“Don’t move too fast,” I warn her. “Take it slow. Don’t make him come yet.”
She stills slightly with a tiny, guilty shift, restraining herself by force.
Wyatt’s mouth ghosts her shoulder, then her neck. Then he leans his head back against the chair again, his breath coming hard. I watch every detail ravenously.
Her thighs flexing. The flush rising up her neck, the hard points of her nipples. She starts moving faster again, her breathing getting labored, like she really can’t help it. She makes a sound that’s almost a whine.
Wyatt’s voice drops. “Oh God—”
“Don’t rush it,” I bite out, moving my hand faster now. God, I want her to draw it out yet I can’t slow myself down.
“Fuck,” Wyatt chokes, sounding pained. “Oh fuck, that’s tight, sweetheart.”
My warning is a low growl. “Do not clench for him, Max. Don’t make him come in you.”
I know what she’s doing. I can tell by the way she’s moving her hips. She’s squeezing her pussy, milking every inch of him, and instead of stopping when I tell her to, she lifts her eyes to me, the tiniest hint of a self-satisfied grin on her face.
“Fuck, that feels so good, Wyatt,” she purrs defiantly, and he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair.
“Wait, stop,” he pants. “I can’t—”
But she doesn’t. She rides him harder and faster, never taking her eyes off of me, and suddenly Wyatt is raising his hips off the chair, groaning as his whole body stiffens.
“Fuck!” It comes out a broken cry. “Fuck.”
He stills inside her, chest heaving, and then falls back into the chair with a pained exhale.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, panting like he’s been running miles. “Shit.” He takes a deep, stuttered breath. “Sorry, boss.”
“Not your fault,” I respond, keeping my eyes on Max. “What did I tell you?” I ask her, very calmly.
She blinks demurely, almost apologetic, except that grin that’s still teasing her lips.
Brat.
Wyatt’s hands stay on her hips, steadying her. His voice is low, almost amused. “You really couldn’t help it, huh?”
Max’s cheeks go pinker.
“Stand up,” I tell her. “Hands on the arm of the chair.”
She lifts herself off of Wyatt, planting her feet on the ground, her palms on the chair, presenting her ass, her face bent closely over his.
“Naughty girls get punished,” I say, placing my palm on her ass and then lifting it.
The first spank lands hard, and Max jolts, a sound ripping out of her that’s pure heat.
I don’t pause long enough for her to relax. I lift my hand and spank the same spot, harder. Her knees bend, and she catches herself, fingers gripping the chair.
A third spank, hard and fast.
Max’s head turns toward me, eyes bright and wild over her shoulder.
I lean in. “You think you’re cute?”
I spank her again.
She gasps—then laughs, breathless.
