“Dane—”
He dropped her arm as quickly as he’d grasped it, but the heat of his touch left a brand on her flesh.
And it was ridiculous. Just one damn second of contact, and now she missed it. Craved it. She recrossed her legs against the surging ache between them, but it didn’t give her any relief.
But then he had to make it worse.
“It’s not just kinky sex.” His voice was low and gruff.
“Oh?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love the sex.” He raised his beer to his lips and finished the last of it. “I love to get a woman on her knees. Tie her down or make her hold herself in place. Swat her ass till it’s pink. Make her come until she can’t anymore or refuse to let her at all.”
Fucking hell. Something inside her squirmed. It was hot and it was uncomfortable, and maybe—just maybe—she liked it.
People could be listening. People she had to work with. But she couldn’t bring herself to glance around again. Dane’s gaze had her pinned more securely than rope could ever hope to.
“But it’s not everything.” With that, he slammed his empty glass down on the table. He looked to hers and back. “Are you finished?”
She’d barely so much as started.
The promise in his eyes had her nodding, though.
He pulled out his wallet and plunked a few euros down. When he grabbed her hand this time, she didn’t resist. Stopping only to tell Carlos that it was late and he needed to see her home, he dragged her from the bar.
The instant they were outside, he spun her around. Her spine met the cold stone of the exterior of the building, driving the breath from her body, and there was no way to get it back, no way to think when hot lips pressed to hers, the smooth glide of his tongue between her lips, and she arched, giving in to it.
He pulled away, and it left her even more dazed.
“The sex isn’t everything,” he said again, even rougher this time. “But it’s a damn good place to start.”
chapter ELEVEN
“Strip.”
Dane barely managed to get the door to Lexie’s suite closed behind them before the restless, itching thing beneath his skin took over. He shed his jacket and pulled his already-loosened tie from around his neck, dropping both to the floor. Across the room from him, Lexie’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t hesitate. Her blouse was up and over her head in a flash, revealing those gorgeous tits straining against the fabric of a purple lace bra.
Fuck, he liked it when she was under his hand. As she raced to obey his command, the unsettledness in his lungs finally eased, the tetchy ripples in his psyche going smooth as glass.
There were a lot of places in his life where he didn’t have control. His career and where he lived. His working hours spent following directions and living to serve.
In a bar, when a sexy, feisty, impossible woman dared him to prove her wrong about the assumptions she was making about his life.
What the hell did she think of him? Yeah, he liked his weekends. Work was for the week, and he needed those hours between Fridays at five and nine on Monday mornings to set things right in his head, or he’d lose it. Explode and ruin everything, disappoint everyone.
But clubbing? Drinking? Sure, he liked a good night out as much as anyone, but partying didn’t fix things for him. Not the way this did.
He liked a good, hard sweat. A woman on her knees at his feet. With a crop in his hand, he found the control the rest of his life was so sorely lacking.
And at the top of a mountain, breathing clear, fresh air, braced to dive off the edge of a ravine, he could let it go.
But apparently she just thought he was a drunk. Based on the answers he’d managed to choke out to her questions, she probably thought he was a sex fiend, too, and maybe she was only so far off the mark with that one. But there was more to him. A lot more.
A powerful impulse sprang on him out of nowhere, iron bars surging out of thin air to wrap in a crushing grip around his ribs.
He wanted her to know it. Him. He wanted to show her just how much more he could be.
Moving with purpose, he crossed the room to her. She was down to her bra and panties. He’d missed his chance to stop her taking off her heels, but that was probably just as well. They’d been hurting her all night, and he might be a sadist, but he knew well enough that eventually that kind of pain stopped being fun for anyone. Too bad, though. Those shiny red shoes made her look so damn good.
But this was good, too. With every piece of her business wear she took off, she disarmed herself. Her naked feet were yet another layer, a vulnerability that made a different kind of power-hungry asshole inside of him sit up and take notice.
Her arms moved to reach for the clasp of her bra. Surging forward, he grasped one wrist in each hand to stop her. Then with the weight of his stare and a shove at her arms, he pressed her down.
Fuck, she had good instincts. Completely untrained as a sub, and yet she dropped to her knees so beautifully, leaning into him as she did so the impact barely made a sound.
“Perfect,” he murmured. He released her wrists. Standing over her, he went to work at her hair. What the hell was she thinking always doing it so harshly? One pin after another came free. Carelessly, he let them fall to the ground. Finally, the knot came loose. All that gorgeous, shining black hair tumbled around her shoulders. He combed his fingers through it once before taking the bulk in his fist. He yanked it back, and her eyes watered, but they were pointed straight at him.
Power flowed through him, liquid gold running hot inside his veins.
“We’re going to try something new tonight, sweetheart.”
Her throat bobbed.
“Traffic lights,” he said. “Red, yellow, green. I ask you how you are and you tell me. Green means you’re good, yellow means slow down. Red and I stop. Repeat it back to me.”
She blinked at him for a second, and he gave her hair another pull. That made the words pour out of her. “Green is good, yellow to slow down, and red to stop.”
“Good girl. You know why we’re switching it up?”
She shook her head as much as she could with him holding on to her like this.
“Because I’m going to push you. You might say stop and not mean it, so we’re going to be clear.” He swallowed hard, his breath evening out, everything calm and right inside his mind. “What color are you now?”
“G-green.”
Fires sparked inside his chest. She was right there with him.
Well, they’d see if she could keep up. “This afternoon, when I came to see you. Do you remember what I said I wanted to do to you?”
Her breath went high and ragged. She nodded.
“Tell me.”
How was this even the same woman who bossed him around all day? Who ruled the halls and had everyone jumping and asking how high?
Eyes glassy, lip wavering, she said, “You wanted to spank me.”
His cock, already hard, started to ache.
“That’s right.” With his other hand, he caressed her cheek. “Do you know why?”
She shook her head. “No, Sir.”
He was pretty sure she had an inkling, but just this once he’d let it slide. “Because you were a brat.”
She flinched as if he’d raised his hand, and he was itching to now. That time on the plane, he’d taken a couple of gentle swats at that perfect ass of hers, and she’d gone to pieces for it, had cried for it. He breathed in sharply and tightened his grip.
“I tolerate a lot of things on the job.” God, did he ever. “But no matter who’s in charge, I don’t put up with back talking. I do not tolerate passive-aggressive bullshit. You have something on your mind—you think I’m neglecting you, misunderstanding you, mistreating you, whatever, you tell me. To my face. You don’t bottle it all up and then lash out over stupid crap. You don’t take it out on me at work.”
And he was walking a line here. Their professional relationship and whatever was happening betw
een them were two separate things. He couldn’t blur them, but the way she was letting them bleed wasn’t going to work, either.
“Respect me enough to talk to me.” The words echoed in his ears.
That was all he’d ever wanted. To not be a pawn in other people’s problems. To not be collateral damage. For people to respect his fucking choices and tell things to him plain.
Here, at least there was something he could do about it.
His vision refocused. Lexie gazed at him with her mouth parted, her eyes welling up, and it squeezed his heart to the point of pain. Apparently, he’d struck a nerve.
Well, good.
Giving her head a shake, he breathed in deep. “Tell me. Tell me you understand.”
A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “I do.”
Why the hell was this hitting her so hard?
All he was asking was for her to be direct with him. That wasn’t exactly unexplored territory.
And yet, in its own way, it was. The people in her social set never talked about . . . well, anything. The house she’d grown up in had been full of silences, and as everyone around her left, the quiet had only deepened.
Even her father had never told her outright what a fucking disappointment she was. Not until after it was too late and he was already behind bars. When she went to Paris to retrieve Rylan, she’d spent the entire trip talking all around the subject until the very end when she’d had to say it out loud. She needed him. She couldn’t save their family without him.
And Jordan. She wanted to laugh around the tears that spilled so freely from her eyes.
Passive-aggressive was the only language they had spoken. She hadn’t been able to see it at the time, but it was so clear now that he’d only been with her in some mad bid to get ahead. And yet he’d never really been able to handle the fact that she’d been richer and more powerful than him, and his thinly veiled resentment had colored every aspect of their lives. Whether it was picking a restaurant to order in from or silently arguing about who got to call the shots in bed. And she’d been too young, too naïve, had felt too weak to give voice to any of the things that had felt wrong.
But here she was, on her knees in front of a man her father would have looked down at. She was all but naked while he stood above her in a crisp white shirt and charcoal slacks, and it was clear where all the power was.
Except instead of lording it over her, he was giving her some back. He was telling her right here and now that her voice mattered. He wanted to hear it.
Something in her chest unlocked.
The word slipped past her lips. “Green.”
He paused. “What was that, pet?”
“Green, Sir.” A full-body shudder racked her.
“I’m so green.” It was what she was supposed to say when she was good, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt better. Everything was soft and perfect in her head, and there was nothing she had to do but what he told her to. She had the vocabulary to tell him what she thought; she had the blanket invitation.
But she didn’t have to. She didn’t have to hold it together or keep everyone around her afloat.
Comprehension lit his gaze like a lightning storm. Bending at the waist, he tugged at her hair until she lifted her chin, presenting her mouth for him to ravish. The kiss was biting and hard, and it made her go wet between her legs, her breasts twin points of aching need. He scraped his teeth across her lip, and she gasped.
He took her over when they were like this, and that should scare her. Only she’d never felt so safe.
“Come on.” He broke the kiss. Dropped her hair and grabbed her by the arms.
She was in motion, a rag doll to his touch. The room spun, until the next thing she knew, he was seated on the bed, his back against the headboard, and she was draped across his lap. Ass up, face buried against the sheets.
Oh God. The fabric of his trousers scratched her bare skin. She was exposed and helpless, secured by the heat of his palm between her shoulder blades, right where she was usually so tight. Right now, you couldn’t have tied a knot there with string.
His other hand settled firmly on her ass, cupping the globe, fingertips dipping beneath the fabric of her tiny, lacy panties.
“Say it again. Why am I punishing you?”
She shivered at the edge of danger in his voice.
“For—for being a brat. Not talking to you. Taking things out on you.”
“You remember how three felt last time?”
Did she ever. It had burned and stung, and every stroke had felt like a release. “Yes, Sir.”
“This is a bit more serious, don’t you think?”
She didn’t think. She didn’t know. Her head was somewhere far above her body, floating.
“Sir,” she choked out. It was all she had.
His hand went still against her skin. “Lex?”
“Green.”
The heavy, wet sound of his swallow hit the air. Any uncertainty she’d heard when he’d said her name was gone. Firm, he said, “Ten, then.”
Instinctively, she braced herself, but he didn’t just start right in. For a few excruciating moments, her shaking breaths and his steady ones were the only sounds in the room. He rubbed at her flesh, brisk circles over her ass and lower, along her thighs and to the mess of need between them. She whined, pushing back against his fingers when they slipped along the panel of her underwear, a teasing brush against her clit that left her longing for more, only there wasn’t any.
His hand pulled away.
She’d gone so soft and easy in the time that he’d been petting her. Her muscles didn’t even have a chance to stiffen before the first blow came. It was light, a short, swift smack against the fleshiest part of her cheek, and it was followed less than a second later with a mirroring impact on the other side.
That wasn’t that bad. She relaxed, splaying out her hands.
And so he somehow took her unawares with the next few, too. Harder, they rocked her body, leaving a deeper sting that faded to a humming buzz beneath her skin. He alternated sides except when he didn’t, and by the sixth and seventh, she was wiggling, trying to move away from the strike, but he held her firm.
The eighth one hurt.
She grunted, eyes snapping open, and she made to whip her head around. She had this sudden, implacable need to see him, to look into those eyes while he was doing this to her. But he pushed her down, mashed her face into the sheets and hit her again, in the exact same place, and she yowled.
Everything went still and silent for an aching, impossible moment. She could feel everything—the heat of his hand where it hovered inches above her and the weight of his arm that held her down. The roughness of his pants and the smooth cool of the sheets, the thundering, pounding, trembling rhythm of her heart.
The last blow landed, and he squeezed, dragging the blunt tips of his nails over bruising flesh, and she cracked wide open. Her rib cage shattered, and her heart came pouring out, her face hot, tears coming without stop now.
“Shh, shh, you did so good, it’s over, you were perfect, beautiful.” His string of reassurances hit her ears, and he turned her over. Bundled her close and cradled her against his chest.
She clung on, crying and soaring. Burying her face in the hollow of his throat, she let it all go. Her ass was tender and her insides even more so, but it was amazing. It was everything she’d needed and never known.
The rough pads of his thumbs stroked beneath her eyes, wiping away tears until she could see again, but everything was still a blur.
“It’s over,” he said again. “You did so well. You took it exactly the way I knew you could. You’re forgiven, you’re perfect, you’re so good.”
And just like that, the shards of her chest that he’d blasted apart came together again, only stronger. She was full of light.
“Really?” God, it sounded so tiny and sad, but he tipped her head up and stared straight into her eyes, his gaze full of pride and awe.
; When had anybody ever looked at her like that?
She barely had a moment to catch her breath or to regroup before his lips were on hers. He kissed her deeply, holding her close, and she let him do whatever he wanted to. She was water, and he was a rock. His hands traced her sides and along her back, and every caress was golden and warm.
Then his hand skated over her breast, and the warmth flashed to fire.
“Oh God, yes, Sir, please.”
He shhed her again, licked into her mouth as his hand dipped lower.
“I take care of you.” The words rumbled deep in his throat, vibrating through her as he kissed his way to her jaw and sucked at her pulse. “Don’t I?”
“Yes.” She opened her legs to his exploration, her whole body singing when he dipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear. He found bare flesh, light strokes dancing all up and down her lips before slipping between. Letting her head roll back, she tilted her hips into his touch, silently begging him to press deeper, take more.
“Punishment when you’re naughty and pleasure when you’re good. Do you think you deserve pleasure now?”
Fuck, she hoped so. “Please . . .”
“Do you deserve it?”
Still, she resisted. “I don’t know, Sir, just—”
“Tell me.”
“Yes!” She would’ve said anything.
Apparently, he agreed. Gaze flashing to midnight, he pushed thick fingers in, filling her, and his thumb connected with her clit. She arched into it, clawing at his shoulders, scarcely able to breathe she was so close.
“You do. You deserve it, baby. Gonna make you come so hard. You’re perfect, perfect—”
Oh God, he believed it. He’d seen her crying and being a bitch and he—he—
He thought she was perfect.
The orgasm burst through her out of nowhere, sweeping her away and crashing over her. Her vision went blank, and she curled even farther into him, biting down hard at his collarbone.
But when it started to recede, he didn’t stop.
“No,” she protested, oversensitive, but it still felt so good. “No—”
Nine Kinds of Naughty Page 12
