Spanked by the Bad Boy

by London Saint James

  She moaned, spreading the silken pre-cum leaking from him with her fingertip and licking her lips. Tiffany wanted to taste him. Put her lips over the crown. Skim her mouth along his shaft. Take him down the back of her throat. She swallowed, knowing the feeling when she took him inside her pussy would be even better. She needed to experience her sex stretched over the head of his dick again. The fiery invasion. The awareness of being totally filled when he pressed into her tight channel.

  Her chest heaving, she mumbled, “Condom.”

  “Sorry, sugar. We’ll have to settle for this,” he said. Declan removed his fingers from her body and tugged her hips down on him before he placed his steel between her feminine folds. “Slide your sweetness along the length of my cock.”

  Oh, God. She was so slick, she easily made the glide up and down, her chest rubbing against his.

  In the next instant, he splayed his large hands across her ass, pulling her against him even tighter. This was good, sex without penetration, something she’d never done before, and the delicious sensation had her nipples pebbled hard against the material of her bra, but when he flicked out his tongue, everything got better. She moaned and gave him access to her neck, where he wasted no time and tickled the hollow of her throat before he nipped at the soft flesh with his teeth. She shivered.

  “There you go.” The vibration of his deep voice sent a wave of pleasure across the canvas of her flesh. Every part of her body hungered for his touch. He slapped her ass. She jumped and lost her rhythm—taken aback. “Faster,” he demanded, and she didn’t have time to consider if she liked the swat or not. He spanked her again. “Move your fine ass.”

  She complied, sliding herself up and down. He slapped her ass once more, but this time the sensation sent a buzz to her already-stimulated clit. The joy spreading across her caught— a wildfire.

  “Again,” she uttered in a breathy voice.

  “Like that, do you?”

  God help her, she did.

  “Yes.”

  Moving against him in an intimate skin-on-skin lap dance, he tapped her ass in stinging blows. Heat shot up her spine. She connected with his stormy-sea-colored eyes—their breathing harsh and ragged.

  Bang. Bang. Bang….

  “Boss,” a man’s muffled voice came through the door.

  “Not now!” Declan yelled, his exhalation of warm breath bathing her cheek as he pumped his hips upward. Never breaking his gaze from her, he swatted her ass.

  “We have the concrete forms done, so you need to come take a look at them,” the man said.

  “Later!” Declan’s palm swirled over the sweet sting of where the last blow connected.

  “Okay, boss, but we can’t….”

  The sound of his next open palm swat echoed off the walls and bit into her flesh a little harder, but she continued to work him between the folds of her sopping pussy. He squeezed her ass before he separated her likely rosy globes and pressed a finger to her pucker, adding a new darkly pleasurable sensation to rage through her body.

  Clit ring swiping along his hard dick, she announced, “I’m going to come.” He smacked her bottom, the tingle working into the oncoming climax. The next blow had Tiffany spilling over the edge, shaking, listening to some construction worker talk through the door. If he came in, there was nothing she could do. She was too far gone in her own ecstasy to care. “Ahh….” she moaned, her orgasm thundering through her, pussy clenching on air, ass tightening over the tip of his thumb.

  Declan pressed his forehead to hers. “Stay with me.” When she wavered, he took over, both hands on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, lifting her up and down as though she weighed nothing. “Shit, yeah.”

  He grunted. Brow furrowed.

  His body shuddered against hers. His cock jerked between her labia. His release shot hot cum up between them.

  Without missing a beat, Declan took her with his tongue, swallowing her panting breaths while their bodies quaked against one another.

  Completely sated, Tiffany lay amidst the scent of sex, cheek resting against Declan’s chest, listening to the beat of his heart while he brushed his hand down the back of her head then played with the ends of her hair.

  “I’m going to take you out to dinner tonight,” he said.

  She stiffened and extricated herself from his lap. “I already told you. I don’t get involved with anyone associated with the firm.”

  “Uh huh,” he said, drolly.

  She tugged her skirt down over her ass, and glowered at the splash of once-intact white underwear on the floor by his large, booted feet. Good God. The old wives’ tales about the size of a man’s feet were true.

  Her gaze shot to the clip teetering on the arm of the couch. Grabbing it, she twisted her hair up and secured the mussed strands while Declan efficiently wiped his softening cock clean with his shirt before tucking himself into his jeans and re-buttoning them then pulled the soiled garment over his head.

  Unable to look at anything other than him, Tiffany gawked at the hard-packed muscles making up the man. All bulging ripples, hard angles, cuts, contours, and the tattoo. It snaked up his right arm, came over his shoulder, and down his right pectoral, forming a colorful, fiery dragon she wanted to explore more fully with her tongue. Declan was, in a word, perfection.

  When he got up from the couch, she thought he might come to her although why he would, she didn’t know. She’d shut him out with her postcoital rigidity and the turn down for dinner. They’d had their bit of fun. It was time for her to go and for him to get back to work, so when he strode over to a cardboard box on the floor, she knew better than to be disappointed he hadn’t intended to perhaps kiss her one last time and tell her good-bye.

  Don’t be so stupid. You’re not his girlfriend. You’re a too-easy piece of ass.

  She shook her head, pissed at herself. Why couldn’t she find a nice guy who liked to wear nice clothing, who wanted to take her to nice places, and who would treat her like something shiny instead of the tainted woman she was? And why did she have to act like the tainted woman she was? She could stop. Not fall into the trap of always succumbing to the rough man with big hands and an even bigger dick.

  She bit at the inside of her cheek. Size didn’t matter. She could handle an average Joe with an average-sized member. She could make love in a bed. Vanilla. Sweet. Couldn’t she?

  Declan opened the flaps on the box and tugged two Tshirts out. He leisurely put one on, stomach muscles crackling before the cotton material covered his grandeur.

  “It’s only dinner,” he said.

  She beat back the part of her dying to say yes with the most brutal stick she could imagine.

  “No.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She shook her head. “No dinner.”

  “Wear the little blue dress you wore to work a few weeks ago.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I heard you.”

  She huffed. “Well then?”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  There’s nothing special about you, she internally berated. His dinner suggestion is a more-respectable excuse to get into your pants. As if he had to have an excuse. In fact, he’s probably parted more pussy with his talented tongue than a porn star at a peach-eating convention.

  Flicking the tip of a fingernail on her teeth, she wondered why the thought bothered her. She wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the word, but then she remembered the woman he was with at the party and how she’d looked at him. Guilt for both their past and the present sexual encounters walloped her.

  “Don’t you have a girlfriend you could take to dinner?”

  Declan’s eyes flashed. “Fuck,” he said, sounding ticked. She took a step back. “If I did, do you think I would have been on my couch with you?”

  Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. She knew he’d had a girlfriend a couple of years ago and that fact hadn’t stopped him from fucking her then.

/>   “I don’t know. I don’t really know you, now do I?”

  “No. I suppose you don’t, but for the record, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “A wife, then?” she asked.

  “Shit, Tiffany. What kind of bastards are you used to?” Hulking, mean, two-timing ones, but she wasn’t going to admit to anything. She kept her frigid gaze on him. He shook his head. “I don’t have a wife or any other significant woman in my life apart from my mother.”

  She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh.”

  Some of the guilt subsided with the news he wasn’t with anyone at the moment.

  “And you?” he asked.

  She eyed him. “Me?”

  “Are you involved with any man besides the fancy-pants bleeder from the sports bar?”

  “No,” she said. “And for the record, I won’t be seeing Braxton again.”

  “Good,” he said in a stern voice. Goose bumps scattered across her arms. “Here.”

  He tossed her a shirt. She caught it.

  “What’s this for?”

  He inclined his head in the general vicinity of her stomach. “You might want to change out of your shirt.”

  She glanced down to see the evidence of his release smeared on her blouse. “Geez,” she uttered.

  He picked up the remnant of her thong, balling the fabric into his fist, and came to her. “Hazards of a nooner.”

  Shit. She glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the wall before she glared at him. “It’s not noon yet, so it doesn’t count.”

  He grabbed her chin, not hard, but firm, and penetrated her with his stare. “It counts.”

  She wasn’t going to stand there and argue the semantics of what did and didn’t constitute a nooner with him.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  One tawny eyebrow arched. “Why?”

  “I obviously need to change my shirt.” She waved her fingers at him in a sweeping motion. “So turn around.”

  He chortled. “Are you serious?”

  She put her hand on her hip, wrenching free of him. “Yes.”

  “Sugar, I had my fingers dipped inside your sweetness.” He waggled the two digits at her. “And my dick was tucked between those pouty lower lips while you came on my cock. So why in the hell are you getting all uppity about changing your shirt in front of me?”

  ***

  Tiffany looked at her flushed cheeks in her rearview mirror prior to pulling out of the construction zone. She needed to go home and take a quick shower before returning to work. Glancing down at her DC Construction T-shirt -covered torso, she groaned.

  Why did I tell him he made me burn?

  She figured being drunk with lust had something to do with her confession. She turned on her radio, hoping to clear her thoughts while she drove, but she knew her professionalism, probably some of her dignity, and every bit of her resolve to change her impetuous behavior had been lost today on a couch in a temporary field office with a man who worked closely with her boss.

  Declan is the embodiment of sin, she told herself, trying to come up with a well-formed excuse for her current lapse in judgment. She snorted at her own absurd thought. She’d been with sexy men before, and lots of men were well put together, hot even, but….

  The simple truth was Declan Cage caused her blood to race through her veins with one touch and forced her libido to kick into a sort of frenzied overdrive. Oh yeah, something about the way he handled her made her think she would die if she didn’t have him and his hands plastered on every inch of her body.

  She thought about those hands and the mastery in them. She loved how they stung her flesh in a delicious way when he swatted her ass. No man had dared to spank her before. She licked her lips, recalling the sensation. The flames streaking over her skin. The gravelly tone of his voice and the way he commanded her to move faster. His fervent kisses. The steely strength of him. His eyes and the way he looked at her. The man was hungry for her. A kind of eat-her-up-with-a-spoon-then-go-back-for-seconds hungry. And the sound he had made when he came thrilled her.

  You need to get a grip.

  Something inside her head clicked into the present, and she realized she’d been driving too fast. She slammed on her brakes.

  Her car skidded several feet, coming to an abrupt halt the moment she rear-ended the vehicle stopped at the red light in front of her. The scene transformed into slow motion. She took in a snapshot of her hands white knuckling the steering wheel, her body’s forward momentum stopped by her seatbelt, and the sound of metal crunching right before her engine died.

  Chapter Six

  “Jesus,” Declan muttered to himself. He made his way across the graveled lot and over to the area where his men had laid the concrete forms.

  Tiffany was the type of woman most men would consider an enigma. A puzzle many wouldn’t bother to solve. He pondered for a moment. He had every intention of cracking the mystery of Ms. Brooks. Yes, she played a good game and dressed provocatively, yet acted put out by the fact a man would notice her or the game. She exuded sexuality, but, on the other hand, refused to admit she secretly liked being admired for the one thing she didn’t want to be admired for. She was uptight, suspicious, guarded even, but when she let her defenses down, she was a sexual hellcat who took a man’s lead. And dissolved a man’s good intentions.

  He wanted to spend quality time with her. Learn more about her. Her likes and dislikes. Did she prefer a night out or a quiet night in? What kind of music did she listen to? Did she have any brothers or sisters? What was her favorite color? Did she enjoy a dollop of ice cream with her pie? Those were standard getting-to-know-you kinds of things before climaxing with a person, he supposed, but he wasn’t going to complain about the mutual, fucking-fantastic orgasm he’d had with her either.

  Declan took in a deep breath and smelled the lingering, fresh, floral scent of her perfume on his skin. The sweet aroma only reminded him of how much he still wanted her. She’d been so responsive to him and his touch.

  He recalled her face when she came and how the pink hue overtook her cheeks. How her little body felt in his arms. The taste of her sweet mouth and the slick, velveteen softness of her tongue. Those mews of pleasure eking from her talented lips as they kissed. And the clit ring. Woo, baby. He couldn’t wait to get his tongue on her sexy accessory. Most of all, he remembered the way she burned for him. Oh, he liked how she burned.

  Kicking a rather large rock from his path with the steel toe of his boot, he mentally went over every moment of their time together. She was tight, warm, and wet. Truly, he had no idea how he’d kept from impaling her and fucking the shit out of her, bareback, but he’d restrained himself somehow.

  “Boss,” Jett greeted when Declan came to the outer edge of what would be a proper entrance once the concrete was poured and had time to cure. “Did I see Ms. Brooks leaving your office a little while ago?”

  “Yep.”

  Jett eyed him suspiciously. “Do you two have something going on?”

  “Not if she has anything to say about it,” he offered.

  “Ah. She’s playing hard to get.”

  Declan smirked. “Something like that.”

  When his phone rang, he was relieved for the interruption since he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to disclose about him and the drop dead gorgeous Tiffany Brooks.

  After tugging his cell from the holder clipped on the belt loop of his jeans, he quickly tapped the screen, put the phone to his ear, and said, “This is Declan.”

  “Bro!” His brother, Ryker, greeted him. “What’s the weather doing on the other side of the world?”

  “Hey, man. It’s unusually warm and sunny over here.”

  “Why is it always sunny when I’m out of town?”

  “Don’t know, Ryke, but it’s good to hear from you.”

  “Yeah?”

  Declan frowned. “Of course it is. Why?”

  “I figured since I didn’t make our parental units’ anniversary
party, you’d be pissed off at me, too.”

  “I’m not ticked, and Mom’s not really pissed either.”

  “Could have fooled me. She gave the phone to Dad when I called to send my best wishes the morning of.”

  “She was disappointed she didn’t have both her sons at her snooty country-club soiree. You know how much it thrills her to gab on and on about her two successful boys. Especially you, the security software mogul who travels the world.”

  “Mogul?” Ryker chuckled. “You’re the one who’s been scoring eighty-million-dollar construction deals, so she should have been giddy to have you there.”

  “You know Mom. She thinks we’re a package deal.”

  “I guess you’re right about her wanting us both at her ‘we’re still married and haven’t killed each other yet’ shindig.”

  Declan laughed, picturing his brother doing finger quotes. “Mom will get over it. Send her flowers or something.”

  “Listen. I have another idea on how to make things up to her, and I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure. What do you need?” Declan asked. He scrubbed the palm of his free hand down the back of his head, the stubble of his buzz-cut poking at him.

  “I’m flying into Denver and plan on sticking around for a few days before flying out to the software convention in Las Vegas, and I want to surprise Mom, so don’t tell her I’m coming.”

  “Okay. Mum’s the word.”

  “I figure she won’t slam the door in my face if I show up with you to make a delivery of fresh stems in person.”

  “She’ll love that,” Declan said.

  “Can you come pick me up from DIA. on Monday?”

  “Sure. You know I’d be happy to. What time does your flight get in from Singapore?”

  “Eight fifteen,” Ryker said.

  “A.m. or p.m.?”

  “P.m..”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Great,” said Ryker. “Well, Deck, it’s three a.m. here, so I better let my head become acquainted with the pillow.”

  “Alright. Get some rest, Ryke. I’ll see you Monday.”