Page 84 of The Owner's Temptation

He thinks he’s clever.

Let’s see how he likes getting a taste of his own medicine.

How many times can a boss think about getting their employee off with a purple vibrator before it becomes unhealthy?

Two? Three?

How many times can that same boss jerk off to the image of her thighs spread wide, soaked and shaking, while she comes all over his tongue—before HR should be notified?

Because if the limit is three, then I hit that somewhere between last night and this morning.

And that’s not even counting when she showed up at The Masquerade in that black dress, all curves and fire, practically begging for trouble. Or when she sat on my lap—smug and sweet—and I got a feel of those fucking stirrups holding up her stockings.

I still haven’t recovered from that.

I release another deep breath, irritation curling under my skin as I stare blankly out the window of my office. The city looks deceptively calm this morning.

Shame I’m not.

Because when I think about my finger toying with those stockings I remember Mateo saw her first.

The thought alone is enough to make my grip tighten into a fist. Even for a second—before I had a chance to really see her, to touch those legs—he got a glimpse.

And that pisses me off more than it should.

But I got my first real taste when I bent her over my desk.

Correction—when Imadeher bend.

Teaching her the position I like. The one she’ll need to remember for the punishments I know are coming. Because she’ll earn them. She wants to.

That look she gives me from behind the Devil’s mask at the club—curious and daring. That fucking look that dares me to lose control.

The way she mouths off, pushes buttons, tracks my movements like she’s studying the exact moment I’ll snap. Watching for the tension in my fists, like it turns her on to see me restrain myself.

Spoiler: It does.

And now I’m thinking about spanking her.

Great.

My cock’s already hard—again.

It’s like my brain tries to run damage control while my body’s already halfway to pressing her over the nearest flat surface and showing her exactly what happens to bad little rabbits.

Her ass would be beet red. Warm under my palm. My hand stinging from every delicious impact. Her breath hitching. Her back arching. Her thighs slick.

I shift against the counter and mutter,Jesus Christ, under my breath.

I need caffeine. Strong, black, and distracting.

I finish making the espresso, fixing it just the way I like it, and not a second too soon. Because I can feel her the moment she steps into the building.

She’s pissed.

Good.

The rush of her footsteps echoes sharply down the corridor. Her presence is electric. Hot. Furious.

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