Page 47 of Hired Help

Then Harrison’s contorted features flash in my head. My lips twist into a snarl. “Undo my belt.”

Her hands shake so much it’s difficult for her fingers to find purchase. To help her, I thrust my hips towards her, then another urge overtakes me, and I shove her face hard against my cock, her breath warming me through the fabric, each sputtered exhalation hotter than the last.

When she struggles, breath already restricted by the underwear in her mouth, I press harder, smothering her against my erection while the blood continues to pump, grinding my throbbing length against her face while her flailing hands slap at me, barely more than a tickle.

She becomes so frantic that I relent, shoving her away and directing her hands back to my belt.

“Quickly,” I snap. “The longer you take, the more straps you’re getting.”

Brooke’s chest hitches, her nostrils pinching and flaring with each breath, her nipples tightening until they could score glass.

But her fingers rally, working out the buckle and sliding the tongue from the leather, letting it fall open, her hand briefly curling to rub the backs of her knuckles against my straining length.

“Pull it all the way off.”

The lick of the cured leather as it’s dragged through the fabric hoops makes my throat go dry. I push her hands away, unable to bear the slow speed any longer, tugging it free, then doubling it, snapping it in her face until the only colour in her face is the swelling redness of her lips and two raging streaks of crimson along her cheekbones.

“Turn around. Balance on your hands and spread your legs apart.”

She follows the instructions, no sign of her defiance in existence now. Her posture’s meek, obedient, perhaps realising the monstrous cruelty of her actions tonight. Finally apologetic for what she’s done.

You’re the one choosing to fuck your son’s girl.

But it doesn’t feel like a choice. My vision narrows to her hips, her exposed buttocks, the soft tender flesh on the inside of her thighs.

It feels like if I don’t have her, I’ll die.

I fire the belt across her rear with no warning. A cry catapults from her throat, caught and muffled by the panties still balled in her mouth.

A red streak appears on her skin. I pause, tracing its appearance with my thumb, then rubbing my palm against it in a soothing motion until Brooke’s tension releases.

The moment it does, I crack the belt hard against her arse again.

I reach into myself, trying to find my work persona, to pull it on like a flexible garment capable of transforming myself into whoever a client needs me to be.

But I’ve never needed that with Brooke, and it doesn’t help me now. Her proclivities have always perfectly aligned with mine and tonight isn’t any exception.

She acted out and needs to be disciplined. I’m wearing the wounds from her appalling display and need to dish out the blame.

I close my eyes.I should have walked out of that café the instant I felt that strong pull of attraction.

I should have…

I should have…

But I didn’t and here we are.

I raise the belt, ready for another strike.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

BROOKE

The belt leavesa trail of fire across my backside as I bite down on the sob that wants to erupt.

Another scalding mark burns my tender skin, this time across the back of my thighs. I scream around the underwear wadded in my mouth, the ones from a set that cost hundreds of dollars to be handsewn to my exact specifications. The ones that made me shiver as I pulled them on earlier tonight, the silky fabric cold against my skin.

Back when I still had the ability to make rational choices.

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