Page 57 of Betrayed

When he turned back, he thought he heard a snicker. Grinning, he continued his perusal. He found a long, flat wooden stick with a curve at the end. This time, when he turned, he raised a brow in question.

“Not my back scratcher, please. If you break it on my naughty butt, how will I scratch an itch?”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh as he set it back down and moved on. “Eyes front,ma soumise, your wit is distracting me from my purpose.”

“Yes, sir.”

This time, he knew he heard a giggle. Good. She was coming out of her shell.

After another few moments, he came back armed with his improvised spanking implements, which he set on the floor out of sight. Let them be a surprise.

Picking up the first one, he stood at her hip, his hand smoothing the creamy perfection of her behind that he intended to turn glowing red.

“Part your legs more and give me a nice high target.”

Once she’d moved into position, he brought his hand down in a fast-moving arc. A resoundingthwapechoed in the room followed swiftly by a feminine yelp of surprise. Her head twisted around as his hand pulled back for stroke number two.

“My cashmere slippers, dear heavens. I’ve never—”

“I’ll go back for the back scratcher if you don’t face front.”

She grunted but turned back around. “Yes, sir.”

His purpose was twofold. He didn’t want her to see what was coming next, and he was having a hard time containing a huge grin. She was that cute.

He used the slipper quickly and firmly, slapping each cheek, left then right, up then down, until every inch had received a stinging kiss from the rubber-soled little scuff. After a good two dozen, he stopped, his hand admiring the rosy glow and the heat as he caressed each cheek slowly.

“You pinken up so nicely. It would be a rare man who could resist swatting these cheeks until they blushed for him.”

“Thank you, sir,” was her contented reply.

“Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes,” she sighed breathily.

“Hm, perhaps too much. Let’s step it up a notch.” He bent and retrieved the tilt wand from the mini-blinds.

“Arturo. Having problems?”

He blinked, the male voice intruding into their scene startled him. Taking in the dimness of her empty bedroom, he realized he’d been standing there for who knows how long, lost in a memory. A dick-hardening memory.

As he shifted in his uncomfortably tight pants, he replied, “No. I’m good.”

He added nothing else. What could he say?That he was so head over heels in love with his submissive who was implicated in an arms theft and the death of several agents and that he’d been having a wet dream about her when he should be cracking the safe?

With his tool bag in hand, he strode across the room to the family portrait. Wanting to punch the image of fucking Derek Hoffman’s smiling face square in the nose, he refrained. Instead, he lifted the frame from the wall and exposed the reason he was there.

When he saw the model name on the safe, he almost regretted that this would be so easy. A challenge might have taken his mind off Mari and her potential involvement in her dead husband’s messed-up shit.

“Give me the make and model and I’ll search for any special features,” Reed said in his ear.

“No need,” he assured him. “I’m familiar. It’s almost as old as I am. The cheap bastard must have bought it at a flea market.”

From his bag, he removed a screwdriver and popped off the display from the electronic lock. He then attached the wires to his handheld microcontroller and in less than a minute, it had read the 32-bit key from its memory and the locking mechanism released with a click.

“A bloody millionaire and he couldn’t dish out the $500 extra bucks for a decent lock,” he grumbled as he pulled the door open by the handle. “I’m in,” he told the team monitoring.

He took out a few stacks of cash, some stock certificates, and several black velvet jewelry boxes. Once it was empty, he ran his fingers along the seam between the bottom and the back wall. As expected, he could slide his nail under the felt-lined bottom. When he peeled, he found a small brown envelope.

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