Page 22 of The Darkest Knight

I circle her slowly, the subtle scent of flowers clinging to her skin. It’s maddening. She’s maddening.

“Jett, what’s wrong?” There’s confusion in her voice. “What is it?”

I stop in front of her, meeting her wide eyes. “You forgot the report I needed for my meeting. Do you have any idea how that makes me look?”

Her hand flies to her neck, fingers brushing against the delicate chain she’s wearing. “I’m so sorry. Did I really mess it up?”

“Yes.” I watch the way her lips part, the way her chest rises and falls as her breathing quickens. “You did.”

Shame flickers across her face and her gaze drops. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll make it right. I’ll fix it.”

“You know what happens when mistakes like this are made, don’t you?” I ask, sternly.

Her eyes snap to mine, wide and unblinking. “You punish me,” she whispers, chewing her lower lip.

The words hit me like a freight train. I freeze, swallowing hard as my mind blanks for a moment. She doesn’t look away, her cheeks flaming, her body tense as if daring me to do it.

“That’s right,” I murmur, rough and needy. Desperate for her. “Bend over.”

She steps toward the desk, her movements hesitant but deliberate. Pressing her palms against the wood, she leans forward, the curve of her hips impossibly perfect in that damn pencil skirt.

I grab the ruler lying on my desk. It feels cool in my heated hand, and the sight of her bent over, waiting expectantly, makes my pulse race. Turns my cock to steel. I let out a guttural groan, before giving her a light tap on the rounded curve of her perky bottom, thankfully against the fabric of her skirt. I couldn’t bear to hurt her, but I sense she likes this.

“That’s for messing up,” I say, my voice tight. Another tap. “And this is to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

She glances over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “I can’t feel it, Mr. Knight.”

“What?” I can’t believe my ears.

She straightens slightly, looking at me from under her lashes. “I can’t feel it through my skirt.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. “What do you expect me to do?” I’m in danger of losing my shit. Coming in my pants, if she doesn’t stop tempting me.

Instead, her lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile. “You said you were going to punish me. Then do it properly.”

I can’t think. I can barely breathe. But my hands move on their own, hitching her skirt higher, right up to her waist, to reveal satin, burgundy-colored panties edged with lace. Fuck me. I don’t know if I can do this—don’t know if I want to hurt her, even a little—but she bends over the desk again, her hands flat.

I tap the ruler lightly against her exposed skin. “Feel that?”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“I didn’t hear you,” I snarl, my tone harder now, desperate to keep control.

“Yes!”

I give her one more tap, watching the way her body reacts, how she tenses, then softens under my touch. “Feel that?”

“Oh yes,” she breathes. Her voice is like a spark against my skin.

The air between us is charged with electricity. Anticipation buzzes around us. I want—no, Ineed—to touch her, to push this further, to see how far she’ll let me go. But I can’t. Not here. Not like this.

“That’ll do for now.” I step back, using all my restraint. My words sound distant, even to my own ears.

She straightens, smoothing her skirt down as she turns to face me. A lock of hair falls loose, framing her face, and I want to reach out to tuck it behind her ear, to let my fingers linger. I yearn to touch her face. To trace my thumb across her lower lip, the one she always chews when she’s nervous or unsure. I want to slide my finger into her mouth and have her suck it.

I want …

I close my eyes, shake my head, try to compose myself. When I open my eyes again, my gaze drops to her blouse, the delicate material that hints at what’s underneath. I want to undo her buttons, take it off, see her, and then I want to …

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