Page 154 of The Pucking Wrong Man

The ride seemed to last forever, and every mile that passed, the anticipation grew. Until I was trembling more from that than the cold whipping at my skin.

At last we pulled into the building. Camden still didn’t say anything as he lifted me off the bike and led me toward the elevator.

“Camden—” I began once we’d gotten inside the doors.

“I suggest you don’t say anything right now, little dancer,” he murmured in the velvety tone that I’d learned was his most dangerous tone of all.

“I just wanted to explain that I wasn’t?—”

Before I could get out another word, I was against the mirrored glass of the elevator, my cheek pressed against the cool wall. Camden crowded me, his lips brushing against my ear as he liked to do when he really wanted me to pay attention.

“You went somewhere unsafe tonight. You tried to hide it from me. You put yourself in a situation where other men could think they could have you. You are in so much fucking trouble, Anastasia.”

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked as the doors opened into the penthouse.

“Tonight, sorry’s not good enough.”

He pulled me by my hand into the darkened living room before abruptly letting me go and sitting in one of the tufted armchairs.

“You wanted to dance tonight, little dancer. So dance.” He pressed a button on his phone, and a second later, “Guilty as Sin” was playing from the built-in-speakers.

I stood there awkwardly because, technically, I hadn’t gone there to dance.

“Now,” he said roughly, and I jumped at the intensity of his tone.

Fine, I could play along. I had really messed up. If a dance was what he wanted—a dance I could give him.

I closed my eyes and let the rhythm take over, moving through me, guiding me. I finally opened them and met Camden’s stare across the room, his gaze intense, unblinking. I could see the heat in his eyes, the way they followed every movement I made.

I took a step forward, rolling my hips to the beat, my hands trailing down my sides. His lips parted slightly, and the muscle in his jaw tensed.

I turned slowly, arching my back, letting my hair fall over one shoulder as I moved. Every step, every sway of my hips was deliberate, meant for him. I could feel his eyes on me, burning with a mix of lust and admiration. It was intoxicating to know I had his full attention.

“Anastasia,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the music.

I didn’t respond with words, just with my body. I spun around, the music lighting up my veins, my movements fluid and sensual. I could see the way his hands gripped the armrests, his knuckles white. He was trying to control himself, but I could see the struggle in his eyes.

As the chorus hit, I dropped to my knees, crawling toward him, my eyes never leaving his. His breath hitched, and I could see the tension in his body, the way he leaned forward, unable to stay still. I reached him, my hands sliding up his legs, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric of his jeans.

He exhaled sharply, his eyes dark with desire. “Anastasia,” he said again, his voice strained.

I stood up slowly, my body brushing against his, and turned around, pressing my back against his chest. His hands came up, almost instinctively, to rest on my hips, his touch sending sparks through me. I leaned back into him, feeling the solid strength of his body against mine.

The music slowed, and I turned to face him, straddling his lap. His eyes were locked on mine, filled with a mix of need and awe. I could feel his heartbeat against my own, a rapid, shared rhythm. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear.

“Did you like it, Daddy?” I whispered then, my breath hot against his skin.

There was a pause, and his lips moved toward mine. He was finally going to give me what I wanted—what I needed…

A second later, I was across his lap, my ass in the air.

Thwack.

“What do I want you to say, baby girl?” he growled as his hand left my ass cheek.

“What?” I groaned, shocked and aroused by what had just happened.

Thwack.

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