Page 11 of Vows in Sin
He pauses a moment. Did my response surprise him as much as it did me?
Not only am I not fighting him, I’m begging for more?
“You want it?” His voice is low, gravelly. One finger traces the line of my spine to the swell of my ass.
I want it all. Everything he can give me. “Hell yes.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want…” The question is poison in my mind. Temptation on my lips. I arch into that touch. “I want you to ruin me.”
The sound he makes is part hunger, part delight as he brings his palm down. I cry out, but it’s more a plea than a protest. He follows the smack with a gentle brush of his fingertips, smoothing the heat into a different kind of fire in my pussy.
He lets my shaky whimper hang in the air, savoring it, then delivers another strike—firmer, harder—branding my other cheek. My hips dance involuntarily with each impact, a whine of desperation slipping past my lips.
“Count,” he commands, voice thick with hunger.
Can I? Humiliate myself in front of him? Obey every one of this stranger’s devilish demands.
He’s tired of waiting. I get a sharp swat to let me know.
“O-one…” I stutter, the word trembling on my tongue.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I flush with shame and something dangerously like pride as he pauses, letting anticipation coil. Then his hand falls again, and again.
Each spank is methodical, each strike designed to heighten my sensitivity, alternating cheeks until I’m writhing helplessly against the desk.
“Three…f-four… five…” My count is fractured with every spank. Each number feels like surrender.
He leans close, his breath hot at my ear. “Let this be a lesson to you, doll. Stick to your own streets and don’t go nosing where you don’t belong.”
By seven my voice cracks, unshed tears gleaming at the edges of my eyes. By eight I’m arching toward his hand, chasing the sting like a drug. By nine, I’m trembling with need for him.
God damn. This man… he’s fire and danger and brutal strength wrapped up in a single devastating package.
I need him. I need this. And I have no idea why.
“Ten,” I sob.
His palm lingers over my inflamed skin, heat radiating through me, and I close my eyes as his fingertips trace the reddenedcrescents he’s left behind. My pulse gallops in my ears, alive and achingly vulnerable under his touch.
Why am I here? Begging? Needing? Craving? Telling a man I’ve never met before to ruin me.
He drops his voice to a rough whisper of promise: “And if I ever catch you sneaking around our turf again… next time, it won’t be my hand. It’ll be my leather belt.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I murmur.
He helps me up, swivels me to face him. It’s just the two of us in this office.
He’s punished me and should be sending me away and calling a car, assigning a driver, yet his hands are back on my body already, claiming me like I belong to him.
Would I betray myself if I let him slip his fingers between my thighs again?
My breath catches as he leans in. I can’t fight the tremor that runs through me when his fingers brush under the damp lace of my panties. My knees weaken; I lean against him, hands clawing at his shoulders.
“Please, don’t stop,” I moan, body pressing into his.
His lips hover at mine—a beat away from kissing me. I meet him, tongue parting for his, tasting heat and danger.
