Twenty-Nine

"Ready," I announce, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door and shoving them into my purse.

Lander, who has been waiting at the door for several minutes, glances at his watch before he looks at me, his expression as cold as marble. "You took seventy-two minutes. I gave you an hour."

The threat in his voice doesn't faze me because it's not supposed to. This is our thing. Playing. Testing. Scheming. Half the fun is messing around and seeing how the other will react.

"I was fixing my hair," I answer before I throw him the most defiant look I can muster. "Someone tangled it."

My quip makes his mouth flatten into a line. "What did I say when I told you to get ready?" he asks, his tone slow and deliberate.

"You said I had an hour. I'm so—"

Lander takes a step closer to me, those pale blue eyes locked on my lips. "I said you were to be ready to leave in one hour or you'd find out what it really means to want a cock and not get it."

He sure did. I made sure to be twelve minutes late for precisely that reason.

"Oops," I murmur, fighting back a smirk.

This time, Lander gives me no warning. He shoves his hand into my freshly-styled hair and whirls me around, pinning my chest to the credenza by the front door. My scalp stings from the force, but it feels divine.

"So fucking bad," he muses as he hikes up my coat, shoving the wool upwards to get at the skirt of my burgundy cocktail dress, exposing my ass to him.

THWACK. He lands a stinging slap to my cheek. It's not the first time he's ever spanked me, but it's the first time he's done it when we're not already fucking.

"Motherfucker," I grit out involuntarily, unprepared to feel the stinging force of his palm.

"We're busy today. We have places to be, and since you insist on going to your father's party, I have multiple stops to make."

THWACK.

"I give you everything. I dote on you. I let you sleep in my bed. I fuck you so good your vibrator is gathering dust. This is how you repay me? By ignoring directions?" His questions ring with disappointment, and the charade is convincing enough to make my heart race.

"I'll never be late again," I swear.

…I mean, I will. I'll probably be late on purpose next time we see each other. He knows it. I know it. We both want it to happen.

"Better not," he warns, his hand now rubbing my cheek, massaging against the pain circulating from the spot where he spanked me. "Now open your mouth."

It's embarrassing how many times he's given me this exact order and I've gleefully obliged, no questions asked. Today is no exception.

Almost as soon as I part my lips, silicone fills my mouth, the curve oddly familiar. While I'm sucking, Lander's other hand moves until his finger grazes my exposed asshole and all the pieces fall into place: He put a butt plug in my mouth. My butt plug.

"Release," he orders.

I do and then lick my lips, swallowing the taste of silicone while I wait for the feeling against my asshole. It doesn't come. Instead, I feel a slick, wet sensation on that most intimate spot. When I look over my shoulder, Lander's blue eyes dart up to meet mine before casting back down. A trail of spit breaks from his lips, and I realize: He's spitting on my asshole.

"So pretty," Lander murmurs distractedly, touching my hole and spreading his saliva around it, striking up the sensitive nerves. "I always hoped you'd use the cash I tipped you to buy a better camera. The one you use never quite does this beautiful asshole justice."

As he speaks, the tip of the plug prods me and I exhale out, preparing myself.

"Has anyone ever fucked it before?" he continues, his voice crackly and thick. "Be honest. I don't care about being first. Just the best."

"Once," I admit, sucking in air, willing myself to relax.

"Did he make it good for you?" Lander asks, the harshness now gone. He always makes the seamless switch from dominating to tender. Two sides of a coin with him. Scary and sweet. An ambitious lawyer and a charming oddball.

"He tried," I answer honestly, thinking back to a situationship freshman year who came before he was even halfway inside.

"I'm going to make you wait for it," he tells me. The plug finally passes through the tight ring of muscle at my entrance and settles into place. Shit. My body is already craving a release. "Tonight, after the party, you're going to log on, open a private stream for me, and I'm going to watch you take this plug out. Then, you're going to do whatever I tell you to do from my bedroom in St. Michaels, and when I get back from my trip, you're going to have this plug in this perfect ass again, waiting for me. Do you understand, Valeria?"

I nod.

"Say it."

"I understand."

Satisfied, Lander lowers my dress and pulls me upright, straightening my coat in the process. When he's done, he turns me around and looks me over, moving a lock of hair here and there and straightening my necklace before I pass muster.

He bends, putting his nose near mine. He's close enough to kiss, but instead he says, "If you need anything tonight, call me immediately. Text me. Send me a telegraph. Carrier pigeon. Doesn't matter how you do it, just tell me."

I nod silently, taking a deep breath.

"I mean it." He moves his hand over my ass. "And hopefully this will take your mind off any bullshit."

"Definitely will," I confirm, grateful for a distraction—no matter how unconventional. I flatten my hands on his chest. "I won't stop thinking about you all night."

Lander places a feather-light kiss on my lips. "Baby," he mutters, "don't ever be late for me again."

"I won't."

I will.