Page 10 of Vows in Sin
God, to have this girl bent over my desk, under my control, looking this good—I almost can’t manage.
Almost.
I drag my fingertips up the backs of her thighs. “Skin shouldn’t be this soft.”
I lift her sparkly silver dress, inch by deliberate inch, exposing more of her beautiful body to me. I tug the dress higher, my breath hitching at the sight of black lace panties—almost sheer, barely covering her lush curves.
My pulse spikes.
“Goddamn,” she's temptation wrapped in silk and lace.
4
Seraphina
Why am I challenging this stranger? He’s massive, twice my age, and angry as a cage of hornets.
He’s dragging his fingertips over the backs of my thighs up to my ass. He’s threatened to punish me. I’ve never been spanked in—or out of a bedroom. The idea of his hand spanking my ass somehow has my core throbbing.
I should run. Scream. Fight. Something.
Instead, I take a shaky breath, my entire focus on his touch and the dangerous warm wall of muscle and man that traps me here. I want the sting. I need it. Bad.
Could the pain somehow erase the kind I can’t let go of?
I soon find out.
I jolt as his bare skin presses against my ass—his growl in my ear like a promise and a warning. The feeling of those calloused hands—grown ass man hands, working man’s hands—it’s almosttoo much by itself. The fire lights between my thighs; a wet warmth and a pulsing throb of need.
And all I can focus on is the sensation and his power over me.
He drags the firm heat of his palm down, following the curve of my ass. He stops at the top of my thighs. His curious finger inches beneath the leg band of my panties, hooking into the lace like a fisherman making a prized catch.
He pulls away the elastic lace, letting it go with a snap against my skin.
The humiliating gesture wakes me up from the trance he’s put me under. How dare he! I flip my head over my shoulder. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
Then I remember I’ve not fought him. At all. I should be kicking, screaming, and calling for Sideburns while telling off this beast of a man.
He growls, “Cute little panties,” pressing that same palm harder, letting me feel every ounce of restrained power in his fingers. “But they’re not gonna save you.”
He lifts his hand, palm hesitating in the air, hovering over me. My mouth snaps shut. The anticipation has me tight with tension.
I forget to fight.
He’s going to do this.
And I’m going to let him.
I bite my lip to keep from moaning.
The first smack lands sharp and precise, and the crack of skin-on-skin echoes like a gunshot in my chest. I gasp, my hips driven forward into the desk’s edge.
“Oh—!” I cry out. He stands behind me, shadowed and commanding, my moan betraying me.
I lean back against the desk, my skin humming, and I dare a glance over my shoulder. His chest rises and falls, each breath a promise of more. My throat is swollen, heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
I don’t know what comes over me. “Fuck,” I gasp. “Do it again.”
