I turn to leave, and the door suddenly swings open.
A hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.
I gasp as I’m yanked inside.
The door shuts behind me with a solid click.
I whirl around. “How the hell?” I yell.
Porter stands there.
Right in front of me.
Not even slightly out of breath.
My brain short-circuits again.
“You were upstairs,” I say slowly. “How did you get down here?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Did you take the stairs?”
No. I’d have seen him come out of the stairwell.
His mouth twitches.
My eyes narrow.
His office is lit by a single desk lamp.
The space is bigger than I expected.
It has a fireplace.
And a bar.
His jacket is draped over the back of his chair.
He steps closer.
Close enough that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne.
My pulse stutters.
“Why am I here?” I ask.
“Why did you come?” he asks quietly.
“Because you told me to.”
His lips curve into a devilish grin, and he starts to undo his cuff links.
“I believe you said something about being spanked.”
Icircle her as I roll up my shirt sleeves.
Her breath hitches as her eyes follow my movement.
