Page 52 of His Pretty Little Duet

Then he hangs up.

God, power is sexy as hell.

His eyes pin me to the seat. "Take. Your. Hair. Down."

My hands refuse to do as they are told, thrown by his tone on the phone, unaffected and commanding, and by his brazen demand. "Why?"

He stares at me expectantly, a soft smile settling on his handsome face. "Because it will please me if you do."

I reach up and pull the band from my ponytail; the long blonde curtain falls around my shoulders. "Are we spending the day together?" I ask pointedly. "Just the two of us?

He relaxes further into his seat. "Why?"

I try to hide my smile as I say, "Because it will please me if we do, Sir."

The car moves, and he looks as if he is about to leap across the console and make good on his threat to drag me across his lap and spank me raw.

I shuffle as he stares.

With a tight jaw hidden beneath a cool smile, he says, "You aren't afraid of me, are you?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "After what you have seen. Heard. What happened with the fucking gardener? You still aren't afraid. Tell me why."

I stare out the window now, unsure how to answer that question given the reason for my being here is still a purposeful omission of sorts. "My mum told me my dad was dangerous. I'm not surprised that you are too." There is silence as I watch the white dashes down the road blur into a continuous line, feeling his eyes on me but too hesitant with where to settle mine to look away.

He hums, carrying a hint of disapproval through the air. "Your mum, like your dad, failed you. Did she make this lifestyle seem worthy of awe? It isn't."

"I know that." Twisting, I find his face again. "I know what you are."Say it, Fawn."You're in the Mafia."

"No," he purrs, his tone an auditory tonic of lust and danger. "In the District, IamtheCosa Nostra."

I inhale deeply. Hearing it from his own lips for the first time, I run my brain in circles, trying to find fear or resistance or nervousness within it but find only relief. I'mrelievedhe is who my mother said he was. Thattheyare the dangerous men I wanted to speak with. I think about my silly fascination with the roses last night. My father could have been my thorns, could be this boy's thorns, allowing him to be soft and beautiful. "And my father?"

"An associate... Yes, also in thisthing of ours... But you, little deer,"—he shakes his head once, his piercing blue eyes arrow on me, pinning me to the seat—"have no place in this dangerous world."

Rejection spindles through me, but I grit it back. I'll let my father be the judge of that. "Well, I never planned on staying, you know that. So, I'm sorry if I'm putting you out, Sir. I'll be out of your hair the moment my father comes for hisproperty,"I say,noting the tic in his jaw.

The blue in his devasting gaze shrinks to nothing as the blacks expand to consume them in darkness. "What did you just say?"

"Sorry?"

My heart and head and the butterflies all agree for once, shuddering and hazing and diving for cover, all on the same page but a little too fucking late.

"Stop the car," he states, raising two fingers to the driver, who closes the dividing screen while the vehicle rolls to a stop. I take shallow breaths as he frowns at me, his gaze feverish, not only angry, but hot with warning. "Take your shorts off. Lay over my knees."

With a shaky hand, I sweep a piece of hair from my face. "What?"

He taps his thigh. "Underwear. Face down. Over my knees.

There is no denying the gravity in his fixed blue stare—an icy haul, nearly palpable as it demands I comply. My body buzzes with adrenaline, never having been spanked. Not once.

I actually, kind of—fuck,what am I thinking? I fight against the distant voice of argument, the one that says this is inappropriate, and indecent, and— I drown that voice.

I want this, want to know what it feels like to have him spank me, to have him care.

Breathing deeply, I peer around the car, the black tinted windows, the sleek, elegant design offering privacy.

He leans back, lifting his hips slightly as his cock spans across his thigh, creating a thick bulge in his pants. I shrug off my jacket and shimmy out of my shorts before crawling across his lap on shaky limbs. I can feel him pulsing beneath me. "I wonder if Dustin's little girl likes it when I spank her," he says, his tone twisted, strained. I quiver when his hand caresses my plump curve. "You are not allowed to say sorry anymore. Ever. It's your default response. It means nothing now."

His fingers slide my underwear into the seam of my backside, exposing more flesh. He hisses as he strokes me like he might the fur on a pet, then his hand comes down, the sound piercing. I cry out, bucking over his erection, the sting shooting through my veins, tightening every muscle. The shock resonates along all the sensitive nerves between my legs; my pussy ripples and swells. I become slick. I cover my face as two fingers trace the material bunched between my cheeks, stopping to touch the lower dampening spot. "Did you like that, sweet girl? Don't lie. The truth is right... here." His feather-light touch creates subtle circles over the wet fabric, alarming me, shaming me, and all the while sending my mind reeling with pleasure.

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