by Shayla Black
The paddle was more intense and Lily found herself fading into the sensation, breathing steadily as Q soothed her burning rear and bracing for the next impact. There was only him and his hands, one that held the paddle, the other that reassured her. Even as her body clung to the bench, her mind clung to him.
She lost count of the strikes and when she sensed his body rising, she made no effort to move on her own. Instead, she waited for a cue.
“Who would like to take a closer look at my beautiful treasure?” he asked the crowd.
She was aware of movement. She felt the people circling around her. There were murmured words of praise, but none filtered through to her. Their words were for him.
His words were for her.
When Q finally helped her to her feet, she found the room empty. He removed the rope that bound her wrists and rubbed the indentations that lingered.
“Was I…” She searched for the word to convey what she hoped.
“You were incredible,” he said, drawing her close. With one hand, he raised his mask. Then he lifted hers. “But how did you feel?”
“W-w-warm,” she stammered, laughing nervously. “And sort of blank.”
“And did you enjoy that?” There was an edge running under his words and she realized he was worried.
Lily tilted her head up so that their eyes met. She wanted him to see the truth of what she was going to say. “Very much. I only hope I pleased you.”
Q swallowed before pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re everything I’ve waited for and more. I should ask you to sit, get you water, allow you to decide what comes next. But all I can think of is taking you home and making love to you.”
Lily’s breath caught at his words. Finally, she nodded. “Please.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “I could never refuse your request, but I am getting you some water first. Wait here a moment.”
Lily lingered in the library, her body humming and her mind still processing what had happened to her. She studied the shelves, amazed at the titles she found there. It seemed her new lover appreciated books as much as she did. When Q reappeared, he carried her coat and handbag. He slipped the jacket over her shoulders before tying the belt snugly at her waist.
“I’ve shared you enough this evening,” he explained. “The rest of the night, I want you to myself.”
She didn’t argue with him. She’d given her body to him freely. Now he was asking more of her—her time and maybe even her heart. All of it was his for the taking.
They’d nearly made it to the lounge when a beautiful dark-haired woman approached. Unlike many, she wore no mask.
“Master Q,” she greeted him.
Lily felt a surge of possessiveness but kept herself in check. This was Q’s library, which made the woman his guest.
“Ms. Kincaid,” Q said with a smile. “It’s been a long time.”
“I missed the company,” she said, “but it seems you’ve finally found a companion.”
“I have.” His tone was firm, as unyielding as the paddle had been.
The woman’s mouth curved into a wide smile. “You’re a very lucky woman. Q is a wonderful master.” She caught Lily’s pained expression and rushed to add, “If I were the type to settle, I might consider him.”
“How kind,” Q said dryly.
“We can’t all find such ideal matches,” the woman said, nodding to Lily. “Congratulations to you both.”
The knot in Lily’s stomach loosened as the woman took her leave. She wanted to ask Q who she was, jealousy getting the better of her. Before she could, he turned away from the front door and unlocked another next to it. He stepped to the side to reveal a long staircase.
“Is this…” Lily stared up.
“My flat,” he confirmed. “Would you rather go to yours?”
Lily thought of her cramped flat, cluttered with novels and laundry, and shook her head. She followed him up the steps, her hands clutching the railing. Every hour with him seemed to bring some new beginning. Now she was here, at his flat, and she wasn’t quite sure what that meant—but somehow discovering that was half the fun.
“It’s not much,” he said, as they entered a drawing room that reminded her a great deal of his private library below. “You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t had anyone up in ages.”
“Ages, Master?” A slight smile twisted her lips.
“You like that,” he noted, looking pleased.
“I do.” She would never fool herself into believing he’d been a saint before they met—downstairs was proof enough to the contrary—but she was beginning to suspect she’d appreciate his experience.
“Now that we’re home, I’m Brock and you are Lily,” he said.
“Just us,” she mused. It would take some getting used to—this double life. But now that she’d been with Q and given herself to him, she found herself curious about this other side of him.
“I have to confess something,” he said as he poured them drinks. “I’ve watched you in the office for months.”
“Months?” He had noticed her?
“You sound surprised.” He passed her a drink.
She took a sip thoughtfully. She’d been surprised to receive the invitation, shocked when she discovered it was him. “I’m not very noticeable.”
“You are to me,” he said softly. “I watched you read those books—this beautiful woman escaping to another world—and I found myself wanting to give it to you. But reading is very different than living, and I couldn’t be sure you wanted that. Then I saw you leaving Dr. Grant’s office.”
The night she’d spotted the couple. The night she’d touched herself in the shadows as they’d fucked. He’d seen it all.
She blushed, her eyes finding the floor.
“I knew then,” he said gruffly. “I knew you were meant for me. I decided to stop wanting you and finally have you.”
“And now that you have?” She peeked up at him.
“I want you again.” He moved toward her, taking her glass and depositing it on a nearby table.
“And in the morning?” His nearness made her feel slightly dizzy.
“I’ll want you.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “And in the afternoon and the evening and in the office, I’ll want you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”
“Then what’s stopping you now?” she asked breathlessly.
Brock swept her into his arms, his mouth crushing against hers, as he carried her surely out the room and down the hall. The brutish Dominant who’d marked her earlier had vanished, replaced by a man who laid her gently across the bed.
“You’ve been a very good girl and given me everything I asked for,” Brock murmured as he kissed her neck. “It’s your turn. What do you want from me?”
The list felt entirely too long to get through in one evening, but there was something she’d been anticipating. “I want to see you naked.”
Brock barked a laugh. “You’re very easy to please.”
“Then please me,” she said mischievously as her fingers fumbled with his belt.
“As you wish.” Brock straightened up, undoing his belt and pulling it free with one swift motion. He took his time unbuttoning his black shirt, revealing inch by inch of muscular slab as he did. Each piece of clothing revealed more perfect flesh until finally he slipped off his shorts.
Lily’s eyes widened. If he hadn’t already taken her, she wouldn’t have believed he would fit inside her body.
“Do I please you?” he teased.
Lily flipped onto her stomach, crawling to the edge of the bed, and beckoned him closer. Brock obliged, groaning as her lips wrapped around his cock. His hand brushed her hair as she sucked him off until finally, he guided her gently away.
“I want you,” he said fiercely, lifting her off the bed. “I want to watch you come. I want to look you in the eyes as I fuck you until you scream.”
She nodded, knowing that he would have her as much as he wanted her whether he was Master Q o
r Brock Quinn. She belonged to him.
Brock carried her to the wall and Lily’s legs wrapped instinctively around his trim waist.
“I can feel how wet you are,” he growled. “Did it make you wet when I spanked you?”
“Yes,” she gasped as she felt him nudge against her entrance.
“I’m going to tie you up later,” he promised as he slid an inch inside her. “Not just your wrists but your legs as well—and then I’m going to make you come as many times as I want.”
“Oh my god,” she bit out as he pushed deeper.
“You like that, don’t you?” His breath was hot against her ear. “You want to give yourself to me?”
“Completely,” she promised and meant it.
“Fuck,” he groaned as he plunged the rest of the way into her. “Hold on.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as he pistoned inside her. Lily felt her muscles tighten, already wound up from the spanking before, and her nails sank into his shoulders.
“Come, my Lily,” Brock ordered her. “Show me how beautiful you are when I’m giving you my cock.”
A strangled cry escaped her as he slammed her against the wall, rending the last threads that held her. She unraveled over him, clinging to his body as he tensed and joined her.
Brock’s forehead pressed against hers, both slick with sweat, and he brushed a kiss over her lips. “How does this compare to your books?”
Lily grinned before pressing her mouth to his. “I’ll tell you after one more chapter.”
About Geneva Lee
Geneva Lee is the New York Times, USA Today, and internationally bestselling author of over a dozen novels, including the Royals Saga which has sold nearly two million copies worldwide. She lives in Poulsbo Washington where she co-owns Away With Words Bookshop with her sister.
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1
“Special delivery!”
Two of a girl’s favorite words, right?
Not me. Not today. Not as I jump up from my desk to sign for the package, heart jumping with anticipation—only to have it shoved back down my throat and mixed with a surge of agony. The sender definitely isn’t Sephora, Bloomie’s, or Vicky’s Secrets, meaning nothing inside is any of the well-deserved self-congratulatory goodies I ordered last week. Three months into the new me, verified by one look around at my new office walls and stunning San Francisco Bay view, and I’m still going strong. Celebrating with new pajamas, perfume, and eyeliner seemed a better idea than eating myself into a funnel cake coma out on Pier 39.
Not that the funnel cake idea isn’t off the table. Because come on…funnel cake.
But I can’t pretend that the padded envelope in my hand is a plate of the sugary heaven. That’s the bad news.
The good news? It’s not a padded cell. So, yeah. Very good news.
Which I just don’t choose to ruin by opening the thing.
“Bottom of the priorities pile for you, buddy.” With a determined snort, I shove the thing into my gym bag. Just as urgently, I swivel my chair back around to face the month-end spreadsheets that refuse to be gym-bagged away. I make a deal with myself not to open the envelope until tonight, after a solid hour in the gym and securing a glass of Cabernet in my hand. Only then will I be able to face whatever asshole move Brett Buckhorn has pulled this time.
Doesn’t mean I can’t inwardly stew about it.
All right, so maybe I’m more than stewing—if the stabs at my keyboard and calculator start to unveil an atmospheric trend. But for now, I embrace the emotional fog bank, enjoying the mire to its fullest extent—
Until realizing I’m no longer alone.
“Holy crap!” I start at the sight of the smirking blonde in the chair in front of my desk. Normally, Edie takes over the very air in a room from the second she enters it, with her frenetic fairy energy and matching facial features. The woman honestly makes a person want to feel up the center of her spine for one of those pull strings that make toys talk, spin, or run faster.
“Sorry,” she says, grinning past a mouthful of the chocolate candies she’s just scooped from the star-shaped dish on my desk. The little discs are coated red and blue, in honor of Up-To-Eleven Sports Gear’s corporate brand colors. “You seemed in the zone, so I went to stealth mode.”
“Yeah, well…” I lean back while smacking a hand to the middle of my chest. “It worked, SEAL Team Edie.”
She giggles and tosses back her head, sending white-blond curls over her distressed denim-covered shoulders, and perfectly catches the blue candy she’s just tossed five feet in the air. “So what’s up, Katydid? Or more accurately, what’s going on with that ominous envelope that just got delivered for you? More shit from the ‘Katy didn’t’ days?”
“That’s almost not funny.”
“But you still appreciate being able to laugh about it.”
I surrender half a smirk. “You’re right. I do.” And then the other half. “Thanks, Eponine.”
At once, I’m the subject of her fresh glower. I only yank out the nickname, a callback to her sole drunken karaoke attempt at the character’s iconic song from Les Misérables, when knowing I’m safe from retaliation about it. As it is, the woman looks ready to bean me with one of the candies still in her grip.
Which, when she speaks again, might actually be my preference.
“So the package is from the epic asshole—errr, I mean Brett Fuckhorn?”
Thank God I’ve already formed a teepee with my fingers. All the better for hiding my new laugh. This brat doesn’t need any further encouragement. “You know, I might just address the return envelope that way.”
“Dare you to,” she volleys. After a long moment, she prompts, “So what does the asshole want now?”
“Don’t know.” I don’t beat around the proverbial bush—or in these offices, the faux surf wave, the mountain bike race simulator, and the parkour practice arena—about the vitriol of my reply. “And I honestly don’t care. Well, not right now.” I wave a hand the general direction of my gym bag. “I’ll deal with it over dried sweat and gallons of wine later tonight.”
“Damn good plan.” She takes a sip from the water bottle she’s brought in with her, which is plastered with Bucky Barnes and Kylo Ren stickers. “But you know that for what it’s worth, the legal department still has your back on this.”
“Says the girl from marketing?”
“Who still knows what she’s talking about?” she counters.
“Because she’s been getting a little cozier with the head of the legal team?” I lean forward, taking advantage of the color suffusing my friend’s face. “Ahhh! Am I riiight?”
Edie returns her bottle to the front of my desk with a marked thunk. “Another subject best discussed over old sweat and new wine.”
“Oh my God.” I openly preen. “I’m so right.”
“Pffft.”
“You’re as convincing as a kid at Disneyland.”
“And you love me for it.”
“Right now? Five minutes after having to sign for that package?” I force myself to glance back at the big envelope, emblazoned with the logo of the kraken-sized legal firm that Brett has secured for his side of our ongoing battle. “You’re actually keeping me from racing to the bathroom and puking my guts out.”
She flares her iridescent green gaze. “Not a fabulous idea with dual-gender restrooms.”
“Not a fabulous idea ever, you think?”
She falls back in her chair, letting me take the winning tick on our invisible tote board for that one. After a good thirty seconds, in which I check my emails and she taps out comments to the company’s Instagram feed, she says softly, “Want me to open the thing for you?”
“No!” Hell no. “I’ll deal with it tonight, when I’m feeling badass She-Ra after boxing class. Then I can toss whatever bullshit he’s thrown in my face and use the st
eam room to disguise tears if I need to.”
“Screw the steam room.” Edie snorts. “Brett is a douche, Kate. A double-decker douche on rye, with extra-spicy mustard and a side of douche sticks up his ass.”
I swallow hard. Reply softly, “He wasn’t always.”
“Not that you saw,” she retorts. “Not until he won everyone over with his charm, especially you, and got you to put in hellacious hours in the name of making him look good.”
“He did make sure I got a promotion for it.”
“Only because Sketch insisted,” she states. “Because as CEO, he saw all the hard work you put in to make Brett look good.” She surges to her feet, spilling a bunch of candy in the doing. “And how did Buckhorn show his thanks to you for that? By actually thinking he could offer to share you with a bunch of his friends, and that you’d simply be okay with—”
“Edie!” I leap up, crushing chocolate into the carpeting in four places but shutting the door without any overt gawks from the hallway. “Just respecting the two people in the office who didn’t already hear you.”
“What?” she retorts. “You’ve committed no crime, girl. You’re not the one who totally disregarded the company’s no-dating rules—not that what he ‘demanded’ you do for him could be called a ‘date.’”
“But not everyone in the place needs to be re-briefed on the details.” At this point, least of all me—though the woman has a proverbial bee in her bonnet, and she’s not resting until the damn thing is pulled out and stomped on.
“But nor can anyone be allowed to forget them either,” she mutters.
“Why the hell not?”
“Are you joking?” she snaps. “Tell me you’re joking, Katherine.” And crap; here she comes with my full name and everything. “The man propositioned that you show him your ‘gratitude’ for your promotion by screwing five of his friends in one night while he watched. He then told you if you didn’t comply, he could conveniently arrange to have the promotion revoked.”
I let her see my squirm. While I can’t haul my stomach out and make her view its twisting contents too, I hope she sees the results across my face as I volley, “I’m aware of all the gory details, thank you very much.”
