

He paused, biting his lip. The alcohol had loosened his tongue, but he still held onto some of his usual shyness.

"Also what?"

"Also you make me feel... safe," he admitted quietly, and damn, that sentence did something to my chest.

I stared at him, noticing how he blushed even more under my scrutiny. His hair was messy, his shirt wrinkled, and there was a vulnerable look in his eyes that was driving me crazy.

"I think you've had too much to drink," I finally said, because it was either that or do something crazy.

"Probably," he admitted with a giggle. "Everything's spinning."

"Let's go," I said, standing up. "I'm calling you a taxi."

"I can walk..."

"That wasn’t a suggestion," I growled, and there it was again, that little shiver that drove me insane.

As we waited for the taxi, sitting on a bench, Alex swayed slightly, and I had to steady him. He leaned his head against my legs as if we were teenagers out on a date, mumbling something unintelligible.

"What?"

"I said you have very strong legs," he repeated, and I felt him tense up as he realized what he just said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

I grabbed him by the nape, interrupting his apology. His breathing immediately quickened.

"Do you like how my legs are?" I growled in his ear. I felt him tremble under my grip.

"Yes... sir," he whispered, and damn, that 'sir' in a trembling voice was too much.

I pushed him against the wall of the building where we were waiting, pressing my body against his. Alex let out a small moan that made me lose the last shred of control.

"Look at me," I ordered, and when he lifted those glassy eyes to mine, I knew I was completely screwed. "Shit. M, you're the director," I told myself, although I didn't know if I was saying it for him or for me.

The taxi arrived just then, honking. Alex jumped, but I kept my grip on his nape.

"Do you want to go home?" I asked in a hoarse voice.

Alex shook his head, biting his lip. "No, sir."

I waved off the taxi with a gesture. I had Alex trembling in my arms, vulnerable and submissive, and there was no way in hell I was letting him go now.

"Fine," I growled, "because I have plans for you."

The way he shuddered at those words confirmed that I wasn't the only one who’d been holding back this for far too long.

"My place is two blocks away," I said as I loosened my grip, allowing him to step away from the wall. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Yes, sir," he murmured, and although he swayed slightly as he took the first step, the way he looked at me made it clear he would follow me to hell if I asked him to.

"Tomorrow you're going to regret this," I warned as we started to walk.

Alex smiled shyly. "No, sir. I don't think so."