by Jane Henry
She was in awe, and she deserved all of it. I wanted to shower her with luxuries, make her want for nothing. I’d take her on my private jet for coffee in Paris and panini in Rome, if she only asked me.
God, I was smitten, and she wasn’t even mine. I made my way to where she was.
“Anything you want while you’re here, Annabelle,” I said, lifting a hefty slab of expensive-looking soap from the basket. It was light pink and girly, and I would never let it touch me. It was wrapped in thick satin ribbon, tied to a soft washcloth. “Go for it,” I said. “Fill the tub. Enjoy yourself.”
She giggled, and I felt my cock twitch. Fuck, she was so cute and I hated that my thoughts turned to little more than stripping off the t-shirt and fucking her up against the wall. Drawing that moan out of her little mouth in my bed was more thrilling than landing the biggest account of my life. I wanted to do it again, and again, until my name echoed in her dreams.
I stood up briskly, frowning, hating that I was such a sick bastard.
Her eyes shuttered.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I can go to my room now and leave you to your meeting.”
“Oh?” I asked with a raised brow. “Don’t you want to take a bath in here?”
Her gaze flitted from mine and scanned the expansive bathroom once more.
“Well, yes, but I don’t want to —”
“Take the bath,” I said, stalking away from her before I did something I regretted. “And that’s not a suggestion.”
I slammed the door behind me, leaving her to her own devices.
Sick.
Bastard.
And now I could think of nothing while I finished up my meeting except her naked skin, her soaping up the washcloth and running it between her legs, over her smooth, shaved pussy —
A crash sounded in the bathroom followed by a little scream.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, my gaze hazy and red as I ran. What could she have possibly done? How could the bastards have come for her? I was right next to her door, and outside the window we were three stories up in an unreachable room.
I threw open the bathroom door, thankful she hadn’t locked it, and raced in, only to find her standing on the marble stairs that led out of the whirlpool tub, her hand on the shelf just above the hot tub, her mouth hanging open.
“I — I — didn’t meant to break it,” she began. Her gaze fell to the floor where a purple vase lay shattered on the tile.
I exhaled.
Holy shit, I had to get myself together. She’d dropped a vase and I’d practically expected her to be kidnapped.
“Are you all right?” I asked her, my voice sounding deep to my own ears compared to her soft one, the echo sounding in the loud expanse of the bathroom. I took a step toward her and reached to steady her. “Be careful on those steps, sweetheart. You could slip and hurt yourself. What are you doing getting out of the tub? You’ve only been in a few minutes.”
My gaze traveled to the bruises on her arms, the ones left by the bastards who’d attacked her, and I wanted to kill them. Murder them. The beating I’d given them hadn’t been punishment enough.
They’d hurt what belonged to me.
“I was only looking to get something else out of the basket,” she said, her eyes lowering bashfully. “A loofah or something…” her voice trailed off, and my eyes fell to her little fingers, now protectively crossed in front of her breasts. She slowly stepped into the tub, her eyes looking anywhere but at me.
God, she was beautiful. Her full hips were curvy and welcoming, her breasts round and perfect, her pink nipples begging to be licked, and her ass…God, that ass. I needed to own it. Spank her red. Own her.
I swallowed, hard.
She slipped into the tub, the bubbles coming up to her chin, her eyes finally coming back to me.
“I’m fine, really,” she said. “I will clean up the mess. Just please…can you leave, Mister Gryffin?”
Mister Gryffin? After I’d made her come and she’d called me daddy?
“Call me Sawyer, and don’t you touch that broken glass,” I said, pointing a finger at her and fixing her with what I hoped to be a stern gaze. “I’ll get someone to come clean it up.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said, raising her chin defiantly and her eyes darkening as she glared at me. “I can clean it up without assistance, and I’m big enough not to cut my little finger on broken glass, thank you very much.”
“Annabelle,” I warned, returning her glare with one of my own.
“Leave me, Sawyer,” she said, frowning at me. “I agreed to obey you, not be your sex toy.”
My hands clenched into fists and my palms tingled, literally tingled, I wanted to spank her so badly. The adrenaline kicked up, and I took a step toward the tub, carefully stepping around the glass. I squatted, gathering the pieces up into my hands, piling the largest ones first. It was a clean break, but we’d still need to sweep the floor. I stood for a moment, grabbed a washcloth from the shelf, and ran it along the floor to gather the stray broken pieces.
“You’re cruisin’, little lady,” I said, the desire to haul her out of the tub and toss her across my knee nearly blinding. “You don’t talk back to me.”
“Yeah?” she asked, and to my shock, I felt a wet splash hit my back. She’s splashed me. The little brat splashed me.
I rose slowly, careful not to cut myself with the pile of glass in my hand, as I turned to look at her. Her hand covered her mouth, as if she could not believe what had just happened.
“My God,” she gasped. “I — I don’t know what got into me,” she said, then she removed her hands and her brow furrowed. “You bring out the worst in me, though! Honest to God, I’m not this person who behaves like this —”
I continued stalking closer to her, the cold wetness on my back causing my anger to rise. “It’s my fault you splashed me?” I asked incredulously.
“Well...well not exactly,” she began.
“Get out of the tub.”
My deep command echoed in the quiet. Slowly, so slowly, she placed her hands on either side of the tub and pushed herself to standing, this time not bothering to cover her nakedness. She stared boldly at me, challenging me to punish her.
When she began coming down the steps that led out of the tub, I grabbed a thick ivory towel from the shelf and snapped it open. She jumped, but I merely waited. When she got close enough to me, I wrapped the towel around her shoulders and rubbed, then sat on a chair that stood next to the vanity, not letting go of the towel, but pulling her closer to me. I dragged the thick towel down between her thighs, careful to rub the area between her legs thoroughly. I made sure the edge of the towel hit her shaved pussy, and I did this several times until a little moan escaped her lips. When she was thoroughly dry, I removed the towel and tossed it toward the hamper. She watched it crumple into a heap before turning wary eyes to me. I held her gaze, reaching out a finger to her chin and holding it between my thumb and forefinger.
“What was the rule I gave you when you agreed to my terms?” I asked. It took effort to speak gently, but it was worth it as her eyes grew large.
“To obey you,” she said.
I nodded. “And what did I tell you would happen if you disobeyed me?” I asked.
She swallowed and shifted in front of me, but her nipples peaked. Dropping my gaze to her beautiful breasts, I flicked first one with my index finger, then the other. Her knees wobbled, but I steadied her with a hand on her lower back, pulling her closer between my legs. I could smell the arousal on her, feel how badly she wanted me to take her in hand again. But I could not hurt her. I would spank her, leave my mark on her skin, and punish her for her disobedience. But I would not hurt her, no.
“There would be…there’d be…” her voice trailed off as her eyes met mine, then she inhaled and squared her shoulders. “Consequences.”
I nodded. “Go fetch the basket with the soaps for me, Annabelle.” I knew what was in there, what would serve my p
urposes well.
She licked her lips. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
I warmed at that, my chest tightening, warmth spreading in my belly at her words.
Yes, sir.
She handed me the basket. I rifled through bath soaps and salts, loofah sponges and luxury shampoos, until I found the smooth, flat, wooden handle of the bath brush I’d seen in there. It was sturdy but lightweight, likely made of pine, and it would suit my purposes well.
I removed it and placed the basket back, but I jumped when she emitted a little squeal. I blinked, looking up at her, but she said nothing. I smacked the brush against my palm and raised a brow to her. “Do you deserve another spanking, Annabelle? Should Daddy put you over his knee again?”
Her eyes wide, her mouth parted, she nodded, her pretty brown hair cascading down her shoulder and just barely covering her breasts. Without a word, I pointed to my knee.
Obedience was not an option.
“May I — could I please — well, I…” she stammered, but then she shook her head, her slightly-dampened brown locks bouncing as she did so. She inhaled, and said, “Yes, Daddy.”
Then she laid herself over my knee. I closed my eyes briefly, the sight so moving at first I could not speak. She’d willingly given herself to me. She’d showed me she trusted me by placing herself over my knee.
“Does Daddy need to teach you some manners, babygirl?” I asked. She squirmed and I could see her thighs damp with arousal. God.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I lifted the bath brush and smacked my palm with it. She jumped, likely expecting me to spank her, but I had to test it first. It packed a good sting but was light enough it wasn’t awful. Without another word, I lifted the brush and snapped it against her naked ass. She squealed and her legs kicked up, but I gently touched the tip of the brush to her foot, lowering it to the ground, and waited until she lay still over my lap. I was so much bigger than she was, her hands could not touch the floor, so instead she grasped my pant leg. I’d never forget the feel of her little hands on my navy blue slacks.
I spanked her a second time, then a third, firm smacks that echoed in the large bathroom, her skin turning a fiery red beneath the unyielding wood, and as I spanked her.
“Will you do as you’re told?” I asked. “Or will Daddy have to teach you another lesson?’
“Teach me,” she panted. “Teach me another lesson, Daddy.”
Fucking hell, there was a dirty girl in my little virgin.
Switching the brush to my other hand, I flicked a finger between her legs, satisfied that she was wet as hell for me, then pushed her legs apart even further so I could finger her. Without a warning, I lifted my hand and smack, spanked her pussy, lighter than I’d spanked her ass but hard enough I could feel the sting. She yelled out loud. I grabbed a towel from behind me so she wouldn’t hurt her knees on the floor, then tossed it in front of me, pushing her off my lap and onto her knees. She looked at me with wide, seductive eyes, challenging me to punish her, to teach her to mind her daddy. Without breaking eye contact, I unbuckled my belt. She swallowed, her eyes falling to the leather as it slithered through the belt loops, hissing in the quiet, the soft clinking of the metal silenced when I fisted the buckle. I placed one hand on her shoulder and pulled her to me, effectively bending her over, while I flicked the belt on her ass, the sharp snap making her eyes widen, but she liked it, the sweet little brat liked it as she moaned out loud. My cock strained painfully against my pants, but I needed her to feel the taste of leather just one more time before I punished her more. Another flick of the belt brought a satisfying red stripe across her ass. I dropped the belt and she sighed.
“You want more, little girl?” I asked. She nodded, her head bobbing between my thighs. Fuck, she wanted me to whip her ass.
I would.
But first, she’d learn to obey me.
“You ever given a man a blow job, honey?” I asked. I loved that she was a virgin, and knew as the words left my mouth I never should have asked them, because if she confessed to blowing another guy, I’d have to find him and kill him.
She shook her head from side by side.
“It’s my job to teach you lots of things, then,” I said, unzipping my pants. Her eyes widened as I removed my cock and tickled her lips with the tip. “Open wide, honey. Time for you to learn another lesson.”
She licked the tip and for a moment I wondered if she’d lied to me. The girl was a natural. Just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of suction, and my head fell back as she suckled and licked my cock.
“Fuck, baby,” I said, my voice strangled and hoarse. “Holy fuck.”
She smiled around my cock, the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, still sucking, her eagerness to please me making me even harder. I gently twirled my hands in her hair and tugged. Her lids fell to half-mast and I nearly lost it. I fucked her mouth then, thrusting in and out hard enough to make her eyes water, but not hard enough to make her hurt. She gasped but did not release me. Although my orgasm was building, first and foremost, I had to take care of her. I couldn’t harm her. Though it took every bit of my self-control, I finally pulled out. She whimpered a little and her expression saddened.
“I didn’t do a good enough job?” she whispered, as pretty and fetching as a kitten.
“Baby,” I said, smoothing my hand along the top of her head. “That was so fucking good I was gonna blow in your mouth. I can’t do that to you. Not now. Not yet. You’re too new.”
“Oh.” Her face fell.
I’d let her down by not letting her swallow?
Jesus.
“Soon, baby,” I said. “Soon, you’ll have it all.”
She nodded then, her eyes warming at that. “Yes, Daddy.”
I wanted to fuck her so badly I could taste it, but I couldn’t take advantage of her. I’d take a quick shower and take care of business and move on with my day.
I would not fuck her. Not yet. No.
But even as I scolded myself, I knew. I was a goner.
A sick, twisted, fucking goner.
Chapter Nineteen
Annabelle
I didn’t know what came over me. This was crazy.
I was a virgin, never even had missionary sex before, and here I was on my knees sucking off the hottest, richest, dirtiest guy I’d ever met. My ass burned from the lashes of his belt, my skin on fire from being spanked by him.
And I liked it.
It was so wrong, and so delicious. And now I wanted more of him. I craved him like a starving woman craves food. One taste simply wasn’t enough.
“Go,” he said to me, jarring me from my thoughts. “Be careful walking on the floor until someone comes to clean it up, and go back to your room. We need to talk.”
Those words settled in my stomach.
We need to talk.
What did we need to talk about?
I reached for a towel, but he was too quick. He took the one he’d already gotten for me and draped it about my shoulders, tucking it in around me before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead and leading me out of the bathroom. “Go on and get dressed.” His eyes twinkled a bit, and I wondered why.
Delicious anticipation wove through me, and I turned to the door.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said over my shoulder. I opened the door with a trembling hand. Even the door knob felt expensive, the carpet beneath my feet, the thick towel wrapped around me.
How rich was he?
Billionaire, the papers said. He wanted for nothing.
But if that were really true, I mused, my bare feet padding along the thick, plush carpet…then why did he want me?
When I arrived in my room, I stood in the doorway, the towel falling off one shoulder, barely covering me. I stood, and stared.
A brass fixture sat in the center of the room with wheels on the bottom and hooks at the top, like a temporary wardrobe or something they might have for actors or people stocking shelves in stores.
Beautiful, luxurio
us, exquisite clothes hung from hangers.
All my size. All amazing.
I walked toward them like I was dreaming, my hand outstretched as if they’d disappear if I blinked. Glimmering golds and reds, a silvery satin with a pearl neckline, and boxes upon boxes lined up to the right of the closet. With trembling hands, I lifted one lid, my jaw dropping. Shoes, of every style imaginable. One glimpse and I knew one shoe alone would pay my rent for a year. I touched the buttery Italian leather and lifted one tan-colored platform, sniffing the rich leather. Oh, my.
A white folded note caught my eye. Placing the shoe back in the box, I reached for the note, and opened it, the towel falling to the floor. I stood naked in the room, the touch of his belt still stinging on my skin, awed by the luxury in my midst.
I have a business meeting I could not cancel, tomorrow morning, in Paris.
I’d like to take you on my private jet tonight.
Please choose something to wear that’s comfortable in the wardrobe, and pack a dress and shoes, whichever you’d like best.
Paris.
Paris!
Oh my freaking God. This was the stuff that dreams were made of. Was he ready to travel already? So soon after being injured?
I smirked. As if I could do a damn thing about it. He’d do what he wanted regardless.
I fingered the soft, supple fabric of a pretty red dress. Muted colors and drab, loose-fitting clothes were easy to find at the thrift store. These bold colors and low-cut necklines shocked me. Was he out of his mind? Where was the simple little black or gray dress I’d feel comfortable in? I eyed the shoes with disdain, scowling at them as if they would bite me.
“I’d fall and break my ankle wearing you,” I muttered at one lovely but death-defying pair.
“I’d catch you.”
I screamed, snatching at the towel on the floor as I spun to stare at Sawyer in the doorway. He was dressed in an elegant, well-cut charcoal gray suit, and he looked so good my mouth practically began to water. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his narrower hips pushed up against one side as he lifted a glass to his lips, amber liquid, ice clinking as he sipped. Ankles crossed, he was the picture of rich, casual perfection.
