“Pathetic,” he breathes, pressing my wrists tighter until they ache. “But I like you better like this—ruined. Mine to correct.”
He bends so close his lips almost brush my temple, and whispers, “Do you want your punishment now, baby girl?”
My wrists burn in his grip, every shift of my body just reminding me how little I can do to free myself. His fingers flex once, possessive, like he’s reminding me he doesn’t just hold me—he owns me.
“Answer me.” His voice is velvet wrapped around a blade. “Do you want it now?”
I shake my head, but it’s too fast, too shallow. He notices. He always notices.
“That’s not an answer.” His mouth brushes the edge of my jaw, close enough to leave me trembling, far enough to make me chase. “Use your words.”
“I—” The word catches in my throat, like it doesn’t want to betray me. “I don’t know.”
“Wrong.” He pulls my wrists down, forcing them flat against the desk, spreading me open, making the hard wood bite into my skin. “You know. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Heat coils low in my belly, traitorous, and I hate the way my body gives me away. He feels it, senses it in the shallow gasps leaving my chest, in the way my thighs press tighter together.
“You’re shaking.” His teeth graze my ear. “From fear, or from wanting me to break you?”
“Dean—” His name comes out like a plea, a warning, both.
“Shhh.” He doesn’t let me finish. His other hand slips further under my blouse, knuckles dragging over my stomach, slow enough to torture. “You’ve been mouthing off all morning. Can’t type. Can’t follow orders. You can’t decide if you want to be ruined or if you want to be spared.
His hand stops just below my ribs, holding still, heavy, threatening.
“So I’ll decide for you.”
He doesn’t move for a long moment, just holds me pinned there—my wrists trapped, my body thrumming, the air thick with the weight of what’s coming.
“Say it,” he breathes, lips ghosting against my temple. “Tell me you want your punishment. Tell me you want me to make it hurt.”
I bite down on my lip, hard enough to taste iron, because the truth is clawing its way up my throat, desperate to escape.
And he waits—patient, merciless—like a predator who knows the prey will eventually break itself trying not to beg.
The silence stretches too long. My teeth dig deeper into my lip, but I don’t give him the words. I won’t.
His laugh is low, cruel. “Stubborn little thing.”
Before I can breathe, he twists my wrists tighter in his grip, forcing them behind my back, one hand holding both with humiliating ease. My chest jerks forward against the desk, the edge biting into my ribs.
“You think you can win?” His breath scorches down my neck as he presses his weight against me, pinning me there. “You think I don’t know how to make you talk?”
I try to suck in air, but all I get is the scent of him—cologne and smoke and something darker that clings to my skin like possession.
“Here’s your first punishment,” he murmurs, dragging his free hand down to my thigh, nails grazing my skin through the thin fabric of my skirt. “Every second you stay silent, I take something away.”
He lifts the hem with brutal slowness, knuckles grazing higher, higher, until the cool air hits the backs of my thighs.
“Your control,” he says. The fabric rides up to my hips in one sharp tug. “Gone.”
My body jerks, heat rushing through me despite the sharp sting of humiliation.
He pushes my legs apart with his knee, a predator spreading his prey open. “Your dignity,” he adds, voice dark silk, “gone.”
“Dean—” It breaks out of me, but he cuts me off with a harsh grip to my jaw, yanking my head sideways so I’m staring at his reflection in the black gloss of the desk.
“You don’t get to use my name as a lifeline.” His eyes are fire in the glass. “Not until you’ve earned it.”
