Page 4 of His to Take

The sudden image of him holding me down for a spanking, just like the bride in the picture, overcame me, burrowing into my vision and refusing to leave. I must be losing my mind; I’d never seen this man before and I was imagining being over his knee while he spanked my naked bottom. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked after all. Maybe that was why it was forbidden.

I swallowed hard, finally remembering myself in the embarrassing veil of silence that had descended over my office. By a massive effort of will, I forced my eyes back to his and extended my hand in welcome.

“Hello. Yes, I’m Dr. Naomi Vaughn,” I replied. Too quickly. My words seemed rushed.

I prayed he couldn’t tell what I was thinking.

“My name is Ryker Gates. Pleased to meet you,” he answered, as he took my proffered hand.

I was embarrassed to realize that I was staring again, hanging onto every word that left his mouth, as my addled brain registered the heat of his hand. Shaking my head imperceptibly to regain my self-control, I gestured toward the chairs arranged in front of my desk.

“Please, have a seat and tell me how I may help you, Mr. Gates.”

As he took his place, I turned and made my way somewhat unsteadily to my own seat behind the desk. Sitting behind the slab of wood I was suddenly enormously grateful for the wide barrier between me and this breathtaking man.

I glanced at my computer screen, trying desperately to keep my gaze from ogling his body up and down like he was a tall drink of water in the middle of a radioactive wasteland. Looking at my massive spreadsheet calmed me, but only a little.

To his credit, if he noticed, he said nothing.

A quick peek at the clock showed that it was past four-thirty. The museum would be preparing to close in the next twenty minutes or so.

“Now then, how may I be of service?” I asked, sitting back as I folded my hands in my lap.

He leveled his gaze directly on me and I couldn’t help but feel the heat of it. My pussy clenched as if it was calling for him and I lifted my chin, hoping he couldn’t see me blush.

“The Council gave me your name. They said your knowledge and experience would be very useful to my needs.”

His accent was slightly familiar. I couldn’t place it, but one thing I was sure of was that it wasn’t from New Englandia. He was from somewhere else.

“Your needs?” I asked.

Did those needs include using those big broad hands on my feminine flesh?

Damn. I was really losing my mind.

Out of the corner of my eye I suddenly noticed that there was a small corner of the wrapped wedding dress sticking out of the crate and I blanched a little on the inside, doing my best to cover it up. Crossing his long legs in the armchair in front of me, Mr. Gates didn’t even glance in the crate’s direction, which was a relief, at least somewhat.

“I’m a tenured member of the Pacifica Council. My role is acquisitions and development with a specialization in weaponry development.”

So, he was a foreigner after all.

Pacifica was a younger city state that had been established more than a century ago. Initially, they had kept to themselves, but they had begun to rise in power through the past several years. They’d struggled to gain a footing in the modern world, mainly because they’d supported policies that New Englandia and our close allies did not. They were based in the northwest corner of the former USA and their isolation had enabled them to develop a strong sense of cultural identity. It was rumored that they weremaking significant progress with their military, and especially with weapons technology.

Much of this was conjecture and whispers I’d overheard in the hallways, but for some reason him sitting here seemed to give credence to the gossip. For the first time, I genuinely started to believe it.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Gates,” I began.

“Please. Call me Ryker,” he beamed. There was a disarming quality to his features, a certain easygoing manner that struck me. I didn’t know why, but I felt like I was safe with him.

“Ryker,” I acquiesced, smiling thinly.

His grin widened at least tenfold. With a nod, he settled further into the armchair and folded his hands together in his lap. I couldn’t help but glance down at their roughened surface.

He didn’t have the hands of a man who sat behind a desk.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you. I’m the curator for the Natural History Museum of New Englandia. I know little about weaponry or their development,” I said. I wasn’t lying. I knew bits and pieces from old textbooks and sources, but nothing of which he wasn’t probably already aware.

“Your knowledge of twenty-first century history and your expertise in topography is world renowned. I’ve asked in many circles and your name is the only one that is consistently brought up with confidence, time and time again.”

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