Page 88 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“You said you and Ginger worked out staffing.”

“We did but I’ve been thinking . . .”

I proceed to tell him everything I confessed to Ginger—my concerns and my hopes about our relationship continuing beyond the end of filming.

“We need to spend time apart. I want to miss you. Because right now, I live, breathe, and consume you. Do you understand?”

A flash of hope crosses his face. It’s the first time since that day in the trailer that I’ve given any indication of a future together.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I accept you coming to visit me twice a week if . . .”

I bite my lip. “If?”

“If you finally let me punish you.”

Did he read my thoughts? How did he know I was just thinking about this?

“And what will I be punished for?”

“For telling me you’d be there the entire time then backing out.”

I shift on my feet and try to ignore the heat flaring across my cheeks and chest.

“Mhm,” Mylan hums. “Does that make you nervous, donut?”

“No,” I say a little too quickly, which makes him smile wider than his bratty face will allow. “Not nervous . . . excited.”

Why am I excited?

Probably because I read way too many smutty romance books. I never thought I’d find myself in a relationship that rivaled the bliss my favorite characters experience. I also discovered some kinks from reading those erotic books.

Like spanking, and praise, and being dominated.

Not that Mylan is a big dom. Are little doms a thing? Unless he’s been holding back because of me—because he doesn’t know what I can handle. To be honest, I don’t know what I can handle either. The sex I had before him was vanilla as fuck.

The anticipation motivates me to finish paperwork in record speed and I’m tugging Mylan up the stairs to my apartment.

The moment I close the door and lock it, I blurt out, “So, do you, like, tie people up or . . .” My voice trails off the moment his smile turns cruel. Okay, clearly that was a dumb question.

“Oh, donut,” he says through a sigh, approaching me as I lean back against the door. “Do you want me to tie you up?” His voice deep and full of desire.

“Um . . .”

He trails his fingers down the side of my face, to my neck and across my cleavage. Mylan’s eyes rage with desire as he watches my heavy breathing, my heaving chest.

“I want you to spank me. Like you promised,” I whisper.

He hums and leans in. I expect him to kiss me in the same spots his fingertips just touched. Instead, he huffs his breath along my jaw and my throat. I both love and hate when he does that. How he’s touching me but not. That warm air is torture in the best way possible.

I arch away from the door, my stomach pressing up against Mylan’s cock. It's hard and ready for me.

“I love this dress.” He runs his fingers underneath the spaghetti straps of the simple white sundress with colorful flowers. “Do you love this dress?”

“It’s all right. Not my favorite or anything.” I shrug, and a growl rattles in Mylan’s throat followed by him tearing the dress from my body with both of his strong hands. Literally ripping the fabric.

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