“You disappointed me. How do we resolve this?”
My shoulders pull straight. “You should punish me, Master. I disobeyed you, and I deserve to be punished. Please.”
“Good girl.” He rises, his pants long-since refastened.
There’s a lump in my throat when I realize I never fully appreciated the size and girth of his, ahem, appendage. I was in the moment, focused on pleasuring him as best I could, and it never occurred to me that someday soon, I’m going to be impaled with that monster.
A ball of anxious anticipation resides smack dab in the middle of my chest as he approaches me. His hand lifts to my chin, drawing my face up to meet his gaze. His cold eyes crinkle and relax.
“I’m not sure what I should do with you,” he says. “I’m not sure whether to bend you over my knee or pleasure you until you can hardly stand it anymore.”
I can’t breathe thanks to the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
His hands pull at the fabric of my skirt, lifting it until the hem is against my hips, exposing my panties. His fingers run the length of my inner thigh until he reaches my sex, where he wastes no time slipping a finger beneath the soaked fabric.
This was supposed to be an act. I was supposed to hate every minute of it with an agreeable smile on my face. None of this was supposed to physically turn me on, but my body betrays me with his every touch.
Dane’s finger slips between my folds, massaging my clit with slow circles and just enough pressure to leave me wanting a tiny bit more. Now I know why foreplay is the gateway drug of sex. It’s just enough to get you going, but not enough to leave you fully satisfied.
“How does this feel, Angel?”
My cheek presses against the dark gray silk-blend of his suit jacket, and I breathe him in while his finger slides inside me.
“It feels incredible.” My cheeks blush, but I don’t care. His jacket soaks in the heat, and I’m thankful he can’t see my face. I never spoke this openly with Cortland, and we never discussed what we were doing while we were doing it. There was never dirty talk, only exhilarating shame.
His hand pulls away from my wetness, and I’m certain that is my punishment. He’s teasing me, leaving me wanting more, and then pulling away.
It’s a difficult punishment, but one I have to accept.
“Come over here,” he says motioning to his desk chair. His hands pat his lap. “Face down, Angel. It’s time for your punishment.”
That wasn’t it?
I follow his orders, finding it difficult to swallow as I’m face down, staring at the tightly woven cream carpet beneath his desk. He’s moving around, shifting, opening drawers, but I can’t see any of it. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. I don’t like being bent over someone’s knee, staring at the carpet fibers with every sense of mine on high alert.
From the corner of my eye, I notice him slipping on a pair of leather driving gloves.
His hand tugs the back of my panties until he pulls them all the way off, and then he lifts my skirt until it’s hiked all the way to my low back.
“Forty,” he says. “Count.”
WHACK!
I haven’t been spanked since I was a little girl. It doesn’t hurt as much as I remember.
“Count, Bellamy. That was one.”
WHACK!
“Two,” I say, my legs splaying out below me as my knees lock.
He smacks my ass once again, only harder this time. Quicker. It’s more of a slap, and it half-stings, half-burns whenever his hand comes up for air.
“Three,” I say.
Again and again he smacks, and again and again I count.
My cheeks are on fire, and a blush of warmth spreads throughout my lower body before settling between my thighs and transforming into liquid arousal. My bare flesh burns after each smack, but by the time it starts to subside for even a split second, I find myself craving another.
Equal parts dread and anticipation fill the space between the smacks.
It hurts.
It hurts so good.
“…thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…forty.” It’s over. I’m not sure how I’m going to sit after this.
Dane peels the glove from his hand and helps me up, positioning me in front of him. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you, Angel.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“I’ve never had a sub make me want to simultaneously punish her and devour her quite like you.” He sighs as if this is the most pressing issue in his life right now. I highly doubt it is. “I think I’m going to have to do both. Climb onto my desk.”
I lean against his polished desk, carefully displacing his pewter clock, his cup of silver bullet pens, and moving his phone out of the way. Dane blows an impatient breath past his lips and lowers himself though he’s certainly not on his knees.
“Exquisite. Really.” His final words send a thrill up and down my spine seconds before his tongue glides into my most tender parts, swirling and licking, owning me deeper and harder with each flick.
I look for something to grab, something to ground me, but there’s nothing but cool, smooth wood and a fourteen karat gold stapler. His tongue abandons me for a moment, skimming my thighs before returning.
Tease.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Angel?” he asks.
I want to tell him not to stop, to keep going. I was getting close. But I can’t say any of that because he’s in control. Even if I wanted to come right now, it isn’t allowed.
My arousal begins to mix with anger, and without warning Cortland’s face flashes in my mind.
No!!
His hands press my legs apart wider, and his face between my thighs and that thing he’s doing with his tongue and the circles makes my body fearful of moving for fear it all might end.
I love this.
But I also hate that being objectified and controlled, the very thing I’m fleeing from at home gets me so hot and bothered I can hardly stand it.
“You can come now,” he says, blowing hot breath on my swollen sex before returning to devour me a final moment.
But it’s too late.
I’ve lost it.
The build up threatened to leave the second I realized I wasn’t allowed to come without his permission, and it packed its bags the second I saw Cortland’s face and started thinking about everything else.
What do I do?!
I draw in a full breath and do what any other woman would do in my situation.
I fake it.
“Mm, yes…” I moan softly, pounding my fist against the desktop. My hips buck and writhe, and he gives my clit a final suck before my movements settle and stop. I have no idea how long a typical orgasm lasts. I’ve never timed myself, so I just do what feels natural.
My eyes search his when he comes up for air, and I immediately love the fact that he doesn’t wear a dopey smile after getting some. He’s a man. He’s all man. He can pleasure a woman with dignity and respect and class, and that’s an art.
“You may clean up now, Angel.” He nods toward the bathroom before swiping the ground and picking up my crumpled panties.
“Thank you.”
Dane leans over his desk, grabbing the satin ribbon off the box in which my lingerie was packaged. He winds it up and shoves it in his desk drawer, a treat for another time I suppose.
I scamper off and change quickly, anxious to ask him what else I might be doing to occupy my time in the office, but when I emerge he’s nowhere to be found. His communication leaves much to be desired, but I’m not exactly in a position to complain.
When I slink back into my office, I’m overwhelmed once again by the amount of boxes and gifts and bags filling every foot of my space. There’s a small path in which I can walk, but that’s it. A small coat closet in the back of my room boasts wooden hangers, and I get to work hanging up my new wardrobe. There’s no way my parents will let me walk in or out of the house in any of this stuff. I might be able to sneak a dress in with my purse, but not the rest of this stuff.