Chapter 9

Morgan

I felt obscene.

Even though every inch of me was covered by fabric, I felt like I was utterly exposed. With my tits still propped up by the cups of my bra, my nipples were on display, especially through the thin white fabric of my blouse. My shirt was wrinkled and missing most of the buttons. It was barely held together enough to cover my upper half and there was even less to be said for the mangled state of my skirt. The zipper was broken and only went partially up, and by some miracle, the button that held it together was still intact, but it was hanging on by a thread.

I wanted to hate him, but as I looked into his eyes, any notion of dislike or anger seemed to dissolve away.

His gaze was intense, like that of a lion who had cornered his prey, yet there was no sense of threat in it. Instead, it was filled with a raw desire that was almost palpable. His eyes, deep and penetrating, seemed to strip away every single one of my layers, seeing straight into the core of who I was. It was a look that spoke of a hunger, not just for my body, but for everything that was me.

The way he looked at me made me feel like I was the only woman in the world, the most desired, the most beautiful.

The intensity was overwhelming, yet it was also empowering. In his gaze, I felt seen, truly seen, in a way I had never experienced before.

The feeling was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, and I didn't know what to make of it.

"Do you have anything else I could wear?" I squeaked, and he shook his head as his hand dropped to his belt.

After everything that had happened between us, I had no doubt that he would actually follow through with his threat. My ass tensed, almost like I was imagining the feel of the leather strap whipping my bare cheeks, and I instantly pushed it out of my head, telling myself I was crazy for even thinking about it.

I couldn't find that hot, right?

"But, please, sir," I tried, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to hide my hard nipples. Without a word, he strode towards me, knocked my hands away and took each hard bud between his fingers. Then he pinched down and twisted firmly enough to cause a flash of pain to bring me up on my toes. I tried to arch into it, but he pulled even harder, and the pain was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

"You're going to be a good girl and come with me, aren't you?" he said softly, his tone dark and seductive and far too intriguing.

"Yes, sir," I whined, and I bit my lip. His predatory eyes glanced down at my mouth, and he leaned forward, nipping the same lip gently enough to make me cry out. Maybe even to punish me, I wasn't certain.

But a deep part of me liked that, and I didn't understand why.

I tried not to think about it.

His arm wound around my waist as he adjusted my skirt a little higher. Immediately, I realized that it was high enough that I couldn't bend over without exposing my bare ass as well as my pussy. I tried to reach down and push his hands away, but that only resulted in him smacking the backs of my thighs. I danced on my feet, trying to twist enough to avoid his painful, stinging strikes, but his aim was true each and every time.

"Keep it up, my naughty little whore, and not only will I put you over my knee, but you'll also lose the privilege of wearing that tight little skirt at all," he vowed, and then he leaned closer. "And, you should know that your ass will be bright, bright red by the time I'm through with you."

Heat rushed to my face at the same time that it jolted straight down to my pussy. My core squeezed tight, and I couldn't help but let out a gasp of shock at his words.

His hand reached down and gripped my left ass cheek, squeezing it hard enough for a deep sort of pain to radiate through me.

"I'll be good," I rasped. I tried to arch my hips away from him, but he just seemed to squeeze tighter, and the pain burned brighter.

"That's my good little slut," he purred, and then his fingers released my bottom cheek. My hands instinctively drew backwards, covering my ass and gently prodding my sore cheek.

"Now, the two of us are going to take a walk together down to my car. Then I'm going to bring you home," he continued, and my face burned even hotter.

I glanced at the clock, noting that it was well after seven. I'd walked through the door at 4:00 p.m.

I blushed. We'd fucked for several hours. I hoped the office was the type where everyone left at five because I didn't want anyone to see me like this.

"But I—" I tried one last time.

With an exasperated huff, he wound his arm around my waist and forcefully bent me over. Using the seat of his palm, he spanked my upper thighs hard enough to make me squeal.

"Okay, okay!" I pleaded.

He didn't stop. Instead, he just peppered my naked cheeks with his hand. The stinging pain was enough to catch me off guard. Unlike the several more degrading smacks while he was fucking me, this hurt like I'd been scalded by a campfire or stung by a thousand bees. As soon as it had begun, it was over, but my ass still burned red hot. I sucked in a breath as he released me, and then he grabbed my throat with his hand.

"Do I need to take off my belt?"

"No, sir," I said hurriedly. His hand had hurt more than I thought it would, and I had no doubts in my mind that his belt would sting that much more.

He wrapped his fingers around my arm and led me forward, gently, although still a bit roughly. Then he unlocked the door of his office and stepped out.

There was not a single soul in sight.

I breathed a sigh of relief as he walked me through the cubicles. I shivered, my clothes in disarray and my pride in shambles, but even with every step, I realized something else. I felt powerful by his side.

Sexy even.

Like I belonged to him as he led me through the office building.

Even though there wasn't anyone on the floor, my face burned with shame. With every step, my wetness and his seed seeped down onto my inner thighs, causing them to slide against one another with embarrassing ease.

Casually, he led me to the elevator. In the enclosed space, I took a deep breath in, and I realized something else.

I could smell my arousal and his. I smelled like sex, and anyone who got even remotely close would be able to sense it too.

My face burned so hot that I thought it might catch fire.

Hunter scanned his badge, and the elevator started to move. He took me down to a private exit where there was a car already waiting. Like a gentleman, he opened the door and offered his hand to help me climb inside. I slid across the leather seat, hoping that I didn't leave a wet spot behind.

He slipped in beside me and shut the door.

"Where to, boss?" the driver said through the open divider, and Hunter turned towards me, raising his eyebrow expectantly.

Oh fuck.

He wanted to take me home.

That meant that he was going to see where I lived.

I lived in a part of Seattle that was far from glamorous because of all the sacrifices I'd made to pay off school loans and keep my business afloat. I didn't come from money. My parents weren't well off by any means, and once I'd turned eighteen, they'd washed their hands of me.

I hesitated, the address on the tip of my tongue feeling like a heavy secret, so I came up with another idea.

"Um, just drop me off at the corner of 5th and Jackson," I said, giving him an address close by but not too close to reveal the full reality of my living situation.

Hunter looked at me, his expression unreadable. "You don't live at 5th and Jackson, do you?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. "It's just easier to walk from there," I said quickly, hoping he wouldn't press further.

The last thing I wanted was for him to see the rundown apartment building I called home.

The streets we passed through gradually changed, the bright lights and bustling energy of downtown giving way to dimly lit sidewalks and buildings that had seen better days. I could feel Hunter's gaze on me, but I kept my eyes fixed on the view outside, the neon signs and graffiti-covered walls a stark contrast to the polished world of his office.

As the car slowed to a stop at the corner I had specified, I felt a mix of relief and sadness. "Thank you for the ride," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Morgan," he murmured quietly. "I'm walking you home."

"That's really not necessary, Mr. Blackwater. I walk this route all the time," I said, trying to mask my embarrassment with a tone of independence.

Hunter shook his head, his expression resolute. "It's late, and this isn't the safest part of town. I'm not comfortable letting you walk alone."

I sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and gratitude. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I can take care of myself."

He edged a bit closer to me, his presence commanding. "I don't doubt that, Morgan. It's late, and it's simply not safe. I'm walking you home. That's final."

His tone brooked no argument, and his concern was genuine. It was a side of him I hadn't seen before—protective, almost caring. I knew arguing would be useless, so I sighed in defeat.

"Okay," I relented, feeling a strange sense of comfort along with embarrassment at his insistence.

He opened the door and climbed out first, offering me a hand. Then he shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it around my shoulders. It was a gesture that was both protective and comforting. The jacket was warm, enveloping me in a scent that was distinctly him—a mix of cologne and an underlying note of confidence. I sighed in relief, the oversized jacket covering my torn outfit, and I pulled it closed so that it concealed all of me.

"You really don't have to do this," I tried once more, standing up beside him.

"Keep it up, little girl, and I'll put you over my knee in the backseat of this car," he answered, his voice low.

I opened my mouth but closed it after his eyes narrowed in warning.

"It's this way," I finally said, and I strode off in the direction of my apartment building.

As we began our walk, the reality of my neighborhood started to unfold before us. The streets were lined with drugged-out individuals slumped in doorways, their eyes glazed over, and groups of people who looked high, loitering under the flickering broken streetlights.

As we continued, I could tell that Hunter was becoming increasingly uneasy with our surroundings. His gaze darted to the faces we passed, his body always positioning itself between me and any potential threat. It was protective and possessive all at the same time, and I felt my heart swell.

I tried not to think about it too much.

Finally, we reached my apartment building, a very old structure that had been built in the fifties and had most certainly seen better days. Its fa?ade was worn and tired, the paint peeling in several places. I hesitated for a moment before turning to him.

"This is me," I said, a hint of embarrassment in my voice.

Hunter looked up at the building, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. "You live here?" he asked, his voice barely concealing his unease.

I nodded, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his scrutiny. "It's not much, but it's what I can afford right now."

He studied the building for a moment longer, then turned to face me, his expression softening. "Morgan, if you ever need anything…" he trailed off, leaving the offer hanging in the air.

"Thank you, Hunter," I said, touched by his concern. "I'll be fine, though. I've managed this long."

He nodded, though I could tell he was still uneasy about leaving me there. With a final, lingering look, he handed me his business card. "Call me, anytime," he insisted.

"Thank you," I replied.

He looked at the building, and then back at me before he cleared his throat. "Morgan, I'm not comfortable leaving you here without some assurance of your safety."

I frowned, feeling a mix of annoyance and warmth at his persistence. "Hunter, really, I'm fine. I've lived here for a while now, and nothing has ever happened."

I wasn't about to tell him about the one time I'd come home and found a homeless man sleeping on my couch.

He shook his head, his thumb already scrolling through his contacts. "I'm not taking no for an answer. This is non-negotiable. Let's walk inside."

I watched, a bit stunned, as he made a call. He walked inside the front door of my apartment building and scoffed once he realized that the lock was broken.

I didn't have the heart to tell him that it had been broken since the day I'd moved in here.

With a hard swallow, I took the lead and headed up the five flights of stairs to my apartment. We headed down the long hallway until we reached my door, and then I stopped, not wanting to open it with him still standing there.

"Yes, I need someone at this address," he spoke into the phone. His tone left no room for debate. After a brief conversation, he ended the call and looked at me, his expression firm.

"I've arranged for a security guard to stand by your door tonight. It's settled."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised his hand to stop me. "Morgan, it's necessary. I need you to be safe. We have important work to do, and I can't risk anything happening to you."

His words, ‘I need you,' hung in the air between us. There was an intensity behind them that suggested his concern was more than just professional.

I sighed, realizing arguing was futile. "Okay, Hunter. Thank you. I… appreciate it."

"Goodnight, Miss Davis. I'll see you tomorrow," he replied, his voice warm. There was a look on his face that gave away his reluctance, but I didn't want to invite him in to see the few mismatched pieces of furniture inside.

A man like him wouldn't understand.

"Goodnight, Mr. Blackwater," I answered.

With a long sigh, he stared into my eyes, then finally turned away, walking down the hall and turning the corner.

I finally released the breath I was holding and opened my front door.

How the hell was I supposed to face him again after all that had happened between us today?