“I’m afraid I can’t ignore this kind of infraction.”
“Please, let me make it up to you.” I made my eyes wide and fluttered my lashes—false ones I’d worn for just this moment. “Anything you want.”
“Greedy girl.” He crossed his arms over his chest, showing off his strong forearms. “Very well. Bend over the desk and raise that tiny little skirt to your waist. I’m going to have to spank you so I’m sure you remember not to be so careless again.”
I did as he asked, bending over the section of desk farthest from the monitors, hiking up my skirt before stretching my arms in front of me so I could grip the opposite edge. I was grateful to have something to hold onto. Now that I was in the position I’d imagined, nerves and anticipation were making me tremble. The smooth, cool surface of the desk steadied me. I pressed my forehead against the lacquered wood and waited for Jake to tell me what to do. That bit reassured me. Not being in charge for a change. Not having to orchestrate everything. I may have been the one to suggest the scenario, but I wasn’t in charge any longer.
“Ten strokes. You will count. If, at any point, you need to stop you will say Uncle.”
I would have laughed at the childish variation on a safe word, but the tone of his voice made it clear laughing would be a bad idea. I had no idea the playful, slightly disheveled man I was used to could channel this authoritarian persona. It added a whole new stern brunch daddy angle to the image I’d built of Jake in my head.
“Answer me, Ms. Patrick, or I’ll have no choice but to increase the number of strokes.”
“Yes, sir.” I scrambled over my thoughts, trying to remember if he’d asked a question. “I count and say Uncle if I need to stop.”
“Good girl.”
I relaxed a bit at the unexpected praise just in time to feel his hand slap my exposed skin. No warm-up or petting, just the sting of his palm on my tender flesh. I wasn’t sure what I’dexpected, but whatever it was, I hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk and tried to tuck in my tailbone. The move was completely ineffective. All it did was press my still aching clit against the edge of the desk. The sensation was confusing as fuck.
“Count, Ms. Patrick, or we will be here all day.”
“One.” I tensed as soon as I said the word, anticipating the second swat.
He ran his palm over my butt, smoothing the place he’d struck me. Back and forth, back and forth, lulling me just enough to ease my tight muscles before bringing his hand down again, harder this time. I yelped. I couldn’t help it. Without being able to hide or move away from his hands, it was the only reaction I had left. Unless I wanted things to stop.
I did. I’d expected some kind of sexy, playful love tap thing. This wasn’t that.
But I also didn’t want to stop. My skin felt hot and the sting from his hand had turned into something else—beyond a hyperawareness of my sex. I felt my wetness on my thighs, which might have embarrassed me if it wasn’t Jake, and I hadn’t already watched him lick my taste off his fingers.
“Two.” I wanted to see where this would go. I could stop later if I needed to.
His hand came down on the opposite side, two times in quick succession. I bit out three and four, blinking hard against my stinging eyes.
“That’s the kind of responsiveness I expect in a secretary.” He slid his fingers through my slick folds, circling my clit in the way he knew worked for me.
I rocked back on my heels, needing more. He plunged two fingers inside me, curling them to stroke the front wall of my vagina. His thumb pressed against my clit, making small circles, and every muscle in my body tensed—in pleasure this time. Iarched my back, pressing my sex toward him in a move that was more animalistic reaction than considered response. I’d do whatever he wanted to get him to keep touching me like that.
“Greedy girl.” He pulled his hand away, but his tone sounded pleased, not disappointed.
I wasn’t sure when pleasing him had taken on this new kind of importance, but it had.
His hand came down on my bare ass, softer this time, almost gentle.
“Five.” I inched back, more concerned with getting his fingers inside me than his palm on my ass. It was a mistake.
Three swats this time, hard and too close together for me to catch my breath. Pain bloomed over my skin, hot and achy and unavoidable.
“Count, Ms. Patrick, or we’ll have to start over.” He stepped back, and even with my ass stinging from his touch, I had to fight the urge to move closer.
The absence of contact with him was worse than anything he’d done so far. How fucking weird was that? What did it mean? About me?
“Six, seven, eight.” I had no idea what I wanted anymore, but I did not want to start over.
“Good.” He palmed my sex, and God help me, I ground against him, desperate for release. Desperate for him to fill the achy emptiness.
He pressed and held two fingers against my clit as he brought his other hand down one more time, ruthlessly on my tender skin. One hand promised pleasure and the other gave me pain and I couldn’t do anything but cling to the desk and wait to see which hand won. And count.
“Nine.” My voice was practically a whimper, but I managed to say the word.
