Another warning: violence of a slightly more sexual nature

"This is where you will report to me for work everyday henceforth, Officer," the Inspector gestured with his thick arm around his office. Small as it was, there was barely enough room in the cramped quarter for a stove, a window, a wastepaper basket, and in the center of his universe, a gleamingly polished oaken bureau, not a single offending object resting on its stripped top. Beside this ordered magnificence, however, a rickety table butted up to the bureau's side, barely large enough to hold the three flowing stacks of missives and papers filling its miniscule area.

In all of two strides, the Inspector crossed the room, pulled out his chair, and sat straight-backed behind his desk. The woman simply stood before him, her impassive face inanimate, but her eyes casted about the room, finally resting on the table to his right.

"And that is your desk," Javert smirked at the distained look that crossed her feminine face, "Every day, you will sign, stamp and sort missives and reports by case file and date."

She sat calmly on the three-legged stood beside him, and he smirked wider, "Judging by that pile, I suggest you start immediately."

"And what do you do, Inspector?" she did not turn her head to face her question to him, her hands beginning to wander through the papers and envelopes. Her voice barely changed in pitch with the question.

"Whatever my superiors order of me," his automatic response issued forth.

She sniffed a laughing breath, "The very model of discipline and obedience, Inspector Javert." His name in her voice sent a tainted, disgusting shiver through his core. "Is this all that constitutes my duty?" she demanded, her downcast eyes peering at him from their corners.

Averted eyes sent an immediate sneer to his lip; only those who were guilty and women used that deceptive trick. He turned his chair around to face her directly, amused as she reciprocated the action, her irritation barely escaping usual impenetrable complexion.

"I thought it was clear to you from our contract. You are to be the model of subservience to me, your superior," those green eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he returned her gaze, hardened as ever.

Cécelie's innards churned, knotting and writhing inside her. Irritation. Vexation. No man was completely in control, and Javert may be the strictest, flintiest dog of the law, but he was still a man. And she would prove it. To herself if not to him.

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I have already agreed to this position," those rounded shoulders relaxed their tension as she leaned faintly forward, making herself meet his eyes with her own. "I embrace your commands entirely, Monsieur," and she stood from her stool.

Javert jumped at the unexpected motion, at his feet in a flash, a sneer of distrust still beneath the surface of his face. To his surprise, the woman smiled sweetly, laughing softly, her face lit in pure humor and mirth. Her giggles died on her smile as she shook her head back and forth, her blonde tail of hair dancing behind her back. So palely blonde compared to her eyes. No. No matter what he noticed, he would not allow himself to give in. Didn't matter if she giggled or sobbed. Steadying his voice, he glared down at her, "Good. Because you know the consequences should you disobey me," he sneered, shaking his head, "I allow you here because you pose the most intriguing, perplexing puzzle, and you may yet become an asset to the force. But prove me wrong or cross me," his scowl darkened, "and you will wish you had died in that cell."

Her face refused to darken in reply, and her smile haunted him, unsettled him, spurned him. "Yes, Monsieur," she bowed her head slightly.

Why did the sunlight from the window have to reflect from her eyes like that, he cursed.

She dared a step closer, closing the distance between them. "Ask of me what you will; I will obey," her lips turned up in an alluring smirk, "Put me to the test, Inspector. Should you command me to sort every file in the Préfecture, I will do so." She stood just in front of him, close enough to hear and feel his breath on her face.

"Command me to execute a yard of prisoners, and it will be done." She noticed his eyes dart once over her from top to bottom, halting on her face once more. "Order me to press your uniform every night," she paused to bring her hands up towards his broad, square chest, "to shine your boots, to polish your brass buttons, and I will gladly do it" a single finger pressed the button just above his left chest, rubbing it, teasing it, spinning it circularly in motion as she tilted her head coyly towards him. His breath quickened, she heard, and still he did not pull away, push her away, or even look away. His gaze did not give sway.

With a silent snicker she leaned in closer for the kill; now he would be arrested, caught in her coquettish snare. She barely whispered as her face hovered just beside his ear, "Bid me to let you enter my chamber, to slide between my sheets," she leaned back, her mouth parted, her lips wet as she returned his brightened stare, "Demand that I suck you, bite you, lick you, fuck you… that will I do for you… and more," she slowly titled her head up towards him, bringing her mouth closer to his, close enough to feel his own breath pass between her lips.

A grunt and a debilitating pressure choking her neck.

With no warning, she felt herself mercilessly shoved into the air, her body thrown to the barren desktop with a deafening thud. Never once had those green eyes left her vision, and now they peered down at her. The full weight of the Inspector's brawn pinned her down to the unyielding wood, squeezing her every joint, crushing the breath from her lungs. His forearm, muscle and bone, pressed down across her neck, choking off what little breath she gasped from under his considerable size.

Slight hissing croaks escaped her throttled voice. Noises he hushed harshly, holding her firm beneath him. "Officer Rénauld," his whisper gravely and grating to her ear, "Presume to preempt my commands in this manner again, and I shall have you flogged." With a final jab down at her creamy throat, he sat up from her, directly readjusting his unformed, cocked and disordered from the action.

As he walked around the bureau, his boots waded through a sea of spilt papers—the missives and files from her table strewn across the floor. Must have fell when he took control. No matter. Stopping at attention just inside the door, he stared at the papered chaos that surrounded his office, the prone figure covering his desk; it made him laugh. She had yet to take a breath freely in her windpipe and would most likely be unable to do so for the next half an hour. Gagging and gasping, her hand tenderly felt over her neck, and her head fell to the side, those eyes wide in pain, burning with fury, shock and fear.

"It is time for my rounds in the prison cells. See that you clean this catastrophe before I return," he smirked as she nodded her compliance, another croak sounding in the motion. Hand gripping the doorknob, he glanced once more over his shoulder, catching her in the middle of lifting herself up. That loose hair cascading, half over her face, as she hissed in pain through a partially crushed throat.

"Or else," he added before whipping his head around and slamming the door shut behind him.