Chapter Four

“You want to…spank me?” It’s embarrassing how damp my panties are from the thought.

I swear he knows, too, because his lip curled up in a smirk that definitely says I know all your secrets, Simone Lima. I know them, and by God I’m going to use every last one of them against you.

Of course, I sort of believe everyone feels that way, which is only one of the long lists of reasons I’m a people hater.

“You heard me.”

“Here? Now?”

“Since I don’t trust that you’ll show up to any other arranged meeting place or time, yes. Here. Now.” It’s like he already knows me.

I’m trying to picture it—me, bent over Donovan’s desk. “Spank me like I’m a five-year-old caught with her hand in the cookie jar?”

“More like spank you like you’re a grown woman, with my hand in the cookie jar.” Oh my wow. “If that’s where spanking leads.”

Where else does spanking lead?

Which means this isn’t a conversation about spanking. This is a conversation about getting kinky.

Get kinky with a hot billionaire with smoldering eyes? Generally, I’m all for that.

But, but, but…

Warning bells sound in my head for no discernable reason. I’m still trapped between him and the bookcase, though, which turns out to be a very bad thinking spot. Bad reception to the neurons or something like that.

So I slip out from under his arm and don’t stop until I’m a couple of yards away in clear-thinking territory.

Ha ha. There’s no clear-thinking territory when Steele’s in sight, because as soon as I turn to look at him, my knees start to give, and I nearly bend myself over and lift my skirt right then and there.

And now I have another question. “Are you thinking over the panties, or…?”

“Is it even a spanking if it’s not skin to skin?”

Yep, yep. I’ve definitely lost all thought capability. All the blood has rushed to my cookie jar and my head can’t possibly reason.

I try to make a mental Why I Shouldn’t Allow This list, anyway:

1.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Just the opposite, Steele, darling. There is no thinking inside this brain. “There’s nothing to consider. It’s not a question.”

I blink. “Not a question?”

“You owe me, and I’ve come to collect. This spanking will happen, regardless of what excuse that gorgeous head of yours comes up with. As a courtesy, I’ll give you another ten seconds to get used to the idea, and then, ready or not, I’m coming for you.”

Well, damn.

“One,” he says, and I take a step back, my heart beating so fast I feel it in my throat. “Two.” Another step back, and I bump against Donovan’s desk. “Three.”

“There are cameras in here!”

“Better not give anyone a reason to have to review them, then. Four.”

“You recognize this entire situation is inappropriate and could warrant investigation, don’t you?” Oh my god, it’s like I’m trying to stop him.

“Five.”

Apparently, he’s not afraid of consequences. Why would he be? His family probably owns the law.

“Six.” He takes his first step toward me, and I scurry to the opposite side of the room.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when he smiles. As if he’s looking forward to a chase. “Seven.”

And now my palms are as wet as my panties.

Seriously, I’m both thrilled and terrified. Ridiculous, I know. There’s no real reason to be scared. All I have to do is scream or pick up Donovan’s phone, and someone will come running.

But I want this. So I haven’t done those things.

Yet, I’m still daunted.

This time when he moves, he’s between me and the door. “Eight.”

In full disclosure, I’m generally the one who comes on strong. If I want to fuck someone, I make it happen. If I want to be spanked, I tell the guy (or girl; okay, that was mostly in college, aka my experimental years) how many strikes and just how hard. I’m the one behind the driver’s wheel. I’m the one who chases or, when I’m in the mood, I’m the one who decides to be chased.

“Nine.”

This is new ground for me. I’m not sure how to…

“Ten.”

I fake in one direction, then dart in the other, but I’m no match for his speed. In a flash, he has his arm around me.

I yelp as he hoists me over his shoulder. Two steps later, he’s seated on the couch with me strewn across his lap, ass in the air, and oh, yes. This is a much better position than I imagined. Especially when he strokes his hand over my silk black hair and down my spine.

I shiver and goosebumps grow along my flesh.

He brings his other hand to cuff around my neck, and I almost moan.

“All good?”

What a silly question. My nipples are sharp enough to cut through the fabric of my blouse, and I’m so turned on I’m about to start hyperventilating. How could I possibly be all good? “Just get on with it.”

Even though I can’t see him, I sense the smirk on his face as he flips up my skirt to expose my panties. Every muscle in my body tenses as I momentarily freak out about which pair I put on this morning. I relax when I remember that I found a satin black pair in the back of my drawer so I didn’t have to wear the splotchy laundry day ones that I almost put on.

I might have to start going to church if God keeps stepping in like this to help a girl out.

Steele’s fingers curl around the waistband of the aforementioned satin black underwear. “Lift your hips.”

I do. With a growl. Mad more at myself than him for giving into this scheme so easily.

With one hand—the other is still cuffed tightly at my neck—he shimmies the panties down until they’re just below my ass leaving my pussy bare against his thigh. “Very nice,” he says, and I purr.

For real, I don’t understand the sound that is bubbling in my throat. Like a legit purr.

I cough in an attempt to hide it, forgetting that didn’t go so well for me last time.

“Choking again?” He sweeps his hand across my bare skin, and stop myself just before I purr again.

“I was trying to hide my snoring. Snoozefest here, Steele. Are you doing this or what?”

His chuckle reverberates through his body and lights my nervous system on fire. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly sexy? I desperately want to “squirm” so that my clit can find some friction, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how needy I am.

And I am so very, very needy.

“You’ll take three,” he says.

“ Three ?” I start to twist toward him to see if he’s out of his mind, but his hand at my neck holds me in place. “Three isn’t a punishment.” It’s foreplay.

“Any more, and I’m afraid you’ll get a wet spot on my suit. It’s Brioni.”

“Fuck you, with your billionaire Brioni.” It appears I now have a favorite designer. “I’m not the one whose jizz you need to worry about.” I already feel stirrings beneath me that indicate a rather well endowment in his pants.

And wasn’t that the point of this whole encounter? Preferably, we both jizz.

“Doubt it.”

“Are you playing a different game than I—” The first strike comes without warning, cutting me off sharply. “What the fucking—”

Before I can manage the string of curse words poised at the tip of my tongue, Steele rubs the sting away with the same palm that delivered the blow. “Oh. Ohhhh.”

Maybe I will be the one who comes first.

Steele’s voice breaks through my euphoric haze. “One.”

“One, what?” Oh, right. “One, one. I got it. I can count, you asshole.”

Again, that laugh. Again, my nervous system is lit up.

Refusing to give in and let my body seek relief, I force myself to concentrate on inspecting the wear of the leather, making a mental note to look at getting the couch reupholstered.

After a deep breath and several swirls of his palm across my skin, I’m practically a new woman. “Is that all you—?”

The second smack is harder than the first, and just as unexpected. “Are you kidding me?” Water pricks the corner of my eyes. My pussy cries as well.

I hope I’ve ruined his precious Brioni.

“Feeling it now, are you?” His hand is already back, already smoothing away the sting.

“Feeling what? Did you do something?” I’m a glutton.

“Cute,” he says. “Two.”

“Two,” I repeat. Already it’s almost over, and I’m both afraid I won’t be able to sit the rest of the day and worried that one more won’t be enough.

On the other hand, the endowment beneath me has grown in size, and if I bite back my pride and sacrifice one more purr—and maybe a little bit of squirming—there’s a real good chance he might leak as well.

“Is it too much? Should I stop?”

“No!” Dammit. Too desperate. “Unless you think you can’t handle it.” I buck my hips grazing my pussy against his thick ridge in an attempt to rile him but end up having to swallow a whimper.

“I’m not put out in the least.”

“Then by all means, go—”

He’s a master at catching me unaware. The third strike burns hottest, and this time when he soothes it with his palm, he presses hard enough into my skin that my pelvis rocks against that steel rod of his and there is absolutely no way that I can suppress the jagged moan that spills, long and drawn out, from my throat.

“Three,” he says.

Three, and I am defeated. Three measly slaps, and I’m a wet puddle of mush, in urgent need of an orgasm.

But now that I’ve lost, I can admit it and get to the good stuff. I know when surrender is the only way to get what I want, and what I want now is for that brutal hand to make its way into the cookie jar, as promised, and—

Before the thought is finished, I’m thrown off Steele’s lap as he stands.

I peer at him from the floor. “What was that?”

“That was three. You’re done.” He brushes his hand down his thigh, casually inspecting the fabric as though there isn’t a bulge between his legs. “A wet spot. I knew you couldn’t take it.”

He’s entirely too smug.

And he’s entirely too walking away. “You’re leaving?” Without even offering to help me up from the floor?

He gives a purposefully blank look. “We’re finished here. I can’t think of any reason to stay.”

So this is the game. Am I supposed to beg now? Or did he come here wanting to turn me on just so he could leave me with a blue clit and still several hours to go before I have access to my vibrator?

What could he possibly gain from that?

Whatever his motive, I’m not going to beg.

I make my way to my feet, as smoothly as possible, and pull up my panties like a big girl. “Honestly, I’d thought you’d already gone.” I pretend to yawn.

“As long as we’re on the same page then.” With that, he opens the door and leaves.

He leaves.

Really leaves.

I rush to the doorway and call after him. “I bet you leave all the women you’re with unsatisfied.”

Steele acts like he didn’t hear me. Dina, from accounting, on the other hand, gives me a stern look.

Oh, like you don’t get it, Dina. That woman has a face that says she hasn’t been satisfied in years.

I’m still reeling about Steele and his abrupt departure and the intense buzz between my thighs, when the phone rings, reminding me that I’m actually supposed to be on the clock.

I stomp over to my desk to answer it with a sharp, “Donovan Kincaid’s office.”

“Holt Sebastian. Can you put him on the line?” Steele walks out and his brother calls right after. Is that a coincidence? Maybe Steele is trying to get to my boss through me. I know Donovan has met with Holt but he’s also avoided a lot of his calls.

Whatever the ploy, it gives me intense satisfaction to be able to say that Donovan is unavailable. See? A girl wants to be pleased, she has to do the work herself.

“Yes, my brother said he was out for a family emergency. I thought I’d follow up.”

“Well, he’s not here. But speaking of your brother…” I start to sit in my desk chair, only to remember my ass has been assaulted, and I quickly stand again. “Do you know how I can get in touch with him?”

Whether or not this will play out in a way that’s beneficial to me, I don’t know. Worth a shot anyway.

“Steele?” Holt sounds surprised that I’d ask, but not surprised enough to withhold information. He’s trying to win Donovan over, after all. “I can get you a line to his assistant, but he’s not available today. He’s filling in for me at a conference in Boston.”

“Oh, really?” Ignoring my ass pain, I sit down and pick up a pen so I can take notes because Mama just hit the jackpot.