Page 47 of Faking the Shot
Her lips part in a soft gasp, her pupils dilating. “Spank me?” she stammers, her tone a mix of shock and curiosity. But her eyes—fuck, her eyes—light up like I just offered her the most decadent treat.
“You want me to spank you, Val?” I tease, my voice dark, my thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as I study her face.
“I—I don’t know,” she whispers, her uncertainty laced with something deeper, something needier.
I lean closer, my lips brushing her ear as I speak. “We’ll try it once, and if you don’t like it, I’ll stop. You understand?” My voice softens slightly, but there’s no mistaking the command in it.
She nods slowly, hesitant but clearly intrigued. “Yes. I understand.”
“You’ll tell me what you want,” I continue, my thumb sliding over her bottom lip, teasing. “If what I like isn’t for you, you’ll tell me. Won’t you, baby?”
Her lips tremble under my touch, and her voice comes out barely above a whisper, soft and breathy. “Yes. I will.”
“That’s my good girl,” I murmur, my tone dropping, full of promise as I let my thumb linger for just a moment longer. Her skin feels like fire under my hand, and the way she’s looking at me—fuck, I could devour her right here.
I step back, just enough to give her space to slide off the counter. Her legs wobble slightly as she stands, and it takes everything in me not to pull her back, not to pin her against the wall and show her exactly how much I want her.
“Go on,” I say, my voice thick with restraint, “Get dressed. Don’t keep me waiting.”
She lingers for a beat, her gaze flickering between my eyes and my mouth, like she’s debating whether to push her luck. But then she nods, her cheeks flushed, and turns toward the stairs. As she walks away, I watch her hips sway and I swear to God, I’ve never wanted anyone more. She’s going to fucking ruin me, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Valentina
How to Be His Good Girl and Not Regret It
It’s not until I close the door to my bedroom that reality slams into me.
What the fuck did I let him do to me?
This isn’t me. I swear this isn’t me. I’m not some blushing virgin who gets swept away by a man’s touch. I’ve been married,divorced, and through every heartbreak in between. But nothing—nothing—prepared me for Kaden Crawford.
I never let a man fuck me in the kitchen. Never let a man talk to me the way he did, with that deep, rough voice that had me forgetting my own name. Every time he called me his good girl, logic demanded I tell him I’m a grown woman, not some naïve little girl hanging on his every word.
But the rest of me?
The rest of me was a puddle at his feet.
I wanted to be his good girl.
No, it’s worse than that.
Iwant to be hisgood girl.
And that want? It’s consuming. It’s raw and dirty and all the things I shouldn’t be craving. At this point, I’m pretty damn sure I’d let him do anything to me—anything—as long as he fucked me with that cock of his.
God, the thought alone sends a fresh wave of heat spiraling through me, making my thighs clench. The way he looked at me, touched me, like I was his and only his—it’s maddening. I want him so much it hurts.
But it’s not just the lust.
That’s what terrifies me.
Because every time he smirks at me, every time he teases me, or shows me a glimpse of the man beneath that gruff exterior, I feel something stir in my chest. Something warm, dangerous, and completely unwelcome.
It’s not just my body he’s messing with; it’s my heart.
And I know how that ends.
